SINOVINICULTURE

By Joshua Cawthorpe

Rosé season, also known as summer, is the time of year when the sweltering heat beckons us to start imbibing in the middle of the day. This month we decided to try out some taohong, peach-red or, colloquially, pink wine.

First of all, what is rosé?

There are four ways to make rosé but, since the differences are very technical, let’s first talk about the difference between white and red wine. Although the obvious answer is that green grapes make white wine and purple grapes make red wine, this isn’t always the case. A number of champagnes, in fact, use purple grapes in a style dubbed ‘blanc de noir’ or ‘white of the black.’ As though an allegory for humanity, grapes all look the same on the inside.

While both methods of winemaking require the pale nectar to be massaged from within the grapes, white wine allows only the transparent juice to ferment. Red wine gets its color from macerating the skins and seeds throughout the fermentation process.

Only in China have we seen adults meticulously peeling their own grapes before eating them. Grape skins, in addition to being extremely high in antioxidants, Vitamin C and resverotrol, also contain tannins. This is what gives them their bitter, acrid taste. However, tannins are the backbone of red wine’s flavor profile; tannins give it the ability to harmonize with the umami of grilled animal flesh and also preserve it while it ages in the bottle.

Back to rosé. The most common process to make rosé is called maceration. Use red grapes to make white wine but allow the skins to briefly stew as fermentation begins, then remove them before they influence the color (and flavor) too heavily. Provence is known for very faintly hued rosé made by macerating skins for just long enough to ‘stain’ the wine and achieve a pale pink color.

One common misconception is that darker rosé wines are sweeter. If the color comes from the bitter, tannin- and vitamin-rich skins then color is not a measure of sugar content.

The direct press method is similar to maceration as it uses red grapes to make a white wine but depends on just enough color being released into the wine during the pressing stage. Winemakers who use this method are known to then add a dash of mature red wine in the end to achieve their desired shade of pink.

When committed to this approach, it is called ‘blending’ and shouldn’t be scoffed at. The simplicity of the process evokes images of frat house jungle juice in 68-liter Rubbermaid storage tubs. However, it is a careful art undertaken with utmost care and precision. A small amount of red wine, selected for its desirable qualities, is mixed with a white wine so that the two may fester blissfully until their day of absolution.

The fourth method, unsurprisingly, bears a French name. The saignée method involves ‘bleeding’ juice from a vat of red wine that has only just begun its journey to the promised land.

This month we randomly selected two rosé wines from JD.com. One from Ningxia and another from Xinjiang, both winemaking regions that we have previously investigated. The Ningxia rosé is from Jia Bei Lan winery in the Yinchuan winemaking area at the foot of the Helan Mountain Range. The wine itself is made from 100% cabernet sauvignon, a red wine grape, and employs the short-term maceration method.

The Xinjiang rosé is from Tiansai vineyards near the Tianshan mountains. This grape varietal is cabernet franc, another red wine grape, this time using the direct press method where color is imbued in the pressing process and then the skins are removed prior to fermentation. The Xinjiang rosé is, predictably, a lighter shade of pink.

When searching for suitable wines for a certain meal, white wine is generally recommended when pairing with most Asian cuisines. This is a sweeping generalization which fails to recognize the vast diversity of the Asian continent and all the wonder it has to offer. However, seafood and spicy dishes generally don’t agree with heavy, tannic red wines.

If we were going out for Hunan food it would be an easy choice. When scooping the fatty cheeks from above the sullen eyes of a butterflied carp face, piled high with sautéed red chilies and garlic, then one should seek the sharp refreshment of a Mosel riesling. However, our goal is to truly learn these two rosé wines and understand the lingering odor of the original sin with the original skin.

If there is but one Chinese cuisine best suited for rosé, we think it’s Hakka.

The word Hakka, or kejia in mandarin, literally translates to ‘guest people.’ This is a nod to the tumultuous history of this Han descendant minority who continually migrated south throughout China’s history. The first of five waves came at the fall of the Jin dynasty in 400CE when invading tribesmen forced many groups to flee their homes north of the Yangtze river. Today, the Hakka people are settled mainly in mountainous areas of Jiangxi, Guangxi, Fujian and Guangdong provinces where Hakkanese culinary influence on local menus reveals itself in colorful dishes like wuliu fried eggs. Hakka food is known for elegant and rich flavors coaxed lovingly from fresh ingredients. The dishes are robust but not overbearingly spicy and thus perfectly suited for a wine tasting.

We uncork both bottles and pour a glass of each. True to its namesake, the Xinjiang is peachy on the nose. The Ningxia has a darker strawberry aroma with a floral citrusy bouquet like grapefruit.

We taste the Xinjiang first. It’s bone dry and has a complex, chalky minerality but also a pleasant roundness and creamy finish like longan or butterscotch. We take a sip of green tea to cleanse the palate and move on to the Ningxia. It’s boozier and flies up into the nostrils, despite being half a percent lower in alcohol than the Xinjiang. It has a much more pronounced acidity and, although sweeter and fruiter than the former, has a clean lemon flavor with notes of honeydew melon.

As the food begins to hit the table, we have the Xinjiang rosé on the left and the Ningxia on the right. Both wines are about to undergo a three-round bout of critique and comparison.

The first challenge is the meicai kourou, soft braised pork belly on a bed of preserved mustard greens. Perhaps wine’s most impactful function is the ability to interact with fat to create a tidal dance of hard and soft, wet and dry, push and pull, upon the palate.

Saving the sourness of the meicai for later, we fold a hefty slice of pork around a pinch of rice and slap it into our face.

The acidity of the Ningxia shines with the fatty pork belly. It splashes around the mouth making the bright cantaloupe finish more pronounced.

At this stage of the contest, our guest describes the Xinjiang rosé as fengfu (rich) and says it has more kougan (mouthfeel). However, we note that it interacts much less with the taste of the meat.

The second round is pairing the two contestants with niang kugua or stuffed bitter gourd. This aptly named bright green phallus is a first time one never forgets. However, although more medicinally bitter than any other food we know of, when prepared well it easily becomes a favorite ingredient. To make it Hakka style, it is cut into cylinders and the seeds are hollowed out. The wrinkly green tube is then rammed full with a mixture of minced pork and tiny dried shrimp or fish, powderized and mixed in to give the meat an unparalleled succulence.

Finding a wine to pair with such a bold astringent flavor is somewhat uncharted territory. Like coffee with cream and sugar, one imagines that the sweeter wine will balance out the flavors of the niang kugua. This is not the case. The acidity of the Ningxia washes away the bitterness but the minerality of the Xinjiang explodes with cascading layers of stone and earth when it sweeps across the bitter residue of the gourd. Our guest agrees that the Ningxia is less suitable for the bitter melon dish.

The third dish is Three Cup Duck, a name which does not surrender any hints towards the aromatic spices in the sweet, dark sauce. This being the first dish which is overtly sugary, we have saved it for the final obstacle in our rosé triathlon.

Still gnawing on a thick medallion of duck breast, our guest exclaims for the first time that the Ningxia is great with sweet food, refreshing like Coca-Cola. The Xinjiang, being the less sweet wine, behaves completely differently with the sugary sauce on the duck. Any residual sweetness is eclipsed by the duck sauce and it leaves a pleasant tartness like cranberry juice or Southern-style iced tea.

While rosé is considered something of a crowd-pleaser, it requires its own blend of finesse to find the balance between brooding bitter red notes without subduing the bright white fruitiness and crisp terroir. Both wines are dry and complex, demonstrating a level of winemaking prowess in both regions that could undoubtedly someday rival Provence or the Loire Valley — that is if China warms up to serving cold wines. We would recommend the Ningxia with any meal that has a sweet sauce, as this was the stage of the meal where it really blossomed.

Unfortunately, nobody wins unless somebody loses. If we must choose a winner, the Xinjiang gave us a little bit more of what we wanted from a rosé. It could be thoroughly enjoyed without food, atop a hill after a sunset stroll, or on a beach with the smell of seaweed and salt on the air. It also surrendered more layers of complexity through the gauntlet of food pairings, leading us to believe that it is the more refined of the two wines.

Xinjiang Ningxia

Off the Map with an Urban Explorer

Interview by Ned Kelly

There are people who get off the beaten track in China, and then there is Greg Abandoned. Born in Poland, before moving to the UK, divorce from his wife followed by a trip to Chernobyl changed his life – one he now dedicates to UrbEx, the exploration of abandoned spaces.

In 2018, Greg moved to China – an ‘UrbEx gold mine’ – and amassed over 100,000 followers on Instagram, @gregabandoned. He hosts the Chasing Bandos UrbEx Podcast and is compiling an Abandoned China Book Trilogy. Intrigued, we sought out this capturer of apocalyptic images to find out what makes him tick.

When did your fascination with abandoned spaces start?

I have to thank my ex-wife for divorcing me, as that was the catalyst for the decisions I made afterwards. I’m halfjoking, of course, but the divorce was a major event in my life that made me realize many things. One of them was that I should seek new experiences.

Around the same time as the divorce, I met a guy at work who shared a similar attraction towards apocalyptic themes – we both

like Mad Max movies and The Book of Eli. I was blown away after reading Cormac McCarthy’s book, The Road and The Wool Trilogy by Hugh Howey. There is something mesmerizing about the end of civilization that drives my imagination. 32 One day, my friend from work and I decided to visit Chernobyl. He was relocating to Spain and we figured this would be a memorable visit for us, as we wouldn’t be able to see each other often.

Chernobyl changed my life. Standing on top of that building in the abandoned city of Pripyat, looking down at overgrown edifices that Mother Nature had reclaimed was a moment that will stay with me for the rest of my life.

At that moment, I knew this is what I wanted to do. I wanted to find places like this. Everything made sense from that moment.

How did you get into photography?

After Chernobyl, I started to share my pictures on Instragram, and received a positive reaction.

Some feature-hub accounts used my pictures, and from there I realized that there are other people who go to abandoned places and use specific hashtags to share their findings with the community.

Subsequently, I learned about UrbEx, a sub-category of urban exploring – going to abandoned places. I used social media as motivation to keep going.

Once I was in China, I realized I had stumbled across an ‘UrbEx gold mine,’ and the rest is history.

Tell us about the UrbEx Code?

“Take only pictures, leave nothing but footprints,” might seem like a cheesy slogan, but I always say that “even pirates had their code,” hence we should also follow some guidelines: 1) Never damage

property! Just because it is abandoned doesn’t give you the right to do anything you want. Someone most likely still owns it. 2) Do not steal! Some places have stuff left behind. It is not yours, even if it has been left in an abandoned place.

This seems pretty obvious. Just use your common sense. Explorers don’t break; explorers don’t steal – vandals do.

How do you choose where to shoot?

I have shot hundreds of different locations and, without sounding like a snob, nowadays I try to find places where you would go, “Wow!”

I love an overgrown corridor with the paint coming off the walls as much as the next guy, but recently I’ve tried my best to find more unique locations. If I can make you go, “Wow, where is that?” I feel like I have done my job.

I love my camera, but I can’t explore without my drone. If I break it, I buy a new one the same day (this has actually happened too many times). I love flying my drone and taking aerial shots. If I have the chance to take one, I can’t resist it.

What do you look for in a photograph?

I don't look for anything specific; it is all about locations. Can I show the scale of abandonment in this building? How unique this place is? Have I seen this type of picture before?

I’m not big on close-up shots like many Chinese explorers – I like big scale.

How do you find out about new locations?

This is one of the most common things people ask me on Instagram or on the podcast, and there is no one answer to this question.

Let me give you an example: there was this one abandoned water park somewhere in China I tried to find; I can’t even remember how I found out about it in the first place.

It took me six months to find the exact location; scanning the internet for clues, and scrolling for hours on satellite maps. I even called the manufacturer of the rides and asked them for help, as I noticed many water parks use the same types.

Some locations are easier than others. But anyone can find them as long as they are willing to put in the time and the effort.

These days, I feel like the abandoned places find me, rather than other way around.

What’s the best place you’ve shot?

There is one place UrbEx explorers call the ‘Holy Grail’ – in the middle of the desert in Kazakhstan there are abandoned space shuttles and a rocket.

Exploring this place was the hardest, most physically challenging and most dangerous mission I have ever done. Walking fully equipped through a desert with your gear, food and water to last you two days was hard enough. Not getting caught while on site was something else entirely.

I gathered info on this

Hiking through the desert in Kazakhstan, on the way to abandoned space shuttles

Abandoned train graveyard

place for almost a year and trained for three months to get physically fit enough to do it. I used to pack my bag and walk from 8pm on Friday night to 5am on Saturday morning to prepare myself for the hike of my life. However, waking up on the top floor of the space shuttle hangar and looking down at two abandoned shuttles remains the best day of my life. The excruciating journey and all the pain endured – it was all worth it. 34

Ever had any close encounters or scary moments with authorities?

When you do UrbEx, it is impossible not to have these moments. I’m always very careful, but there are moments where you simply can’t avoid getting caught.

Probably the scariest moment of my ‘UrbEx career’ was when I got mistaken for a spy at a military base, which I wrongly took for an abandoned plane graveyard. That was certainly one long interrogation I wouldn’t want to repeat.

If you could shoot a place you have not yet, where would it be?

I love space-related places. Rockets, space shuttles, even abandoned theme parks with space shuttle replicas – I'll explore those any day.

However, the Chinese space program is relatively

new, so the chances of finding abandoned spacerelated places here are slim – but not impossible…

I would even settle for a tourist visit to any of the four Chinese space launching locations, and if you knew me, you would understand the significance of this statement: I don't do tourism!

Sadly, as a foreigner living in China, even a tourist visit like that is mission impossible.

What advice would you give someone trying to shoot abandoned spaces?

Do it for the right reasons.

If you are looking for Insta-fame, or your goal is to grow your social media status, and you think this is the way to do it, don’t bother.

Do it because you love those places and you feel a need to protect them. UrbEx will give you incredible experiences; stories like you could never expect – because you will be doing things that society told you over and over not to do.

When you learn to let go of what others think, and you stop listening to what others tell you, and you follow your instincts, you will be ready.

Challenge yourself and stay safe. Bring someone with you; you don’t want to fall through a broken floor and break your leg all by yourself.

I was once trying to get access to this Bulgarian UFO-like monument building located on top of a mountain that required me to jump four meters down to a pitch dark basement. But, since I was there with someone else, whatever happened to me, at least I wouldn’t be alone – that is my mindset.

I can’t stress this enough – worry afterwards, not before.

Follow Greg on Instagram @gregabandoned or scan the QR code:

Visit Greg’s website at www.gregabandoned.com or scan the QR code:

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