The Mediterranean Life : Hoosier Wine Cellar | Indiana wines and ...

? By Allen Dale "Ole" Olson ? | ? Sunday, September 25, 2011 at 10:09 am ? | ? ? | ? Print ? | ? Permalink

The? four-hour lunch with splendid wines had ended, and the group for which I had been responsible for a week was finally off duty. My wife and I settled into a cafe table on the plaza in front of the Sant Celoni Town Hall and tried to remember if we had ever seen a town hall in America with cafes and boutiques around a paved perimeter in front of it, teeming with playing children and elegant strollers. We were ten kilometers inland from the Costa Brava, and at 9:00 p.m. the local Spaniards were just heading for dinner.

A waiter set down a carafe of white wine in front of us but asked if we preferred rose or red or something else. I told him the white would be fine but asked what it is. He shrugged and said it was from near Arenyes, a short distance away.? As he walked away, a soccer ball bounced off my leg and was retrieved by a breathless ten-year-old issuing a breathless apology. The clock chimed the quarter hour ? 9:15 p.m., and I thought of rural Indiana where no child would be kicking a soccer ball around a town hall at that hour (or probably not at any hour), certainly not in proximity to where their parents and other adults would be consuming alcoholic drinks.

Next day, at lunch in Argeles-sur-Mer on the French side, from our table we could look across a 100-meter sandy beach at the Mediterranean and at dozens of families gathered round for a Sunday lunch. Again, the wine flowed while children banged their games around the tables and chased their dogs in and out of the dining area.The young lady who brought the carafe of rose I had oredered had no idea what grape had made it. It came from Collioure, one of the next towns along the sea, and that was good enough for her. What mattered to us was that it was a good match for the mussels in a garlic-cream broth seasoned with saffron.

What also mattered was the lack of seriousness about the wine, the food, and the setting. For a week I had delved into what went into the wines we were experiencing, growing seasons, aging processes, and marketability. Last night and today I re-learned that wine is a food, an agricultural product to enhance our meals and help us reflect on life?s blessings. Children at play around cafe tables bearing one of God?s gifts? Let someone else worry about that. The citizens along the French-Spanish border where the Pyrenees end their southward march live long and happy lives. They would rather enjoy their food and drink than write about it. Even so, I clutched my week?s notes tightly, fearful that I might yield to the spirit and cast them away. I am after all, a child of the work-ethically-driven rural Midwest.

Source: http://www.hoosierwinecellar.com/blog/?p=2500

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