Drop by Drop, Savoring a Spanish Wine Region
By DAISANN McLANE
FOR years I've been a fan of a particular kind of Spanish wine, a dark, intensely rich red called Ribera del Duero. I remember the first time I tasted it, in a tapas bar in Manhattan where a friend had ordered it to go along with our lunch of little dishes of shrimp swimming in a sea of olive oil and garlic; dry, salty air-cured jamón serrano; and wedges of pungent sheep's-milk cheese.
Most wines would wilt in the company of such aggressive flavors — but the Ribera del Duero not only stood its ground, it added a missing element. Before my first sip, I had not really understood why Spaniards were so fond of snacking on strong, salty, garlicky and moldy foods, all at once. Drinking Ribera del Duero, I realized that these extreme tastes could actually harmonize, mediated by this wine that blended the cacophony of shouting flavors into a Spanish chorus.
Because Ribera del Duero tasted almost medieval to me, I wasn't surprised to find it is made from grapes grown along the River Duero, which cuts from west to east across the dry, high plano of the Spanish province of Old Castile about two hours' drive north of Madrid. Along the banks of the Duero is a string of medieval Spanish villages and the huge, hulking ruins of castles — fortifications that formed a defense against the Moors during the Spanish reconquista.
Along the Duero are also more than a hundred vineyards, all dedicated to the cultivation and production of my favorite wine. This attracted me like a candy store, since many of the vineyards do not export much, if any, of their wine to the United States. Intrigued, I resolved to visit there someday, and in late April I did, for four days.
The Ribera del Duero region, which overlaps the Spanish provinces of Valladolid and Burgos, is somewhat off the tourist track for Americans, but I found plenty of information about the area on the Internet, most of it in Spanish, aimed at wine enthusiasts and Spanish domestic travelers. I learned that to visit a Spanish winery it is customary to make an appointment, so I phoned down the various Web site lists until I found two that had time for me to visit.
The two principal towns along the Duero, Peñafiel and Aranda de Duero, also had helpful Web sites with lists of hotels and telephone numbers. I called to make reservations in each town, and was thrilled by the modest prices — $53 and $33 respectively.
My main trip expense would be a rental car — I don't drive a stick shift, and an automatic transmission comes with a lofty price tag in Europe. But I was able to soften the blow by renting through an American-based company, Auto Europe, which got me a Chrysler compact from Avis for three days for around $320 including insurance and all taxes.
I arranged to pick it up in Valladolid, on my second day in Spain, both to avoid dealing with Madrid's traffic and to give myself a day to get over jet lag. The idea was to spend my first night on the way in Ávila, the medieval town a short train ride from Madrid that is famous as the birthplace of the Roman Catholic mystic St. Teresa of Ávila.
I arrived on the express train around noon on a brilliantly sunny, cool spring day. Inspired by the blue sky and crisp air, I decided to walk the mile or so from the station to my hotel, the Hostería de Bracamonte. Halfway up to the hotel, which is inside the remains of Ávila's old stone walls, I got discouraged, and not just from fatigue. It seemed as if half the city was under scaffolding, including the Cathedral, where most of the interior had been blocked off to visitors.
The vast plaza just outside the city walls, the Mercado Grande, was closed to pedestrians by a fence and full of workmen in hard hats. Ávila, recently declared a Unesco World Heritage city, is undergoing restoration, and cranes currently dominate the city's skyline.
My room at the Hostería de Bracamonte, a medieval-themed hotel in a historic stone building, was dominated by a four-poster canopy double bed with red curtains, and a plaster cherub dancing on the wall. After a rest, I went out that evening and found a convivial wine bar, the Bodeguita de San Segundo, that was well stocked with Riberas. Sampling a crianza and a reserva (in Spain, the wines are graded, in ascending order, joven, crianza, reserva and gran reserva), I called it a night — better to warm up slowly for the coming marathon.
The next morning I took a train to Valladolid, about an hour away, and picked up my car at the station. Soon I was driving the straight two-lane highway that parallels the Duero, passing through acre after acre of vineyards. In spring the vines are gnarly and leafless; by September those twisted April branches will boast abundant leaves and heavy bunches of deep purple grapes. Such a transformation seemed fantastic. Soon I was staring at something even more so: a huge fortress on the horizon, shaped like a ship, perched on the only hill for miles around — the Castillo de Peñafiel.
On the outskirts of the village, where 5,000 people live in the shadow of the castle, I checked into the Hotel Ribera del Duero, a boxy faux mansion (actually a converted wheat granary) apparently geared to a clientele of wine importers and distributors (on the night table of my twin-bedded room were copies of Spanish wine trade magazines). Then I headed on foot into the village's narrow, labyrinthine streets.
In early afternoon, the smell of roasting meat and wood fires hung in the air. Peñafiel, besides being the center of a wine industry, is also well known to Spaniards for its asadores, restaurants that specialize in lechazo, roast suckling lamb.
Seated at a simple, white-draped table at Asador Mauro, which has been serving meats prepared in its wood-fired oven for more than 70 years, I explored the region's two specialties together. With one hand on the stem of my glass of the house Ribera and another on my fork — no knife was needed to eat the tender, perfectly grilled, garlicky baby lamb chops, with meat the size of a quarter attached to twiglike bones — I figured I'd come as close to foodie nirvana as it gets. The price of heaven was a down-to-earth $15 for the meal, including flan, wine and coffee.
The Castillo, which I visited after recovering from lunch, had once protected the surrounding area from the advance of the Moors, then served as home to competing local princes. Now it houses a brand-new, ambitious museum of wine, operated by the municipality of Valladolid. The excellent museum is well worth the trek up the hill. Occupying two floors, it covers everything from the fine points of grape growing to the intricacies of production to the various ways of opening a bottle.
Even better was my peek inside the Alejandro Fernández winery later that afternoon, guided by Lucía Fernández, who manages the day-to-day operations of the famous bodega founded by her father in the 70's. Ms. Fernández led me through the bodega's cool cellars, where the wine (sold under the label Pesquera) ages in oak before being bottled. Along the way, she explained some of the history of this wine, which wasn't recognized by Spanish wine growers as a distinct denomination until 1972, even though viniculture was introduced to the region in Roman times. I learned that the area's weather is severe, with hot summers and cold winters, and that the local vines that produce the dark purple tempranillo grape thrive in the extreme climate. The winter chills that occasionally dip as low as 28 degrees, Ms. Fernández said, kill off the parasites and pests that might attack the plants in growing season.
That evening, sampling the products of yet more bodegas while sitting at a cafe table out in the main square of Peñafiel, I imagined I could taste rugged, stubborn survival in each full, fruity mouthful.
In Peñafiel, besides learning how wine is produced, I learned how it is consumed — not, as in the Napa Valley, in hops between the tasting rooms of the vineyards (local vineyards are reluctant to offer tastings for groups of fewer than four people, and many provide only tours), but in the many bars specializing in the local product. Here it's common for 15 or more wines to be sold by the glass; if something you want to sample isn't open, the bartender will usually open a bottle for you, charging you only for the glass.
Thus I worked my way through crianzas from the vineyards Pago de Carroviejas, Teófilo Reyes and Hacienda Monasterio, through Cachopa and Casajús and the marvelous, velvety Valtravieso. (The price of a glass was typically $1.50 to $5.)
Thanks to the restorative powers of strong Spanish coffee, I was able to continue exploring even deeper into Ribera del Duero wine country the next morning. From Peñafiel, it is a 50-minute drive west to Aranda de Duero, a small town of 30,000. After tiny Peñafiel, it feels like a city, especially as you approach on the highway, which runs through a dismal-looking industrial park.
But inside the old walls, Aranda revealed hidden charms, with a central district of medieval buildings, a leafy park filled with cypress trees lining the banks of the Duero and an early-16th-century church, the Iglesia de Santa María.
Like the other Spanish towns I'd visited, it had narrow cobblestone streets that opened into a small, bustling plaza lined with bars and cafes, and the Mesón de la Villa, a fine restaurant decked out in that baronial style that seems a template for Spanish restaurants everywhere — heavy dark wooden tables and chairs, shields, banners, helmets and breastplates.
I sat down and ordered my last meal in Old Castile: roast suckling lamb, Spanish sheep's-milk cheese, crusty local torta bread. And to go with it, of course, a half bottle of Ribera del Duero. Underneath helmets, hanging haunches of jamón serrano and assorted medieval relics, I savored my journey, drop by rich red drop.
Visitor Information
I spent a total of $635 during four days and three nights in the Castile and Leon region. (Prices are calculated at 92 cents to the euro, the rate at the time of my stay.) That includes hotels, food and wine, activities, local transportation and an automatic-transmission rental car — driving a manual-shift car would have brought the total down to $525.
Getting There
I used the Web travel service
www.onetravel.com to book a somewhat complicated itinerary to Europe — from Kennedy Airport to Madrid, Madrid to Nice, Nice back to J.F.K. The fare, on Delta Air Lines, came to $950.69.
My "luxury" automatic-transmission Chrysler compact cost $320 for a three-day rental, with all insurance. I booked through
www.autoeurope.com , (800) 223-5555.
Where to Stay
My comfortable single with private bath at the 23-room Hostería de Bracamonte, Bracamonte 6, Ávila, (34-920) 25 12 80, fax (34-920) 25 38 38, cost $50 a night without breakfast.
The 27-room Hotel Ribera del Duero, Avenida Escalona 17, (34-983) 87 31 11, fax (34-983) 88 14 44,
www.hotelriberadelduero.com , is the only hotel in Peñafiel (the other accommodations are pensiones), and a quite grand one, in a converted granary. My room, however, was modern and characterless, but comfortable, with two double beds, a refrigerator, bathroom with tub and shower, and a castle view; $53.
There aren't many lodging choices in Aranda de Duero, either, but I found the 44-room Hotel Aranda, San Francisco 51, (34-947) 50 16 00, fax (34-947) 50 16 04, which was comfortable enough, and the management was helpful and friendly. A good-size, clean room with a twin bed and bathroom with tub and shower cost $33.
Where to Eat
In Ávila, the marvelous Bodeguita de San Segundo, San Segundo, 19, (34-920) 25 73 09, fax (34-920) 22 59 17, has hundreds of different Spanish wines, along with tapas of cheeses, olives and cold meats. A glass of Gran Reserva Ribera del Duero from the Cachopa winery, plus a plate of hams and cheeses, cost $12.
At Asador Mauro, Atarazanas (no street number), Peñafiel, (34-983) 87 30 14, fax (34-983) 88 19 64, my meal cost $15. Lunch daily; dinner Saturday and by special arrangement.
Of the wine bars I sampled in Peñafiel, I liked Bar H-J, Plaza de España, 13, (34-983) 88 05 19; the owner, Eduardo Tordable González, is quite knowledgeable. About $1.50 to $5 a glass.
Mesón de la Villa, in Aranda de Duero, Plaza Mayor, 3, (34-947) 50 10 25, fax (34-947) 50 83 19, is a formal, traditional restaurant specializing in roast suckling lamb, prepared in an horno de leña (wood-fired oven). My meal of lamb, cheese, a half bottle of Valduero (Ribera del Duero), cookies and coffee cost $28. Open for lunch and dinner; closed Monday.
Touring
Entry to the Castillo and Provincial Wine Museum in Peñafiel is $4.50; opening hours vary by season, and it's best to ask at the Peñafiel tourist office; (34-983) 88 15 26,
www.turismopenafiel.com . Closed Monday. English-speaking guides are available on request.
I arranged to tour two wineries while in Peñafiel. There is no charge, but it is essential to call or fax ahead for an appointment.
Bodegas Alejandro Fernández, (34-983) 87 00 37, fax (34-983) 87 00 88, is the home of the Pesquera label, which is distributed in the United States. It's about four miles from Peñafiel, in the village of Pesquera del Duero. Call a week ahead.
Bodegas Arzuaga Navarro is on the main highway between Valladolid and Peñafiel; (34-983) 68 11 46, fax (34-983) 68 11 47. They offer tours and tastings and operate a luxury inn on the premises (rooms are about $130).
Information
The municipal government of Peñafiel operates a helpful Web site at
www.ayto-penafiel.es/vinosriberade duero.htm.
I also found good information on the region on the Web site of the Spanish publisher Anaya,
www.anayatouring.com/touring/html/091011bodega1.html . Anaya's Spanish-language guide series, Guía Viva, is sold at most bookstores there.
Local Transportation
There are excellent rail connections between Madrid and Ávila, and Ávila and Valladolid (but none between Valladolid and Peñafiel or Aranda de Duero). A single fare from Madrid to Ávila cost about $10, and from Ávila to Valladolid about $12.
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