Letter from Haro 9: Pagos del Camino and Yet Another Intersection of Old and New
September 11, 2007
6:00pm
Our last interview today was with José María Ryan, winemaker at Bodegas Bretón in Navarrete, inside the bodega’s Sala Alba de Bretón. The bodega’s Loriñon brand is among the region’s best; at $17 retail, the Loriñon Reserva is one of Spain unsung value exemplars (see my post Burgerlicious).
I am disappointed that we did not have time to visit Bretón’s old-vine Garnacha vineyard. I have already mentioned that Bretón’s Pagos del Camino raised a few eyebrows at our meal at Echuarren last night. The wine is 100% Garnacha, a rarity in Rioja, and takes its name from a small parcel of 100-year-old vines that happens to lie along one of the main routes of the Camino de Santiago, a series of pilgrimage routes that has for centuries led the way to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, legendary home of the remains of Saint James the Apostle.
Even if I could afford to, I am not sure I would want to drink this wine every day. It’s a bruiser, high in alcohol, atypically Riojano. (It’s also made in limited quantities, 3,000 bottles a year). But I am somewhat obsessed with it nevertheless, for its story, origins, and odd ball status: century-old vines along a medieval pilgrimage route in Rioja Alta employed in the service of a highly extracted wine aged in French oak, using a single grape variety rarely bottled on its own and more often associated with Rioja Baja. (It’s also interesting to note its first vintage was released while Miguel Angel de Gregorio was winemaker here, before he went on to found Allende).
When I ordered a bottle from our sommelier at Echuarren, Felix Paniego (Francis’ brother), he gave me a worried look, wanted to make sure I knew what I was getting into, and suggested we serve it at the end, with the meat course. When we finally got to it, the nose was recognizably Grenache, fragrant red fruit and a little earth. It didn’t have that cooked, slightly burnt fruit aroma you find in a lot of lesser Grenache from warmer climates. But it had something else, something I couldn’t really place: tar, black licorice, some kind of faded flower/vegetal scent. Opaque, dark purple, and lush in the mouth, drinking it was hedonistic rush. An entire bottle might drop kick me into schnockerville, but it would sure go down nice on the way there.
I looked across the table at Jason Smith and his head was tilted slightly to one side as he tasted the same wine. Sommeliers are a notoriously finicky bunch when it comes to new wave wines, and Smith is no exception.
“That’s a really interesting wine,” he said.