From Michael Ringel
I bought my first bottle of port when Lady Di died. A Sandeman Quinta do Vau 1988 vintage. Not because the Neurosis of England had an accident in Paris, but because I was in Portugal for the first time in August 1997 and wanted to bring back a present from one of the most beautiful cities in the world: Porto. For which bad travel writers invented the words “picturesque” and “picturesque”.
Until then I had only encountered port wine in literature when Butler Jeeves hissed at a cleaner at PG Wodehouse because she was dusting the port bottles in the cellar. A real crime! Port must rest under a thick layer of dust! And traditional port wine has a similarly dusty character. It is the drink of the British upper class, as a dessert wine after a multi-course meal, best with cheese, mainly Blue Stilton, which is always served by a butler, at least with Wodehouse: “Blizzard was from the fine old school of butlers. His demeanor seemed as if he hadn't let a day go by without a glass of port in fifteen years. He exuded port and a googly-eyed dignity.”
Porto is the backdrop of a perfect idyll – the labyrinthine streets of the old town; the “barcos rabelos” lashed to the quay with their wooden barrels on board in which wine from the Douro Valley used to be shipped; and the 19th-century steel bridge Ponte Dom Luís I overlooking the river, which symbolizes its contradiction like no other symbol of the city: you have to leave Porto to find its dark heart where ruby blood flows. It means outside, on the other bank of the Douro in the sister town of Vila Nova de Gaia, where the bodegas of the large port wine houses are located.
One of the largest wineries belongs to Sandeman. If you're looking for the cool goosebumps that only a 200-year-old gothic novel can give you in the southern heat, you should take a guided tour through the dimly lit cellar corridors, which are equipped with huge barrels, at the end of which is the “1790 Room”. The year of founding. The room with the secret of Sandeman. The guide through the underworld doesn't want to reveal this, even though it's obvious. It's: time.
The pleasant horror is intensified by the fact that the guide is dressed as “Don”, the famous advertising character that the Scottish graphic artist George Massiot Brown designed in the 1920s: a Zorro-like figure with a hat and long coat, the Caballero hat for the Spanish , the black student cape represents the Portuguese parts of the company.
At least the “Don” explains the four basic types of port wine: the young, fresh and inexpensive “Ruby”; the “White” made from light grapes; the “Tawny”, which is always mixed to the same taste by the cellar master using the solera principle; and the expensive “vintage” wines from a single vintage that was so good that no refreshing from other barrels was necessary. This used to only happen every few years in the fall, but for commercial reasons there are more and more vintages every day. I mastered my very first one for a fabulously expensive 30 D-Marks, which the Australian yacht owner behind me at the checkout only smiled wearily when he let the credit card ring at $3,000. For six bottles.
Simply serving the wealthy and elderly clientele is no longer enough today. They are also trying to open up other market segments. Sandeman has now also created something new: “Sandeman Beat”. A white and rosé wine for cocktails. And “Portonian.” Port with tonic! In cans! Mixed ready! Sacrilege! Sacrilege! Outrage the faithful disciples of the pure grape doctrine.
Even the name “Beat” is cute. If modernization is going to happen, then ideally a 70-year-old youth movement is what the sutlers in Porto apparently thought. Because “Beat” in the flowered vessel is supposed to be linked to the time of the beatniks in the 1950s. The dream is to gain a foothold on the American market with a smart “cult drink”, as the German company Jägermeister surprisingly managed to do with its sticky cheap liqueur. For this to happen, however, “Portonic” would have to become a popular aperitif in the afternoon in, for example, the beat poet Jack Kerouac’s favorite bar, the wonderful Café Vesuvio in San Francisco, which still exists today. Which is rather unlikely. Not even a cool advertising slogan that I provide here would help: “More than iconic – Sandeman Portonic”.
And with that the bubble of the American dream bursts. Because port is not an aperitif and is not for the Sprizz generation, who are always having picnics on the beach, as the advertising promises, and who they want to bug with the new product “Beat”. Or as Evelyn Waugh put it precisely: “Port is not for the very young, parents and active, it serves the comfort of old age and is the companion of the learned and philosopher.”
Port wine bottles have to sit in the cellar for an eternity under a thick layer of dust
All the big houses like Taylor, Kopke or Niepoort have enough in their portfolio not only for mature connoisseurs, but also for young connoisseurs. The “Old Tawnys”, for example, are suitable for the Christmas feast and are offered in four maturity levels of 10, 20, 30 and 40 years. The best treat for the celebration is the “Old Tawny 20 Years”, which dances through the harmoniously designed taste salon of the palate and tongue like an all-round self-confident lady with soft charm. After the first sip, Simon Raven's dictum against greedy guests immediately comes to mind: “Please don't pass around the port wine too freely.”
Value and quality match. Spending 60 to 70 euros for a “20 Years” is really worth it. You should always buy two bottles. One for the menu, one for the cellar. The Greenhorn mistake must not be repeated again with the very first Vintage from 1997. I'll probably never know what it tastes like. Buying a bottle again wouldn't be the same, even if it now costs 75 euros and after almost 30 years its value has increased fivefold.
But that's not the point. Port means collecting, and collecting means ordering the world – at least part of the history that has congealed in a ruby red drop. The most important thing is not to become quirky like a Wodehouse character and “feed your parrot port-soaked grain biscuits”. Cheerio! And have a nice celebration!
