What Wines from Georgia is all about..

Wines !winelover olive
Yes, that’s it.
.. and I mean it
.. it’s all about Wines !!

I could stop here and say no more.
To be honest, is not easy put down in words my memories about Wines of Georgia, feels difficult as explain why one loves wines. I could list so many reasons why, but it would  never be enough. On the other hand, is not fair keep it quiet.

Is not really difficult find a wine maker highly passionate for their wines, even more easier a stagy proud one. That’s not my point. That said, mind how many of them tried to convince you that their wines are the best you ever tasted. You can tell they can’t wait for a compliment , they want you to like their wines (..and pay ridiculous amount of money for them, of course). That’s not a Gerogian wine style of wine tasting.

Georgia dinner table

What I found in The Republic of Georgia was people that loves wines. They love wines so much that all they want is you to be happy enjoying a glass of wine. Vanity is put aside, the star is the wine itself. And that, I can tell you, is a rare thing bear witness. Georgian wine makers showed their wines as a superb tool to light your senses up and feed your soul. The point of winemaking here is to make people feel good. That’s why, I believe, food, family and friends  are inseparable on the table along with their wines and traditions.

Wine lovers knows is not about the alcohol.. is not about intoxication. What the point in fluster your mind when you lusciously feed you soul..?? Wine is to be shared with those you care. Perhaps that is the core of it all. Put on top of it the high quality of their wines and their huge yummy factor..


I walked in Tblisi (the main and biggest city in the Country) and could not believe my eyes, Vines everywhere. Every corner of my eyes spotted a grapevine as I was in a winelover-fair-tale. Restored buildings, beautiful monuments, old much-more-than-very-old streets and colourful windows welcome you in spite of the cold breeze.

wines from Georgia

I can tell you this.. there is no way I stop thinking about that place, that people, their wines.

I’ll post more practical info/details about the Wines of Georgia soon (at least that’s the plan..).


Memories Distortions, Luxury Behavior.. and Wines, of course :-)

You don’t need a PhD to know that memory changes when time past. What is less known is that as the memory fades it becomes more vulnerable.


“We store ours experiences as fragments and when you recollect those experiences what you try to do is to reconstruct a history around the fragments.” Every time you think twice you risk altering the memory even further. “When you remember something you change the biochemistry of the memory that you originally had. And, because of that, it becomes vulnerable to alterations.” Ultimately, after a few rewired pathways in our brains, we believe the alterations to be true and what details are you sure to be real.

(Dr Elizabeth Loftus studied human ability of memory distortion)

I heard that and thought it is great!
Most people would say this is a bad thing because you loss accuracy and what you tell based on your own memory is not the “real truth”. Yes, I do know there is not such thing as unreal truth.. so, please don’t fill my inbox with grammar-reparations-demands 🙂
I’m not writing about Law nor any sort of witness-thing. I’m writing about wines, and for that matters memory distortion is great.

fine winesPeople these days have access to everything.
You can buy more and more if you have the money to buy it. But what they can’t really buy is our memories and experiencies. And that’s why people nowadays are curating their lives, collecting very selective elements in their lives. That’s what we should been experiencing, that’s what we should take away and that’s how they choose their wines.
Puur luxury behavior..
..is not almost but a bit quite 🙂

I know wine experts that have hidden love affairs with cheap wines. They have this emotional strings with some wines that bring back lovely memories. They had tried the most expensive, famous, fine wines you can imagine.. and even so, they go back to THAT one with a special meaning. Who on Earth would dare to say THAT wine is not the best in the World..?? One should never be ashamed to drink any kind of wine, just because is not famous enough.. or not expensive enough ..or good enough ..or unknown to others. The wine you like is what you should drink, nothing less than this. Why bother have something you won’t enjoy drink..??

Enjoy a glass of wine is a Hedonistic experience, a choice to delight your senses, enliven your mind and hearten your soul.
All factors matter: the place, your mood, who you are with, the food you eat with, the weather and (why not?) the price of the wine. All that, and a few others, combined will  affect the way we all feel the wine we taste in the glass.

When you go travel to a wine country and fell in love with the wines you tasted there, you bring back some with you, don’t you? Back home, few months (..weeks? ..days?! OMG..years?!!) latter you try it again and sometime you have that feeling it was a bit different. Is the wine corked? ..ruined? ..not good enough any more? ..or did the wine not survive the transatlantic flight shaking in your luggage? Yes, these things could happen to any #winelover. May we look at this for another angle..??

Imagine yourself in a beautiful wine country landscape, relaxing, with no kids shouting out loud, in a nice placed chair with a gorgeous glass of wine. Got it..?? Even if the glass is not hosting the best wine in this world, it will taste like it was indeed the best on Earth.

When you open the same bottle in completely different atmosphere, not as nice as the original one, the wine doesn’t always delivery what is expected from it. All the influential factors are gone, the wine is naked in your glass.  Whether is a great wine you will be fine rather disappointed if it was a not-so-good-one.

Now put your self back home, after a long day of kids running around with play mates, noisy child-ish music.. then cleaning, laundry, ironing and cooking to welcome dear husband tired from a bad day at work.
Well ..after the house is quiet and silence settle, you will have the most yummy wine ever tasted by a woman! ..and probably the best mouth full you had in week! It’s wine o’clock for you now. Who cares how much that bottle cost? That’s the time I open my dear wines, on my enjoy-the-moment-time, at my me-time of the day.

Don’t you be afraid to open THAT bottle you keep saving for a special occasion. YOU can proudly be the special occasion for a fine wine. Who are you saving that bottle to impress? Is not worth it.. trust me on that.
Wine is not your best choice to impress anyone.
Wine is you best choice to make someone feel special, happy and loved ..even if this one is you and nobody else.

Be happy is a political decision..
..we shall learn how to curate our lives.


EWBC 2012 in Turkey.. really!?


#EWBC auditorium (photo by Andre Ribeirinho, http://www.Adegga.com)

This week an interesting phenomena could be seen in Social Media, some sort of Wine Bloggers Convergence towards one specific place on Europe. Well, kind of…
Look like a bunch of creatures from the four corners of the Globe with bottles of wine in their luggage and all sort of electronics gadgets. They populate Social Media with smiling faces on their way to four days involving, long flights and lack of sleep. Not to mention all the wines most wine geeks never heard about.


Bloggers are always thinking out of their bubble

I’m talking about the EWBC that stands for European Wine Blogger Conference, but is much more than this. No, is not a wine trade fair although it can somehow formants business. No, is not European only because 40 nationalities are present there. No, is not just about wine as food is a key component. No, is not really a Conference itself with its Pre-Trips and Pos-Trips. Is something else!
It started four or five years ago (this is my version of it, you can find the “official” version on EWBC website) when a few wine geeks/bloggers decided get together. Since then a network of winelovers has been built online in a friendly atmosphere, with other informal meetings in between. Good vibe and sense of humor mixed with different cultural backgrounds makes EWBC what it is.

Why would I bother travel half a day to meet people I can talk online? Not to taste another oaked Chardonnay, that’s for sure!
This may show your love for wines and your guts to discovery the roots.


Bloggers – HighTech and Wine

When a winelover goes to Floriade

Have you ever heard about Floriade..??
If you are not in the “Flowers Industry” neither are you Dutch.. You didn’t.. As I didn’t till this Spring. Is a expetacular “Flower Fair” for all senses.

20120907-013113.jpg. Guided by an old friend from Brazil, and a Florist as well, I had a great day,
I loved that place where the madethe Dinner Table a lovely garden. Beautiful and carefully arranged to suits the plates andtheglasses, that tablewas unbelieveble.


Note from the Blogger:
_ I had never been a gardner myself.
To be honest, I lived almost all my life in big urban city apartments.


People come from all over the World to visit Floriade, is very international and very Dutch at the same time. Everyone speaks English and French, but there is no hot meal for lunch. Oh yes, there is cold pizza and tosted bread.. But served cold 😦
When we finaly found a German Hotdog Kiosk, we were dreaming about wines.

Before you ask me.. yes! .. of couse I was sniffing all the flowers looking for “aromas from the wines”..

Televisão de Cachorro

Outro dia eu fiquei namorando do lado de fora uma adega, que nem cachorro em frente de maquina de frango de padaria de chinês. Sabe aquelas que se via em padaria de cidade pequena, que mais parece uma geladeira de bar, com os frangos no espeto rodando?

Pois bem, lá estava eu, como um cachorro magro, hipnotizada com as mãos na parede de vidro e boqui-aberta com as garrafas em display.

Me senti um vira-lata. Um vira-lata de sorte, pra dizer a verdade 🙂

srsrsrrs … me entreti tanto com aquela visao do paraíso que acho que mapeei a vitrine.. srsrsrsr

Havia uma Krug 76 (acho que era 76..) a esquerda no alto

..um Cheval Blanc (98 creio?) bem na minha cara

..um Margaux (2003 ?) a direita

..três Petrus la embaixo

..um Le Pin alí atrás

..e mais uma pá de Champagne Non-Vintage aqui e ali.

Me senti as Portas do tempo do Hedonismo.

Não era cobiça, era desejo de se entregar aos prazeres engarrafados do outro lado do grosso vidro.


Hipnotizada estava eu a ponto de só despertar quando escutei um garotinho perguntar pra mãe:

_Mãe essas garrafas são de chocolate??

Não precisa falar que ela saiu puxando o menino de lado.. srsrrs

..e eu?

..eu vou falar o quê..??  ( suspiros  srsrsrsrs)

strawberries memories

Today was cold.
It’s winter in northern Europe, of course it’s cold.
The steely rain outdoors brings home that Sunday naughty lazy inertia.
Short days bring early nights to our lives.
Yes, of course it does, it’s a winter Sunday afternoon in the Netherlands.

_Bea, do want some tea? ..I ask my daughter.
_Yes yes, can I choose which one?  (She says) ..Mum, I want this one!
It was an infusion of organic roses I got from a friend, with the promise to make me go to sleep earlier.
Yes, I do have friends romantic like this.
That roses tea was completely new to me, but the memories that came out to my mouth were not.
Had I never had rose tea? ..really, didn’t I?
well.. What’s so familiar about it ..?

(Glupt!) One sip wakes up my taste with memories from much-more-than-back-far-away. Strawberries from my childhood!
A smile comes to my face.
That happy memory gladdens my soul.
I realized in a blink that this roses tea tasted as the strawberries from my childhood.  The same one I had found in some wines.
I run to look in my little black book tasting notes of Rosé Wine from Provence.
That’s it!
There it was, described with a childish enthusiasm: strawberries from my childhood, with a long finish and smooth mouth, velvet, elegant.

I go back to the tea and the conversation with my daughter.
I poured some more from the teapot.
Yes, I’m the kind of girl that uses teapot and a proper tea cup and saucer.
Aromas crush up from the cup, and once again takes my mind over.
(Glupt!) In my mouth, the strawberries, the afternoon tea with my grandmother, the breezes in a warm Summer evening in the terras.

There I was, with my daughter having a lovely talk with tea to bound foolish topics up. Reminding me those afternoon tea with grandma, listening to her stories, her outage memories .. and those late night cup of tea with my mother, telling her about my day, my fears and doubts in life.
(Glupt!) one more sip
.. one more smile
.. one more memory sparks to my palate.
I realize that it was my time to share a cup of tea, and talk about our day with my daughter.
I found myself telling her from my deepest memories, lovely afternoon tea with Grandma.
The time seemed had froze, I was proud of me.
After a little while, I was proud of my daughter sitting at that table, having tea with her mother.
What a lovely afternoon tea chat with my little girl, from the top of her six years old.
(Glupt!) a bit more of those strawberries from my childhood, which felt like happiness flowing from the tea pot, came gentile to my mouth.

_Mum, roses tea smells like roses and not strawberries. Don’t you think?
(ClickClack!!) A rational glimpse somehow light on in my mind.
When I was a little girl, in northeastern Brazil, there was no  strawberries.
Or at least, not easily available enough to populate my childhood memories like that.
The pragmatic side of me began to assemble a puzzle of the memories much-more-than-very-old.
I rush upstairs to look for the old tablecloth, which my grandma used to set the table with. Was white linen embroidered with little red strawberries, with a delicacy that no longer exists in the market.
I put it on the table, arranged the tea cups, little tea spoons, cake plates ..
when I heard from my daughter:
_ Mum, now I get it! ..what you said before..
roses tea really taste like summer wild strawberries!

Later at night, when all is quiet and silence, I’ll open a Rose Wine from Provence.
Just to praise the summer strawberries, my childish memories.

You don’t need a PhD to know that memory changes when time past. What is less known is that as the memory fades it becomes more vulnerable.

“We store ours experiences as fragments and when you recollect those experiences what you try to do is to reconstruct a history around the fragments.” Every time you think twice you risk altering the memory even further. “When you remember something you change the biochemistry of the memory that you originally had. And, because of that, it becomes vulnerable to alterations.” Ultimately, after a few rewired pathways in our brains, we believe the alterations to be true and what details are you sure to be real.

(Dr Elizabeth Loftus studied human ability of memory distorsion)

os morangos da minha infancia

Hoje faz frio.
É inverno no norte da Europa, claro que faz frio.
A chuva deu o ar de preguiça que nos deixou em casa.
O dia vira noite cedo.
Sim, claro, é inverno.

_ Filha quer um chá..??
_ Sim quero, posso escolher..?? Quero este aqui ó..

Era uma infusão de rosas orgânicas que ganhei de uma amiga, com a promessa de me fazer dormir mais cedo.
Sim, tenho amigas romanticas a esse ponto.

Aquele chá de rosas era novo para mim, mas as memórias que me vieram a boca não.
Eu nunca havia tomado chá de rosas..?? ..pouco provável.
O que há de tao familiar nele..??
Mais um gole acorda meu paladar, memorias lá-de-muito-mais-que-muito-longe.
Morangos da minha infância!
Um soriso vem ao meu rosto.
Que memoria feliz essa, que alegra minha alma.
Noto com espanto que aquele chá tinha o gosto dos morangos da minha infância.
Coisa que eu já havia encontrado em alguns vinhos.

Fui buscar um caderninho meu de alguma degustação de Roses da Provance.
Lá estava, descrito com alegria: morangos da minha infância, com um longo final quase doce e bem suave, elegante.

Voltei ao chá e à conversa com minha filha.
Sirvo mais um pouco do bule.
Sim, eu sou do tipo que usa bule de chá e xícara com pires.
Um aroma bem fraquinho sobe da xícara e, mais uma vez toma minha alma.
Na boca as lembranças dos moranguinhos, dos chás com minha avó, a brisa da sombra de um mais fim de tarde de verão.

Alí estava eu e minha filha conversando a mesa.
Eu contando dos finais de tarde tomando chà com minha avó, escutando as histórias de sua meninice.. dos chás que tomei com minha mãe, lhe contando meu dia, minha dúvidas.

Mais um gole do chá.. mais um sorriso.. mais memória vindo pelo paladar.
Me dei conta que, agora, alí estava eu ouvindo o dia de minha filha.
Sim, era eu que lhe falava de minha meninice.
Fiquei orgulhosa de mim por um minuto.
Dali a pouco, estava eu orgulhosa de minha filha estar sentada a mesa tomando chá, no fim de tarde com sua mãe, conversando como uma mocinha do alto de seus seis anos.
Mais um pouco daqueles morangos da minha infância, que mais pareciam felicidade caindo de um pote de chá, vieram a minha boca.

_Mãe.. chá de rosas tem cheiro de rosas e não de morangos.
Clack ..Caiu a ficha.
Quando eu era menina, no nordeste do Brasil, não havia morangos.
Ou pelo menos não assim, tão facilmente, para povoar minha memoria de infância.
Meu lado pragmático comecou a montar um quebra-cabeças de lembranças muito-mais-que-muito-antigas.
Fui buscar no fundo de uma gaveta a toalha que minha avó forava a mesa pro chá. Um linho branco com moranguinhos bordados, de uma delicadeza que não existe mais.
Forrei a mesa, arrumei o bule as xícaras..
Foi quando escutei de minha filha:
_ Mãe, agora eu sei do quê falou antes..
.. o chá tem mesmo gosto de moranguinhos.

Mais tarde, a noite, abrirei um Rose de Provance.