We agreed last night on having breakfast at 9 (which was a bit of a surprise. I hadn't remembered breakfast as part of the room, so we had bought pastels de natas. We just had them for dessert instead). I assumed I'd be up by 8, but the curtains blocked out the sun and it was five to nine when Alisa asked if we should be getting up.
We threw on some sweaters and headed over. Leaving the house, the valley was immediately upon us. We could see the verdant hills before us, sculpted into terraces of vines as far as the eye could see. What was hilly at night was dazzling in the sun.
Across the patio, into a dining area decorated with iron and old pots and pans and a giant fire area, we made our way to breakfast.
Oh, and the spread on the table. Words can't describe and we dove into it before taking a picture.
The first morning had three kinds of rolls and then slices of bread. To accompany them, a quince marmalade, two homemade jams (fig and pear), cheeses, and deli meat. Additionally, fresh squeezed orange juice, some cereal and yogurt, and coffee for the others.
We rolled out at like 10, and I asked a woman whom I'm assuming is Caesar's daughter to call Quinta de la Rosa to book a tour.
After some running around to get the phone, then some back and forth with the other quinta, we got a tour even though there was a conference or something going on. Given that it was 15 miles down the valley, we all just left without showers.
The river led us to and through the town of Pinhão, over a bitty bridge, and up the next hillside.
Quinta de la Rosa was much slicker than Morrocos. They completely produced their ports and wines in the valley, instead of shipping their grapes into Porto to a company that ages and stores them like smaller vineyards.
We walk in to ask for our town, and a young man greets us. He says his English isn't good; when we respond back with our weakness in Portuguese, he says he's actually French!
This Frenchman takes us through the process of production. The granite pits for grape stomping (yes, it is still done, and it makes a difference!), the steel tanks for the initial fermentation, then the barrels for the non-vintage ports.
After a full day of learning about ports, I'm still shaking on some of the differences. Ruby ports are younger - they are bottle-aged, if anything, not barrel-aged. They have more black fruit notes. Tawny ports are barrel-aged - what I expected all ports to be. Those are barrel-aged, and the year on them is an average. Some earlier aged grapes and some later aged grapes might turn into a 10 year port. Nothing about the bottle changes those, so drink whenever.
Then there are vintages. After the first round of fermenting, for a few days, a vintner can sample and see if he wants to request a vintage from the controlling board. They taste it and confirm or deny. A vintner can also hold off for a bit, letting the process continue and getting a late bottle vintage out of the grapes through the same process. I can't remember how vintages are aged, but I think it is in the bottle.
Then there's white port, which can be whatever the quinta wants to do with that one for all I know.
What I do know is that tawnys normally taste like cough syrup to me and rubies are better. However, I would also always prefer a glass of wine to a glass of port. Maybe a sip, but a glass is too much. The tasting pours were often too much for me; as I was driving, I enabled Alisa to learn and relish ports by dumping my extra into her glass.
We actually started with wine at de la Rosa, but it was my first experience with these grapes, and my palate hadn't warmed up to the roundness and subtely of them yet. It was no Pinot, that's for sure!
A rose, two red wines, then one each of a white, ruby, and tawny port and our taste buds were starting to learn.
We asked for suggestions of the next winery (well, "port"ery) to try and were directed to Quinta de Pégo.
We circled back through Pinhão, then found Pégo. It was up a few switchbacks, then into an in-hill parking garage. We walked down past cleanly groomed yards outside modern wood walls, which looked like individual suites that could be rented.
We poked our heads into the reception area, then the kitchen and found a staff member who took us down to the tasting room.
Pégo was owned by a Dane who built up the hotel side of the business as it was getting off the ground. They were only a few years old, but the sommelier-esque woman was incredibly knowledgeable.
She gave us a try of their wine (growing more accustomed to the taste, but still missing the bite, the pepper I get in other wines) as well as a ruby port. I'm pretty sure I bought some, as the trend would start to become.
She warned us as we were leaving that many of the places close from 1-2:30 for lunch. We were getting a bit munchy, so we drove into town to see if there was a place that looked better and easier than our cold pizza.
The ease couldn't be beat, so we carried that and the final three pastel de natas from Lisbon up some steps to eat on the street. The train station had some great blue and white painted tile scenes that winked at us as we ate.
We were going to dawdle a bit, but the threat of getting double parked in forced us out. Given that I could only taste so much per hour, and we'd had lunch in the interim, I decided to just pull into the next Quinta down the road.
Sandeman is a corporate giant, but their logo is so good. It's a silhouette caped figure with a hat - and a glass of red (port, probably). We didn't want a tour - we knew we'd be walking through the vineyards on our next stop anyhow.
It was going to be a quick stop. But then the tastings were very generous pours. And the sweetness was starting to catch up with us as we were reclining in easy chairs overlooking the valley.
So we dawdled and talked. Alisa took some ridiculous picture of Alex as I was in the bathroom "so big you could have a cocktail party", so I came out to some uncontrollable giggling.
And surprise! We bought more bottles. We left Quinta de Seixo (the name of the Sandeman property) down the long slithers of switchbacks. If you weren't sober at the top, the long way down gave you some extra time. (Of course I was fine to drive, but just sayin'.)
Quinta de Panascal was recommended by Rick and by de la Rosa. It was up a delightful little side valley with its own feed into the Douro River.
It was so fragrant stepping out of the car, parked in front of a stone wall with spring just bursting over its tiers. We walked up the steps, identifying some roses then just admiring the nameless, floral bouquet.
Panascal had an audio tour, so we plugged in our headphones that we acquired from the proprietor and we were off, trailing a couple with a one-year-old in a front pack.
The narration was done by a "vaguely bored Snape," by Alisa's judgement. It was well-timed with the walk along the terraces, and gave lots of details about how port is made and what exactly it must be for different DOC specifications.
We eventually caught up and passed the couple, after offering to take their picture.
At the final stop, we all began to chat. Originally from Israel, they work in the hotel industry in Germany, but are thinking of moving to the US. "Must be warm though!" We gave suggestions like Austin, Atlanta, Charleston, and DC. Mostly, they were excited to talk. Apparently, no one just chitchats in Germany.
In the tasting room, we sampled three different ports. All of them were topnotch - end of day? Or best producer? Perhaps both!
They also had an olive oil. Alisa was basically drinking that too.
We got to hang out with little Leah as her parents alternated tasting their port and chasing her around.
We had reserved a dinner at 7 back at Morrocos, and we were going to have a bit of a break inbetween to unload all our purchases into the living room for a puzzle of a packing adventure tomorrow morning.
Caesar and his daughter didn't get the same memo; he thought we were coming at 6pm to do the tour and tasting with him, then dinner after. We postponed it for the morning as well.
Dinner was in the same lovely area as breakfast, and was just as lovely. Katerina, Caesar's daughter, had placed our more jams (sloe and pumpkin squash), rolls, and cheese, and these delicious little sausages. Then we had a creamy vegetable soup. The mains were a mushroom omelette for Alex and fish (cod, perhaps), for Alisa and I, with roasted potatoes just covered in olive oil and crisped up.
We threw on some sweaters and headed over. Leaving the house, the valley was immediately upon us. We could see the verdant hills before us, sculpted into terraces of vines as far as the eye could see. What was hilly at night was dazzling in the sun.
Across the patio, into a dining area decorated with iron and old pots and pans and a giant fire area, we made our way to breakfast.
Oh, and the spread on the table. Words can't describe and we dove into it before taking a picture.
The first morning had three kinds of rolls and then slices of bread. To accompany them, a quince marmalade, two homemade jams (fig and pear), cheeses, and deli meat. Additionally, fresh squeezed orange juice, some cereal and yogurt, and coffee for the others.
We rolled out at like 10, and I asked a woman whom I'm assuming is Caesar's daughter to call Quinta de la Rosa to book a tour.
After some running around to get the phone, then some back and forth with the other quinta, we got a tour even though there was a conference or something going on. Given that it was 15 miles down the valley, we all just left without showers.
The river led us to and through the town of Pinhão, over a bitty bridge, and up the next hillside.
We walk in to ask for our town, and a young man greets us. He says his English isn't good; when we respond back with our weakness in Portuguese, he says he's actually French!
This Frenchman takes us through the process of production. The granite pits for grape stomping (yes, it is still done, and it makes a difference!), the steel tanks for the initial fermentation, then the barrels for the non-vintage ports.
After a full day of learning about ports, I'm still shaking on some of the differences. Ruby ports are younger - they are bottle-aged, if anything, not barrel-aged. They have more black fruit notes. Tawny ports are barrel-aged - what I expected all ports to be. Those are barrel-aged, and the year on them is an average. Some earlier aged grapes and some later aged grapes might turn into a 10 year port. Nothing about the bottle changes those, so drink whenever.
Then there are vintages. After the first round of fermenting, for a few days, a vintner can sample and see if he wants to request a vintage from the controlling board. They taste it and confirm or deny. A vintner can also hold off for a bit, letting the process continue and getting a late bottle vintage out of the grapes through the same process. I can't remember how vintages are aged, but I think it is in the bottle.
Then there's white port, which can be whatever the quinta wants to do with that one for all I know.
What I do know is that tawnys normally taste like cough syrup to me and rubies are better. However, I would also always prefer a glass of wine to a glass of port. Maybe a sip, but a glass is too much. The tasting pours were often too much for me; as I was driving, I enabled Alisa to learn and relish ports by dumping my extra into her glass.
We actually started with wine at de la Rosa, but it was my first experience with these grapes, and my palate hadn't warmed up to the roundness and subtely of them yet. It was no Pinot, that's for sure!
A rose, two red wines, then one each of a white, ruby, and tawny port and our taste buds were starting to learn.
We asked for suggestions of the next winery (well, "port"ery) to try and were directed to Quinta de Pégo.
We circled back through Pinhão, then found Pégo. It was up a few switchbacks, then into an in-hill parking garage. We walked down past cleanly groomed yards outside modern wood walls, which looked like individual suites that could be rented.
We poked our heads into the reception area, then the kitchen and found a staff member who took us down to the tasting room.
Pégo was owned by a Dane who built up the hotel side of the business as it was getting off the ground. They were only a few years old, but the sommelier-esque woman was incredibly knowledgeable.
She gave us a try of their wine (growing more accustomed to the taste, but still missing the bite, the pepper I get in other wines) as well as a ruby port. I'm pretty sure I bought some, as the trend would start to become.
She warned us as we were leaving that many of the places close from 1-2:30 for lunch. We were getting a bit munchy, so we drove into town to see if there was a place that looked better and easier than our cold pizza.
The ease couldn't be beat, so we carried that and the final three pastel de natas from Lisbon up some steps to eat on the street. The train station had some great blue and white painted tile scenes that winked at us as we ate.
We were going to dawdle a bit, but the threat of getting double parked in forced us out. Given that I could only taste so much per hour, and we'd had lunch in the interim, I decided to just pull into the next Quinta down the road.
Sandeman is a corporate giant, but their logo is so good. It's a silhouette caped figure with a hat - and a glass of red (port, probably). We didn't want a tour - we knew we'd be walking through the vineyards on our next stop anyhow.
It was going to be a quick stop. But then the tastings were very generous pours. And the sweetness was starting to catch up with us as we were reclining in easy chairs overlooking the valley.
So we dawdled and talked. Alisa took some ridiculous picture of Alex as I was in the bathroom "so big you could have a cocktail party", so I came out to some uncontrollable giggling.
And surprise! We bought more bottles. We left Quinta de Seixo (the name of the Sandeman property) down the long slithers of switchbacks. If you weren't sober at the top, the long way down gave you some extra time. (Of course I was fine to drive, but just sayin'.)
Quinta de Panascal was recommended by Rick and by de la Rosa. It was up a delightful little side valley with its own feed into the Douro River.
It was so fragrant stepping out of the car, parked in front of a stone wall with spring just bursting over its tiers. We walked up the steps, identifying some roses then just admiring the nameless, floral bouquet.
Panascal had an audio tour, so we plugged in our headphones that we acquired from the proprietor and we were off, trailing a couple with a one-year-old in a front pack.
The narration was done by a "vaguely bored Snape," by Alisa's judgement. It was well-timed with the walk along the terraces, and gave lots of details about how port is made and what exactly it must be for different DOC specifications.
We eventually caught up and passed the couple, after offering to take their picture.
At the final stop, we all began to chat. Originally from Israel, they work in the hotel industry in Germany, but are thinking of moving to the US. "Must be warm though!" We gave suggestions like Austin, Atlanta, Charleston, and DC. Mostly, they were excited to talk. Apparently, no one just chitchats in Germany.
In the tasting room, we sampled three different ports. All of them were topnotch - end of day? Or best producer? Perhaps both!
They also had an olive oil. Alisa was basically drinking that too.
We got to hang out with little Leah as her parents alternated tasting their port and chasing her around.
We had reserved a dinner at 7 back at Morrocos, and we were going to have a bit of a break inbetween to unload all our purchases into the living room for a puzzle of a packing adventure tomorrow morning.
Caesar and his daughter didn't get the same memo; he thought we were coming at 6pm to do the tour and tasting with him, then dinner after. We postponed it for the morning as well.
Dinner was in the same lovely area as breakfast, and was just as lovely. Katerina, Caesar's daughter, had placed our more jams (sloe and pumpkin squash), rolls, and cheese, and these delicious little sausages. Then we had a creamy vegetable soup. The mains were a mushroom omelette for Alex and fish (cod, perhaps), for Alisa and I, with roasted potatoes just covered in olive oil and crisped up.
Caesar had come in at the beginning to raise a glass with us, and he was almost settling in for a good long conversation with Katerina pushed him out. (She clearly knows what her father is like - loves a good chat!)
The amusing thing was during our second (or maybe third, I lost track) course, we engaged her in conversation, and she also the gift of gab. Her stories were fun, talking about her college years with her husband and her education as well.
We finished dinner with a chocolate cake with a final port. This was a ruby, and I essentially took a sip and a bite simultaneously so the sweetness and moisture of the port could infiltrate the cake. Alisa and Alex were both up to the gills in port, so they left a lot untouched in that final course.
When Caesar came back, as we were letting ourselves digest a bit before the "grueling" twenty-foot walk back to our little cottage, we asked for another bottle for a post-dinner beverage, and we got the slightly sketchy unlabeled white (that was our second option for dinner if we didn't want the red).
After a day of drinking, that one didn't get quite finished. It was a decent accompaniment to our final three pastel de natas (which of course we ate - it had been like an hour since we finished dinner!) We did some expenses, did some Facebooking and IMing, and then chatted until I fell asleep on the couch.
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