A Little History Lesson of Tokay

Last post I ended it with my visit to Tokaj Nobilis, headed by the pragmatic yet pioneering Sarolta Bardos.

As I thanked her for graciously hosting us in this god-awful weather, I was reminded by what Gergely was telling us throughout the trip. This pragmatism, this resourcefulness, inherent it may be in the Hungarian psyche, was really brought to the forefront, at least in its winemaking history, after communism’s hold.

Gergely spoke of how Hungary was cut up and dissected, from a military might to a land-locked country whose lands were pawned off at the outset of the First World War. Two-thirds of its territory was lost, one-third of its population now a different nationality - the region of Tokaj even lost two villages to what is now Slovakia. He spoke of how communism in the 50s transformed the landscape of wine - where land and vines became commodity, where the best terroirs are now forgotten, waiting to be rediscovered, because the communist system prefered the flatlands where harvesting was easy, and where wines can be mass produced. The reputation of Tokaji wines plummeted, and heavy oxidation was the norm to mask the wine faults inherent in badly grown and badly made wines.

A New Image for the ‘Wines of Kings’?

Even though Hungary can now march onto the future free of the restrictions of communism, there is much to catch up on. This comes at a time where the popularity of sweet wines have fallen, a time where vineyards and lands need to be redefined - there is much work to be done to remind wine connoiseurs around the world the beauty of the ‘wine of kings’, and the potential of their experimentations. Producers like Sarolta Bardos, Kiralyudvar and Barta began to focus on dry styles of wines, eventually finding ground in making sparkling wines as well. And yes, the world is still to solidly give it good credence, but these dry wines, these sparkling wines, are solid. Winelists from some of the best restaurants in Melbourne (Attica), Barcelona (Disfrutar) and Hong Kong (Amber) have listed Furmint in their dry section, and sommeliers are eager to show the potential of these great wines. As much as the gig is about sales, I tell you, us somms, we sell what we like. Even if we’re scared the wine’s not gonna move, we put it on the list anyway because we like it, and we want you to like it. The fact that it’s in some of the best lists in the world show that we’ve found a bargain that’s worth every cent and more. And as much as it hurts to see you one day drive up the price, we want you to know it, to taste what we taste, to see before your eyes what we see - wine of place, of history, of straight up hard work, imagination and faith.

Home-schooled and Home-styled

As these thoughts rumble through my head in the car, we arrived at our last stop, at Abraham, in Erdobenye. We got out of the car and walked into a backyard shed, and amidst the fallen branches, a barrel being reworked, we found Robert Peter. He was in the middle of pumping over his wines, and the yeasty, heady smell of fermentation filled the air. The introduction were nods and smiles as he held onto the large hose spraying must all over the cap - a true to the core garagiste winery. I liked him already.

We settled into his wine room, which, really, is his living room occupied by a friendly cat that needed petting, and he proceeded to show us his wines. A quick introduction from Gergely - he was a philosophy student who got enamoured by wine, and decided to produce his own. Robert spoke of his wines, but more that anything, the idea behind his wines. The philosopher in him amalgated with his winemaker persona, and he explained his concept with rhetorical questions, brimmed with ideals of self-expression and liberation from the constructs of what wine should or shouldn’t be. I was enamoured, not only because of his romantic notion of winemaking, but also because he was genuine, and his love for his work was infectious.

As we tried bottle after bottle, the conversation became more organic - he started asking about us, our background, our histories. I related to him my background in wine, and maybe he sensed my growing lack of direction, maybe he didn’t, but his questions became more and more insightful. There I was, tipsy by his heady wines, I became pliable to his questioning, making me dig deeper, and deeper, for answers. He stoke the flames that love is never lost, that passion is never idle, and that this one big game we call life is lived not for others, but for ourselves. His wines are made for him - he must love them first, or else it shouldn’t exist.

The drive home was quiet. James was at the backseat, dosing off; Gergely, whom, mid-way through the tour developed a worsening sore throat - drove silently; and me, my head brimming with thoughts so vast and varying, I was rendered in a speechless stump until the next morning. As Gergely pulled over in front of our hotel, I thanked him profusely for such an incredible and insightful experience, but what he didn’t know was the tour of his hometown lit a fire in me that has kick-started a lot of things in my life. This blog was one of them; my pursuit of the CMS exams, another. Every time I’m afraid of failure, Tokaj reminded me that there is no such thing - that there is only momentum, or better yet, an ebb and flow, of our life’s trajectory.

**Blog posts are not necessarily in chronological order, and is based on travel notes and fond memories.