We were about to start charter in a couple of days and, wanting to make the most out of our time here, I said sayonara once the clock struck 5pm, climbed down the passerelle and began my exploration of the sun-kissed and history-laden town of Siracusa.

Passing through the tree-laced marina filled with lazing chairs and glasses of Aperol Spritz strewn about, I climbed up a grand but neglected alabaster staircase to reach the 'main' street, calling it such just because cars would periodically drive past and halt the foot traffic.  My aim was to get to Solaria Wine Bar, one of many enotecas here that specialised in Sicilian natural wines.

I know we all have our hang-ups over natural wines.  I remember sipping an evidently mousy sparkling wine from one of the 'cool' kids in Australia with colleagues, all of us loudly extolling its virtues by calling it 'ballsy' and 'rad' when I was secretly gagging internally, both from the rank wine and our collective sycophancy.  But!  The truth is, my love for wines intensified with the discovery of natural wines.  It began with the staunchly biodynamic New Zealander Pyramid Valley, when I was introduced to a magnum rosé of epic disposition.  It was our wine match with a complex dish of kangaroo tartare with nuts from the bunya bunya (an indigenous Australian pine) and purple carrots; a dish, just like this wine, I would sing songs about.  The wine was vinegary but the way good, really good vinegar is - smooth and slightly viscous yet utterly drinkable.  It was red apple skins that has aged, pomegranate that has been crushed, and raspberries picked just a tad early by an eager and greedy child.  Wine, made conventionally, can not taste like that.  No matter the marketing, may it be pictures of straightened rows of vines and old men eating ripe grapes, or sun-drenched ladies-who-lunch in flowing dresses and pouted lips, can compare to the beauty and truth laden in a sip of that wine.

Forgive the lyricism but go on and tell me you haven't experienced this 'awakening', even in other forms.  Examples abound: a real Crema di Gianduja, with light hazelnut oil resting on creamed chocolate, crunchy with toasted nuts versus Nutella; freshly baked sourdough from an unassuming bakery, with a crisp, bubbly crust, still warm and crying for freshly churned butter, versus sliced bleach-white bread and supermarket-brand margarine.  

But I digress...

So yes, I have arrived at Solaria and it oozed enoteca cool.  I mean, there are two old guys sitting in front of me, probably have been there since the furniture was brought it, helping themselves with chilled Cerasuolos and cheese.  The ceiling fan was old and made of wood, with intricate rattan details, lazily rotating and having no effect on the wretched Sicilian heat whatsoever.  To my left, ceiling to floor and wall to wall of Sicilian wines that, coming from West Coast Australia, I can only ever dream of encountering.

The Terrazze dell'Etna 'Ciuri' is Nerello Mascalese vinified as a white.  Came to me cold enough to jolt my tooth nerves and I'm guessing its been uncorked the second day. Unimpressive as it was muted, but nice and dry, with some minerality and indistinct floral notes coming through. Went well with the house cheese and provided some relief from the humid and breezeless night.  

The second wine though... my oh my.  This is Aldo Viola 'Moretto', a blend of Nerello Mascalese, Perricone, and Syrah.  Six euros bargain price, free pour, no messing about here.  This wine was a little meaty on the nose, a smoky sweetness reminiscent of char-siu.  But ripe cherries flooded the glass next, with a little Sicilian alcohol heat tingling the nostrils.  The palate showed dark skins of cherries, crunchy tannins of pomegranate seeds, with a talc-like texture that may just be from the wine's unfined, unfiltered nature.

You can just make out the Nerello fruit but then it eludes you; almost grasp the Syrah characters but it leaves you with something else.  The beauty with every sip, like a chase around the maze, with flavours popping up in every turn - dried red roses, paediatric red medicine which I hated as a child but allures now with a whiff here and there.  It filled my gums, my teeth, my tongue, prolonging the taste by its sensation.  Glorious.

As I sipped that last drop, I longed for another one but my stomach reminded me that a good pizzeria is around the corner.  It will be interesting to do a bit of research of still Sicilian Blanc de Noir over Google, and maybe ask Mama Jancis Robinson (I don't know if she'll find this endearing but I will posit that most somms feel her maternal love when they are studying for exams...) on the properties of the Perricone grape variety.  

Peace out - it was so hot in the Enoteca my cheese was sweating as I paid the bill.   By the way, the last picture is my horde of Sicilian vinos for the discerning owners of the yacht I work on.  Winning!

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