Despite being humiliated at the last wine tasting effort, or perhaps because of it, I was determined to get back on the horse and go and find some vinyards. This time I was bringing not one but two wing men. One older and wiser, Rick, and one young and impressionable, Zach. This I felt would either keep me out of trouble and lend a guiding hand or will show me to be a caring father to the French whose children are presumably indoctrinated to the world of wine when on the bottle of the baby kind. After scanning the google and relying on recommendations from Rick’s landlady we lined up a couple of vintners to see. Reservations not required. We were just going to roll up.
GPS set we left in search of Domaine Ruffinatto. The fact that their website did not have their exact address and that the Holy Grail is better sign posted should have warned us of a potentially frosty reception. After a few wrong turns we managed to find the place and pulled in. As our research had suggested this is a no fanfare vineyard which was exactly what I was looking for. Tractors in the yard, bits and pieces lying around and at least four barking dogs tied up at various places. No doubt guarding the vintners secrets.
As we pulled up, a wife beater wearing man in his late 70’s, to be generous, came up to us and in what I assume to be French seemed fairly pleased to see us. Arthritic hand outstretched he enthusiastically welcomed us to his vineyard. After sufficient smiling and nodding we managed to convey that we would love to taste his wine. Biensur he replied and took us to a small table outside the farmhouse kitchen. This was fantastic. Authentic, geniune. A real experience. Oh how I had no idea what was coming.
He seemed to ask if we were from a restaurant, should have given us a warning, no we replied. He disappeared and out came his wife to take over. She said lots to us but little made much sense. She gave us our first wine to taste and kept talking pleasantly. Her son usually did the tastings apparently but he was very busy. Just then a young women arrived and without missing a beat the lady of the house explained the women was here to do her hair. The wine business must be going well when one’s hairdresser makes house calls! The husband was now back in. Out came another four bottles or varying colors and tastes and all very good. Rick became great friends with the red. Thinking that I should ask a question I attempted to find out what grapes the wine was made of. Clearly I did a poor job of this because the answer that came back took me on a journey through his family tree and how he was from Spain but his wife from Italy, or the other way round.
All was going well. Zach was being introduced to his first grapes and Rick and I were settling in. After a while it became evident that we were not going to get out of here without buying couple of bottles so Rick stepped up. We are asked if we could buy some and our landlord enthusiastically stood to attention with pen and paper at the ready. Rick listed out his two bottles and then everything went black. The air went cold, the clouds blackened and the wind picked up. I promise you have never been cussed out until you have had a few choice words from a disapproving Provençal / Spanish / Italian vintner. Two bottles was clearly not enough. In and out of the house he stormed coming back each time more heated than the last. He delivered the bottles with force and the tyraid continued. I felt the blood vanish from my face and my palms go cold. If it came down to it, Zach was on his own.
The benefits of having a wingman is that they compensate for your shortfallings. Rick had spent his life in the Navy dodging bullets and looking after the Queen. A disgruntled wine grower was apparently nothing to be alarmed about. In Fringlish, that is only ever spoken after a few glasses of wine, Rick calmly pointed out that we would have loved to buy more wine but we were leaving on a plane and couldn’t take any more with us. Like the parting of the Red Sea, the winds calmed, the clouds parted and the warming sun reappeared. This was apparently absolutely understandable. We got up, Rick called into the kitchen to bid the wife (who was by now laidned down with curlers) farewell and we all parted as best of friends.
As Tom Cruise reminds us, never leave your wingman.