Memories of an Aftertaste - Contest #StorieDiVino

by WineAtWine
Wine at Wine Editorial Team

Memories of an Aftertaste - Contest #StorieDiVino

It had been an evening like so many others. New and regular customers taking turns until closing time, nothing new. I rest in this wine bar in Rome for a year now; it's a nice place, people are calm, there's good music. I rest and I wait. I wait for the moment of the long journey to come, the hour when my destiny will be fulfilled. I was born for this: to bring joy and satisfaction to whoever will drink me. Preferably a woman! Since my birth I have been dreaming of her. A magnificent woman who can best grasp my peculiarities and feel in paradise after drinking me. I would never want her to forget me, carrying forever the memory of the last sip, the memory of my aftertaste. It is for this reason that I now find myself recalling my story. I have finally found her. Or rather, it is she who has found me. Among so many wines she chose me. Alessia, that is her name, arrived just before closing, sad, stunning and in love; in her hand she clutched a poem from someone who had made her suffer, but whom she, certain, considered the man of her life. She wanted a full-bodied, elegant red wine, tied to the territory and that would remind her of her land: Abruzzo. And now I am here, in the glass. She has already looked at me, caught my nuances, then smelled me, while reading the first verses of the poem; her face lit up, I am sure she liked me. Now I wait for the long-awaited moment to arrive. And, while she finishes reading the poem dedicated to her, I recall my life.

I am the son of a great grape variety: Montepulciano d'Abruzzo. The vines from which I come have aged well; after forty years they still produce exquisite, healthy grapes suitable for creating wines of considerable depth. From the hills of Ortona, my hometown, you can see the sea to the east and the mountains to the west; the Adriatic and the Maiella, the Mother mountain of the Abruzzesi. The people who tended and harvested the grapes from which I was born are simple, but true and genuine people, the kind who never give up and love their land. I am the son of a great vintage. My first memory is the voices of my parents, the family of winemakers who brought me into the world. The harvest has always been a celebration for them. The joy and passion for their work are hallmarks of their character. I remember their joyful faces on late September evenings, when the Ortona area is pervaded by the scent of must and the crisp end-of-summer air intoxicates the spirit. My parents are sincere and loyal people, who look to personal fulfillment before profit. Unfortunately, from what I have learned, not everyone is like that. After my birth through vinification and completed with racking, they put me to rest in the underground cellars. My companion in adventure was a barrique; I heard it said that it came from a batch of very fine oak, auctioned off every year and obtained from a French forest cru. What a spectacle! Those were long months, during which I realized what my mission was. My mother is a beautiful woman, kind, who loves wine, but following certain vicissitudes she seems to be wrapped in a veil of sadness. In those months I understood that what I wanted most, and the reason why they had brought me into being, was to bring joy to people. A good wine nourishes people's minds. I wanted to do that too, and my hope was to find a woman like my mother and bring serenity to her soul. After the dormancy period, my big brother the winemaker decided that my first aging had come to an end; now I had to go into the bottle. I stayed there for several more months. Then one day, they decided that my maturation had reached its conclusion: I was ready to leave home.
I came to Rome, the eternal city, about a year ago, and since then I have rested lying down in the wine bar's cellar. An enchanting place, with the right temperature and adequate humidity, with glass walls through which I was able to observe the patrons of the establishment. People different from one another and for that reason fascinating, each with their own personality, their own story and their own origins; all united by a passion for fine wine. Of course, every now and then someone overindulges, but how can you resist ones like me? Joking aside, the wine bar has given me the opportunity to study women and men. They are fantastic beings, who have not yet realized their potential. But, perhaps it is also the complicity of the place that creates a sense of communion – in this wine bar I have realized how great their hearts are. Only that many should remember it more often. As Alessia seems to be doing, here, now, before me. After tasting me, the ideas in her mind became clearer. She picked up her phone and called her man. Her expression first turned dark, then she cried, but finally, after talking about the poem she held in her hands, her smile returned. A particular and beautiful light illuminated her face. Then, while she listened to him speak, she tasted me again, once, twice. Alessia laughed heartily, the bad moment had passed, and I had helped her: on the phone she was singing the praises of a sublime Montepulciano d'Abruzzo she was sipping, which had warmed her heart and mind and suggested to her what to do. Yes, my mission is accomplished. I have brought joy and satisfaction to a stunning woman, who I know will not forget me so easily.

Now I am here, before her. She is looking at me, she smiles, she is ready for the last sip. Soon I will embark on the long journey. It has been magnificent to exist and given the conclusion I cannot but say that it was worth it. The world is wonderful. And the last lesson I have learned from my existence is that all we need is Love.
Here we are. She rereads the poem, swirls the glass, smells me, swallows the last sip, savors my aftertaste. Now she is laughing, I can hear her, she will never forget me. Now I can take my leave, dedicating to the world the poem that my last friend holds tightly in her hand. Goodbye Alessia.