Alessandra
"So, you're going to get me drunk on our true first date, huh?" I tease him while we walk into the winery.
Hanging moss on either side of the entrance partially covers the chiseled signage depicting the year.
It’s a private winery. I'm not certain if Mattheo owns it or if a friend of his does, but the smell of oak barrels and wine fill my nostrils and my head. I love touring wineries- especially older ones.
They have such charm, just like Mattheo. As charming as he is, he can also be given to fits of jealousy. I heard it in his voice the other day when we talked. I’m glad he told me that he and James shook hands and made an agreement. At least that was settled.
It doesn't make it any easier on me though.
Mattheo pulls out a one hundred and fifty-year-old port that’s oak barrel aged. It’s beautiful, and I wonder what notes will hit my tongue when I have a taste.
Wines are my favorite alcohol because there’s such craft involved, and over time they’re generally better.
I studied a little on how wine is made and even endeavored to make some of my own once. Obviously, I failed miserably. I chuckle at the memory of fermented fruit bottles that had filled up with gas and popped the corks across the room. They shot out with such force that they wound up breaking hundred-dollar wine glasses in the process. What a mess.
But I learned a lesson that day… leave the experts to their craft.
I’ve always been fascinated by processes that take time, either to learn or to make. Wine is no exception. Mattheo points out the vineyards on the way in, and workers are beginning to harvest some grapes, gathering them into large baskets.
He begins explaining the process to me as we walk along.
“Once you gather the grapes, they get sorted in here, culling out bad or under ripe fruit,” he explains with animation.
Walking into the next room, he continues.
"Then, we place the fruit in this crusher and allow it to macerate, thereby producing must. These crushers replaced the old stomping pits that still can be found in the cellar."
Mattheo really knows his stuff when it comes to making wine. He takes great pride in teaching me the process and the correct verbiages.
"I have an idea, why don't you pick out a bottle for us to share over lunch?"
I don't know the first thing about ages of wines and their relative tastes. All I know is I like Pinot Noir.
"Show me a section for Pinot Noir."
He raises an eyebrow at me.
"Your favorite?" he points to a section on the wall.
"Absolutely."
He takes my hand and leads me through the back of the winery out into a private vineyard laced with any kind of grape known to man.
Opening the bottle, Mattheo pours us each a glass, and we toast.
"For the love of fun."
Lunch is a delectable charcuterie board filled with meats, cheeses, fruits, and spreads. It pairs perfectly with the wine, and we both enjoy the selections prepared by the chefs.
Once I finish the last of my wine, which consequently is the last of the bottle, he walks me over to the stables and shows me the horses. Placing saddles on two of them, he lifts me up and sets me on top of a white horse with a black mane. She’s beautiful.
He climbs on top of a brown horse with a black mane. Clicking his tongue, he sets the horse in motion, leaving the stable. My horse follows suit.
We ride through the vineyard, around a glen of oak trees, and down to a pond surrounded by cattails and reeds of willow grass.
Allowing the horses to rest and get a drink from the cool water, he climbs down from his perch on the horse and immediately slips in the mud, falling backward into the pond.