The Second Glass

This wine is a special and rare find. We didn’t even know they made Txakoli rose, then one day, there it was! Like absinthe before legalization, or jamon from the mythical pata negra pig, or a chupacabra, sitting right there beside me at briefing.

Txakoli is a slightly effervescent, usually white wine made in three subregions in the Basque area of North Central Spain. The red is rare — we haven’t a single bottle on our list — made from Hondaribbi Beltza, which Wine Director Courtney Bissonnette plans to name her first born. But the Rosado? Dear wine, we had no idea you existed. It’s special and we were only able to get a few cases which means once it’s gone, it’s gone. A reminder that every wine is a limited edition.

I crack this bottle of the Gurrutxaga Txakoli Rosado on a really, really hot, sweltering day with my best friend, Marissa. It is soooo hot & humid in my apartment, but we don’t feel like leaving the house, so we stay home, and sweat and sip this wine to cool off. We can’t bear to eat in the heat. Before we know it, we’re a little tipsy.

The Txakoli’s acidity is bracing, mouthwatering, almost salty. It’s just slightly effervescent, not robust like cava, or some of the white Txakolis on offer at Toro. Try as I might, I can’t identify a single fruit flavor at first. There are hints of fruit flavors, undeveloped fruit ideas, but these are glimmers of fruity thoughts, not fully formed concepts. It reminds us of drinking 2006 Brunello with an elderly winemaking couple in Montalcino when it was just 2 weeks old. The old man climbed up a tall ladder to fetch a sample from the top of the primary fermentation vats. It tasted like musty grape juice, with hints of flavors-to-come popping in our mouths. He swore he could already tell it was a good year.

We swirl and sniff and sweat in my kitchen, and we agree: the Txakoli rose feels rustic and young in the mouth, busy at the front of the palate then fades quickly away. There’s something sulphuric in the nose, akin to the not-nice notes in the scent of dried apricots, and floral, with hints of grapefruit. But again, as soon as I think I taste a fruit flavor in this wine, it’s gone. A palate-teaser.

The Txakoli rosado is the only thing I can tolerate drinking in general in this heat, more palatable even than water. A bigger, heartier rose, like the Ciro Librandi Rosato or the Crios Rose of Malbec would feel as oppressive and unappetizing as a massive Barolo. It is so swampy out, breathing feels arduous. But drinking a limited edition bottle of the mythical Txakoli rosado? This I can handle.

And that is how I will always recall the Gurrutxaga Txakoli Rosado.