Txakolí, a wine only found in Spain made from grapes only found on the mother land's soil is one of the wine world's greatest mysteries. Many don't know what the hell it is when they buy it; they're usually cohersed into ordering it at a wine bar or apprehensively take a bottle off the shelf after people like me suggest it to you. It's home, it's on the chill down, and after the cork is popped, you're stunned, wondering where this refreshingly quaffable liquor has been your whole life. Well folks, once it's reached Minneapolis, where people have funny accents and still eat enormous quantities of Spam, you can be guaranteed that the rest of the country has access to it. Thus, presented below is a little piece of mystery and history from the Basque Country.
Terroir, history, tradition; intrinsic words are inevitably manipulated to consecrate estates, vineyards or regions. However one mere wine may pluck more inscriptive heartstrings than many others. Its name is a direct derivative of the single most important thing in their culture: the home or “etxea” hence, it seems natural we commence here.
“Txakolí” or “Txakolina” directly translates to “wine made at home” from the Basque (Euskera) term "etxacón" meaning the “neighbors at home or in the pueblo”; the “in” referring to wine, and the “l” binding the couple. As the Basque language is one of the oldest still spoken today and without concrete evidence to its parentage, many other mythological meanings exist.
Three distinct regions with Denominación de Origen status comprise this harsh, Cantabrian climate, the only place on Earth breeding this most unique nectar. Comprised principally of the Hondarribi Zuri (white) and Hondarribi Beltza (red) grape, the wine is the antithesis of nectar, being light in its composition, with a hint of spritz and an alcohol content that hovers around 10,5%. 80% of production is white, 15% rosé and a handful of producers yield a still, red wine from Hondarribi Beltza that can only be compared to an earthy, light Cabernet Franc with its leafy, vegetal notes.
The wine itself, like many others, shares triumph and tragedy, fecundity and near extinction. Steeped in tradition, txakolí is first mentioned in the "Ordenanzas de Portugalete" in the 13th century and four hundred years later, taverns were set up along Basque hillsides serving txakolí as its specialty. In 1517 Christopher Columbus stated, “… On the edges of the sea, the hillsides are covered with vineyards.” But by 1696, the clergy prohibited the planting of more vines for lack of use, and towards the end of the 18th century, before the demise of vines everywhere identified as oidium and phylloxera, there were over 3,000 ha of vines. The regions’ situation mirrored many others during this time and further disintegration took place during the Spanish Civil War amounting to a paltry 800 ha. During the 1970s there were only 16ha of vines dedicated to wine production. The situation is changing every year and much gratitude should lean towards the Asociación de Txakolineros de Bizkaia (Vizcayan Txakolineros Association) for their fervid interest in improving the name and quality of txakolí, leading to the creation of the Denomination of Origen, Bizkaiko Txakolina in 1994. The region now has 65 bodegas, 273 ha under vine, and produces a total of 1.2 million bottles annually.
Two disparate regions are every bit as focused on quality and supply us with our necessary dose of yodo (we will reach this momentarily). Geteraiko Txakolina (Getaria) was the first D.O. on the scene in 1989 and produces roughly 1.8 million bottles per year. The nascent addition of Arabako Txakolina (Álava) in 2001 shows a broader, rounder side of txakolí bred from clay soils further inland from the salty sea. Here, six bodegas work with a slim 46 ha producing esoteric juice only a small quantity get to enjoy.
"Yodo?”, you inquire; this is the kicker. Spaniards believe in this, holding it close to their hearts, rarely verbalizing its powers. Virtually unheard of elsewhere, yodo [in this sense] loosely translates to “mineral from the sea” and Spaniards believe it cures many-a-ailment from thyroid issues to cuts. There's plenty more to this but work with me here. According to those residing in the north, the closer you live to the Cantabrian Sea, the more yodo you experience; in the food, in the air, the algae, it surrounds you. Many in Spain will tell you that the Cantabrian Sea contains more yodo than the Mediterranean. Txakolí exudes yodo, a bottle bursting forth unequivocal notes of sea spray misting up from the coast. I mentioned terroir before, didn't I? Think Manzanilla in Sanlúcar de Barrameda, now multiplied by 10; an emphatic salty notion.
Service is another affair altogether. Walking into a local bar in San Sebastián or smaller pueblo such as Azpeitia and ordering a txakolí for the first time will most likely render you speechless. Nine out of ten times your eyes follow a three-foot stream from a short-sided tumbler to the bottle (accompanied by an "escanciador," a two-holed, plastic device placed in the spout allowing a succinct stream to fall, splashing into your glass). Although this is protocol for virtually every bar in País Vasco, the method is under scrutiny from many producers of fine txakolí. Pouring from a distance allows the wine to conjure up some extra effervescence, the glass bursting with yodo. The flip side states that the most exemplary wines should be served via the proper wine regime in bona fide stemware and the sparkle should be a gentle accoutrement to the wine. Either way, you are guaranteed refreshment whether it be a 4€ quaffer or a pristine, 17€ bottle.
Txakolí may never grace the wine-world's red carpet. Let's face it, people are intimidated by the "tx", grape varietals they cannot pronounce, and a 15-20€ price tag for a white wine with soft bubbles from a region known for its political troubles. That's just it. The wine is an oxymoron, and quite possibly, the wine industries' best kept secret. Like Melon de Bourgogne, the Hondarribis provide a whirlwind of inexpensive, terroir-bonded pleasure for erudite consumers and wine professionals. I only propose that no-one get a harebrained idea to plant these grapes elsewhere.
