A sweetheart who has stolen my heart

"Hello, good morning, is Anna here?" The voice that answers me on the other end of the phone is that of an elderly woman, with a polished accent, with that innate kindness of some people who address you formally, who vocalize—and vocalizing is a way of being kind. She says to me: "I think Anna is in the fields, and Joan might be with some machine." She tells me they'll call me, but they'll be busy in the vineyard.

The Celler Martí i Fabra, owned by the Carreras family, is in the same old farmhouse. Wine has been "documented" since the 14th century. I can't help it. I must tell you about the first document, the purchase of a vineyard from 1305. We are in Albera. In very hard, poor soil, of slate and granite. The vines grow—and the soil absorbs the heat and the rain—and are cooled by the north wind. The vines, like the farmhouse, are old: some are eighty and one hundred years old. A hundred-year-old vine is a cultural heritage, just as a hundred-year-old house, a milestone on a road, an olive tree, a book, or a painting would be.

After talking for a while with the matriarch, Carme, whose first surname is—of course—Viñas and her second—also, of course—Pastoret, Clara Poch calls me. "I'm the unexpected one," she tells me, all friendly. "Carmen is my mother-in-law. Martí Fabra Carreras is my father-in-law, who's now retired. And the one who makes the wine is their son, Joan Fabra Vinyas, my husband."

The wine we have in our glass today is perfect for explaining who we are and for playing. When we play at tasting, at guessing (at happily failing), a single-varietal wine is a perfect match, or like a wine in a Riedel glass. In this case, we have a 100% Cariñena. So, we can think: ah, Carignan has that color and that acidity and those tannins. We can discover it. We can, therefore, love it. This Carignan, a 2022 (drought-fed wines are already appearing in these cheerful pages), has an alcohol content that will surprise you. 15%. Therefore, in the WSET range, the wine course that takes you, if you are very, very studious, in master of wine It is a "high" alcohol content. It is high at 13.9%.

Because this Cariñena is, then, a Catalan "classic," and I say this with full intention. It's a compliment. A classic with alcohol content, with acidity, with roundness, with enveloping character. A wine that explains itself, across the north wind, full of honesty—and therefore, of history—ethical and joyful, to be enjoyed with a roast that no longer exists, some meatballs with cuttlefish, please, an omelet with juice, a steak with fries (what a pleasure). A wine to say: "Come on, today is the day!" A wine to say, like Dorothy Parker: "Cheers and may everything perish."

A wine of today and always, a wine that colors the glass and the teeth, that makes you salivate, that makes you want more, that explains the wind and the sea. A wine of sea and mountains. A wine worth much more than it costs. Cariñena alone, what a unique joy of our territory. A wine that invites a feast, good company, is our flagship. One of the best wines we make at home, we reserve it for special occasions. A wine of ripe, liqueur-forward red fruit. The wineskin is present—not overpowering, but accompanying—and it's perfectly balanced. Clara tells me: "It's a very tough variety, Cariñena, which can have rusticity, but it's not harsh; on the contrary, it's elegant." I smile. "Clara, I don't know you," I tell her, "but that Cariñena is unstoppable, and it's stolen my heart." I loved it.

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