The language of wine

Yesterday I saw one of those posts by Quim Vila, the creator of Vila Viniteca, at the Hermanos Torres restaurant, with the whole lineup of wines the diners had enjoyed. Among them, the black Sot Lefriec.

It's wonderful how, thanks to those who make wine in Catalonia, one of the most important wine-producing regions, the Catalan language travels the world. If you read the wine page we publish on Sundays (a page that only aims for one thing: to sell Catalan wine in Catalonia), you'll be able to see the names of the bottles. It's a normal It's quite unusual that you can order a glass of El Chico del Saxo anywhere in the world.

La Ermita and Les Aubaguetes, two legendary, iconic wines by Álvaro Palacios, receive reverence and applause around the world. Someone lucky enough to taste Las Aubaguetes might want to know what it means. And the sommelier (sommeliers are the booksellers of wine, the ones who tell and prescribe) will surely tell you that the word is a diminutive ofaubaga, which is a way of describing the umbria, the shady area. I marvel at how the stories of wine, of which there is always one, live behind the language. Mas de la Rosa, from the Vall Llach winery in Priorat, has a story that Albert Costa will tell you if you visit. The word further, which brings us to the farmhouse Italian, endures. And from Sot Lefriec, by Irene Alemany and Laurent Corrió, he will tell us, there, in the Torres' star-studded restaurant, what a bumpWinery names like Oller del Mas or En Números Rojos. Sol Post—how beautiful—by Pilar Just, in Montsant. Estate names, names of people, like Núria Claverol, from Sumarroca, the mother, or Júlia Bernet, from the authors of La Barraca de los Coscons. Coscons? What could that be referring to? In the shell again? Perhaps in the ear of corn? In the holm oak? You'll have to visit them to find out. Or ask the sommelier, who's sure to know.