Winery One. Tokaj. One happy family!
Who would have thought one year ago that I would be in the Hungarian hills of the Tokaj wine region chatting away with the winemaker and this daughter.
I wandered into the tasting room of the old stone house on the hill, alone. In Hungarian, "Do you want to do a tasting?" I gestured yes and said, "I don't speak Hungarian." held up my fingers, "just a little." "Ah. English, then." she said and brought out 4 bottles of wine. After she explained about the first dry white, she poured and asked "Are you traveling alone?" I told her I was, that my husband passed away some months ago and that I was visiting friends. The petite little employee, washing the glasses would turn and smile and occasionally laugh when I would talk. We soon became fast friends and found ourselves laughing at everything while we tried to speak each other's language. "I like you." she said. "You are kindly." I laughed and said, "You are kindly, too."
Many of the houses are built over wine cellars and the wineries are family run businesses. The cellars are aged old stone with mold growing on them and go deep down into the ground. Some have long tables and benches for events or private tastings.
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| Kata, Gyula and Ivette |
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| The winemaker's daughter, Kata |
By now, I was on my third glass, (very small glasses)
"Ah. Papa!" A man with silver white hair, tanned skin and piercing blue eyes walked in. He came over to the counter, smiled, and began to speak in Hungarian. He did not speak one word of English. Totally unfair! In Hungarian, said, "She is an American. An artist. Why don't you take her to meet the artist down the street." He responded with a shake of the head and waited while we finished the tasting then brought out a special bottle, with no label, poured, sipped and eagerly waited for my response. "Very sweet! Yo!" Then we took a mini tour of the town.
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Winery Two. Back in Mad.
Julie had prearranged a private wine tasting with a small vineyard in Mad. This little winery only produces 5000 bottles a year and cannot be purchased in the United States.
After walking the backroads of Mad. After the cemetery. After the Synagogue. After the lonely cow and the Russian woman picking flowers we found our place.
The winery was run by a soft spoken young man who was in control of the vines. We met him at his house and helped him carry his basket full of chutney, cheese, herbs and freshly baked almond cake across the street to the winery.
He unlocked the massive doors to the winery and showed us his garden where he grew just about every kind of herb imaginable. His girlfriend was the vegetable and herb expert. He set a simple table and we placed the "goods" there. I set the cake down and he dressed it with edible flowers.
