“Is that a 1934 Port in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
If there were other Americans around, I would’ve cracked that joke at least ten times, but it was just Fernando Van Zeller and I, and I didn’t think the cliché was fit for nobility. Besides, the Barão de Vilar (one of Fernando’s 17 titles) had just handed me a half bottle of wine nearly four times my age—the least I could do was spare him my crude humor. We were sitting at Bacalhau, a restaurant on the Rua Muro dos Bacalhoeiros, across the river from the Port houses where the boats coming down the Douro used to unload their barrels to be aged, blended, and stored. We’d just finished crème brulée, which went down wonderfully with Feuerheerd’s 1934 Colheita, one of the oldest wines Fernando sells.
“You ask a Portuguese man if he wants meat or fish, and what does he answer? A lot.” said Fernando. The typical Portuguese meal is a three-bottle affair: the first—usually a white—for the bread, amuse-bouche, appetizers, and salad; the second—usually a red—for the entrée; and the third—usually a Port—with dessert. To give you enough energy to get to the edge of your bed, most meals end with an espresso, but after that ’34 Port, I declined the caffeine. The wine’s finish was still lingering on my tongue, and to erase that with coffee—no matter how badly I needed it—would’ve been sacrilegious.
“You can take this,” said Fernando, handing me the mostly full bottle, which I stuffed in my pocket to drink later.
“Obrigado,” I stammered. “Muito obrigado.”
After bidding tchau to the Baron, I spent the day touring Porto with Cacilda, my Couchsurfing host. Walking around with an 81-year-old wine in your pants is a surreal experience—almost, if not quite, as fun as drinking it. That night, Cacilda and I finished off the ’34 after a much-welcome one-course meal: salad, chicken, pumpkin, and rice—all excellent.
Feuerheerd’s 1934 Colheita is a wine without a label—bottled and painted by the sale, having spent most of the last century in ancient Portuguese oak. If I didn’t know what it was, at first glance I would’ve thought it coffee—what betrays it as wine is the legs. When you swirl coffee, it slides quickly back into your mug, but a Vintage Tawny will cling to the glass for minutes on end. The nose is also reminiscent of coffee—roasting beans, café con leche, and caramel. On the palate, I get walnuts, almonds, and hints of vanilla flowers. It’s undoubtedly full-bodied, but seems lighter because of its extremely brisk acidity, which in a dry wine would taste like vinegar. Fortunately, because of its sugar content, age, and excellent craftsmanship, Feuerheerd’s 1934 Colheita is perfectly balanced. If crème brulée isn’t your thing, try it with Brooklyn Blackout Cake, dark mint chocolate, or a Cuban cigar.
Visit Feuerheerd’s and the other Barão de Vilar wines online at http://www.baraodevilar.com/pt/
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