Allison Burton-Parker writes Allison Burton-Parker is a globe-roaming wine educator and writer living between the Loire Valley and London. She is a former advertising executive who surrendered to her love of wine a decade ago and never looked back. She holds the WSET Diploma and is the Education Director for the Academie du Vin. Her writing has appeared four times in the WWC.
Meli Ligas. Sharing the moment of creation.
Winemakers are a fascinating lot. I’ve spent much of the last two years travelling around wine regions chatting with people who turn grapes into stories, discussing why and how they do what they do. I’ve met wonderful winemakers and whiney winemakers and a full range in between. I’ve been surprised, perplexed, astounded and, occasionally, bored. Some might say the thread running through all great winemakers is passion. Or vision. Or maybe ego, or even folly. But the one quality I’ve noticed most have in common is stoicism. It seems that for many, to endure the cruelty and uncertainty of weather and the long, often thankless process of making wine, an outward lack of emotion is necessary. There also appears to be a prevailing theory among winemakers that a certain degree of mystery is required. While understandable, this often means it’s rare to see honest enthusiasm, or god forbid, vulnerability.
Recently I had the great fortune to meet Meli Ligas, an incredibly joyous winemaker in Thessaloniki Greece. She took over the family domaine, Ktima Ligas, from her father, and wrestled with every sort of challenge a young, female, biodynamic winemaker in a conservative, historic wine region might expect. Meli is the type of person who refuses to take no for answer, gets those around her to do the impossible and is never without a sincere smile.
On my visit to her bucolic domaine I was impressed by her dedication to reviving local grapes, commitment to sustainable practices and open, honest demeanour. After a tour of her vines and cellar, I sampled her delightful wines while we had a easy chat over a simple, yummy lunch on her terrace. I was basking in the warmth of the sun, sipping, nibbling, scribbling notes and generally feeling lucky that this was how I got to spend an afternoon at work.
Meli makes 14 wines, and has such pride in what she does, it was a given that I’d be poured each of them. So by then end of the tasting I was thankful for both my spittoon and lots of billowy pita bread, but also dreading the long drive back to Athens airport. Suddenly Meli announced I was not allowed to leave just yet, and disappeared into the cellar. She re-emerged with a bottle hidden behind her back.
“I have been waiting for just the right moment to try this. It’s been sleeping and sleeping. It’s my fist time to make this and I’m dying to see if it worked!” she exclaimed.
Intrigued, I wondered what kind of wine she had been waiting so long to try. It is very rare for a winemaker to share a new cuvée full-stop, but one that they haven’t sampled, and question its viability? I was speechless.
She revealed the bottle, and when I saw the crown cap I understood. Nine months ago, Meli began the process of making her first pet-nat, a sparkling wine made with just one fermentation in the bottle. She expressed a longstanding desire to make something bubbly, and this past vintage took the plunge with a small batch of 24 bottles. She had been carefully eyeing the progress and had recently decided the cuvée might be ready.
Meli walked out into the garden, followed eagerly by myself and her three-person cellar team. We all fell silent as she held the bottle up to examine it in the light. It was cloudy– though murkiness is to be expected in an organic pet-nat. Still, I could see she was nervous, her staff were nervous. Frankly I was nervous too. We all fell silent.
“First one! Here goes….” she yelled, and pulled off the crown cap. The bottle exhaled a faint ‘psssst’. More silence. While none of us expected a Formula One style spray of bubbles, it all seemed a little… flat. Even Meli lost her smile for a moment.
One of her team offered forth a glass, and as the wine poured it began to take life. Meli brought it to her lips, sipped and slowly lowered the glass, swirling it in her mouth. She swallowed, and paused. Her wide eyes locked onto mine, and without a beat, she thew her arms up into the air and screamed “Woooooo hooooo!” She kept her arms overhead, one hand holding a glass, the other the bottle, and did a little dance. She grinned and hooted again, “Whoooa…I dig it!”
The bottle, having been shaken by her antics, now had a trail of white foam spouting from the top. “I needed to scream, before it could release,” she beamed. “And now I’ll scream more! I’m so happy.”
Glasses magically appeared and the bottle was passed among the group, each of us tasting this experiment for the first time, basking in her delight and success. I wish I could offer detailed notes on the wine, but honestly I only recall that it was delicious. Bright, round and refreshing; a classic pet-nat, which definitely more than ‘worked’ on her first try.
What I remember most, and will never forget, is Meli’s sheer, unbridled glee. Sharing a spontaneous moment like this with someone who has made countless sacrifices over years of dedication to a craft is a special privilege. This is why we love the Olympics. But that Meli felt free enough to take that risk in front of me, to let her enthusiasm and curiosity supersede any inhibitions or pretence, is remarkable. Through all my travelling, tasting and talking with winemakers I’ve never seen anything like it– and can only hope I someday will again. So I’d like to raise a glass of murky, frothy Xinomavro petnat to Meli Ligas, and the pure joy of giving birth to a wine.
The photo 'Meli Ligas in the moment' was taken by Matt Hickman.
