Makayla Moore writes greetings reader: It has been 15 years that I have been in this wonderful, crazy, whirlwind of an industry that we label “Hospitality”. I sometimes wonder what else I would do, but then realize my skill set is in smiling, selling wine, and making memorable experiences. I believe this was the only path for me to follow - I was lucky enough to be in the right place, at the right time, with the right tools to succeed in it. It has given me the opportunity to move around the country with my two dogs and husband – truly a dream.
Tempranillo? Who’s that?
I remember when my love of wine started; and I mean truly started. Past the Barefoots, Arbor Mists and boxed wine we used to buy for college parties. A true “wow” moment that sparked a fire in me that has continued on until this moment.
Let’s rewind back to when I was 21; fresh to legally drinking and living on my own for the first time since starting college (I mean this genuinely, I lived solo in a rickety old apartment that smelt like moth balls). I typically ventured around the city on foot, and stumbled on a restaurant, located in an old factory. There were several businesses in the building, but the restaurant was unassuming: no signs or colored awnings to differentiate it from the remainder of the brick building. The only reason I noticed was because I passed by the front door which listed the name and business hours; and being the nosey nelly that I am – I entered. It was oriented lengthwise, with the kitchen at the farthest end and the bar running along the wall that was parallel to the street. It was dark, not just in light but in décor, and somewhat empty. I was the only one at the bar – it was a vibe.
I opened the menu and was greeted with a list of wines – which at the time, meant absolutely nothing to me.
‘Alberino?’…
‘What’s that?’….
‘Who is Rioja?’…
I believe the bartender saw the mix of confusion, anxiety and defeat on my face and asked if he could select a glass for me. I agreed quickly, closing the menu with triumph. The wine was dark, almost inky in the dim lighting, but I swirled it and brought it close to my face. It was closer to ruby than a true red – I had never seen a wine so dark before, typically I could see through it but this one was opaque.
‘Swirl it? …. Yeah, I swirl it and then smell it.’ I gave the glass a shimmy, and as I stuck my nose fully into the opening of the glass, the chair beside me pulled out and a women sat down. Interesting that out of the 15 empty seats at the bar, she decided to sit in the one directly beside me (not a common move in New England where most people avoid you like the plague, but no judgement.)
“Hello” She greeted me. Eek – not only was I attempting not to look like a complete novice when it came to wine, now I had to break out of my introverted tendencies and interact with this person.
“Hello..”
“What are you drinking?” She asked. PANIC – small chuckle.
“Bartenders choice.” I had no idea what he had poured me, I hadn’t even asked. The scent of vanilla and cigar wafted towards me; I wasn’t sure if it was the wine I had been aimlessly swirling in my hand or this mysterious woman. I was leaning towards the latter – I took a sip. It was like Ocean Spray’s Cran-Cherry juice; it wicked away the moisture in my mouth but tasted like the dark red cherries that grew in my yard as a child. My expression must have said something without words, because the woman chuckled.
“That good?”
“It’s new to me…” I responded. The taste didn’t linger too long, but it made my mouth water a bit. As someone who had spent a lot of time cooking, I knew it was a balanced flavor profile. I didn’t hate it.
“I ordered the same.” She said, pointing to my glass. “I really love the wines from this region”
Pretending to know what that means and like I knew what was in the glass, “I don’t hate it…”
This ended up sparking an unexpected, but delightful conversation. She had grown up within a mile of this ‘region’ and told me stories of her and her siblings running through the vineyards and getting scolded for it.
“Our parents always knew; the red clay stains on our pants gave us away.”
She was matter-of-fact in everything she said, but also vibrant and passionate. I could tell she was a grounded individual and truly genuine. The adventures she told were captivating; growing up in Spain – traveling to Portugal, California, then to Australia and parts of South Africa. That type of life was something I had only ever heard of in movies – especially as a Sophomore in college, when the most exciting thing in my life was being able to manage a full time job and school. Our conversation had become so fluid, I was on my second glass before I realized. The dryness I had experienced with my first sip was obscure and the cherry notes more pronounced – I even got a hint of vanilla, or was that her perfume influencing my perception? I couldn’t be sure – all I knew was that I enjoyed it.
“Hey… I never got your name?” I interjected.
The bartender paused polishing his glass and looked around the bar, inconspicuously. He hesitated for a moment, and then responded, “That’s a Tempranillo.”
I blinked several times, having no idea who Tempranillo was. He nodded to the glass -
“The wine. It comes from the Rioja region of Spain; the grape is called Tempranillo”
I looked at the glass, seeing blurred empty seats through it - I was alone at the bar, and had been. I created a bond, an everlasting relationship with this grape in just two glasses – like two people, sitting at a bar, getting to know one another. It is the grape that introduced me to the wine world and set me on my career path into building wine programs that anyone can enjoy. From the expert connoisseur to the nervous 21-year-olds that are too embarrassed to order a wine they can’t pronounce. Tempranillo is the grape that showed me that red wine doesn’t have to be intimidating – Tempranillo is and always will be my favorite varietal.
The image is the author's own work.
