We had been trying for several days to get El Bodegero (based on “the one who operates the bodega” – my translation of “Wine Guy”) to help us set up a visit in one of the local wineries.He had given me a phone number to call in Moixent, but I demurred, my phone Spanish not having the benefit of gestures, facial expression and written notes. We passed a big winery on the outskirts of Moixent and saw signs for others, but that was the day we had company with us, and we limited our visit to the Iberian village at Les Arcusses.
So on the Wednesday of our last week in Spain, we tried again. El Bodegero made a phone call in rapidly spoken Valenciano. He said “hoy, por la tarde” would be the best time because “el oenologico” would be there to answer any of our questions. He suggested around 4:00 or 4:30, as it was now close to 2:00, the beginning of the two-hour Spanish lunch hour. He wrote down a phone number for “Juan” at the Heretat de Fontanars winery, with instructions that we call him from the “gasolinero in Fontanars.”
Vale (the all-purpose Spanish word that corresponds to our “OK”), we would go get a bite to eat at a local Xativan café and head for Fontanars, via Ontinyent…a drive of perhaps 30 minutes.
We had a
menu del día at a crowded, faux rustic restaurant called El Rincón (“The Corner”). We started with sopa de verdures for Yvonne and arroz for me, followed by pollo for her and emperador con salsa verde (swordfish) for me, including a glass of wine and followed by café con leche (we skipped the postres/dessert). A large meal, but standard for mid-day in Spain. No wonder they need a two hour lunch break!
We picked up our car at the underground parking and headed for Ontinyent.We were very low on gas, but since we were meeting at a gasolinero I figured I just get some there. We successfully navigated the series of roundabouts that took us to the highway to Ontinyent, then through the town, another prosperous Spanish pueblo with wide, clean streets and sidewalks, complete with welcoming row of ornate streetlights.
We followed the route out of town toward Fontanars, but in one of the roundabouts was a sign with extensive verbiage (in Valenciano) about the route being “corta por obras” (closed for works) and listing some alternatives. It all went past too fast for me to catch, but I should have been suspicious when the “Fontanars de Alborin” on all subsequent roundabouts had been blanked out with white tape.We pressed on through the countryside until we came to the place where, indeed, the road was cortado. In fact, it was nonexistent. They were building a completely new section. We turned around to return to Ontinyent to pick up another route, one anxious eye on the gas gauge.
Another series of roundabouts, with Yvonne brilliantly applying her rapidly developing Spanish navigation skills, and we found ourselves following signs to Fontanars – 27 km. It was a beautiful countryside, with rough, rocky gorges, steep cliffs and broad sloping fields full of grapevines and fruit trees. The high ridge of the Serra Grossa stood guard in the distance.Finally, on the horizon Yvonne spotted a tower crane, a Spanish town marker now more ubiquitous and seen from farther away than the church bell tower. It was tiny Fontanars. We followed the signs for “Centre Urbano” to a quiet, uninhabited square. No gasolinero. No one about to ask.Finally, we saw a lone woman walking, stopped and asked “Gasolinero?” and she gave us directions to the outskirts of town. We found the gas station/convenience store/café (with a little fenced McDonald’s style playground), just as the orange gasoline pump light came on in our car.
I pulled in and asked the helpful young man for the proper amount of gas. As he was filling (very few self-service places in Spain), I asked him if there was a public telephone there. He said no, so I tried to explain in my 4-year-old version of Spanish that I needed to call a person at the winery so he could come pick us up. The young man said he would make the call for me. I went inside the store, gave the man the number, and looked around while he called (it took several tries, as the line was busy). Finally, an answer, the man handed me the phone and I asked “Está Juan?” and then tried to explain who I was, a speech that I had been practicing but got very tangled up with when confronted with an unknown person on the other end of a phone line.Juan silenced my stammering with “I meet you there in five minutes.”
Excelente!Five minutes later, there he was. We exchanged greetings and he said “you follow me.” I could do that. About 5 kilometers later, through that rolling vineyard countryside, we turned into the entrance of Heretat de Fontanars, climbing a rutted dirt driveway to a parking spot on the side of a renovated 17
th Century house.
We got out and

Juan asked “You prefer English or Spanish?” I told him how poor my Spanish is and he agreed to give us our tour in English (which he speaks fluently and well). He started outside, showing us the vineyards, most of which, with the exception of a small plot on the other side of the hill that rose behind the winery, was visible from where we stood. Across the road were several rows each of Cabernet Sauvignon,Tempranillo (which Juan pronounced “temp-ruh-NIL-yo”), and Graciano, with Merlot higher on the north-facing ridge beyond, and even higher than that, where it’s cooler, Sauvignon Blanc. On our side of the road we had Garnacha and more Tempranillo, the other side of the ridge being reserved for Chardonnay (“TCHAR-do-nay”) and Monastrell. The older vines (the Monastrell) are only 20 years old, and the other vineyards are being replanted field by field. The soil is sandy and rocky, but no irrigation is used in
Spain’s hot weather.Instead, they allow grass to grow between the rows. This interplanted strip holds the moisture of the rains that come in October and November, shaded in the summer by the rows of trellised grapevines. Juan told us there are no really bad vintages in
Spain but that some are better than others. The harvest of the Tempranillo and Cabernet begins in the middle of August, and the last to be harvested are the Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc, usually by the end of September. The only viticultural issue they have is trying to get enough acidity in the grapes, due to the limestone soil, low levels of rainfall and warm temperatures. This is the reason they don’t do malolactic fermentation with the white wines.
We went into the “cellar” where the wines are made.It’s small, reminding us of the
West Bend winery in
North Carolina. Against one wall are the stainless steel fermentation vessels, then stacks of oak barrels (American and French), floor to ceiling racks for allowing the wine to settle in bottles (something I had not seen before but which Juan says he likes to do for 6 months before shipping the wines out). They do not bottle their wine here, sending it instead to a larger winery (probably Daniel Belda, the biggest in the region) to be bottled. Juan said they have plans to add an addition to the bodega that will double the cellar size, and they will add a bottling line at that time.
Currently the Heretat de Tavernars wines are exported to
France,
Belgium,
Denmark,
Germany,
UK,
Switzerland and
Italy. A small amount is exported to the
United States by Steve Miles of
Colorado. Miles has a warehouse in
Barcelona where he consolidates shipments from various European wine countries until he has a container that can be shipped to the states. Juan and associates will be going to the
US in the spring (to
New York and
Colorado) to help Steve Miles sell their wines.
Juan next asked us if we’d like to taste the wines – “Por supuesto!” I replied.
He took us into the old house which has been restored in traditional style and color (pale yellow walls, wooden shutters on the windows and
azulejos, hand-painted tiles on the risers of the stairs). We were in the kitchen/dining area which Chef Yvonne marveled over.Juan grabbed four bottles of wine and placed three groups of 4 glasses on the big oak table.
Reixu (ray-SHEW) a Valenciano word for “the drops that gets on the leaves in the morning” – dew. It’s only sold at the winery and is a blend of 80% Chardonnay and 20% Sauvignon Blanc.It was wonderful – rich and full-bodied initially, then with a burst of crisp Sauvignon Blanc on the long, dry finish. We coveted this one, but we couldn’t bring it back in our suitcases. Yvonne characterized the wine as one for sipping on the dock as she waved at sailors going by.
El Vern means “the birch” in Valenciano, the same tree that is pictured on the label of all of their wines. This is their “entry level” red, a blend of 50% Tempranillo and the rest Cabernet Sauvignon and Monastrell. It is light and fresh and benefited from being served at the cool temperature of the room. This is an all-purpose, everyday wine that could be served with meals or just drunk on its own.
Mallaura (my-YORE-uh is the closest I can come, but Juan said “this is a hard word for you to say”) means “the top of the hill,” referring both the field where the old vine Monastrell is grown and to the fact that this is the top-of-the-line for Heretat de Taverners.Robert Parker
tasted this one and like it because it is fuller in body, like the wines of Rioja and Ribera del Duero. It’s a blend of 40% Cabernet Sauvignon with approximately 20% each of Tempranillo, Garnacha and Monastrell. This is a deep reddish purple wine with a nose full of spice and oak, much more in the international style that is much in demand around the world. We were a little disappointed in this, preferring the Valenciano wines that are more expressive of the
tierra and tradition of their birthplace. But I can see why this small family winery wants to use a wine like this to bring
Valencia to world attention.

The last to be tasted was their Graciano, which is made of 100% the grape of that same name. Juan told us that Graciano is a grape of Rioja and is not allowed in the Valencia DO, so they had to get a special dispensation to produce the wine. We had already had this one on the recommendation of the waiter at the Canela y Clavo restaurant in Xativa, where we shared it with visiting family and a lovely culinary lunch. It was as good as we remembered it, smooth and lush with a singing lightness on the tongue and a good acidity that makes you want another bite of food.
The most respected wine critic and writer in Spain is José Peñin who writes a magazine called
Sibarita.
Labels: Spain