Free Two Old Fools in Spain Again by Victoria Twead Page A

valuable wines here,” said Alejandro. “Rare labels, some very old wines, some wines that do not exist anywhere else.”
    “Are they all valuable?” I asked.
    “No, sometimes we buy them just because we like them. Sit down, I will show you.”
    In the centre of the room was a round, wooden table, with stools pushed under it. Paco sat and we followed suit. Alejandro’s wife excused herself and retreated to the main part of the house.
    “Hmm...” said Alejandro to himself, leaning in to read the labels on the barrels. “This one, I think... You will like this, it is a merry little wine with a hint of cranberry.” He turned the tap and ruby wine spurted into the glass held under it. “And maybe this one... Full-bodied, honest and earthy, a robust and courageous wine.”
    Paco jumped up and took the full glasses from him, plonking them down on the table in front of us. Alejandro was still carefully inspecting each cask.
    “Ah yes,” he said, “this amusing little wine has a bit of a kick... Oh and this one... Underestimated, rather young, but fragrant with a suggestion of almonds...”
    Soon the table-top was covered with an alarming number of filled wine glasses.
    “English!” roared Paco. “Try some! Tell Alejandro and his son what you think.”
    What Joe and I knew about wine could be written on a thumbnail, we either liked a wine or we didn’t and that was the extent of our expertise. This was going to be a challenge.
    “Er, do we taste it and spit it out?” I asked, looking around for a bucket.
    “No, we already know they are good. Taste and enjoy them.”
    “Pah!” said Paco, thumping the table. “This room holds the best wine collection in Andalucía, apart from the wine I make from my own grapes, of course.”
    Joe and I exchanged nervous glances and I picked a glass from the dazzling display in front of us. I sipped as Alejandro hovered on one side and his son on the other.
    “Take a proper taste!” roared Paco. “You cannot make a decision from a sip the size of a raindrop!”
    Obediently, I took a healthy slurp.
    “Mmm... Very nice,” I said.
    “But what about the taste?” Alejandro wanted to know.
    “Err...” I sipped again and tried to remember a few things Alejandro had said. “Unpretentious. Maybe a trace of almonds?”
    I struck lucky.
    “Excellent!” exclaimed our host. “That is precisely what I would have said. Joe, what do you think?”
    I passed the glass to Joe and he sampled it as Alejandro’s eyes bored into him.
    “Oh, I agree with Vicky.”
    “Good, finish that off and we’ll discuss the next.” Alejandro was already pushing another glass towards me.
    I swigged and racked my writer’s brain for some suitable comment to bestow upon this one. “A sunny little wine,” I tried. “A fresh, open-air taste.”
    Alejandro nodded. “Indeed, a very good description,” he said.
    I passed the glass to Joe, who was gaping at me. He raised it to his lips.
    “Well? Your opinion, Joe?”
    “Oh, I agree with Vicky.”
    Satisfied, Alejandro handed me the next and the next. Each time I had to come up with a new description and as the wine took its inevitable hold, my verdicts became more flowery. It was beyond the limits of my Spanish vocabulary, but Alejandro Junior’s English was excellent and he interpreted for his father.
    “Ah, a playful wine!” I said. “I sense a hint of irony with just a twist of summer twilight in the mountains.” I was talking complete rubbish, but Alejandro Junior dutifully translated and his father seemed impressed. Alejandro glanced at Joe, eyebrows raised in question.
    “Oh, I agree with Vicky,” said Joe hurriedly.
    “And this one?”
    Sip, sip, pause. I was getting into my swing now. “Um, a melodious blend with hidden depths, rather a witty little wine with a riddle in the aftertaste. This wine has a passion and a personality all of its own.”
    Judging by the narrowing of Joe’s eyes, perhaps I was going a bit too far. Alejandro