A destination diamond in the rough
If it weren’t for my participation as an international wine judge, I would never have gone to Maastricht, a municipality in the southern area of The Netherlands that is split in two by the River Maas.
As one of a handful of American judges in the Concours Mondial de Bruxelles 2007, and with 20 American wines entered in the contest, I was at a slight disadvantage in the large group of multi-cultural experts.
You see, I only speak English, making me – not they – the foreigner.
Amid tongues speaking French, Dutch, Portuguese and Greek, I wallowed in self-deprecation for never taking on a second language of French. A bit of Spanish I knew, but that wouldn’t help me here. Luckily, Dinos, a wine newsletter editor, and George, a sommelier, both from Athens, speak English well enough to become my friends. Upon my arrival at Hotel NH Maastricht, an industrial area in front of the MECC, where the tastings were to be held, we have lunch together and sip 1996 Orpale Champagne. Although I can order a Panini sandwich anywhere in New England, I find my Panini with salmon and sweet cucumber to be an exotic delight. A café au lait and more Champagne send me off to slumber before a Portuguese wine tasting and dinner.
Tasting food and wine reminds me of the sensuality of discovering a new lover. You judge from the outside, get a taste for a possible attraction, and become either impassioned or repelled by the smell. Is it a match? Hold it, get used to the feel and swirl, smell again and think it over. A crescendo builds. The urgency overwhelms. Plunge in. Take a taste. Feel it, swish it around, and get to know it better. Oh, no, is that an aftertaste? Now I know I’m not ready for disappointment. Like love, wine may offer near perfection, but there is always a compensation or settlement. Maybe it’s an unattractive odor, but once sipped, the wine turns out to be delicious! Upon a swallow, even better.
Tasting wine was what this adventure was all about. And taste I did. Wine is everywhere I go. White Portugal wines are fruity, clean and fresh with a light, honeysuckle scent. These were the new releases tasted before dinner. The reds are young and my mouth chalks upon tasting; the tannins are strong. During dinner, the whites go well with the Portuguese fish I eat for dinner; the red Port goes well with dessert.
After dinner a group forms outside to enjoy the night air. A round of drinks are ordered, but I never receive the beer I ordered. Bewildered, my guess is that someone new arrived and assumed ownership. I cannot advocate for myself because I am a vernacular outcast. I observe the friendships formed as many judges meet up in reunion. A man in wooden clogs arrives. He is native to the Netherlands, as are many at this table. Everyone knows him and greets him with smiles and ‘dis’ and ‘dat’ chatter. He brings cheese and gifts to be distributed amongst his friends, one being a striking woman of Portugal, who gladly poses with him for a photo.
I’m in Maastricht, a destination excluded from my Top 100 places I yearn to visit. The opportunity was hard to resist, and my intention was to venture elsewhere when I could. Three of my five mornings were committed to the Concours Mondial de Bruxelles tasting room at the MECC, evaluating 50 wines each day as one of 220 judges. My plan was to leave in the afternoon and take a train to Paris one day, Amsterdam another. But after my first tasting experience, I was lured toward a Chilean wine- and food-themed lunch in the hotel. I passed on the wine, as my teeth were still stained with grape from the earlier tasting, and after lunch, a tour through Maastricht was offered for the adventuresome.
I decide to forego my intended plans to find out what Maastricht, home to where the 1992 Maastricht Treaty was signed and the European Union formed. And I’m glad I did.
Unbeknownst to me, this area of The Netherlands is representative of the rich, cultural construction of Europe. In 50 B.C., the Romans passed through from Northern France to Germany. A bridge was built and a settlement born. As population increased, the weight of the masses took its toll on the bridge and it collapsed. Much of the medieval architecture remains along the Maas River, and the oldest bridge in Europe, the Saint Servatius Bridge, named after the first Bishop of the Netherlands, remains after its reconstruction in 1280.
The landscape of Maastricht reminds me of New England, except that it is April, and the chestnut trees have already budded into beautiful, fragrant flowers, and the temperature feels almost 80 degrees. Spring arrives early in Europe.
By my second day in Maastricht, I am feeling more comfortable with the language barriers. The tasting experience was even better, and I suspect it had to do with the flights of sparking wine, my personal favorite. By noon, I was done for the day, but lured to the dining room yet again. Today it was a Mexican-themed lunch. As I made more friends, we sipped margaritas with top shelf tequila, a welcome change from the Mexican eateries I’ve frequented in my hometown. The zucchini and coriander soup was notably delicious.
After lunch, inhibitions were lowered, thanks to the “Margarita on steroids,” a phrase coined by San Franciscan wine guru Leslie Sbrocco’s husband, and a few of us rented bicycles offered at our hotel. It is April 30, Queen’s Day in Maastricht. Outdoor flea markets and cafes are endless; Trendy Witte beer and coffee shops that sell more than coffee (crystal marijuana cigarettes) appear at almost every corner. A waffle shop beckons us to order dessert before the celebration ends with fireworks and we head to a late dinner.
After dinner at a restaurant emulating a miniature Paris, I am lured to the nightlife by a group of energetic drinkers. One whose memory served him well leads us to a specialty beerhouse, De Leeuw’s Bieren, four blocks from our parked bikes. The nasty look of the owner clues me in to what he might have done in the past -- war captain? He surveys each of our individual preferences before deciding on what he will offer us to drink. I end up with a sweet, tart beer, “Oudbeitje,” that is supposed to taste like Champagne. It’s in a bottle with a cork, but still, my taste buds are not impressed.
Drinking through the day is tiring, but shopping all day is orgasmic; Italian designs are sold everywhere in downtown Maastricht. But then again, the look is thin, clingy and most of what I browse through is not for my middle age body!
On my third day, lunch proves disappointing. Cock-a-doodle-do I don’t, so I pass on the dark rooster meat. Our last dinner was in a once underground church-turned-cave, La Caverne de Geulhem, with its ancient fresco’s still looking fresh, setting the stage for a European experience I will leave on a high note.
As I am transported to Brussels for my plane ride back to Boston, I reflect on my worldly experience in tasting over 150 wines. And I arrive home with a stunning Luisa Spagnoli designer dress I will wear the following weekend for an event, making Maastricht an insert into my Top 100 places to recommend others to visit.
If it weren’t for my participation as an international wine judge, I would never have gone to Maastricht, a municipality in the southern area of The Netherlands that is split in two by the River Maas.
As one of a handful of American judges in the Concours Mondial de Bruxelles 2007, and with 20 American wines entered in the contest, I was at a slight disadvantage in the large group of multi-cultural experts.
You see, I only speak English, making me – not they – the foreigner.
Amid tongues speaking French, Dutch, Portuguese and Greek, I wallowed in self-deprecation for never taking on a second language of French. A bit of Spanish I knew, but that wouldn’t help me here. Luckily, Dinos, a wine newsletter editor, and George, a sommelier, both from Athens, speak English well enough to become my friends. Upon my arrival at Hotel NH Maastricht, an industrial area in front of the MECC, where the tastings were to be held, we have lunch together and sip 1996 Orpale Champagne. Although I can order a Panini sandwich anywhere in New England, I find my Panini with salmon and sweet cucumber to be an exotic delight. A café au lait and more Champagne send me off to slumber before a Portuguese wine tasting and dinner.
Tasting food and wine reminds me of the sensuality of discovering a new lover. You judge from the outside, get a taste for a possible attraction, and become either impassioned or repelled by the smell. Is it a match? Hold it, get used to the feel and swirl, smell again and think it over. A crescendo builds. The urgency overwhelms. Plunge in. Take a taste. Feel it, swish it around, and get to know it better. Oh, no, is that an aftertaste? Now I know I’m not ready for disappointment. Like love, wine may offer near perfection, but there is always a compensation or settlement. Maybe it’s an unattractive odor, but once sipped, the wine turns out to be delicious! Upon a swallow, even better.
Tasting wine was what this adventure was all about. And taste I did. Wine is everywhere I go. White Portugal wines are fruity, clean and fresh with a light, honeysuckle scent. These were the new releases tasted before dinner. The reds are young and my mouth chalks upon tasting; the tannins are strong. During dinner, the whites go well with the Portuguese fish I eat for dinner; the red Port goes well with dessert.
After dinner a group forms outside to enjoy the night air. A round of drinks are ordered, but I never receive the beer I ordered. Bewildered, my guess is that someone new arrived and assumed ownership. I cannot advocate for myself because I am a vernacular outcast. I observe the friendships formed as many judges meet up in reunion. A man in wooden clogs arrives. He is native to the Netherlands, as are many at this table. Everyone knows him and greets him with smiles and ‘dis’ and ‘dat’ chatter. He brings cheese and gifts to be distributed amongst his friends, one being a striking woman of Portugal, who gladly poses with him for a photo.
I’m in Maastricht, a destination excluded from my Top 100 places I yearn to visit. The opportunity was hard to resist, and my intention was to venture elsewhere when I could. Three of my five mornings were committed to the Concours Mondial de Bruxelles tasting room at the MECC, evaluating 50 wines each day as one of 220 judges. My plan was to leave in the afternoon and take a train to Paris one day, Amsterdam another. But after my first tasting experience, I was lured toward a Chilean wine- and food-themed lunch in the hotel. I passed on the wine, as my teeth were still stained with grape from the earlier tasting, and after lunch, a tour through Maastricht was offered for the adventuresome.
I decide to forego my intended plans to find out what Maastricht, home to where the 1992 Maastricht Treaty was signed and the European Union formed. And I’m glad I did.
Unbeknownst to me, this area of The Netherlands is representative of the rich, cultural construction of Europe. In 50 B.C., the Romans passed through from Northern France to Germany. A bridge was built and a settlement born. As population increased, the weight of the masses took its toll on the bridge and it collapsed. Much of the medieval architecture remains along the Maas River, and the oldest bridge in Europe, the Saint Servatius Bridge, named after the first Bishop of the Netherlands, remains after its reconstruction in 1280.
The landscape of Maastricht reminds me of New England, except that it is April, and the chestnut trees have already budded into beautiful, fragrant flowers, and the temperature feels almost 80 degrees. Spring arrives early in Europe.
By my second day in Maastricht, I am feeling more comfortable with the language barriers. The tasting experience was even better, and I suspect it had to do with the flights of sparking wine, my personal favorite. By noon, I was done for the day, but lured to the dining room yet again. Today it was a Mexican-themed lunch. As I made more friends, we sipped margaritas with top shelf tequila, a welcome change from the Mexican eateries I’ve frequented in my hometown. The zucchini and coriander soup was notably delicious.
After lunch, inhibitions were lowered, thanks to the “Margarita on steroids,” a phrase coined by San Franciscan wine guru Leslie Sbrocco’s husband, and a few of us rented bicycles offered at our hotel. It is April 30, Queen’s Day in Maastricht. Outdoor flea markets and cafes are endless; Trendy Witte beer and coffee shops that sell more than coffee (crystal marijuana cigarettes) appear at almost every corner. A waffle shop beckons us to order dessert before the celebration ends with fireworks and we head to a late dinner.
After dinner at a restaurant emulating a miniature Paris, I am lured to the nightlife by a group of energetic drinkers. One whose memory served him well leads us to a specialty beerhouse, De Leeuw’s Bieren, four blocks from our parked bikes. The nasty look of the owner clues me in to what he might have done in the past -- war captain? He surveys each of our individual preferences before deciding on what he will offer us to drink. I end up with a sweet, tart beer, “Oudbeitje,” that is supposed to taste like Champagne. It’s in a bottle with a cork, but still, my taste buds are not impressed.
Drinking through the day is tiring, but shopping all day is orgasmic; Italian designs are sold everywhere in downtown Maastricht. But then again, the look is thin, clingy and most of what I browse through is not for my middle age body!
On my third day, lunch proves disappointing. Cock-a-doodle-do I don’t, so I pass on the dark rooster meat. Our last dinner was in a once underground church-turned-cave, La Caverne de Geulhem, with its ancient fresco’s still looking fresh, setting the stage for a European experience I will leave on a high note.
As I am transported to Brussels for my plane ride back to Boston, I reflect on my worldly experience in tasting over 150 wines. And I arrive home with a stunning Luisa Spagnoli designer dress I will wear the following weekend for an event, making Maastricht an insert into my Top 100 places to recommend others to visit.
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