I think we could agree, though for some of us not as readily, that the Rioja region in Spain makes some damn fine wine. Having recently returned from my honeymoon in Spain, I’m now a believer. Catalina Saéz Morga from Spain’s Urbina Winery shares her country’s perspective: “Americans serve young, expensive wines.” While I can’t fully agree on the former, the latter is a beef of mine—and Napa is a culprit. Not just when it comes to wine prices, we gouge all over the place. From lodging and produce to the price of not-so-fast food. Take Gott’s Roadside (formerly Taylor’s): Yes, it serves scrumptious burgers and shakes, but why is it I can’t go there and spend less than $15 for a pseudo square meal? Despite the name change, it’s still just a roadside food stand.
Excuse me now as I dissect the differences between Napa and Spain. Even knowing we’re economically worlds apart, I’m going to draw comparisons anyway.
In each of the supermercados I frequented during my three-week jaunt, cheap edibles and wine abounded. Hefty block of blue cheese, $2.90. A bottle of Wine Enthusiast-rated Clos de Torribas Tempranillo Crianza, $3.60. Try spending that at Dean and Deluca or Sunshine Foods Market. Yes, the quality is good, but is it really that good?
Restaurant wine prices are equally thrifty. The average price for agua con gas (mineral water) and a glass of Rioja averaged less than $3 in a cross section of cities from Barcelona and Costa Brava to San Sebastián and Madrid. In Rioja’s medieval town of Santo Domingo de la Calzada, a mere $4.30 bought two glasses of blanco Cesar del Rio and a bottle of sparkling water. I strain myself trying to think of what, if anything, I could buy in Napa for that price.
Restaurant bottle pricing threatens really to embarrass us. And not just any bottle, I’m talking stellar sips. What I’d rate an eight or nine on a scale of 10. The price of such Spanish bottled poetry cost me an average of $11. It’s hard to find a decent glass of wine around here for that cheap let alone a bottle in a restaurant. I’d love to be proven wrong here, so if you know of a restaurant that you can slide into for a decent glass of wine under $7 or bottle for less than $30, please let me know, I’d love to frequent it.
Food is no exception to this cost efficient way of life. Tapas (called pintxos in the Northern Basque region) are easy on the wallet. One of my favorite spots in San Sebastián, Bar Goiz-Argi, served exemplary food for obscenely low prices. A “small plate” of baccalà (salted cod) cost a mere $2.50, as did garlic-laced prawns and jumbo mushroom spears wrapped in jamón and grilled to perfection. I could go on, but I’m too busy exercising to work off all the food I ate. There are some disadvantages to low prices.
A taste off
Value spilled into the tasting rooms of Rioja as well. I’ll bring my tale back to Catalina, my hostess, who spent two hours touring me around Urbina, a fourth-generation, family-run winery. After learning the ins and outs of Spanish winemaking and a tasting, she ushered me to the gift shop, which presented nothing more than wine—no magnets, t-shirts or designer bottle toppers to be found. I walked out with a bottle of blanco that put me back a cool $2.90. This is not a typo. If I weren’t so stupefied, I would’ve ordered a truckload of wine as my souvenir.
It’s all about control
But all deals come at a price. In Rioja, the winery and not the consumer pays the price in the form of hefty control measures enforced by the Qualified Designation of Origin (D.O.C.). Catalina schooled me in the finer points of the organization’s hold, starting with dictating the yield wineries are legally permitted to produce based on the size of the vineyard. These and other controls are enforced at just about every level of the production process.
The D.O.C. goes as far as counting the number of buds on vines to ensure yields are on track (not over or under) and then disqualifying vintages if the number of buds doesn’t align with the vineyard acreage. It also grades vintages and assigns quality designations that brand all wines, either good (Crianza), very good (Reserva) or excellent (Gran Reserva). My dumbfounded stare inspires her to share a parting word on the worldwide wine scene, “The French were the teachers, Spain became the students.” And us? “America is the clever one.” She explains “clever” to mean the way we use technology and innovation to drive the wine industry forward. Hopefully this redeems our exorbitant pricing.
It’s not all good
But Spain wasn’t all roses and no thorns. I have some beefs. While water and bread flow freely in our restaurants, in Spain these afterthoughts come at a price (albeit a cheap one). On the food front, the concept of small plates is charming at first, but at the end of each tapas binge, more times than not I went home feeling hungry. Standing up as you chomp and shout to converse while swathing yourself off with skimpy napkins that are tossed on the floor for I don’t know who to pick up is both intriguing and infuriating. In the end, small plates are just that—small.
By the end of my boondoggle, I realized I missed Napa Valley. The lush vineyard sprawl, the sweet scent of harvest as you motor through Oakville and, yes, even the overpriced burgers. But more than anything, I missed those Napa Cabernets. Even the best Gran Reservas of Rioja don’t compare to our sip of the world. So maybe the price does justify the means. I’ll debate that over a smooth California Cab any day.
