For those of you who haven’t been keeping up on our sappy stories from the European Wine Blogger’s Conference that took place in La Rioja last weekend, allow me to catch you up. For three days, Robert McIntosh, Ryan and I gathered together several wine bloggers from around the world to meet and chat about…yup, wine blogging.

However, what you, nor anyone else, has known up until today was that we didn’t have a location set for the keynote tasting / dinner until a few weeks before the event - I kid you not. Don’t get me wrong, we were looking! But try as we might, from June to August, getting anything planned and confirmed in Spain is impossible. So with literally days remaining, we used one of Robert’s many Rioja connections - also known as the golden enchufe - to get us a reservation at La Chata.

Now mind you, none of us had ever been there, but the restaurant came on good authority as a wonderful place that would actually seat all 40 bloggers. But get this, they wouldn’t only make room our entire crew, but they even had a separate area where we could host our wine tasting consisting of cases upon cases of wine! This, my friends, was a miracle, and a reservation based on complete faith, because for all we knew, it could have been a mess!

So what made La Chata such an incredible find?

The Perfect Feeling

The historic restaurant is nestled inside the old part of Logrono on a tiny Gothic style street called, Calle Carnicería, just a stones throw away from the Plaza del Mercado and the Catedral de La Redonda. Stepping through the door, you enter …

Gabriella and I are adventurous. When out with clients, or even friends, in a new city, we inevitably suggest that they choose something typical from the region that is important to the understanding of the wine or culture of the region. We, for the most part, have been fortunate and rarely end up regretting our choice. Granted, when I was in Toro two years ago, the idea of pig snout was not exactly what I had in mind, but in the end, it turned out to be decent. In fact, I loved it, though I’m not sure Gabriella would have felt the same way had she been with me.

Last week, while visiting a few wineries in the Douro, we were presented with a meal that both surprised and fascinated us. We found our way to a small restaurant in the town of Pinhao, on top of a fire station of all things. Familiar in the sense that everyone seemed to know everyone else, this was the type of place that you might find vineyard workers in, downing jars of young wine while talking of the days events.

As is our typical custom, when the group suggests a traditional dish from the menu, such as the Cozido à Portuguesa, we eagerly accept. In this case. Sipping on our wines, which conversely acted on our empty bellies, leaving us in a bit of a euphoric in mood. To counter the deep, echoing growl, we nibbled on some traditional ham and spreads that come before any Portuguese meal, hoping to ease discomfort.

With a slight rustle behind me signaling an approaching waitress, I realized the food was here. Busily moving the dishes on the table to make room for the large …