If I say “white fish”, what Portuguese wine comes to mind? Possibly a crisp, dry Alvarinho? Maybe you’d even go so far to include an Alentejo white made from Arinto or Antao Vaz? All fair combinations, but I doubt you would ever say, “hey, what about a light, refreshing Port wine!” At least I hope you don’t, or else we’ve failed miserably at our job to educate you on the very basics of what Port is - definitely not light and refreshing, nor would I ever suggest you paired it with white fish. Yuck! Go with chocolate.

But over a century ago, two crazy Norwegians saw a void in the market which they couldn’t ignore. In 1865, Theodor Wiese and Dankert Krohn began selling bacalhau (salt cod) to the Portuguese, and then turned right around to sell Port wine back to their native home of Norway. For those of you not familiar with Norway, it’s cold. Really cold! And to warm the body, and the soul, I can only imagine how Norwegians must have quickly succumbed to the unctuous and delicious Port wines. At least I can tell you that we had a glass, or three, of port wine while we were in Stavanger and felt it went beautifully with rich, meaty dishes such as their famous lamb.

Since the company’s formation, it has exchanged hands on more than occasion. In 1880, Wiese sold his share to Krohn out of respect for the company’s small size - still remaining a commercial agent in Norway. This helps explain why the brand is known as Krohn, but is still under the company name of Wiese and Krohn.

After Danker Krohn’s death in 1903, …

I did it! I finished the second edition of Richard Mayson’s book, “Port and the Douro”, which has proven to be a comprehensive, clearly written reference book on one of my favorite fortified wines: port!

When I originally proposed this book, I heard several readers share their interest in reading a single subject wine book, but equally, their fear that it would bore them to no end. I, too, feared that I would find myself the next morning with my nose on page three, oblivious as to what the first three pages contained. Then would come night two, when I would reread the same pages to catch up to where I was, only to land myself with nose in crease…again. Hence, I had bigger hopes for Richard Mayson’s book. I wanted his book to give me the same passion and inspiration that I felt with sherry wine. I not only wanted to hear about the process of making port, but I also wanted to absorb the history of the Douro over the centuries: to feel the dry and rough schistous soils; smell the rich, spicy aromas of the quintas; hear the roar of the Douro River barreling down the valley; see the dramatic transition from the dry, arid upper Cima Corgo all the way down to the humid and heavy Vila Nova da Gaia region; and finally, taste the differences between a nutty and dry tawny port wine to a concentrated and complex vintage port wine. I hoped that his book would take me to the center of a Douro vineyard and walk me through the process step-by-step, providing me a solid foundation for me to …

Question time for Catavino readers: Who out there loves wine and chocolate? Although this may sound like the most obvious pairing in the world, it’s not. In my many years of both selling and writing about wine, I’ve heard numerous debates on the subject, both for and against this rather contentious chocolate and wine pairing. But among the numerous voices, one element always remains consistent, people either love it or hate it.

Chocolate can dramatically range in flavor from being the sweetest substance on earth to a thick, bitter and earthy experience. When I was young, I hated chocolate with a passion. The only chocolate I was familiar with was that sticky soft icing on birthday cakes - overly sweet and flavorless. Likewise, I never really fell for candy bars, Hershey kisses or any other manufactured chocolate flavored treat out there. It wasn’t until college when my eyes opened to authentic chocolate. I believe it was Michel Cluizel’s chocolates that tipped the scales for me, when I realized that I really did like chocolate. Slightly sweet and intensely bitter with an earthiness that revealed dark fruits, minerals and exotic spices, I loved it. Like wine, it was not immediately apparent, but over time, it rewarded those with patience. I remember having an epiphany when I realized that pure chocolate could be so magical. And as a result, I started to explore cocoa as a spice, in moles, and dry rubs on beef. I’ve been hooked ever since.

Fast forward to my life with wine. When I started to explore wine, I really never thought to put chocolate and wine together. Chocolate, having tannins and often bitter, seemed an odd bed fellow for a dry Cabernet. Because my learning had taught …

How many times have you heard yourself, or someone you know, say “Jeez, I’ve tried a couple of ports, but I’ve just never enjoyed them. They’re always so sweet and syrupy and just too much to enjoy”? If you were at dinner with us last night, you would have heard this at least half a dozen times. And with each utterance, I held myself back with sheer will power trying not to reach across the table, grabbing the guy by the lapels and say “Please tell me that you’ve tried every single style of port wine from several different producers, because if not, that is one massive generalization you’re making!” I’m pleased to say that I kept my cool, but I did learn one very important lesson: one month of port wine education can only do so much, but at least it’s a wonderful step towards breaking preconceived notions and mistruths as to what it is - a highly diverse style of wine that cannot fit neatly into a box and labeled ’sweet dessert wine’.

So, allow me to continue breaking down our assumptions of Port wine by introducing two styles that may be unfamiliar to you. Each of them fall outside of what we typically consider a “traditional” port wine, but both merit your attention.

LBV Port Wine
Don’t you love it when, yet another, acronym enters your life? I remember when I first heard the term ‘LBV’ and wondered if it was abbreviated because monolingual speakers like us tend to butcher most foreign names, but alas, there was no mystery. The name originated between the 1930’s and 1950’s, at the beginning of António de Oliveira Salazar’s dictatorship when Portugal suffered from a rather serious economic hardship. Therefore, any wine destined to become a …

On a chilly and gray January afternoon in 2003, Ryan and I arrived into the historic Oporto train station bubbling with anticipation and excitement. Our limbs rather sore from sitting for hours in the same position, we begrudgingly put our large backpacks onto our shoulders, and like to old creaky dolls, emerged out station into the lobby and face to face with the Gothic and mysterious Sandeman logo fixed just to the left of the exit doors. Although a rather eerie image to encounter on a drizzly and cold winter’s day, it set the mood for our visit in Oporto as city bubbling with history, legends and secrets.

The undisputed international symbol of Sandeman - the wide-brimmed Spanish caballero’s hat and Portuguese student’s black cape - was commissioned in 1928 by George Massiot Brown. Although I have looked far and wide for more of George Massiot Brown’s work, it appears that this single piece had been one of his most legendary, as well as a symbol which Port lovers around the world have associated with quality Port wine.

The company was founded in 1790 by George Sandeman, a rather determined and innovative young Scotsman, who with his father’s financial backing, began selling port and sherry from Tom’s Coffee House in London. Just a few years later, George was not only carrying the legendary sherries of James Duff of Cadiz (now, Duff Gordon), but also shipping and bottling one of the first Sandeman Vintage ports - Sandeman 1790. After his death in 1841, Sandeman was passed into the trusting hands of his nephew, George Glas Sandeman, who diversified the company’s holdings to include both insurance and the export of linen and textiles. And unlike other Port companies who were established around the same …