Verdejo in the name, but not in the bottle

The Monasterio de Corias Valdemonje Verdejo Negro is indeed made from the Verdejo grape. But here we are talking about the Verdejo Negro, so it is a red wine. Moreover, this grape has nothing to do with the white Verdejo grape from the Rueda region. It is the Spanish name for the French grape Trousseau, the grape that is celebrated in the Jura. In any case, it sounds better than its Portuguese name: Bastardo. In the Jura, it often produces a subtle, lively red wine. Transparent cherry, fleshy, mushroom, velvet sofa, dark satin, fresh dark evening with a twinkling star here and there. Here in Asturias in northern Spain, it presents itself somewhat tighter and more direct. The vines, over a hundred (!!) years old, provide dark cherries, berries, licorice, and beautiful, cool acidity. In local restaurants, they do not hesitate to serve it with cachopo, a ‘sandwich’ consisting of two veal fillets, generously filled with ham, cheese, mushrooms, and paprika. The acidity of the Monasterio de Corias Valdemonje Verdejo Negro nicely cuts through the fat of the cheese and ham.

So the name Verdejo does not always have to mean white wine …

Not white but in this case a red verdejo; Cangas del Narcea makes special wines from their native grapes.

The red Verdejo is made from 100-year-old vines, grown on slate/Pizarra, on sunny slopes in a special microclimate, with more hours of sunshine and more moderate rainfall than in the rest of the region, due to the collision of winds coming from the sea and subsequently meeting the Cantabrian mountains... the wine has undergone 12 months of barrel aging.

‘An insignificant grape from Asturias suitable only for blending or making rosé.’ Jancis Robinson, Julia Harding, and José Vouillamoz, authors of the wine bible *Wine Grapes, a complete guide to 1368 vine varieties, including their origins and flavors*, called it an insignificant grape from Asturias suitable only for blending or making rosé. But what do we have here? Pure wine from Cangas, a tiny wine region. No blend. No rosé. And certainly not superficial, although you might suspect so from the 3 J’s.

Mr. Hamersma of A calls it a serious, fine aged, beautifully matured, leaning-back, softly whispering tinto. He lisps about dried and fresh red fruit: berries, cherries, and blackberries. Also plum and tobacco, and by that we mean chewing tobacco. Black tea, leather armchairs, and oak paneling. After the whispering: a quiet zone. Just showing respect for a grape that has freed itself from the depths but does not shout its qualities from the rooftops.

We just think it's really tasty!