Wine And Books Porto 소설 & 이야기

Ravenna flicked on the light switch, illuminating rows upon rows of wine bottles. "So," Soren said, his voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space. "Which bottle are we looking for?" Ravenna moved towards the far wall. "It's a 1978 Quinta do Noval. Should be over here somewhere." As they searched, Ravenna couldn't help but be acutely aware of Soren's presence, his tall frame moving gracefully between the wine racks. Suddenly, they heard a loud click from above, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.

Seven of them were empty. She’d checked. Twice. The attendant had confirmed it with the slightly apologetic smile of someone delivering wonderful news. Isla had ordered a glass of white wine, settled in, and opened her half-finished piece on coastal Portugal with the particular satisfaction of a woman who had the whole world to herself. Then he got on.

Sousa is here. - Send him in. – Christopher answers to the temporary secretary. Paulo Sousa enters the office with a box of green wine in his hand and a big smile on his face. - Mr. Sousa, welcome. Oh, I see you brought me the magnificent Portuguese wine I drank at your house the other day. - As I promised, here's a box of the best Portuguese green wine - he says, placing the box on the table at the office entrance. - Don’t forget to drink it fresh.

I discovered I enjoyed Port wine the most, specifically aged Tawny Port, the sweetest and richest of all. According to Mr Towler, this Portuguese wine wasn't supposed to be drank during meals given it's very high alcoholic content, but rather after meals in a small glass. Felix said I had wonderful taste and didn't even consider that I'd enjoy that type of wine. He loved it as well, so the decision was made.

I don’t sleep around. When it’s time to go for the tour, I walk into the building and look around with a smile. The feeling of being watched continues, but I start thinking it’s all in my head. Obviously, there are so many people here; someone might be looking at me, and I am just being paranoid. “In the Douro Valley region, white and red wine was produced around the 17th century. But the conflicts between England and France in 1678 led to the emergence of port wine,” the tour guide says, and I smile, taking everything in.

After dinner, Elian opened the wine — something Marta had sent from Portugal, a different bottle from Tomás's occasion wine but equally considered, because Marta thought about everything. They took the wine to the veranda. The veranda faced west, as the afternoon had shown it would, and in the dark the west was simply dark — the sound of the Atlantic, the faint suggestion of the horizon, the stars beginning to assert themselves in the autumn sky. There were more stars here than in any city. The Alentejo was dark enough that the sky showed itself. Elian stood at the veranda's edge with his wine and looked at the dark and the stars and the suggestion of the sea.

It was a dark, rich wine, sweeter than the Chardonnay the women had been drinking earlier. “Thank you.” She held up the goblet, admiring the dark, dark color, more purple than red. “What is this?” “It’s late harvest port—a friend of Trak’s makes it. He’s got a vineyard near the coast.” She took a small sip and sighed. “Delicious.” He pulled the chocolate out of his pocket—two small bars wrapped in a napkin from the bar. “Try this with it.” She reached for the chocolate, paused, and curled her fingers into her palm. “I can’t. But thank you.”

Eleanor was still eyeing the Duchess every now and then but she remained silent the entire time. "So..." Frederic's voice shattered their growing silence after everyone settled in their seats. "What are we having? I recommend the signature dishes here." "Alright then, I'll take the herb-crusted lobster and sea urchin and whatever the special dish they offer today," Florence said and closed the menu. "Smart choice," the lord said with a bright smile then turned to Violet. "Same," she said and placed the menu on the table. "Also bring me wine." "I would suggest you try this fortified wine from Portugal," Lord Federick said. "It was produced the same year Thomas Jefferson was sworn in for his s

“You did not have to order anything.” Adrian reached over and patted my hand like I was a child. “I wanted to spare her the trouble. Grief takes a toll.” A few of the men exchanged looks. Jacob sat directly across from Adrian, arms folded loosely, expression calm. Too calm. His plate sat untouched. I wished, not for the first time, that he would stop watching me so closely. “Wine,” Adrian announced, gesturing to the bottles lined up like trophies. “I brought a few selections from my personal collection. Cabernet from Napa. A lovely Bordeaux. Please, help yourselves.”

"We actually came by this morning because we need a favor from you two." "Of course," Alessio said. "What do you need?" "We need you to go to a vineyard in the nearby village," Sandro explained. "There's a specific vintage wine that we want to serve at the wedding - a 1985 Brunello that's supposed to be exceptional. The owner of this particular vineyard has some bottles in his private collection, and he's agreed to sell us what we need. But we need someone to go pick them up and bring them back."