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I continue my exploration of this sensual world. At home, I try rose tea, jasmine candies and spicy radishes. Returning to the tastings, I take a whiff of some Olivares de Kepu “1492” extra virgin olive oil made from Picual olives, and I’m taken back to the tomato sandwiches my mother used to make us in Madrid. My heart skips a beat. Aromas, memories, emotions. Belgian chocolate artisan Damien Mercer holds in his “sense memory” a whole file on the train station in Brussels, which he insists is the “basic structure of the Belgium of my childhood.” Getting off the train and taking in the scent of melted chocolate, a striking whiff of perfume from the Cote d’Or store. Twenty years later, as he opens bars of chocolate from Africa, Mercer recommends having a clean palette when tasting chocolate, which contains so may tannins that it shouldn’t be mixed with wine. Rather, chocolate should be enjoyed with cognac, rum or sugarless coffee, allowing you to savor tinges of mushroom, earth, jasmine and more. José Miguel Salvador, founder of the Cigar Club at the Hotel Ritz Carlton Santiago, began taking the art of smoking seriously in 2000, but he became enamored of cigars two years earlier at a business meal in Venezuela, as he envied a group of enthusiasts lighting up their habanos. Now, he doesn’t go a day without smoking a cigar, which “relaxes and clears the mind, allowing you to collect your thoughts while alleviating stress.” Cigars also inspire – just ask Churchill. Or the native peoples of the Americas who shared this herb with Columbus. To properly smoke a cigar, you need time and, preferably, good company. This is what makes smoking a quality cigar such a distinguished (rather than addictive) pleasure, rich in flavors and aromas. At the Cigar Club, membership is limited. Each member has a private locker in a climate-controlled area between 150 and 180 C with between 65 and 70 percent humidity. These conditions help preserve the cigars, which are kept in wood-encased leather. We light up with a small strip of Spanish cedar (which Salvador cut and we both smelled deeply). He then passes the cigar to me. I puff, letting the smoke swim in my mouth, over my tongue, teeth and palette. He notes hints of earth, leather and caramel. I taste tobacco. We drink a lemon martini to cleanse the palette between puffs, and with time, I begin to pick up on some of the subtleties. Tobacco, with a hint of tobacco. I hear the Vespa arrive. It’s cold outside. The sound of the scooter, the engine shutting off, the steps toward my door and the jangling of keys. My Argentinean Malbec is here – an Achával-Ferrer Altamira 2003 to be precise.• |
