Although not a stranger to me, Teran won me over entirely in the year 2000, when it kept me company while I volunteered at the Motovun Film Festival. At the time, Jennifer Lopez was pushing the boundaries of what was deemed attractive. With her voluptuously sassy Mother-Earth-like curves, she killed the “heroin chic” style of the nineties.
It was her I was thinking about while squeezing out oh-so-many words for the festival newsletter, sitting on the Movie Hill with a glass – okay, a bottle; who are you, the police? – of Teran. So rich, so full of body, lusciously dark, reminiscing of the wild forest fruits and so irresistibly intoxicating… Teran was the J.Lo of wine, I concluded.
Teran reveals the wild, untamed Istria in the dishes with which it is served and brings you back to the primordial. Whether you’re sipping it with Istrian prosciutto and truffle cheese, with a spicy game stew, a pan-fried ombolo or an, ah!, filet of a real Istrian boškarin, Teran will embroil your blood, boost your tongue and jolt your thoughts.
This is not a wine for the puritan. Literally, because no matter how much you pretend to be composed and calm, Teran will leave a traitorous black mark on your lips. Do not fight it, because it is an imprint of the kiss of the ancient Histria, a seal of welcome with which the Istrian terra magica confirms you are no longer a tourist, but one of us via its eldest local wine.