email from…..BEIRUT
British journalist Hugh Macleod has been living in Lebanon and Syria for three years – long enough to know that the best respite from Beirut’s vineyards and bars is hitting the slopes I HAVE ALWAYS marvelled at how my father’s great love of consuming red wine was in no way matched by the choice of [...]
British journalist Hugh Macleod has been living in Lebanon and Syria
for three years – long enough to know that the best respite from Beirut’s
vineyards and bars is hitting the slopes
I HAVE ALWAYS marvelled at how my father’s great love of
consuming red wine was in no way matched by the choice of
what he drank. From imbibing gone-off home-made damson
wine to the bumper box of French plonk with its fi ddly plastic
tap, my father cared less for bouquet and more for bulk buy.
That is, until he came to Lebanon.
Château Ksara’s Le Prieure, Les Breteches by Kefraya, or Les
Emirs by Clos St Thomas: quaffi ng had turned to quipping,
as Dad ordered up Lebanon’s fi nest tipples, two bottles at a
time. He truly found a saviour in the Massaya Silver Selection
which is now delivered monthly to his remote farmhouse in
north-west England.
“A glass of romance, a glass of history,” is how wine writer
Michael Karam describes it. “It’s special because of its scarcity
and the fact that you are drinking wine made from grapes
grown in a land that has been making wine for 6,000 years,”
he adds, referring to the lush Bekaa Valley vineyards, home to
the mighty Roman-built temple to the wine god, Bacchus.
On a recent visit to the beautiful Clos St Thomas vineyard
in the southern Bekaa, a wine connoisseur friend declared:
“That is simply the best rosé I have ever tasted. Go on, gargle
it round,” he said, sucking air into his teeth and rolling his
head around while we are watched by Nathalie Touma, who
looks on bemused. Having won eight awards at prestigious
international wine competitions last year, the daughter of
vineyard founder Said Touma can rightfully feel pleased.
But it’s not just wine that’s getting the plaudits. Tucked
away at the end of Gemayze Street, east Beirut’s trendiest
hang-out, internationally trained brew master Mazen Hajjar
serves up Lebanon’s fi rst real ale.
“Beer is the new wine,” declares Hajjar, a former
investment banker, now owner of Beirut’s happening Bar 961.
“In Lebanon we have only one beer, Al Maza. There has never
been a choice. So we decided to democratise beer.”
And how. Chinese rock sugar and camomile in the Belgian
Triple (9%), some “cold water extracted espresso” in the burly
7.5% stout. Then there’s the raisins in barley wine. “We’re not
shy about experimenting with ingredients,” beams Hajjar.
“It’s part of our ethos: ‘Are you resistant to change?’”
Of course, there are more sedate ways to enjoy oneself
here, particularly at this time of year, and as long as it keeps
snowing on Mount Lebanon, I’ll be happy. Escaping to the
mountain resorts of Faraya or The Cedars for a weekend
somersaulting in the snow is truly a blessing. And this year,
skiing The Cedars just got a little easier. A £7.3m upgrade of
the resort, including swapping the 1950s’ T-bars for three
chairlifts and a gondola next year at last gives skiers better
access to the sweeping, unspoiled slopes.
But the problem is not the lifts. The diffi culty – if you are
lucky enough to be accompanied on your skiing sortie by a
glamorous Lebanese lady – may well be persuading her to get
on them. Most of the ones I’ve met prefer showing off their
faux fur coats to the beautiful crowd gathered in cafés at the
foot of the slopes, rather than risk snapping a fi nger nail or an
unsightly tumble by actually skiing on them.
Tourists from abroad love it, however, like my mother and
sister who made the most of a place that was not an overpriced
European resort. And my old man? Well, he made it
up to the mountains, but promptly fell sound asleep. Perhaps
dreaming visions of his next, perfect Massaya.
Hugh Macleod is a former staffer at The Independent and
he has also written for The Guardian and The Sunday Times.
