Vinobraní: Autumn wi
Czechs, one season a year is enough.
Since the Czech Republic's entry into the EU, burčák has become a nationally patented drink. Although Austria and Germany produce similar young wines during harvest season, following EU legislation, the term burčák is reserved for wines made from Czech grapes.
In early September vinárny (wine bars) across Prague begin to advertise the arrival of burčák with hand-lettered signs. It's common to see Czechs walking home from the corner bar with a 1.5L plastic bottle filled with the sweet, slightly bubbly drink. Since the yeast-based drink continues to ferment after bottling, an experienced burčák connoisseur knows to leave the cap slightly loosened. Although I've heard that some of the less reputable establishments in Prague serve imposter versions, either watered down or made from apples, I don't know offhand how prevalent this is.
But when I did a little online research, I discovered an article entitled "Burčák doesn't escape government oversight" that indicated the rumors are valid. Within the article, the head of wine inspection of the Czech Agricultural and Food Inspection Authority outlines current regulatory procedures for the drink. Namely, the half-fermented wine must register between 1-7% alcohol, not be comprised of any fruit other than grapes or contain any excess water. Furthermore, it can only be legally sold from 1 August to 30 November.
I had to laugh when I read the article's closing precautionary lines, "because of the alcohol byproducts related to the still incomplete fermentation, the beverage is known to cause above-average hangovers." I can personally attest to the truth of that statement having woken up with a splitting headache after drinking what seemed like only a few glasses of burčák at a Prague 3 neighborhood festival. Most of my Czech friends tell tales of getting too-carried away drinking burčák at some point in their youth. Because it tastes more like a cider than a wine, it can be easy to forget about the alcohol content. Supposedly the less pure the product the greater the hangover is.
Vinobraní in a Moravian village seems as much about the burčák as the accompanying medieval ceremonies, parades, folkdances and battle re-enactments. Over the past few autumns, we've taken our family to several festivals. I wouldn't say my palate is advanced enough to distinguish between good and bad burčák, I do know that my favorite festival to date is the one held each year in Mikulov.
Perhaps because it was my first taste of burčák or perhaps because we attended the festival by bike, Vinobraní 2006 stands out in my mind. We had planned to spend two days biking through wine country, including one afternoon at the festival. We stayed at a pension in Valtice, a tiny, picturesque town with easy bike paths leading to Mikulov and Lednice, another neighboring town with an impressive chateau.
Initially, I wasn't sure how I felt about mixing biking and drinking. Although I know it's common for Czechs to tour the vineyards with frequent stops for refreshment, the alcohol tolerance level for bikers here is the same as for drivers (0.0%). However, since we had our then 1½-year-old daughter Anna Lee with us, I knew we'd have plenty of time for the wine to run through our system while we stopped to let her stretch her legs and explore the festival.
After biking all morning, I was more than ready for some sweet, light-alcohol refreshment when we arrived at the festival. We left our bikes at a make-shift bike parking lot and started off on foot to explore the festival. When we passed the first burčák stall, I couldn't resist getting a 2 dl tasting cup. Radek and I shared it while we roamed through the market, marveling at the medieval costumes and the craft displays while trying to keep Anna's hands off of everything.
When it came time for lunch, it seemed only appropriate to share another tasting glass, and try some typical Czech festival food. On principle, I'm not a fan of greasy, fried food, but the klobása (sausage) and bramboračky (potato pancakes) smelled good, so I relented. After whiling away the afternoon lying in the grass listening to traditional Czech folk music and chasing after Anna, we returned to the burčák stands and purchased a bottle to take back to the pension with us.
Although most of the stands offered only white burčák, one gentleman was selling a red version. We contemplated buying a bottle of each, but decided against it. Radek's biking backpack was already loaded up with baby supplies. On the return trip, the backpack bounced with every bump, and I half-expected the still-fermenting wine to explode. But about two hours later, after another rest-break for Anna, we arrived safely at our pension. We enjoyed a picnic dinner before getting Anna settled into bed and then seated ourselves on the terrace to sip the burčák and reminisce about the last days of summer.
Since my first vinobraní, we've traveled to a few other harvest festivals, including the renowned ones in Znojmo (last year) and Mělník (this year). At both these events, carnival rides blaring pre-recorded circus-like music threatened to overshadow the festivals' more historical aspects. Apart from the impressive ceremonial parades through town and several multiple stages with medieval dancing and live bands playing traditional Czech folk music, both of these recent festivals seemed larger and more commercial than my memory of the Mikulov festival.
Although we'd hoped to revisit the Mikulov festival this September, we had unfortunately waited until mid-August before starting to look for accommodations. We couldn't find a single free room in any of the neighboring villages. I'm going to mark my calendar in advance next year. I'd like to try the biking trip again, with both our children and see if my memories of the festival (and the burčák) live up to my expectations.
Every Friday Half-n-half highlights personal stories of bilingual families living in the Czech Republic. The main contributor is Emily Prucha, an American living in Prague with her Czech husband and two children.