A WINE WORTH FIGHTING for CONTINUED from PAGE 409 Moments
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boards WHEN THE LAND OF HIS ANCESTORS DESCENDED INTO CIVIL WAR, * SERGE HOCHAR COULD HAVE JOINED THE SLAUGHTER. INSTEAD, AS THE BOMBS WERE DROPPING, HE CHOSE—DEFIANTLY, EXUBERANTLY—TO MAKE WINE FOR THE AGES. ELIZABETH GILBERT TRAVELS TO LEBANON AND TASTES AWINEPERHAPS THE BEST WINE EVER MADE WRTH FIGHTING FR 404.GQ.SEPTEMBER.04 ( Photographs by MARTIN MORRELL ) 0904-GQ- SW01 0X04-GQ- like any European businessman. Nothing remarkable there. His face, though—there was something exceptional about that. Serge Hochar was a sensualist, a taster, and he had the lush, exaggerated features to prove it: fuller lips than the average man, wider nos- trils, more vivid eyes, and considerably larger ears. It was as if the man’s every sensory attribute had been intentionally overdesigned by his maker. When the shells fell around him that day, Serge Hochar knew the drill: Go down to the bomb shelter in the basement with his neigh- bors and wait it out. Certainly, his top-floor, centrally located apart- ment was about the worst place he could be in Beirut. But this morning he lingered. Soon his neighbors came pounding on his apartment door—Serge! To the bomb shelter! Hurry! Yet instead…his feet led him toward his wine closet. He inspected the bottles, including the very best of Chateau Musar. Decades of his vineyard’s richest yield. A refer- ence library of the rich and complicated tastes of Lebanon. He chose for himself a bottle of ’72—an opulent red blend, the first vintage he had created after taking over the winery from his father as a young man. A wine that had been bot- tled before this ridiculous, heartbreak- ing war had ever started. He found himself opening the bottle of ’72 and let- ting it breathe. After a time, he reached for a giant crystal vessel made for tasting liquors. ONE MORNING IN 1990, a Lebanese winemaker named Serge Hochar It was so large that it could hold two GASTON HOCHAR was doing some paperwork in his Beirut apartment when shells entire bottles of wine. So Serge Hochar TESTS* the family brand. started falling from the sky and the buildings around him began to poured the entire bottle of ’72 in there, The fragrant vines of shake. Another Syrian assault. then put his face to the opening of the Chateau Musar, opposite, Serge, who ran a winery outside Beirut called Chateau Musar, glass and—slowly, deeply—inhaled its fulfill an ancient promise was alone in Lebanon. Years earlier he had sent his wife and three luxuriant aroma. from the prophet Hosea. children to France so they wouldn’t be killed in this war. He him- Then, instead of heading down to self refused to leave the country. He walked to his window and the bomb shelter, he picked up his vessel of wine and moved unhur- looked out over the city, already shrouded in the rising dust and riedly back toward his bedroom. He walked in and shut the door smoke of the attack. behind him. He sat down on his bed, propping a pillow against the The Syrians were aiming their massive ordnance at the Israeli- headboard behind him to make himself comfortable. He set the backed Christian militias in East Beirut. Ever since civil war had wine on the nightstand beside him. He picked up a book he’d been erupted in 1975, the city had been an orgy of hatred and shifting, reading that morning, opened it to where he had left o≠, and set- incomprehensible alliances, Christians fighting the Palestinian Lib- tled in. And every time a shell exploded and Beirut shuddered in eration Organization and Muslim militias, with the neighboring response, Serge would reach for his wine and take a sip. It was countries of Israel and Syria constantly intervening and occasion- eleven o’clock in the morning. ally invading. Such a wreckage all these armies had made of the For the next twelve hours, the shelling continued. During that sparkling Mediterranean cosmos that had once been Beirut! They’d entire period, the winemaker stayed in his bedroom and slowly— turned it into Beirut—international shorthand for the rubble of sip by sip, shell by shell—drank his entire bottle of ’72. humanity that results when Jews and Muslims and Christians start “You ask me what it was like, what I was tasting in the wine,” he taking sides and picking fights. says, “and it is impossible for me to describe. You ask me why I did The Lebanese winemaker had lived and worked through this not go down into the shelter that day, but sometimes motivations tragic mess since he was 35 years old. Now he was over 50. He was are hard to remember. Could you imagine if you are in a room and a man of medium stature, fit enough for his age, though not physi- you are getting shelled—how you could express such things? When a cally imposing. His hair was gray. He dressed and groomed himself shell explodes near you, you cannot help shaking. Even after fifteen years of war, you will still shake. And they were shelling us that day like from hell.” Serge Hochar’s voice, when he talks about this day, descends into its lowest, calmest cadences. This is a man who usually marks every THE SHELLING LASTED TWELVE HOURS. phrase with exclamation points and italicized highlights (all deliv- * SLOWLY, SIP BY SIP, SHELL BY SHELL, ered with the big Mediterranean hand gestures and eyebrow acrobat- ics that typically match such vocal passion). But in remembering this THE WINEMAKER DRANK THE BOTTLE OF ’72. event, his voice smooths, and his sharp, French-accented animation OPENING PAGE, BOTTOM: PAUL A. SOUDERS/CORBIS 406.GQ.SEPTEMBER.04 0X04-GQ- 0X04-GQ- mellows to a lullaby-like flow. His hands fold quietly in his lap, and I BREATHE IN THE WINE AND FEEL his features settle, allowing his voice to speak all alone for once: * “But would you believe me if I told you this was a great experience I’M NOT SMELLING BUT SEEING between me and my wine? This was the greatest conversation I ever SOMETHING, FILAMENTS OF FRAGRANCE— had with my wine. Each time a shell landed, I would take a sip and ask RISING, SPIRALING, GHOSTLY. the wine, ‘What do you have to say to me now?’ And the wine would talk to me. It would tell me its memories about soil and sunlight and the taste of water. It could remember these things! It remembered all of history! And when a wine knows you are paying attention, it will reveal things to you that you would not believe. The things this wine realized, to skip many steps on your way to understanding God. revealed, this made me think of all my memories, of my whole life. And all of this will come to you from my wines. You will taste and Then I would take another sip, and it would give me more.… you will ask yourself, Can this be possible?” “I could see that this is a living relationship. Do you understand? I have only just met Serge Hochar. We’re at a wine conference in That this is a living wine and I am living man, and when we come a hotel in New York City. I’m not someone who generally goes to together—even around all this death—it is a relationship between wine conferences, but a friend of mine has made me come today. two living beings. And this is the most important thing a person She works for the American importer of Chateau Musar wines and can ever experience—this feeling of life meeting life. Do you under- has announced to me that, as she put it, “it would be so stupid if stand? Life meeting life. This is the only thing that matters.” you never got to meet Serge Hochar.” The shelling ended shortly before midnight. Serge set his empty I’m beginning to see her point. wineglass down and went forth to assess the damage. Outside he “You will journey to Lebanon, and I will enter you into new found many familiar buildings smoking, crumbling, chewed in half. rooms inside your mind,” he is telling me, this 64-year-old man who His own apartment building was in pretty good shape, although speaks with such high fervor, right here in the sterile lobby of the most of the windows had been blown out, with one notable excep- Marriott Marquis. “You will come to Lebanon, and I will take you tion: The windows in the bedroom where Serge Hochar had been into the heart of the country, where you will see this culture where sitting all day with his wine were still intact. humanism started. I will journey you into this place that is 7,000 Next door, though, a crowd had gathered in mourning. A years old. I will teach you that intuition is more important than in- woman who had been Serge’s friend and neighbor for years was telligence. I will take you deep into the world of taste, into the gone. A bullet-size fragment of a shell had sliced through the roof world of the senses, into the world where life is lived at its maxi- of her home, traveled through two ceilings, and entered her living mum, and you will ask yourself, Can this be possible? And you will room, causing little property damage but piercing her heart and say to me, Serge! No! This is not a possible world!” killing her instantly.