The Eighth Tribe, 1978 (5. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1978-10-01 / 10. szám
October, 1978 THE EIGHTH TRIBE Page 5 TOKAY'S FINEST REIGNS SUPREME The storks tended their nest atop the chimney of the Baroque county hall, oblivious to the rain that had cleared the square of visitors and tourists. Below the nesting space is one of the most unpretentious of villages, seemingly known only to Rand- McNally and God. It is difficult to believe it was once coveted by emperors, kings and moguls. Yet tucked away in the remote area where the borders of Hungary, Czechoslovakia and the Soviet Union converge, it still attracts more than 125,000 tourists each year. The reason lies in its name — identified for centuries with one of the world’s great wines. The little shop in the village square where most of the people took refuge from the drizzle tells you why Tokay wine was, and is, called the “king of wines,” as it was dubbed by the 16th Century alchemist Paracelsus. A 19th Century Hungarian poet called it “the drink of the Gods.” Magyar bragging? Taste and see. For it is the true Tokay wine, not what is substituted for it today by producers in France and Germany. This is the original and to miss its birthplace is not to see Hungary, for so much in Hungarian history and folklore is set in its famous wine and the earth that bears it. The wine, in fact, is even mentioned in one of the many unsung stanzas of the Hungarian National Anthem. The narrow streets of Tokay stand in the shadow of the steep slopes of Nagykopasz (Big Baldy). Covered with vineyards of the state collective farms, the mountain rises from the edge of the village more than 1,500 feet. At its base, the Tisza and Bodrog Rivers, dwarfed only by the Danube, converge with the Tisza flowing south across Hungary’s vast and beautiful Great Plains. To the north are the Zemplén mountains. Vineyards virtually cover the vast landscape from Eger, about halfway between Tokay and Budapest and itself a major center of Hungarian wine, of the dark red variety. The medieval Eger is where the famous red “Bull’s Blood” is produced. In fact, the wine connoisseur need travel no farther than the Eger in his quest for the source of indigenous and inexpensive wine. But if white wine, unlike any other, is what excites your taste, then another two hours behind the wheel of a clumsy, Russian-made Fiat is required. Tokay, a far cry from the huh it was in past centuries, is quiet now except during the fall, when its vines hang heavy with grapes. It is only a way station, as grapes from the surrounding farms are taken for processing to nearby Sátoraljaújhely. (It is much easier to find than pronounce. Just before you approach the Czech border, you're there.) Tokay does have a wine museum and it, like the wine itself, is not to be missed. Not so much for what it shows you, but to meet the old man who is its caretaker. At first blush, it appears closed — the giant padlock seemingly latched forever. But at the direction of a local postman, a visitor is sent to an open door. Inside, a woman is doing her wash in a metal tub. “Museum?” she is asked. She goes to the doorway and yells across the old wooden porch. From another doorway comes what appears to he an octogenarian, his weatherbeaten face seemingly as ageless as the village. He carries a large bag containing the keys to the giant padlock and dutifully opens it. He then dutifully collects his fee of two forints ( about a nickel) per visitor and begins his tour, which takes you through cool underground catacombs. Though he speaks only the tongue-twisting Magyar language, his words need no translation thanks to his hands and body-language. His legs wobble as he tells the story of those patriarchs of history who had partaken too much of his village’s famous product. Wine historians, Hungarian and otherwise, say it was used strictly for “medicinal value” early in its 400-year history. It was — and this shows its potency — one of the first recorded anesthetics. But its flavor
