The shier period in my life when I refused to download any of the dating apps was certainly a stubbornly hesitant one. It’s still a bit of a proud moment for me to recall that the first guy I ever asked out on a date was during an in-person interaction just before a shift at work, despite the fact that I was visibly shaking while entering his number into my phone. It ended better than it could have, but let it be known that I, this human-shaped bundle of nerves, initiated a cheesy romantic comedy scheme by “casually” bringing some sheet music to the shop, knowing he studied music, just for him to accidentally see what I was holding and start a conversation – which was, on the theme of annoying film plots – interrupted by a woman who had just come from a yoga class. I don’t remember what wine I picked out for that date but I’m pretty sure it was a Pinot Noir. Or was it Rioja? And did I babble on like that run-on sentence I just typed?

This other time, once I had the courage to swipe left and right on the apps, I ended up going on a date with a regular. There’s always a bit of pressure to pick out the wine once your date finds out you’re a somm, and then the overthinking and overanalyzing so easily starts: is Bordeaux too committal for a first date? Does Dolcetto give hookup vibes? Does Sancerre signal more Taylor Swift than Lady Gaga? Satisfying the garbage train of thought that runs through my mind, I bring a Premier Cru Chablis for corkage: something with a touch of class, but nothing super shiny. I’m remembering Björk on his bedroom playlist and I really, really, really don’t want that to be a false memory.

Mojitos bring up this Europe trip that started in France – with jaunts in Paris, the Loire, Champagne, and Burgundy – but that had a sweet finale in Barcelona. I swiped right on this person that ended up becoming a good friend up until this day, so much that we somehow co-ordinated recording Drag Race recap podcasts from opposite ends on the world years after that trip. At least I think they were mojitos.

I would never turn down a glass of Foradori’s Teroldego, but the memory is vaguely intertwined with this one person who was in the center of this weird Venn Diagram of plant gay, basketball zealot, and someone who has bad takes on Amy Adams in Arrival. Pretending to be into basketball was painful, but let it be known that Teroldego dulls that agony. He also gifted me a plant and I cringe at the memory of naming it “Kevin Dur-plant”, and that thought always makes me want to take a shot, and I don’t mean a three-pointer, whatever that is. Insert touchdown joke here.

Teleporting somewhere closer to the present, I recall that one of the first dates with my current partner was a picnic overlooking the Painted Ladies in San Francisco on a drizzly April 15th, complete with snacks and a bottle of Domaine Weinbach’s 2016 Gewurztraminer, Cuvée Theo. Does Alsatian Gewurztraminer not bring anything but the most pleasing turbulence, with its unrestrained and perfumed tropical fruit, followed by its equally eager and comforting texture and intensity? As if the beginning of such a liquid incantation, excited dogs literally ran into us, the drizzle turned into a downpour, and we huddled under a small umbrella as we hopped on a bus to the Castro for drinks, confessions, and pad thai. We still have that empty bottle displayed in our living room.

One of the first times I’ve cooked dinner for one of our dates was a few months into the relationship – I thought it would be cute and symbolic if I made the de facto national dishes of our respective motherlands, so I made chicken adobo for the Philippines, along with my first (and successful!) attempt at Puerto Rican arroz con gandules. Since then, cooking has become one of our favourite activities, but I am not slow to admit that I am that particular asshat who will toss an accusatory rhetorical question every time I see him doing something different than I would. I’m learning not to do that. As often.

It must have been a few months later when we first attempted piaparan manok, a turmeric-coconut-ginger chicken dish from the Mindanao region of the Philippines, which quickly became my partner’s favourite Filipino dish and has since become one of our regular dinner staples. He loved it so much that he made it for his family in Puerto Rico: the fish sauce at face value threw them off at first, but apparently ownership of the leftovers was disputed. Success.

This dish doesn’t necessarily fit the rubric and experiment that I set up a while ago trying to take a broad snapshot of Filipino flavours and pair them with wines, since the dominant flavours of piaparan manok are more central to the Southern Philippines, but as I’ve mentioned, it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge these flavours. This area of the Philippines has a unique identity flourishing with Arab and Malay roots, and piaparan manok is commonly served during the celebration at the end of Ramadan. Considering the strong identity in the region, which clearly manifests itself in the cuisine, it’s interesting to note that the dishes here might be the closest examples of Filipino cuisine before the influences of the Spanish and Chinese.

Coming from the Maranao tribe in the province of Lanao del Sur on the Island of Mindanao, piaparan manok is essentially a chicken stew simmered in coconut milk and flavoured by both turmeric and palapa, which is a paste analogous to sofrito in Latin American cuisine, consisting of a combination of ginger, coconut, scallions, and chilis. I use my Puerto Rican pilon to mash and marry all of these components to make the palapa, and later add it to the simmering stew. There’s a final round of coconut, and to add some lift and balance, we also add tomato, onion, garlic, and red bell pepper to the mix. And we certainly can’t forget the fish sauce.

Domaine Weinbach 2017 Gewurztraminer (Alsace, France) Sep 2020. $42 USD.
More refreshingly fragrant and laden with minerals than intoxicatingly heady on the scale of Alsatian Gewurztraminer (i.e. lighter than the Cuvée Theo we had from Weinbach mentioned above), with flavours of lychee, rosewater, and hints of peach nectar – barely a hint of mango and ginger as it warms up. Off-dry, and the mouthfeel seems to match the nose in Goldilocks land – not too feathery, not too oily, but with a classic Gewurz fingerprint of bitterness at the end. Definitely a lot more expression as it warms up – certainly a wine you don’t want to serve right out of the fridge.

The pairing works beautifully, and I feel like it’s so uncommon when the noisy pieces in each component get along with each other. The earthy turmeric notes and zingy fish sauce dovetail perfectly with the bittersweet rosewater and tropical tones of the wine; the peachy lactones in the wine weave with the lactones in the coconut – despite the fact that I don’t necessarily subscribe to all flavour combinations as theorized by flavour chemistry; and the embellishments of ginger shine and dance in both. I was originally hesitant with this particular Gewurztraminer since it was a little more finessed than I would have liked for a punchy Alsatian version, but the lift of the wine gives the dish some room to sing its bass notes – the initial swirl of flavours ends with a meeting of the turmeric and the phenolic bitterness of the wine on the finish, and it’s almost like the piaparon manok and the Gewurztraminer are completing each other’s sentences.

Our first date wine and his favourite Filipino dish pairing beautifully might be a coincidence, but I’ll take it. We’ll take it.