Imagine stumbling into a tiny wine bar while wandering the narrow streets of the Barri Gòtic or along the canals of the Dorsoduro. It’s a warm summer day, not quite lunchtime. Inside, it’s quiet and comfortingly dark. A few small plates, perhaps some boquerones with bread and some olives, would go down well with an ombre, a shadow of a drink.

You recognize a few selections on the wine list but you are in the mood for a surprise, so you ask for a suggestion. The bartender asks you what you like and maybe you say that you like wines that are interesting, something unusual. She brings you a taste of something that tastes a little like dirt and smells kind of like cat pee.

But, hey - you asked for it. So, you give it a chance. You notice the color, rich with amber. And, then it starts to open a bit and the smell of dirt evolves into a memory of standing in a field of sunflowers somewhere in the south of France, sun pouring down on you like warm honey. Before the glass touches your lips, you can taste sunbaked straw and wet rocks where you originally detected cat pee.

You open your eyes and return to the present. Looking up, you notice a garden patio beyond the back door. This you would probably not find in a boîte off the cramped streets of Barcelona’s gothic quarter or the canals of Venice. But, if you did, it would probably feel a lot like this moment.