Valentina Ananeva writes this entry to our 2024 wine writing competition about a coincidental moment that sparked an enduring passion for Serbian wine. See the guide to our competition for more.
Valentina Ananeva writes My name is Valentina Ananeva. I am a great admirer of wines from less obvious countries — Serbia, Lebanon, Greece. I previously worked in PR and marketing for various well-known companies, such as the World Wildlife Fund. Recently, I relocated to Cyprus, where I have chosen to delve into local winemaking as a hobby. I love experimenting and discovering new things, especially when it comes to wine. I hope you enjoy my story.
That dog on the wine bottle label
When I was a child, my parents cultivated grapes and made wine. This was in Central Asia. As I grew older, I went abroad to study and eventually found myself in Spain, where I fell in love with the local winemaking. After that, I travelled and tasted wines in Georgia, the USA, Lebanon, England, Mexico, Russia, Armenia, and other countries.
But the wine moment I'll never forget happened when I saw the image of my dog on a wine label in Serbia. It occurred on the evening when my fiancé and I finally signed the lease agreement for an apartment in Belgrade. Finally — because no one wanted to rent to us due to the presence of that very dog.
No, the dog is a furry angel and, of course, the cutest dog in the universe. But for some reason, these arguments were not sufficient to convince the landlords. And then, after a month of searching, we got lucky! And you know what the landlord said? "You have such a nice dog, I want you to live here." It was fate.
Being wine lovers, we decided to buy some wine immediately to celebrate this event. We googled and discovered that there was a wine shop in the same complex where we had just rented an apartment, which would close in 15 minutes, and we rushed there. Fate was generous with signs that day — the wine shop was called (and still is) Wine Dog!
Bursting in with the doorbell ringing, we asked the cavist what local wines he could recommend. We told him that we had recently moved to Serbia and hadn't had much time to learn about the local wines. The cavist led us to the right shelves and began to tell us about Serbian wines, but my eyes were fixed on a bottle of Pinot Noir with a black dog on the label.
I asked my fiancé if he also saw our Michi on the label, and he too stared in astonishment at the bottle. Of course, we bought it. And it turned out to be one of the best, if not the best, Pinot Noir of Serbian production. I immediately posted a video on Instagram with this bottle and our dog, tagged the winery, and jokingly wrote that our dog had become the ambassador of the winery in Serbia.
That same day, I received a response from the winery that the dog on the label was their former family pet, and that he, like our dog, was found on the street and was also a Tibetan Terrier mix! Thus began our online friendship with the Botunjac winery.
Every day, during our morning and evening walks, Michi would lead us to Wine Dog, where we could easily spend a few hours. The staff at the wine shop became our guides to the world of Serbian wine, and we became very close friends. Don't get me wrong, our dog, unlike us, is not a wine fan. He led us there because Michi is a fan of people who scratch his belly — and in the Wine Dog, there were 100% such people.
A year later, my fiancé and I got married. The first part of the celebration took place at the Wine Dog. And the final part — at the Botunjac winery. We actually came to finally meet in person with Kosta, the winemaker, and his family, and to help them with the harvest of Grašac.
Michi joyfully ran between the rows of grapevines, and the family friends who participated in the harvest were amazed at how much he resembled their former dog, who is now depicted on the Pinot Noir label. After harvesting the grapes, they treated us to a real feast. There were local meat and vegetable dishes, homemade bread and pastries, and, of course, wine.
And it’s an incredible feeling when the wine is poured into your glass by the person who created it. And it is poured directly from the barrel — that's the tradition.
After all the other grape pickers had left, we sat for a long time talking with Kosta, who produces 10,000 bottles of wine a year. Friends sometimes come to help him, but he does all the main work — from pruning the vines to labelling the bottles — by hand.
We said goodbye three times. When my husband and I finally got into the car, Kosta told us to wait a minute and brought a box. Of course, it was wine — all the varieties that Botunjac produces! And right on the top bottle was the label with the black dog. Our black dog.
The photo is the author's own.