What remains unexplored in tasting if not the last frontier, the tasting that may seem impossible, that of the liquid defined as odorless and tasteless?
What is more common than water? Everyone knows it, everyone has dealt with it both in consumption as a beverage and for treatments such as spa therapies. Object of ancient cults, temples and places of veneration are dedicated to water and springs.
An element with a dual nature, which gives and takes life, a symbol of purity par excellence.
Water has always exercised the charm of the sacred in human beings.
"We passed lightly over the earth like water (...) like water that flows, jumps, down from the full basin of the spring."
Sergio Atzeni writes in his novel "We Passed Lightly on the Earth." Atzeni, by fictionalizing the history of Sardinia, in this passage relies on the description of water to help us imagine the flow of time and the generations that have followed on Earth. Ancient civilizations left us evidence of the worship of potable water with temples near springs.
Water has always been described as the odorless, colorless, and tasteless liquid par excellence. But if we ask a water sommelier to explain the difference between one bottle and another, we discover that even the tasteless liquid par excellence has its nuances, mainly due to the dissolution of a certain amount of oligomineral salts in its chemical composition. Among specialists, there is talk of studying and understanding its characteristics in order to better pair it with wine or food because
Just like any other beverage, water can enhance or diminish the flavors and aromas of food.
And of the drinks. I still remember the taste of the Japanese hot spring water from the Lamune Onsen Kan source in Oita, on the island of Kyushu; it had a mineral, iron-like, slightly sparkling aftertaste: unique. Beyond the chemical characteristics that make it excellent, the hot spring water had a savoriness that I would not hesitate to define as Umami. Probably a pairing with food would reveal pleasant surprises, just like with wine.
The sources of drinking water were well known to the people living in the surrounding areas and appreciated for their differences, to the point that everyone preferred one spring over another, precisely for its different "taste".
It is said -and it is true- that in the city of Rome, every fountain is fed by drinking water. A walk through the Roman streets in summer is made even more enjoyable by this: always having drinking water available to refresh oneself and combat the infamous summer "canicula".
Water is important at the table, especially during a tasting: if we alternate, for every half glass of wine consumed, a glass of water, it will help us manage the blood alcohol level and thus lessen the effects of alcohol in the body.
Drinking water is an act that is inherent to life itself.
Human beings, animals, and plants need it, and only humans alter its structure, taste, and appearance whimsically, transforming this element while still leaving it similar to itself. Beer, wine, fruit drinks, teas, and coffees are nothing more than a way to quench thirst by incorporating elements with the most varied characteristics into water.
But how can we be sure that the water is actually pure and therefore suitable for human consumption? The waters that are sold have strict quality controls, but it wasn’t always like that; one had to rely on experience. One of the stories that struck me the most is the one told to me by Walter Usai, a descendant of an important family of Sardinian ceramists. He tells me that, right after the pandemic, he was contacted by someone who asked him for a special processing: he asked him to make an amphora for water using the lathe.
A completely manual processing
that wants to prevent the presence in the mixture of any other substance than clay. The amphora made this way has a characteristic: it purifies the water from all foreign substances, making it pure. This type of container, made of clay, is fired in an oven and is not glazed on the inside, unlike the jugs that were used to bring wine to the table and which instead had to be glazed.
The water amphorae are containers that have not changed in shape over time: archaeological finds tell us how their shape has remained substantially the same over the centuries. Probably, the contact with the clay, which tends to absorb these substances, makes the water cleaner. There are different shapes for water jugs, which make them suitable for transport on horses, curious shapes that resemble flasks and that remind of the shape of breasts, as if water could be considered the nourishment provided by the earth.
Illusion or reality?
Microbiological analyses are clear: water, after at least forty minutes of contact with unglazed clay, is indeed cleaner. Walter's client ended up requesting forty amphorae, claiming that he could only trust those containers to get truly clean water. Who knows if the new frontier of 'healthy' drinking comes from the use of handcrafted terracotta made on a potter's wheel?
