Find Sova — Slavic for owl — in Notting Hill, opposite the majestic Books for Cooks, round the corner from the ever-stirring Portobello Road. There’s a parliament sitting on the shelves before the bar, among the vinyl (I spy a Cliff Richard record, curiously), fetească and pickled berries. The room is painted a garden green and there are DJ decks positioned at the window end; light beams onto stunning marble. A bartender from East Dulwich, jolly despite an unenviable commute, suggests wines from Ukraine, Croatia, Slovakia, Slovenia, Serbia, Romania, Armenia and so on. Georgia too, the wine-making nation “of the moment”. Or “of the mome”, as some appear to be saying these days. I love an abbrev.
We drink Kolonist, a sparkling number from Ukraine. The winery is found in the Danube Bessarabia, a coastal region with a Mediterranean climate and perched above the Black Sea. It was once under the control of Ancient Greece, later the Ongle during the time of Great Bulgaria, then it was Ottoman. Today it is Ukraine. It must remain so. Drink Kolonist, then, owlishly, and then have raw tuna with fennel and capers.
