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Drinking Bull's Blood in Hungary's Valley of the Beautiful Women
There are no beautiful women in the Valley of the Beautiful Women, located on the outskirts of Eger in northeastern Hungary. A true misnomer. At least from what I could see. Instead, the only humans in sight were old crones pouring potent deep-red vino from long stem-like glass wine pourers and ancient portly men passed out in the corner of subterranean wine cellars. Is this one of those bad marketing ploys? I wondered. It didn't really matter because I hadn't actually been lured here to gawk at the aesthetics of the female figure. I'd come to imbibe wine. And, from the looks of it. I was in the right the place.Eger is, after all, one of the best towns in Central Europe for wine-centric debauchery. Bull's Blood, a wine that hasn't exactly taken the international wine market by storm, is the wine blend of choice here, where (in the Valley of the Beautiful Women) nearly 200 wine cellars are carved into the cliffs and thirsty visitors can pop in for a cheap glass before moving on to the next and the next until the evening is just a giant red wine-stained blur.
No one's really sure where the name came from, but the wine pourer in cellar 16, a wrinkly-faced man with a permanent smile on his face, said it's probably a reference to a pagan fertility goddess. Then he raised his glass in a toast and slammed his wine (Hungarians never clink glasses--it was the practice of Austrians who occupied the country for hundreds of years).
We do know, though, where Bull's Blood came from.
It all started, ironically enough, in 1552 when 60,000 non-booze-imbibing Turks--who had managed to besiege their way all the way up to Hungary--decided they wanted to take Eger before conquering the rest of Europe.
In preparation for what seemed like an inevitable defeat, Dobo Istvan and his 2,000 Hungarian warriors did what any smart army in this situation should do: they mixed together all the wine they had, even if it was from a different grape, and commenced drinking. It worked. Thirty-eight days and dozens of barrels of red wine later, the Bacchus-inspired Hungarians stumbled out of their well-protected and now ruined castle and forced the Turks to retreat. Humiliated, shocked and completely sober, the Turks' only excuse for the defeat was that the Hungarians' red wine-stained beards were proof they'd been imbibing the blood of bulls for strength.
Though the Turks came back four decades later, and this time stayed for almost a century, the original battle figures prominently in Hungarian national lore. And the wine, Bikaver, or Bull's Blood, as it was called after the battle, is forever linked with the strength and courage of Hungary's resistance to foreign powers.
Getting to the valley, the epicenter of Bull's Blood consumption, is easy. It's just a pleasant 15-minute trudge out of town, following the signs for Szépasszonyvölgy, which all the wine in Eger will never help you pronounce. Fortunately signs are also translated into English, pointing Bacchanalian visitors to the "Nice Ladies Valley." When I first arrived, I scanned the cellars, felt the wad of Hungarian forints in my pocket, and gravitated to the nearest open cellar. I was pretty sure a hangover was awaiting me in the morning.
In cellar number 17, a quintet of gypsy musicians played old Hungarian tunes as a large group of German tourists--partying the only way they knew how--swayed their glasses back and forth in front of them. Meanwhile, in cellar 22, pop music blared from the stereo as a dozen or so Hungarian teenaged girls tried to drink as much as possible before their curfew. In addition to the varying atmospheres of the individual cellars, each one offers its own distinct version of Bull's Blood. While one cellar's offerings might have subtle hints of fruit, another may scream a smoky oak taste.
Cellar number 2 had a cozy, upbeat atmosphere and a quirky wine pourer, an erratic sexagenarian with wild, disheveled hair. The wine here had hints of spice. As she re-filled my glass, over the raucous clamor of other drinkers (the metaphorical sons and daughter of Dobo Istvan), she said to me, "Polish?"
"No, Turkish," I said jokingly. She didn't laugh. Instead, she pointed to the hundreds of coins dotting the rocky cellar walls, saying if the coin sticks, I would return to Eger. If not, "well...," she said, letting her words trail off. I pulled out a 20-forint coin and pressed it into the gummy dark wall. When I pulled away, it stayed for two long seconds and dropped on the floor.
In preparation for what seemed like an inevitable defeat, Dobo Istvan and his 2,000 Hungarian warriors did what any smart army in this situation should do: they mixed together all the wine they had, even if it was from a different grape, and commenced drinking. It worked. Thirty-eight days and dozens of barrels of red wine later, the Bacchus-inspired Hungarians stumbled out of their well-protected and now ruined castle and forced the Turks to retreat. Humiliated, shocked and completely sober, the Turks' only excuse for the defeat was that the Hungarians' red wine-stained beards were proof they'd been imbibing the blood of bulls for strength.
Though the Turks came back four decades later, and this time stayed for almost a century, the original battle figures prominently in Hungarian national lore. And the wine, Bikaver, or Bull's Blood, as it was called after the battle, is forever linked with the strength and courage of Hungary's resistance to foreign powers.
Getting to the valley, the epicenter of Bull's Blood consumption, is easy. It's just a pleasant 15-minute trudge out of town, following the signs for Szépasszonyvölgy, which all the wine in Eger will never help you pronounce. Fortunately signs are also translated into English, pointing Bacchanalian visitors to the "Nice Ladies Valley." When I first arrived, I scanned the cellars, felt the wad of Hungarian forints in my pocket, and gravitated to the nearest open cellar. I was pretty sure a hangover was awaiting me in the morning.
In cellar number 17, a quintet of gypsy musicians played old Hungarian tunes as a large group of German tourists--partying the only way they knew how--swayed their glasses back and forth in front of them. Meanwhile, in cellar 22, pop music blared from the stereo as a dozen or so Hungarian teenaged girls tried to drink as much as possible before their curfew. In addition to the varying atmospheres of the individual cellars, each one offers its own distinct version of Bull's Blood. While one cellar's offerings might have subtle hints of fruit, another may scream a smoky oak taste.
Cellar number 2 had a cozy, upbeat atmosphere and a quirky wine pourer, an erratic sexagenarian with wild, disheveled hair. The wine here had hints of spice. As she re-filled my glass, over the raucous clamor of other drinkers (the metaphorical sons and daughter of Dobo Istvan), she said to me, "Polish?"
"No, Turkish," I said jokingly. She didn't laugh. Instead, she pointed to the hundreds of coins dotting the rocky cellar walls, saying if the coin sticks, I would return to Eger. If not, "well...," she said, letting her words trail off. I pulled out a 20-forint coin and pressed it into the gummy dark wall. When I pulled away, it stayed for two long seconds and dropped on the floor.
I picked up the coin, plopped it in the woman's hand, and she re-filled my glass again. She continued until everyone I saw appeared beautiful.
Filed under: History, Food and Drink, Europe, Hungary
Reader Comments (Page 1 of 1)
tourst19 Oct 31st 2010 2:26PM
While I am thrilled to see an article on Hungary (it is so often ignored), this article left a bit to be desired. Eger, and Hungary in general, offers much more on the wine scene than just Bull's Blood. Did you even try any of the amazing whites that they offer? Each cellar has a whole selection of wines that they make, with their own specialties. Limiting this article to just Bikaver offers a poor representation of Eger and Hungarian wine. Did you bother to go off the beaten path to some of less commercial cellars? I had some of the most amazing wines of my life there poured for me by the men who were involved in every single step of making their wine. They make amazing Leanyka and Muskotaly among many other little known varietals and will talk to you (even if you don't have a common language among you) all day long about how they make their wine. Drinking wine in a moldy cave may sound like an odd thing, but it was one of my favorite experiences in Hungary.
Scott Nov 2nd 2010 6:59PM
You are wrong to say that Hungarians never clink their glasses - you are confusing wine drinking with beer drinking (a cardinal sin in many countries!) Hungarians swore not to clink beer glasses for 150 years after the execution of some of the generals who led the Hungarians in the 1848/9 war of independence. Although that period has since lapsed, the custom lives on. On the other hand, Hungarians are very keen clinkers of wine glasses - there are very specific rules of etiquette surrounding this, the most important of which is to look into the eyes of your fellow clinker.
And by the way, most Egri Bikavér (Bull's Blood) is inferior wine by Hungarian standards. They haven't even tried to export them since the collapse of the Soviet Union. If in Eger then try a Pinot Noir or a white wine. Then head south to Villány and Szekszárd for the best Hungarian reds. Or, for the best Hungarian wines of all, head east to Tokaj.