Rosalyn D'Mello: Drinking in the spirit of a new place

While I sometimes envy people who do not, in any capacity, depend on an alcohol-induced inebriation, I also pity them a little. I've often found, as a traveller, that an appreciation of the local alcohol is the most intimate way to acquaint yourself with wherever you may be. I know many who scoff at the smell, taste, and texture of caju feni. But to me, a Bombay Goan, the heady scent that fills any room the instant a bottle is opened is the very fragrance of Goa, as if it had all been distilled somehow into that singular essence; all of it, the red, laterite-rich soil, the woody-jammy fermented perfume of overripe cashews, the way the clear liquid gushes down your throat, warming every fibre of your being. When I have myself a glass of caju feni in Goa, my body instantly recognizes that I am back home, where I belong.

Australia makes excellent wine, and it's quite cheap. Representation Pic/thinkstock

When I travelled up to the Chittagong Hill Tracts, I instantly connected with the tribal landscape when I was served my first glass of dochuani, which translates to doubly distilled, the local rice wine. By day three, I could tell, just by smelling the bottle, how long its contents had been fermenting. What the Chakma King told us turned out to be absolutely true, the claim to fame of this wine was that you never suffered from a hangover. I wasn't sure if it was because the rice afforded the liquor a mealy-ness or if it was just the air, but the high was always exhillarating, but gentle and organic.

In Myanmar, the best way, I found, to slip into the lives of locals, was to imbibe the beers produced in the region, many of which far exceeded the Indian equivalents in terms of crispness of taste and texture, and the general spirit in which you consumed it. Yoma and Mandalay proved to be my favorites. Yoma, because it was infused with rice, and Mandalay, because it had a great flavour. Yangon has a beautiful public drinking culture, with beer gardens around most corners serving draught beer and an excellent array of bar snacks. Had I been a teetotaler, I know I would have missed out on a wonderful social experience.

As I walked through the Duty Free at the Brisbane airport, I refrained from buying myself a bottle of bourbon or scotch, as I usually do, so I have something to serve when I have company in my hotel room. I decided to follow a friend's advice. It's Australia, he said, they make excellent wine, and it's quite cheap. I remembered how fabulous it was when I was in Paris and I would simply go to the local supermarket, pay between two to five euros for an excellent red, and feel so satisfied when I'd partake of it in the company of friends. It was how I experimented with Japanese whiskeys and beers, too, when I was in Tokyo.

So, this afternon, after a trip to the supermarket to buy essentials, like roast Wagyu beef and feta-stuffed olives, and ridiculously red strawberries, I stopped at a liquor store called The Cellar, to sample the fare. I brought back a Yellow Tail Chardonnay, and a Black Shiraz. The weather in Byron Bay has been anomalous. It isn't supposed to be raining, it isn't supposed to be this windy. But it is. Which makes it excellent wine-drinking weather. We returned, me, and my fellow writer companions, and set ourselves up at the balcony of the guest house's kitchen, and decided to inaugurate the Chardonnay alongside the strawberries and olives. Within ten minutes, we found ourselves in the illustrious company of other writers and photographers, and I gleefully showed off the Australia edition of my book, A Handbook For My Lover, which has me on the cover, so it's slightly embarassing. All along I tripped on the deliciousness of the grapes, the flavours of peach and melon, and the "creamy finish" that was promised to me by the label.

Deliberating on the life and times of Everywoman, Rosalyn D'Mello is a reputed art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx. Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com