Sunday begins with vino: how wine became a natural ritual

When I still lived in England, a glass of wine was reserved for special occasions — a dinner, a birthday, or one of those evenings when you felt you’d earned it (after three hours of wrestling with London’s public transport, for example). Here in southern Spain, I learned something entirely different: wine isn’t a reward. It’s part of the rhythm — a ritual.

Sunday lunch: wine as the beating heart of the table

My neighbour Dolores has a rule: “On Sundays, you cook slowly, eat leisurely, and drink wine as if it were water – but with more joy.” And believe me, she lives by it. Every Sunday, her patio turns into an open-air restaurant for family, friends, wandering cousins, and always one curious dog.

On the table: paella, roasted meat, tomato salad, baguette, aioli — and of course, wine. No fancy bottles, no talk about vintages — just something local, round, and red. The corks pop without ceremony, glasses fill up even when you try to say no, and somewhere between the second and third plate, the whole afternoon turns into something that could only happen here.

The vendimia: grape picking with sunscreen and sarcasm

Last year, I was invited to help with the vendimia. With my half-English reflexes, I politely asked what time I was expected. The answer: “When it’s light.”

I showed up at 7:10 sharp. They laughed as if I’d brought the king himself. The rest arrived closer to eight, wearing sun hats, carrying plastic buckets, and radiating an attitude of “take it easy.” The day was long, dusty, and hilarious. And by the end, under a makeshift shelter of tarps and wooden poles, there was a table waiting — tortilla, olives, sausage… and, of course, wine.

Because even when the wine still has to be made, you already drink to what’s coming.

The midweek vino

What I never expected is how natural a glass of wine feels here — not as a drink, but as a moment. With a piece of manchego around 6 p.m. With dinner, when you throw together pasta from whatever’s left in the fridge. Or even while cooking, when the music’s on and your partner suddenly asks, “Fancy a little glass?”

Some bottles sit there for weeks. Others somehow end up empty without anyone knowing how. But it’s never about the contents. It’s about the rhythm. The togetherness. The calm. The quiet realization that — we’re here, today — and that’s reason enough.

Wine without pretense, but full of meaning

What I’ve learned here is that wine at home doesn’t have to be a décor piece. It’s not an accessory for a shelf next to a basil plant. It’s a living part of how people connect. Not about prestige — but about a quiet sense of belonging.

And honestly? Once I felt that, a Sunday without wine just feels like… Monday.

This story is part of the The Sound Of The Costa Wine Month. Throughout the month, Costa Lifestyle’s features focus on wine — in collaboration with Grupo BonAmb.