By Julia Timakhovich

Boston, an international city, hosts many ethnic restaurants. But only a few are exceptional representations of a country's cuisine.
 
Where in the city would you go to taste an almost extinct native grape variety in a restaurant with an all-Spanish wine list?
 
You would fall in love with Taberna de Haro. Although this small restaurant is located on a quintessential urban street in Brookline (Beacon Street, right across St. Mary's green line stop), it looks and feels as if a piece of Madrid was packaged, imported, and delivered in a stained wooden wine case titled, "Spanish wines. All of them."
 
Taberna de Haro serves the most authentic Spanish food in the city, but prides itself on something else—an award-winning wine list encompassing all regions—as long as they are regions of one country.
 
Spain.
 
From tapas to paellas to specials of the house, the dishes are as loyal in ingredients and Spanish in preparation as possible. How about a bite of jamon iberico (rarely imported from the coveted Black Iberian pig)? Or a Basque region staple, Txistorra con brandada (concentrated red sausage with a mix of salt cod pureed with potatoes)? Or a good old meat dish, Chuleton (grilled rib-eye, organically raised from River Rock Farm in Brimfield, MA)?
 
The wine list is organized by the emotional value of the region. Creative. As you turn the pages, you notice the headings such as "Gracefully Aging Rioja", "Bravo, Toro", "New Mobility", or "Hot Mediterranean."
 
I was about to order a traditional Rioja to complement my choice of entrée, Arroz negro (delicious black paella with squid ink and ali-oli), when Deborah Hansen, the owner and a recognized Spanish-trained sommelier, commented on my wine selection.
 
"Spain has so many new wines. Winemakers are using new techniques which made these wines commercially possible. Why don't you try one of these?", and pointed at a page titled "Glorious Yet Friendly."
 
One of these was Bodega Pirineos 2004, made with 100% Parraleta, which, as Deborah explained, is an indigenous, almost extinct, red variety from the Somontano region of Spain. It was listed for $34, a no-brainer to pay for curiosity.
 
Deborah travels to Spain frequently, speaks the language fluently, and really knows her wines. She believes in native grapes. "A Spanish wine is supposed to taste like a Spanish wine, not another Merlot or Cabernet that is trying to live up to a world standard. A Spanish wine is supposed to represent the region, the grapes, and the techniques used and improved upon by generations."
 
It did. Looking young, dark cherry red, it was light-bodied yet earthy (matured for three months in American oak), and slightly acidic. It cut right through the ali-oli, and left a sour cherry finish that teased for more.
 
In Barcelona three years ago, my Spanish friend took me to a local wine store. While my eyes were adjusting to so much native inventory, he grabbed two bottles, a red and a white, and paid. Drinking the Parraleta, I remember thinking, that's exactly how they pick wines in Spain. They go and get a bottle, knowing the region and knowing the wine, and not caring too much how many points it could get from Robert Parker. They just drink it and enjoy what the wine has to offer to complement the table.
 
Places like Taberna de Haro will keep the traditions of Spain.