Tag Archives: wine
A Trip Down Memory Lane
One of the very few red wines that first grabbed me by my nose and dragged me, not exactly kicking and screaming, into the bottle was a 2002 Cuvee Gravel bourgogne rouge from Catherine and Claude Maréchal. A short while later, the same store which fed my Gravel habit had 2004 Chorey-les-Beaune and Pommard from the same producer, and I really fell in love.
I tucked away a far amount of the 2004s, more than I’d remembered, actually, and tonight I went digging.
A few years later, the Chorey is quite nice. The fruit on the nose is more potent than I remembered, ripe with sweet cherries and a bit of stony minerality, but the fruit on the palate is dying a bit. The finish is dry, a bit musty, and still quite tannic. This is still a pretty, enjoyable wine, but I’m drinking the other bottle I found quite soon.
A Night with Friends
Around lunch time yesterday, I got a call from my friend Steve who put forth the idea of getting together at his place for dinner. So Suz and I drove down and dined with his family, gnoshing on some great braised lamb shanks and drinking quite a bit of wine together in the process.
We started with 2006 Bourgogne “Le Chapitre” from Rene Bouvier, which was a colorful, pleasant surprise of sweet cherry, exceeding what one might expect from a bourgogne rouge.
Dinner for Two
People with birthdays between December 10th or so and New Year’s Day tend to share one minor complaint: Their emergence into this world is ignored amid the hustle and bustle of the holiday season. My wife’s birthday is in mid-December, and while we don’t really do the “present thing,” we ensure the occasion doesn’t pass unmarked. I make a dinner each year — something fun, reasonably unique or elaborate — and we have some quality drinks.
We started on some scallops with a cilantro gremolata and served over a lime beurre blanc, a recipe I found on Epicurious. With it, I mixed up and served a Captain Handsome, a cocktail created at Vessel, the bar in Seattle.
- 1.5 oz gin
- .5 oz lime juice
- .5 oz creme de violette
- .25 oz limoncello
- Shake w/ ice and strain the drink into a chilled cocktail glass rinsed with absinthe. Garnish with a cherry.
Its lime juice base made it ideal with the lime zest in the gremolata and the citrus in the reduction used to make the beurre blanc. Vessel has a fantastic device that carbonates any drink without dilluting it. And while our version lacks the delightful prickliness of Vessel’s original, it’s an excellent, elegant drink with a nicely cohesive floral and citrus flavor that’s accented really nicely by the absinthe rinse. Doesn’t get much better, and it’s an excellent drink to showcase the Creme de Violette I’ve come to love.
For the main course, I served another recipe I found online, albeit tweaked here and there: pork stuffed with a morel-based mixture and generously drizzled with a demi-glace and morel stock-based sauce.
Part of me thought a fresh Joseph Swan pinot noir, which I’ve written about here previously, would do the trick of combatting the rich morel and veal flavors, but I wanted something more refined and nuanced. I had a gut feeling that a 20-year-old burgundy I’d been holding on to would do the trick. And indeed it did.
More specifically, the wine was a 1988 premier cru from Les Vaucrains (in Nuits St. Georges), produced Robert Chevillon. It was surprisingly vibrant with plenty of berry fruit and tannin left, but the real pleasant surprise was just how well this worked with the pork: Hints of leather, game, and even a Fernet-Branca-ish herbal quality evolved as we drank through the botttle.
The meal closed with a raspberry mousse. We elected not to pair it with any specific drinks, but afterward, I gave my new bottle of Plymouth Sloe Gin a try. I made Sloe Sambas for both of us, a fruity, pink, frothy concoction that I’ve approximated from a drink of the same name made at Nopa, a San Francisco gastropub.
- 1.5 oz white rum
- 1.5 oz sloe gin
- .5 oz lemon juice
- .25 oz Scotch
- A quick squeeze of simple syrup
- Egg white
- Dry shake to get a good emulsion and foam
- Add ice, shake, and strain into a chilled glass
A Savage Land
During the typical grim commute home I witness a hit-and-run at the intersection of Woodward Ave. and 12 Mile Road. A cargo van plows over a minivan and then upon swift egress swipes an SUV. I am too far back to get a license plate number and although I want to chase the fiend down, the two cars ahead of me feel obligated to crawl along and stare at an incredulous old man as he inspects what remains of his vehicle’s rear. Shattered plastic litters the road.
The scene plays out in my mind over and over again, only I am the incredulous old man and there is beloved human cargo in the seat next to me. I attempt to shed these thoughts at the library. Fortunately, it is Audra’s violin lesson night – a.k.a. pints at Berkley Front that is next door to the music place night – and midway through a glass of Two Hearted Ale on the hand pull I begin to think of other things slightly less miserable.
After violin lessons I perk up in anticipation of the near perfect guacamole that I know is waiting for me at home. We stop at Trader Joe’s for corn chips and peppermint bark. I pick up a bottle of Real Tesoro Amontillado sherry for $5 thinking that the worst thing that can happen is that I will now have a bottle of cooking sherry in my fridge.
I now have a bottle of cooking sherry in my fridge. It seems that grace escapes me.
Tale of A Thanksgiving Past
The Saveur folks who fashioned the roast turkey and gravy recipe I decided to use must have been thirsty. Thanksgiving eve found me standing over a simmering broth of turkey neck and giblets, two pounds of chicken thighs, mirepoix, apple brandy and 2004 Cascina Degli Ulivi Gavi. Measuring the portions became most significant during the liquid additions: one for the roiling rich broth, two for me.
Thanksgiving proper we spent the morning driving north to Houghton Lake through spotty snow showers. We sang Over the River and through the Woods even though we weren’t going to grandmother’s house and truly didn’t know the words. Such are traditions. We arrived under a cloud of sparrows peeling away from a bare oak in the yard. They drifted off like a leaf twisting in the wind. The Lions game was on an appropriately fading television signal, I watched the first half and set the turkey into a brine of salt, garlic, ancho chile and cider. Dinner was venison chili. A euchre game broke out. Drinks were cider and a warm, darkberry fruitleather bottle of Castle Rock 2005 Mendocino Zinfandel that was strong enough to sneak up on us.
The turkey went into the oven Friday at 11:00 a.m. A layer of carrots, celery, apples and onions propped the bird up in the roasting pan. A bottle minus a largish glass of Gavi went in along with a stick of butter. There was no shame in drinking Gavi before noon though when it came time to make the gravy I realized I had drunk the wine that should have been reserved. The slight lapse meant nothing since there were more bottles of wine in a box in the breezeway. Further measuring was executed with a perfect bottle of 2005 Domain de la Pepiere muscadet and more apple brandy. “This is one hell of a gravy!” I declared. I soon realized how true it is that a little booze turns you into the person you really want to be and a lot of booze turns you into the person you really are. We all went to bed early.
Saturday morning was a rebirth. We spent the morning hiking the Gahagan Nature Preserve near the small town of Roscommon and spent some minutes at the AuSable River hoping for a glimpse of the otter family I had spotted early one morning in August. A group of float hunters quietly passed us. Each of us silently acknowledged the chance meeting at river’s edge. In the afternoon we felled a dead maple tree in the swamp behind the cottage. It landed directly on top of a fragrant balsam fir no doubt crushing it dead yet filling the surrounding area with the unmistakable scent of tranquility.
The swamp had stiffened in the cold. Snow turned amber from the tannins in the fallen leaves as we trampled a trail out, grunting and snorting like elk. There is nothing like carrying an eighty pound hardwood log on your shoulder over unbalanced terrain to build up a thirst. Rehydration was accomplished first with water, then cider, finally red wine.
A bottle of 2005 Mas Saint Joseph Les Cypres opened magnificently and drank even better. It was full with dried plum and cherry but not sticky and neatly finished with twigs. I was bursting with the hearty glow of cold weather exercise and woodstove heat. This bottle was too good to last in these environs and so near my glass.
Next the 2006 Carchelo Jumilla struck intense with chewy fruit reduction. The Idiazabal cheese was gone and salted peanuts couldn’t cut it, but a dose of sparkling water could. It now tasted like succulent pomegranate seeds and I decided it was still too intense to be called a spritzer.
This new juice and some small tokes in reverence to the spiritual customs of the latest Bohemian culture invigorated me enough for a midnight trek back into the swamp where for a long time I stood, listening to the wind push delicate clouds beneath the radiant moon, doing my finest impression of a pine tree.
2004 Alliet Chinon L’Huisserie
My wife loves to play a game in which we have to talk about things that happened in the the year indicated as the vintage of whatever bottle of wine we’re drinking. This is apparently a thing. Despite being widely known among my three or four friends as a mirthful, loving person, I routinely reject this request with a blank stare.
However, I’m quite keen on learning what Mr. Philipe Alliet was doing in 2004. Because if his wine is any indication, he may have been practicing black magic or selling his soul to the devil.
As I took my first sniff of his 04 L’Huisserie from Chinon in France’s Loire River Valley, I wondered if my memory was failing me. I thought this particular cuvée was among his mid-level or more modest bottlings, but the nose was so nuanced, so deep, that I thought I must have been mistaken. A Google search or two later, I discovered that in fact the vines of this property were only planted in 2000 and that the 04 vintage was the first bottling of this particular wine.
Dumbfounded, I did what I’ve long done best: I kept drinking.
There’s no escaping the fact that this is superb, elegant cabernet franc. At this point, I’m convinced I might commit a felony to try what is arguably his most notable cuvée, the Coteau Noiré. The L’Huisserie has all the refinement of a classic bordeaux with a dirty, moderately funky aroma and lean but plentiful black fruit on the palate. The nose is accented by tar and smoke, yet it’s somehow beautiful — hardly the angry wine such descriptors as “tar” might indicate. Sour cherry grabs the mid-palate and hangs on to provide a clean, acidic, tannic finish. Absolutely delightful, pleasant wine with real substance to it. It’s hard to believe these vines are so young, but given the quality of this wine, it’s very easy to believe that Alliet may be among the very best producers Chinon has to offer.
Vintage: 2004
Producer: Philipe Alliet
Location: Chinon, Loire, France
Grape: Cabernet Franc
Booze Marketing and Gourmet Underground’s First Cocktail Creation
Because I write a small drink column for a local alternative weekly paper my email inbox is awash with press releases from various brands, many of which feel the need to invent a new cocktail that supposedly highlights the qualities of their particular booze. Often these recipes are comprised of sickly sweet ingredients, or they’re just plain novelty. Even the few that look as if they might possibly be drinkable appear to be created by folks who have never tasted a classic cocktail in their lives. Worse, these companies would clearly rather emphasize their inferior products through marketing campaigns than actually try and compete on a quality for price level, yet they just can’t seem to find an original approach.
Take this recent press release from Old Forester bourbon:
With Black Friday approaching, Old Forester…has created the “Official Cocktail of Black Friday”. Old Forester encourages you to be the FIRST shopper out the door in the morning and the FIRST person home in the afternoon who has their shopping completed for the holiday season so you can then sit back and relax with the Old Forester Black Friday Cocktail.
In the interest of full disclosure, I admit that I have never tasted this particular bourbon. Though it might be the best deal going at $14 a fifth, I have usually made my purchase decision before reaching the bottom shelves. Based on this desperate plea for sales I don’t plan on trying it anytime soon.
The Black Friday cocktail:
1.5 oz Old Forester Bourbon
1 oz Ginger ale
2 oz Cola
Squeeze of lime
Garnish with crushed lime.
Wow, it’s a cocktail as original as Old Forester’s marketing angle. Let me run out and buy a bottle so I can mix it with soda. But wait, to finish it off the brilliant people at Old Forester came up with this little gem: “Note that the green lime represents your money that has been crushed from shopping”. Somebody give these guys a rimshot.
The good folks at Van Gogh Vodka scoff at this one puny cocktail recipe to celebrate the day after Thanksgiving. To help sell their vanilla, Dutch caramel, blue, pomegranate, double espresso, and açai-blueberry flavored vodkas, they came up with a cocktail for each day of the twelve days of Christmas. Pretty clever.
So gather round the fireplace and throw back a few “caramel pumpkin cheesecake dessert shots”. If those are too sweet for you there is always the “gingerbread cookie” martini or the “candy cane lane” cocktail. The deal is, you give them $150 bucks for a bunch of flavored vodka and in return you get adult onset diabetes.
This lack of creativity is not limited to liquor brands. You think wine is a drink only for stuffed shirts and princesses? Think again.
8-Bit Vitners… is responsible for this new take on wine consumption. Owner Mike James came up with the idea when searching for a way to combine his two passions, wine and video games, and created his first vintage (rightfully named Player 1) as a result.Player 1′s accessible and approachable style, and James’ whimsical recommendations on the label to enjoy the wine while playing Mega Man 2 on the NES or Shadow of the Colossus on PS2, are responsible for introducing wine culture to a new demographic and adding a new, hip twist to the industry.
Good luck with that, Mike.
So in honor of November, which as everybody knows is National Sleep Comfort Month I have created my own specialty cocktail I like to call, The Dozer. Simply pour fifteen ounces of Old Forester bourbon into a large plastic tumbler, add one ounce of water, one cup of superfine sugar, and a twist of lemon. Recommended pairing suggestions are turkey, warm milk and reality television. Sweet dreams.
2008 Peillot Bugey Pinot Noir
Pinot Noir is the grape that makes my absolute favorite wine: red burgundy. Of course, the real secret to burgundy is, as the adage goes, location, location, location. This is more accurately referred to as terroir — or at least, a significant part of terroir — within the lexicon shared by those of us with stained teeth, diseased livers, and big smiles.
Among the areas of France that has provided some surprisingly pleasant treats over the years is the stretch of winegrowing regions south of burgundy that run somewhat near the Alps: the Jura, Savoie, and Bugey.
So it was with some surprise that I didn’t fall head over heels in love with a pinot noir from a Bugey producer I’ve come to respect, specifically the 2008 pinot from the Peillot family in Bugey. As I drank a few glasses, I jotted down the following notes:
All the elegant berry fruit of a decent burgundy but lacking the bracing acidity and/or smoky quality that the best of those have to offer. Rather, there’s a bit of peanut shell in the finish, a dry minerality in place of the tartness I’d hope for. I alternate between loving this and having only modest interest in this.
After another drink later on, I decided that the dusty, fruity nature of this particular bottle was appealing but needed food to round out and cut down the concentrated, saturated flavors. I love elegant berry fruit, and I love the chalky finish that this wine shares with some of its Loire Valley pinot cousins. But without some acid or some food to tame this natural wonder, the wine occasionally wore on me. So I’m left confirming my initial impression: This is really wonderful, well-made wine. But for once, the intensity of a naturally made wine was too much for me to handle on its own.
I wonder if the salmon dish with a bit of lemon I made the day after might not have made this sing to me. I’ll give that a try next time, but if anyone has other ideas, send them my way.
On the Road with Beer and Wine
I left my house this morning on what I thought was a search for myself and humanity in general but turned into a business trip and a stop at the Liquor Barn in Lexington, Kentucky. It seems we are always walking over bodies just to witness something new so I took a recent Oktoberfest discussion as opportunity to sample again a festbier I previously dismissed as average.
Paulaner Oktoberfest Marzen drinks fantastically easy. Charming aromas of baked bread and prune spread invite a sip of mellow, turning not crisp but complete. It is amber and malty and just as drinkable as my friends say.
When I turned the ignition key at 7:30 a.m. Brazilian post-punk rushed horizontal from the speakers. A gaping hole in Eight Mile Road jarred my teeth soft. There are holes everywhere. There’s a hole in the fabric of space and time, a hole in the fabric of my sock, a hole where your soul ought to be. There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, a hole in my apple and holes dug by laughing children in the sandbox of their providence. I avoided the holes into Ohio.
I passed irrigation channels lined with the autumn bloom of white, lavender and gold. I passed cattle marked for slaughter and rows of corn stalks brown and dry in the wind. I stopped in Toledo for a downtempo compilation from Swank Recordings out of Vegas. Psapp’s Rear Moth has the distinction of being the only tune I have ever heard that makes use of a squeaky toy as serious instrumental accompaniment. A good soundtrack helps to melt away the concrete. Other artists somehow arranged piano keys and drumbeats into my feelings.
The Liquor Barn calls itself a complete party stop. It was there I also bought my dinner of a four ounce package of Capriole fresh, chived goat cheese, a small baguette, black Cerignola olives and Marcona almonds. These goodies paired well with the beer but even better with a bottle of Domaine la Montagnette Cotes du Rhone.
The tangy cheese, the crusty bread, the salty olives, the nuts, the cherry reduction of the wine, round and bursting, the herbed stones, it all made me want to be with myself but I already was. I think the wine is sensuous in the same way that a girl’s soft flesh dripping ocean saltwater and the smell of palmetto is. It makes me want to dress up in fineries and spend an evening with my beloved, which surprises me because I always thought I was only romantic in theory.
Before I arrived in Lexington I passed Florence, Kentucky where I spent the summer of ’98 playing bar tricks on transient airline attendants and drinking Long Island iced teas with a bartender named Rusty. I know it from the water tower that exclaims, “Florence, Y’all!”.
