Food, Wine, Good (and Evil) Spirits

In Pursuit of Balance - A New Wine Movement

inpursuitlogo I love California wine and I'm not afraid to admit it. More than any other region and, through extensive wine classes, I've tasted them all. And I'm tired of people (OK, mostly other writers) bashing the wines from my adopted state for being what they mostly can't help being - big, bold and some claim overly-alcoholic. We have sun here, a lot of it, and it shows in the wines we make. That's called "terroir" people. If you don't like it, there are now hundreds of thousands of choices from almost every country in the world. Take your pick. Stop complaining and drink what you like.

Personally, I like to taste more fruit than dirt in my glass so I'm perfectly content right where I am. Can I agree that California produces a preponderance of wines that show little character and that bludgeon your taste buds with too much of everything? Sure. On the flip side, low alcohol wines can be thin, insipid and too acidic all in the cause of being opposite. Having travelled up and down the state, I know there are many, many, many winemakers out there trying to make the best wines from their land (or purchased grapes) that focus on all the right things: balance, fruit and complexity.

That's all I ask for. Depth of character. Whether light-bodied or full-throttled, taste like something other than grape juice and oak. Subtle doesn't have to mean boring and intensity isn't always overwhelming. Balance is the key. It certainly begins in the vineyard with a myriad of farming decisions, but actions in the winery also play an important role. When the right winemaker finds the right grapes, it is magic in the glass. This idea became In Pursuit of Balance, a movement created three years ago by Jasmine Hirsch of Hirsch Vineyards and Rajat Parr of Michael Mina and Sandhi Wines to support wineries striving to craft balanced Pinot Noir and Chardonnay in California. I'm not sure this concept really needs a "movement", but I found a lot to love at their recent tasting in Los Angeles.

Confessions of a Champagne Snob

From the North Coast Journal

It happens every year about this time, in magazines and newspapers, online: an outpouring of effervescent enthusiasm for holiday sparkling wine bargains. "The best of West Coast bubbly has rarely been better," trumpets San Francisco Chronicle Magazine. The online wine merchant www.novusvinum.com features the "Top 20 American Sparkling Wines," from a modest $19 for Francis Coppola 2008 Sofia Blanc de Blancs to a staggering $100 for Schramsberg 2002 J. Schram. Words like "festive" and "elegant" promise a transcendental experience.

They lie. Well, they pretty much have to lie. No one would be long in business selling wine or print ads if they told the truth: American sparkling wine at its best is not in the same class as even the least expensive imports from Champagne. The fact is, it may never be.

The world of cuisine is fertile ground for happy, often accidental inventions: the 18th century discovery that oil and vinegar could, by careful blending with egg yolk, be emulsified into Sauce Mayonnaise. Peking Duck: an ancient dish, eaten by wealthy Chinese, consisting of just the crisp skin of a fattened duck, slowly roasted to a glossy brown in a long process taking a whole day. Distilled spirits, a byproduct of 8th century alchemy that produced what an Arabic poet described as, "a wine that has the color of rain-water but is as hot inside the ribs as a burning firebrand."

But the ultimate adventure may have been the one that produced gold from straw.

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Cherry Sidecar

There are three types of people in this world: those that like cherries, those that like cherry-flavored, and those that like neither (or both, which makes this category 4 I suppose). I’m wedged into the latter but have slowly learned to appreciate the seasonal gift of fresh cherries.

Please don’t get me wrong. There are no agendas, no personal allergic antedotes, nothing of the sort. Growing up fresh cherries weren’t a part of my family menu. To us, cherries were the gloopy, glossy globes that didn’t need a cherry pitter but a can opener. Something tells me that’s not quite the way Mother Nature intended them to be enjoyed but purely an act out of mankind’s thifty desire to preserve their short season.

It’s only been the past few years that I’ve learned to have my way with fresh cherries in the kitchen and that has resulted in a slight cherry crush. I don’t want to eat cherry pie or clafoutis unless you can convince me you made it yourself and please for the love of god keep any fauxcherryanything far away from me. That includes Luden’s.

Still, I can’t help but get a teensy bit excited when I see cherries.

Aprihop Beer

Last night husband Martin and I were feeling a bit restless – nothing that an ale at the Verdugo couldn’t fix. The Verdugo is our (somewhat) local bar. It has an awesome selection of craft beers on tap, and really, is there anything as good as a good beer on draught? Beer geeks LOVE this place – it has Pliny the Elder, Craftsman, Sour Beers, Belgians, stouts, meads – you name it – on tap. Dudes love the place because the bartenders are pretty, and there is a flat screen t.v. at the bar, where if you ask nicely, they will turn on the ball game. Chicks love the place because, er, the beer is so fine? Also, if you happen to have unenlightened friends who don’t appreciate fine beer, there is a full bar.

So last night perusing the beer list, we both fixed on Aprihop by Dogfish Head. We requested a small taste (they will let you do that!) and we both ordered a pint. Dogfish is an interesting brewery. It’s in Delaware and there was an entertaining article about it in the New Yorker a couple of years ago. Unbeknownst to us, Bryant Goulding, Dogfish’s West Coast Regional Sales Manager was sitting a few seats down, and we got to chat him up about the beer and brewery.

Remember Manischewitz

The other day I took a walk through Wally's, my local wine emporium's autumn sale and was bottle shocked by the number of kosher wine choices on display—Ninety-seven Jewtique labels. From Israel to Australia to the Valley of Napa, there are rabbis rendering grapes right for Jewish tables the world over.

Although pleased as wine punch that my brethren can sip with confidence from so many vineyards at all the holiday tables to come, I felt drowned in a sudden wave of nostalgia, for, over in a less popular corner, I spied some "Man Oh Manischewitz – What a Wine" languishing, neglected for a mere $4.99 in its own dust.

And a flood of bittersweet tasting memories ensued…of my parentally enforced Prohibition. The years of my youth when I was served Welch's grape juice in a grown up glass at the holidays to placate my longing for the real deal. I sipped the faux, while the elders were slurping Manichevitz, the manna of the God, the only choice in that era, with lip-smacking satisfaction. I'd lift my grape laced goblet, toast and boast—'Lookit! Lookit how fast I can drink it!"

Food, Wine, Good (and Evil) Spirits