Food, Wine, Good (and Evil) Spirits

You heard me. This wine, which is made from the muscat grape in a frizzante-style (mildly bubbly) in the Piedmont region of Italy, is one you should get to know. Even though I drink a lot of wine – from sparkling to port – it's easy to forget about Moscato. Mostly because I don't often get the opportunity to drink it. I'm the only person I know who loves dessert wine, so it's hard to justify opening a bottle to drink all by myself. I have, it's just not something one should make a habit of. Usually I have to quench my cravings for this delicate, fizzy confection when I'm out to dinner. While everyone else digs into the chocolate cake or bread pudding, I satisfy my sweet tooth by sipping. All the pleasure, none of the fat.

Yes, muscat grapes make super-ripe, overtly-fruity, wildly-perfumed wines, but that's why they are so good with dessert. This family of grapes is grown all over the world and is one of the oldest recorded varietals, yet it fails to get any respect.  Sure there are bad versions out there, but that's true with every grape. What I fail to understand is the complaints that it's too sweet…even versions that are fermented dry. A criticism I find fairly hollow coming from the mouths of people who drink soda, juice and sugar-laden caramel frappuccinos. 

People are always asking me what I'm going to do with my wine education. Most of them assume I'm going to become a sommelier or a winemaker because those are the most well-known choices. In reality, neither is an option because both require more time and hard work than I'm willing to give to indulge my love of wine. I'd rather drink wine than serve it and with so many other people taking the trouble to make it, there's no reason I have to.

That being said, learning about the process, in limited doses, is quite fascinating to me. To that end, the founding members of the Studio City branch of the Friends of Cass Winery (an unofficial, nascent organization made up of me, my husband and our friend Sam) volunteered to help bottle their upcoming 2006 releases of Grenache and Mourvedre in the ever-growing Paso Robles area. We weren't sure what we were in for, except we knew it would be a bit of work and probably quite fun given the natures of the winery's owners. 

Picture this: you’re enjoying a wonderful outdoor party. Great food and libations are flowing freely, laughter spills through the air, things are good. You notice one of your guests in need of a refresher, so you run back to the kitchen for another round.

Fast forward about 40 minutes. You’ve just burned 3,000 calories, your neatly pressed party outfit is covered in booze and sweat, and all of a sudden this party you’re hosting doesn’t feel like much to celebrate. A major reason for summer get-togethers is to well, get together, not to spend time in the kitchen playing bartender.  That’s why pitcher drinks are the perfect solution.

I love a good martini, a freshly muddled mojito or caipirinha, a perfectly proportioned mint julep, but when it comes to quantity it’s just easier to subscribe to the "make-ahead-in-batches" school of thought. It works, it’s just as tasty, and more importantly  it keeps you out of the kitchen and with your guests.

My father's singular obsession with noble limestone permeates every discussion of our wines. He purchased our vineyard land only once he discovered it lies on a 300 foot deep slab of the white, porous rock. Because we are so proud of Limestone’s mineral, high acid effect on the wines, we seldom discuss the thin layer of dirt above.

The Stolpman estate vineyard's clay topsoil is light gray when dry and becomes a sticky mud when wet. Many 2×4 cars have fallen victim to the wet clay, even on our hard-packed roads. Boots become several pounds heavier with mud stuck like bricks in the treads.

That’s the very beauty of clay in our perpetual California drought: it retains moisture. This year, as we look at the driest winter thus far in our vineyard’s history; we are thankful to have clay. As we drip water on the ground through our irrigation hoses, we mimic normal rainfall, allowing the clay to become saturated. Like a year of normal rain fall, when we hope to get 12 inches, we won’t irrigate after set. Set describes the transition when the vines’ tiny flowers become “.” sized grapes.

By cutting water at set, we are ensuring that the plant will still have to fight through the summer to ripen tiny concentrated grapes, undiluted by irrigation. In a drought year like 2014, this is our new definition of dry farming.