The Alarm Clock of Beautiful Deadened

I am still in the midst of the big work project. For your entertainment, I am posting an article from the French magazine Figaro which I translated using the babelfish translator online. I was hoping for more biographical information for one of the principals of the winery (the name of which I've removed here to keep the search engines from total confusion) and this is what I got. Enjoyez-vous!

The young generation knew to regild the blazon of this house.

(Thank goodness! That blazon really needed regilding.)

The readers who follow our heading with fidelity start to know my attachment with Burgundy and its high-class wines. They can show charmers and silky Chambolle-Musigny, rough and virile Nuits-Saint-Georges, sharp and minerals with Chablis, opulent and greedy Meursault Bref, on this narrow strip of land which goes from Marsannay to Santenay, while passing by most septentrional chablisien at the almost southernmost coasts chalonnaises, the emotions follow one another without never resembling each other. (Not never.)

This richness comes as much from the soils that men who cultivate them and maintain them with the wire the centuries, that they act wine growers proudly exploiting their some wrought vines, at the large houses of trades which knew to carry the wines of Burgundy beyond our borders.

The alarm clock of beautiful deadened

Among these last, it is one, among oldest, whose wines were often a source of frustration. The F______ house, celebrates nuiton field, always had the reputation to produce frank wines, but missing brightness sometimes. Of aucuns would say even austere. The matter was present, the soil also, but it missed small something for magnifier the unit. For all to say, this house made figure of beautiful deadened.

This reputation is from now on to throw to the oubliettes. A recent tasting of the year 2006 revealed wines dazzling, right, greedy, with an explosive fruit, letting speak the soil much more than the breeding. A true revelation. Better, a revolution!

Throw that reputation to the oubliettes! Vive la revolution!

Gorgeous

Check out these beautiful dragonfly champagne flutes I received as a birthday gift. Ooooooh, pretttttyyyyyyy.

Enoteca Next Door

Today I took a little break and Mike and I went on our usual Sunday excursion, this time to Sonoma square. Lately we've gotten bored with the fare on the square, and we were feeling like branching out, but didn't know where to go.

It turned out to be a gorgeous, sunny day, and there were tons of people on the square. We popped into the lobby of the Swiss Hotel, read the menu, found some familiar sounding Italian fare and had a satisfying, if fairly ordinary lunch. The wines by the glass list was Sonoma-centric, as is usually the case in this town. I am certain that the price I paid for the Bargetto Pinot Grigio (the waiter mysteriously corrected me "Pinot Gris.") would have paid for the whole bottle-- at retail. It tasted pretty cheap. Sorry, Bargetto. Food was just fine-- we ate everything, but we weren't raving about it. The plateware was embarrassingly scuffed*, and the service was relaxed. To the point of being slow. Our server was weeded, as they say, but we really didn't care. I don't want to dog the S.H., because it was a pleasant atmosphere, the food was fine, and we had a nice time anyway.

*Restaurant owners and chefs: Black marks on your plates are inexcusable! Black marks on plate rims come from plates being tossed into the same dish tubs as the saute pans and pots. Look at your plates, and if there are gray and black marks around the edges, these plates do not belong on the tables! Buy new plates, (if you're cheap, maybe you can scrub the marks off with Bon Ami) and while you're at it, buy two different colored dish tubs and never, ever let pans (or sheet pans, or anything metal) and plates (or cups, or bowls) sit on top of each other or go through the dishwasher together. No matter what you are serving at your restaurant, no matter what price level, your chef's food looks like garbage on a dirty plate. Allowing these plates out into the dining room advertises to your customers that you are lazy and to your staff that your standards are low, and they will behave accordingly. Do I make myself clear? Later we can talk about dirty windows and pepper shakers.

So, glad I got that off my chest. Back to the rest of the day in Sonoma. Next stop was the kitchen store, to comparison shop Le Creuset and other French/Dutch ovens. And to look for a kitchen timer and a new salad spinner (wore mine out). The selection was surprisingly limited in the kitchen timer department. I just want an old-fashioned, white metal timer that goes ding. Ding-a-ling. Whatever. No such thing. Ladybugs, birdies and egg-shapes, all made out of plastic, some digital. My plastic timer rang itself right off the counter and onto the floor and now it doesn't ding anymore, so I'm looking for the Studebaker of timers.

Next stop, the reason for this post: Della Santina's Enoteca "Next Door". Though the signage is a little confusing (I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to open the door, or go to the next one) this new "wine bar" half a block off the square and next to Della Santina restaurant, is such a neat find. It just opened recently, in the spot that used to house a cheese shop.

I don't know about you, but when I think of a wine bar, I think snooze. I'm not really interested in a lot of California wines, and I don't care who got what in the Wine Spectator. I don't want to sit around a bar with a bunch of yahoos comparing cellar size and which verticals of Robert Parker's 90-pointers they have in them.

When I think of an enoteca, I'm a little more intrigued. Maybe they'll have cheeses and charcuterie; maybe they'll be pouring something different and interesting. Enotecas in Italy can be such fun spots to find out about unique wines and have a bite of something savory to eat. Enoteca Next Door was just what I was hoping for. The person pouring was the owner, Ron, who greeted us from the other end of the room when we walked in. The wall behind the bar was loaded with a selection of wines from, oh, ten or eleven different countries. Grapes I'd never heard of, regions I'd never seen. Reasonable prices. Fun stuff. I chose a glass of Argentinian Torrontes, a grape I'd never heard of before two weeks ago, when I had a taste from a bottle that a foodie friend brought home from a recent trip there.

This wine is so incredibly aromatic, tantalizing and floral that you don't know whether to drink it or dab it behind your ears. I know when I say that, that you think two things: sweet, and yuck. You are probably suffering from viognier or gewurztraminer-induced backlash. I was, too. I was very suspicious of the beautiful aromas, thinking they might lead to a flabby, overly-alcoholic or insipid palate. This wine is nearly as zingy and tangy as a Sauvignon Blanc, but with more delicacy and less gooseberry, and those pretty aromas linger through the whole glass. If you find it, try it. Now. Did I mention it was $12 a bottle? That's right, t w e l v e. It tasted like $30.

Mike had another Argentinian wine, a Malbec. He said it was just what he was looking for, but I couldn't break away from my new love affair with the Torrontes long enough to care. Ron gave us a couple of tastes of some other wines, a super-fragrant (again) low-alcohol Moscato, and another weird varietal mashup white that we also enjoyed. He was friendly and informative and we enjoyed talking with him. We're not big wine shoppers, because we have access to a lot of wine at home, but we bought six bottles (two of the Torrontes) and picked up information about their wine club. I think it will become a regular stop. Especially since Mike forbade me from opening one of the bottles we bought with dinner tonight, because they were "to share with our friends".

If you are in Sonoma and looking for something different, definitely check it out.

Ron also recommended the following restaurants:
La Salette
General's Daughter
Della Santina
Cafe de la Haye
Eldorado Kitchen
Harvest Moon
The Girl and the Fig

By the way, Della Santina's Enoteca is not to be confused with Enoteca Sonoma a few blocks away, which is, in my opinion, actually a California wine bar.

PS- Grandpa, don't let on to Grandma that I was out drinking wine again today. It'll be our little blog secret.

Recent Photos

There is a little, teeny, tiny coyote in the picture above, just to the right of the third y-shaped vine support in the left-hand row.

At The Lake

Mike and I spent Saturday and part of Sunday celebrating a friend's birthday on the lake in Lake County. Something like 14 adults, 7 children, more wine and beer than we could consume (maybe we're just getting old), and tons and tons of good food and laughter.

All That Junk-- Drinking and Blogging II

My hair (which is huge) is thick with the smell of cigar smoke. In the distance, I can barely make out the throb of "My Humps" (What you gon' do with all that junk, all that junk inside your trunk? If you have not seen the Alanis Morisette version, you must.) I've had a glass of wine, and a shot of tequila, but I'm home and on the computer. I'm not sure, but I think I might actually have become a grown-up.

Tonight was/is the winery's annual post-harvest party. I came home from work, had a little snack because I knew I'd be having wine, took my vitamins and drank a glass of water. I touched up my makeup, cajoled my hair into taking a less Roseanne Roseannadanna-like shape and went over to the party. I made a point of saying hello to nice people I remember from last year's party, and people I've been meaning to meet. I tasted thoughtfully through a "vertical" of ten years each of Petit Syrah (their spelling) and Cabernet Sauvignon. I ate dinner and listened to mariachis play La Bamba, and a bunch of other deafening traditional songs featuring many trumpets. In my ear. While I was eating a taco. Made by a German.

I watched the kids (and some adults) dance to a bad dj. The same bad dj they had last year. Crap segues from, for example, Brick House to Billie Jean, with a little classic TEQUILA! and Baby Got Back thrown in. (He has to play it, it's on the list.) Now and again something actually from this decade. I'm surprised there's no chicken dancing. The kids love it. They just dance and dance. The oldest one is 12, the youngest, an exceptionally tired-and-wired 3. My little ranch neighbor girls, Arnulfo's daughters, are pretty bad-ass dancers, by the way. I wish I had their cool style when I was 8. Rather than slamming back another couple of shots of tequila and showing my age by jumping up to boogie to KC and the Sunshine Band (not that I didn't bust out some Rollercoaster of Love on the i-pod today, which I did) I walked home. You Shook Me All Night Long serenaded my starry egress. (A starry egress, you say? Would that be a leggy bird painted swirly blue?)

Now I can hear "Shout" creeping in my open screen door from the darkness. Truly one of the most annoying songs in the whole world to dance to. But that's beside the point.

The point is, in spite of my grousing, I had a good time. It was a really nice party. Everyone had fun, but I didn't need to be a part of every nook and cranny of it. I didn't feel the need to keep up with the boys. (Nor to go home with them, except the one I came with.) I didn't nervously over-serve myself, or get myself into drunken conversations from which I couldn't extract myself, or from which someone else couldn't extract him or herself. And I didn't worry that anyone would think that I was this or that if I simply walked home. I'd like to take a shower and wash this smell out of my enormous hair. I would like to read in bed, clean and cozy in my flannel jammies, and most importantly, I'd like to wake up tomorrow feeling normal instead of having throbbing eyeballs and a sweatered gecko for a tongue.

I will probably stay up late if I can, just to make sure Mike gets home ok. He's got a short walk, but he looks after the boys to make sure anyone who overdoes it is in good hands. William, the Kiwi assistant winemaker, takes over when it gets down to the final few stalwarts still playing pool stonefaced, like old-time sharks, down in the smoking room. The company pays for free taxis for anyone who wants one, but you know it's about as easy to get a drunk in a taxi as it is to get a big baby in a small snowsuit. Still, they've put the taxi company number on little slips of paper in discreet little trays all over the place, next to every bar, and the taxi company knows that the company picks up the tab tonight. I actually overheard one guy telling another that it was a good deal, and he should think about it for later.

The dog just wanted out, so I danced a few funky steps with my shadow to the thumping beats still ringing out in the dark of our little valley. Over at the party, the youngsters (not the dancing children-- the older ones) are still drinking and smoking cigars, and apparently, they still need the funk. Gotta have that funk.
G'nite.

Walk This Way

I haven't posted very many pictures lately, so I thought I'd put up some images from our walk this morning. The garden has sort of quieted down, but the valley is just stunning. It's the last day of picking for just about everyone. We had a nice, solid rain the night before last, and the air is again fresh and full of mist and the smell of bay. Wish you were here.

A Couple of Good Ideas

You know when you're cooking, and the recipe calls for "1 c red wine" or some other silly amount? You don't want to open a bottle of something if you're not going to finish it. Quite often, you're going to have wine anyway, but sometimes you're not. Or sometimes you don't want to dump two cups of the special wine you've bought to have with dinner into the sauce, forcing you to open a second bottle with dinner. For a while, I was keeping small amounts of leftover wine in the freezer in bags, but it never freezes all the way, or I forget about it, or it gets in the way. I take after my grandma in the freezer department, so I'm always needing to make room for something else, and the fermented grape slushies had to go.

I'm sure that the Gotts and Co. of Three Thieves didn't intend to make cooking wine when they made these little 250 ml "bullets" but they sure work for that. The wine is not that great, but it's just fine for sauces, and you can stow it in the pantry until you need it. I'm a pretty open-minded wine drinker, by the way, and I'm not afraid of a low price tag in and of itself. (A two-buck price tag is a no-no, however, if you get my drift. I have tried that stuff, and it is gross.) I have been known to buy whole cases of $6.99 chablis from Trader Joe's and like it. Not often, but once or twice. I've had their tetra-pak of Pinot Grigio before, and it was actually ok. But anyway, it's a solution to the cooking wine dilemma.

The next good idea is this Pharmaca thing. We just got one. Very smart. It's a beautiful, open store, with pretty displays and lots of light and color. There are testers, free samples and a licensed aesthetician in the cosmetics area... and a sink and towels for washing the tests off. Why is this smart? Because cosmetics are high-dollar items. Not only are they profitable for the store, but people want to check them out before they take them home. If I trust that I'm getting good advice, and I get to feel and smell the product, not only am I going to buy it, but I'm going to feel good about my purchase and return. See? Smart.

They are stepping right onto the escalator of the current natural/organic trend, but by being an "integrative" pharmacy, they also offer band-aids and regular old stuff like Doctor Scholl's products for your feet, and tampons (conventional, organic cotton and bleach-free), and soap and magazines. So if I'm curious, I can pop in there and check out my options without worrying that I'm wasting a trip. A lot of the things I want are there. It has its drawbacks, of course. The main and most profitable purpose, and the one that takes up the most shelf space, is supplements. Of which they have their own brand. Which most people don't need. There are all sorts of trendy things, like CLA, whey protein, I couldn't even begin to list them all. If you want it, it's there. And the illusion is that if it's there, it's good for you. And there are some things that just aren't. So I'm hoping that the sales-folks are well-trained enough not to overly recommend things that are potentially harmful in high doses. That could lead to trouble.

The Hills are Alive with the Smell of Manure

The valley is at its most beautiful right now: colored leaves, beautiful light, morning mist. Today is the last day of picking at Hendry. By noon, the last of the Cabernet will be in tanks, sweet, dark berries awaiting fermentation. Throughout the valley, farmers are doing what farmers always do after the harvest-- fertilizing.

Wine, Wine, Wine

Here's what's been going on at the winery lately: All of the chardonnay that was picked a couple of weeks ago is fermenting in its barrel or tank, as the case may be, and most of it is now "dry" meaning fermentations are finished and there is no more sugar for the yeast to eat. Bye-bye yeast. Thanks for all your hard work.

The pinot noir has all come in and is fermenting, and the primitivo (a relative of zinfandel) was right behind it on Monday. That's Santiago shoveling the grapes into the hopper and Rafa picking leaves. A picture of saignee, or bleeding the juice out of the tank during crushing, to reduce the sugar and concentrate the flavors, colors and tannins of the final wine. Yeast foaming in buckets, Jan minding the yeast foaming in buckets. Bubbly pinot noir fermenting spontaneously with the natural yeast that clings to the grapes in the field. Sugar test-- the wine's getting dryer! And finally, a picture of the native grapevine, a relative of the rootstock that we use so that the fragile European vines don't get eaten by the phylloxera root louse. As you can see, the berries are small and it's not much of a producer.

Frankengrape

Well, chardonnay is fermenting away in its tanks and barrels, and Pinot Gris is next on deck. Pinot Gris, which we all know as a white wine, is actually this color: not quite noir, not quite blanc. In fact, Pinot Gris is a naturally occurring mutation of Pinot Blanc, which is in the same family as Pinot Noir and Pinot Meunier. Some vines will actually produce both white and rusty-colored clusters, so the incoming grapes look like this:


Luis snagged this cool cluster from a passing bin. None of us had ever seen the mutation express itself in a single cluster before. The colors actually spiral around each other. The most remarkable thing was the single grape that was both white and black. Cool!

Gentlemen, Start Your Presses

Harvest has begun in the Napa Valley. The sparkling wine houses started up while we were in Washington. Hendry picked its first chardonnay of the year yesterday morning. The smell of wine will soon be in the air. Dusty guys in shorts will pay for their lunchtime sandwiches at Sunshine Market with purple hands. The valley buzzes with action and energy, even as its arteries, Highway 29 and the Silverado Trail, crawl with sluggish grape gondolas. The tourists are forgiven for gawking at pickers and stealing a grape or two. It's part of what makes the cooling transition to Fall not just bearable but beautiful here.

It took me a long time to get over the impending first day of school anxiety that always came with the first truly chilly mornings, and the slightly shorter days, of August and September. I have always been reluctant to take the next step, to move on to the next activity, no matter what it is, and I hate to see summer end. But here, there is always something beautiful on its way. In the garden, the delicata squash are growing to a pickable size, and I can actually imagine enjoying a winter squash again. Tomatoes are still remarkable, but I don't have to have them at every meal as I did in July and most of this month. Pretty soon, the birds will be enjoying the giant sunflowers' seeds and singing their little hearts out.