The Feiring Line

Ros on Boys Night Out

Last year the Times ran a trend piece on how Domaine Ott ros was the wine of the moment out there in Long Island Summerland. Then, a few months later, Lettie Teague of Food & Wine magazine wrote a spunky piece on how she just doesn�t think ros is really any sort of big deal. And me? I'm somewhere in between.

Ros has a place in the universe and summer is one of those universes. Ros is a force that cannot be denied. Look around. Go to any restaurant in NYC, there are more ross popping up in restaurants than rats in a lower east side garbage can, we�re deep into it. Deep.

Ros season is on. As a wine store said to me years back, �It�s ros season. Don�t want to be caught with my pants down.� All around New York City it seems that everyone�s pants are held up. At Provence right this second there are eight ros choices by the bottle ($28-$75), one of them sells (well) at $16 a glass At Blue Ribbon�s cozy wine bar, the $20 glass of passion fruit scented and bone dry Tempier is a total treat especially because I haven�t had it in years.

Which brings me to the night I met my friend Nancy
at Balthazar for a drink. Enter two big guys. They squeeze right in at the bar with us. We�re trapped.

This is their boys night out ritual. They train in from Suffolk County. They go to the Garden. They stay for one quarter of a Hockey game (--is that what they call it in hockey? I�m sports illiterate.) They come down to Balthazar and they order a seafood platter.

So far so good. I�m taking notes; these men are so out of my peripheral vision I feel like I�m at the zoo. They are pretty entertaining. I feel an essay coming on.

The one guy was trying to encourage Nancy to dive in on the seafood platter. He told her "I can't eat those legs," he said pointing to the daddy long leg-like appendage of a red-splotched king crab. "What are those?" He asked, squeamishly pointing to a boulot. He ordered an Amstel and draped his sweaty arm over Nancy which she peels off of her as specifically as a grape skin.

The other guy, the quieter one, the one who is actually married and looking to stay that way, ordered a ros! Not just any rose but the rose that seems to be the New York ros ($9 a glass price point) of the moment, Jean Maurice Raffault, a ros from Chinon from cabernet franc. I( used to like this....but at this point the fruit is overbearing, so much so it would appeal to a white zin drinker.)

Then he apologizes because it�s French. But even though it�s French he still likes it.

I like to give wine advice and love advice and sometimes I like to do it in the same breath. I admit, I�m prone to the occasional pigeonhole. People on the right like Bordeaux. Those who lean to the left are more likely to drink Chinon. And then there�s ros and with ros, you just never know.

Studies show that feeding baby goats ros bolsters immune systems.

Ros on Boys Night Out

Last year the Times ran a trend piece on how Domaine Ott ros was the wine of the moment out there in Long Island Summerland. Then, a few months later, Lettie Teague of Food & Wine magazine wrote a spunky piece on how she just doesn�t think ros is really any sort of big deal. And me? I'm somewhere in between.

Ros has a place in the universe and summer is one of those universes. Ros is a force that cannot be denied. Look around. Go to any restaurant in NYC, there are more ross popping up in restaurants than rats in a lower east side garbage can, we�re deep into it. Deep.

Ros season is on. As a wine store said to me years back, �It�s ros season. Don�t want to be caught with my pants down.� All around New York City it seems that everyone�s pants are held up. At Provence right this second there are eight ros choices by the bottle ($28-$75), one of them sells (well) at $16 a glass At Blue Ribbon�s cozy wine bar, the $20 glass of passion fruit scented and bone dry Tempier is a total treat especially because I haven�t had it in years.

Which brings me to the night I met my friend Nancy
at Balthazar for a drink. Enter two big guys. They squeeze right in at the bar with us. We�re trapped.

This is their boys night out ritual. They train in from Suffolk County. They go to the Garden. They stay for one quarter of a Hockey game (--is that what they call it in hockey? I�m sports illiterate.) They come down to Balthazar and they order a seafood platter.

So far so good. I�m taking notes; these men are so out of my peripheral vision I feel like I�m at the zoo. They are pretty entertaining. I feel an essay coming on.

The one guy was trying to encourage Nancy to dive in on the seafood platter. He told her "I can't eat those legs," he said pointing to the daddy long leg-like appendage of a red-splotched king crab. "What are those?" He asked, squeamishly pointing to a boulot. He ordered an Amstel and draped his sweaty arm over Nancy which she peels off of her as specifically as a grape skin.

The other guy, the quieter one, the one who is actually married and looking to stay that way, ordered a ros! Not just any rose but the rose that seems to be the New York ros ($9 a glass price point) of the moment, Jean Maurice Raffault, a ros from Chinon from cabernet franc. I( used to like this....but at this point the fruit is overbearing, so much so it would appeal to a white zin drinker.)

Then he apologizes because it�s French. But even though it�s French he still likes it.

I like to give wine advice and love advice and sometimes I like to do it in the same breath. I admit, I�m prone to the occasional pigeonhole. People on the right like Bordeaux. Those who lean to the left are more likely to drink Chinon. And then there�s ros and with ros, you just never know.

Studies show that feeding baby goats ros bolsters immune systems.

Fannie Lee Chaney

This has nothing to do with wine or food but of a simple life, and a compelling obituary of a compelling woman. In 1964 when her son was killed I was too young to really understand what was going on, but I was old enough to hear the whispers in my house, feel the chill, and eventually understand the death of Michael Schwerener, Andrew Goodman, and her son James Chaney.

the obit

Fannie Lee Chaney

This has nothing to do with wine or food but of a simple life, and a compelling obituary of a compelling woman. In 1964 when her son was killed I was too young to really understand what was going on, but I was old enough to hear the whispers in my house, feel the chill, and eventually understand the death of Michael Schwerener, Andrew Goodman, and her son James Chaney.

the obit

Wine Gossip From Cannes

This man's wine spotted at Cannes. Read on for the shocking disclosure. A friend of mine had a screening at Cannes for the film he wrote, "Savage Grace," and afterwards he drank very well indeed. In fact, he sent me this little tidbit---which is the closest leak to a wine Page Six item that I've ever seen, except for Thierry Puzelat's shiner at this years Dive. �.Two nights ago we had the pressscreening, the press conference, the film's rooftop cocktail party (I had a lovely if brief chat with Pedro Almodovar), the formal evening screening (there was a long, long standing ovation afterwards, for which we were utterly unprepared, and still don't know what to make of), followed by a night of serious drinking. It's not hard to feel very Dick-and-Nicole-Diver in these parts. I ended up playing piano at the cocktail lounge of the Martinez Hotel on the Croisette. At three am. In my tuxedo.... The wines poured at the party were a decent Morgon from Marcel Lapierre, who was there dispensing his own stuff, and a much nicer burgundy, a Gevrey-Chambertin from Pacalet. One drinks well at the Martinez. I have no idea whose tab it all went on, but most certainly not mine�..

Wine Gossip From Cannes

This man's wine spotted at Cannes. Read on for the shocking disclosure. A friend of mine had a screening at Cannes for the film he wrote, "Savage Grace," and afterwards he drank very well indeed. In fact, he sent me this little tidbit---which is the closest leak to a wine Page Six item that I've ever seen, except for Thierry Puzelat's shiner at this years Dive. �.Two nights ago we had the pressscreening, the press conference, the film's rooftop cocktail party (I had a lovely if brief chat with Pedro Almodovar), the formal evening screening (there was a long, long standing ovation afterwards, for which we were utterly unprepared, and still don't know what to make of), followed by a night of serious drinking. It's not hard to feel very Dick-and-Nicole-Diver in these parts. I ended up playing piano at the cocktail lounge of the Martinez Hotel on the Croisette. At three am. In my tuxedo.... The wines poured at the party were a decent Morgon from Marcel Lapierre, who was there dispensing his own stuff, and a much nicer burgundy, a Gevrey-Chambertin from Pacalet. One drinks well at the Martinez. I have no idea whose tab it all went on, but most certainly not mine�..

Gravity Hills....a PS

Every time I get a press release along with crappy wines in the mail (with or without a rock) I�m reminded of the guy who once told me that a certain publicist--instead of imploring me to write about her wines--should THANK me for not writing about her wines. The label for the Paso Robles wines I addressed in my previous post says produced and bottled by Gravity Hills. Napa, California. I called the number on the press release. �No one is presently at this extension.� I've sent an email to Matthew Regan, the name on the press release, and no response. I've Googled and Googled and can find nothing about the people who 'produce' the wines. Am thinking no people were involved. The wines taste that way as well. Am about to call the detectives---winery and winemaker gone missing. No reward offered but damn, I'm awfully curious. (A few hours later.) A California-based reader with whom I have swapped one or two friendly emails sent intelligence straight into my mailbox. Gravity Hills, it seems, is owned by the Chateau Potelle Group and the Fourmeaux's. GW wrote, "When you see (an ad showing) a truck stuck in a tree you might wonder how these folks can make wine when they can't drive." I�ve yet to see the great wine behind a marketing campaign. It does seem as if the converse is true; great marketing means lousy wine. Caveat Emptor.

Gravity Hills....a PS

Every time I get a press release along with crappy wines in the mail (with or without a rock) I�m reminded of the guy who once told me that a certain publicist--instead of imploring me to write about her wines--should THANK me for not writing about her wines. The label for the Paso Robles wines I addressed in my previous post says produced and bottled by Gravity Hills. Napa, California. I called the number on the press release. �No one is presently at this extension.� I've sent an email to Matthew Regan, the name on the press release, and no response. I've Googled and Googled and can find nothing about the people who 'produce' the wines. Am thinking no people were involved. The wines taste that way as well. Am about to call the detectives---winery and winemaker gone missing. No reward offered but damn, I'm awfully curious. (A few hours later.) A California-based reader with whom I have swapped one or two friendly emails sent intelligence straight into my mailbox. Gravity Hills, it seems, is owned by the Chateau Potelle Group and the Fourmeaux's. GW wrote, "When you see (an ad showing) a truck stuck in a tree you might wonder how these folks can make wine when they can't drive." I�ve yet to see the great wine behind a marketing campaign. It does seem as if the converse is true; great marketing means lousy wine. Caveat Emptor.

The Rock Rant (This Week's Press Release)

A rock arrived in the mail!

I like rocks. And this little cutie with red streaks was purported to be limestone, "fractured limestone,� no less. Was I suspicious? With a rock in the mail, with someone trying so hard to prove something, could the wine be any good?

Now, in these terroir-driven days, it's not unusual to see someone lick a vineyard rock. With new world wine makers, the licking has become a bit of a novelty, as if the concept of rock in soil is new.

Over the past two years it's almost been a clich for winemakers to pile rocks next to their wines at a tasting as if to say, "See? I've got rocks in my soil, but not just any rocks. THESE rocks." And then you taste the wine and are supposed to shake your head in agreement, "Yes, indeed. I taste the basalt. I taste the limestone." Whatever.

There's no doubt that rock in the soil is an intrinsic part of terroir--that is if a wine is made in a non-trickster kind of way.

My recent rock was supposed to be a selling point for the three bottles of beautifully labeled Gravity Hills Paso Robles red wines. The press kit, a small sheet, talked about the steep slopes, how those working the vineyards risked their lives (!) to bring me these great wines.

As the trio of wines came with a rock I was curious to try the wine.

(I�ve been kinder to American wines in the past three weeks so it was a good moment to taste something new that came in the mail with a rock. For example, I had two wines I actually liked! Emeritus Pinot Noir brought to us by Brice Jones who gave the world Sonoma-Cutrer. It had none of that candy I despise and had some interesting funk to it, which caught my attention. At first the Frog's Leap zinfandel was a way too spicy from the oak but then settled down to give up some decent, good old fashioned zin bramble, berry and edge. Five days later the oak did settle in and down and wine tasted better.)

Back to that reddish/white rock. I thought, well, who knows, babe. Taste the wines. Have an open mind.

Gravity Hill makes a zin and a syrah at the $14 price point and then a BIG syrah with overtones of gasoline and an erased mid- palate for $40--all of them had a very unpleasant marshmallow center, slightly gelatinous and squishy.

While the workers might have risked their lives to work those vineyards. I risked my life by tasting the wines. Had to open up an antidote immediately; Gonon St. Jo. $28 or something like that. Stony and rocky, and I didn't have to get a rock in the mail to give me the hint.

The Rock Rant (This Week's Press Release)

A rock arrived in the mail!

I like rocks. And this little cutie with red streaks was purported to be limestone, "fractured limestone,� no less. Was I suspicious? With a rock in the mail, with someone trying so hard to prove something, could the wine be any good?

Now, in these terroir-driven days, it's not unusual to see someone lick a vineyard rock. With new world wine makers, the licking has become a bit of a novelty, as if the concept of rock in soil is new.

Over the past two years it's almost been a clich for winemakers to pile rocks next to their wines at a tasting as if to say, "See? I've got rocks in my soil, but not just any rocks. THESE rocks." And then you taste the wine and are supposed to shake your head in agreement, "Yes, indeed. I taste the basalt. I taste the limestone." Whatever.

There's no doubt that rock in the soil is an intrinsic part of terroir--that is if a wine is made in a non-trickster kind of way.

My recent rock was supposed to be a selling point for the three bottles of beautifully labeled Gravity Hills Paso Robles red wines. The press kit, a small sheet, talked about the steep slopes, how those working the vineyards risked their lives (!) to bring me these great wines.

As the trio of wines came with a rock I was curious to try the wine.

(I�ve been kinder to American wines in the past three weeks so it was a good moment to taste something new that came in the mail with a rock. For example, I had two wines I actually liked! Emeritus Pinot Noir brought to us by Brice Jones who gave the world Sonoma-Cutrer. It had none of that candy I despise and had some interesting funk to it, which caught my attention. At first the Frog's Leap zinfandel was a way too spicy from the oak but then settled down to give up some decent, good old fashioned zin bramble, berry and edge. Five days later the oak did settle in and down and wine tasted better.)

Back to that reddish/white rock. I thought, well, who knows, babe. Taste the wines. Have an open mind.

Gravity Hill makes a zin and a syrah at the $14 price point and then a BIG syrah with overtones of gasoline and an erased mid- palate for $40--all of them had a very unpleasant marshmallow center, slightly gelatinous and squishy.

While the workers might have risked their lives to work those vineyards. I risked my life by tasting the wines. Had to open up an antidote immediately; Gonon St. Jo. $28 or something like that. Stony and rocky, and I didn't have to get a rock in the mail to give me the hint.