The Feiring Line

Adour--Part Two

The youngster who had 'trained' at Cru and Chanterelle, yet couldn't figure out how to present the bottles before and after decorking, said that there was no room to open wine bottles tableside. For older, more delicate bottles, a steady surface for cork extraction is useful. In this case what should have happened was: present the bottle and soon reemerge with the empty bottle (evidence!) and the full decanter. Our wine service experience went up with a whimper and down with a thud. Do I suspect as SFJoe that the 'sommelier' was trying to push the corked --"cooked" wine on the poor unsuspecting? I suppose it's possible, especially when you consider he saw me as a freak for ordering the LdH and perhaps he took that as a green light to push flawed wine on me. More likely he didn't catch it, which is odd because he talked of the wine as if he was quite familiar with it. So if you go, you might find the bar amusing which has an electronic wine list in the bar. Cute, but difficult to get working. Best to (so far) by pass food, get a plate of cheese some bread and ask for your decanter,bring in your own corkscrew and do it yourself, but the list is terrific, and one of the more unusual groupings is a vertical of Eyrie Vineyards. 11 vintages from 2002 -1975 (which they had listed for $1100, which does't strike me as a bargain at all--but I would love to taste it).

Adour, NYC--A Quiz

Adour is the new Alain Ducasse venture in NYC, billed as a wine restaurant, or as my oft fabulously snarky friend Lisa quipped, does that mean you don�t remember the food but you do the wine? And we also remembered the wine service, and the service was a case for the Wine Cop. There's nothing to drink by- the- glass. (Though I was assured they would find something for me and open it if I were that frustrated.) The actual list was stunning. Our sommelier explained that much of it was inherited from L�Espinasse, the previous tenant. Ducasse didn�t raise the prices. The 2000 Ren Engle Village Vosne was on the lists for $80. Bargains like that abound. While I am headed back as soon as possible to cherry pick--before the word gets out--- I�ll bring my own corkscrew and try to take as much control as I can. Why? Read on. Placing the list in my hands (thank you!) my host made noises about being in the mood for a Spanish white. I panicked because I wanted him to be happy but almost all whites I see from Spain are yeasted avec beaucoup de fruit tropicale or primed with grassy sauvignon blanc yeast like they do in Rueda to the poor verdejo grape, the wine that the sommelier suggested. I countered, �Any Lopez de Heredia whites?� Young sommelier who claimed he had worked at Cru, Chanterelle etc. (maybe he did but certainly he didn�t mean the wine dept!) said there weren�t any. Sorry. �Hey! Look! 1987 LDH Tondonia!� I said, thumping my index finger on a spot in the wine list that shone like a beacon of truth. (And, aren�t you proud of me? I didn�t add..you idiot!) �Oh,� he said, trying to grasp for credibility, �Your pronunciation me off. Are you sure you want it? It�s a little old.� I assured him it was exactly what I wanted. Hell it was only $80. I told my hosts they were in for an experience; "Hold on to your hats," I warned. It was a fine bottle, lively, like the ocean, like the pink soils it comes from. But the sommelier kept on checking back often in disbelief, did we really like it? What an oddball bunch we were, he must have been thinking. But then he redeemed himself when recommending a wine, one that I skipped over, because I didn�t know what my host wanted to spend. It turned out $165 for the 1982 Leroy Pommard Les Vignots was no problem. Wow, what a dynamo. Piercing aromatics, completely elegant, pin pointed long finish. When we commented on its superbness, the wine lad told us he agreed and to assure that the bottles come to us in perfect condition he tastes the wine before it gets poured. This is done to avoid embarrassing situations like the one the week before with Daniel Boulud and the corked bottle. So far so good, but then the next decision was my host's. Reluctantly I relinquished control. He conferred with the wine lad, selected a 1999 Chateauneuf du Pape, Domaine de la Charbonnire Vielles Vignes. It was poured from decanter, we never saw the bottle. The gentleman at the table didn't seem sure, but accepted it. It was definitely corked, but no one seemed to mind. It tasted like a dirty mop and not the whole moldy celler so they may have been confused. One even said the wine was delicious. But a few minutes, I looked at the glasses and mostly no one was drinking. It is so easy to be intimated into believing a wine is not corked, but glasses that remain untouched are a dead giveaway to the truth. I excused myself to head to the WC and on the way I buttonholed our nice young man and discreetly asked him, "Are you quite sure there is nothing the matter with that bottle?" He did look concerned. Did I out him or did he just not catch it? Meanwhile, I went to do what girls do in the little girl�s room thinking, so much for this guy taking a little nip from the bottle to make sure of its health. When I returned my friend laughed and said, �You won't believe this. He didn�t say anything just took them away. Can you imagine? All of the sudden we had no wine.� We presumed another bottle was arriving. We waited. Our food was getting cold. I wondered if they hated me because I made trouble and corked or not, they wanted something to drink with their duck. Finally another decanter arrived. A completely different bottle. As hard as I could I couldn�t say it bore any similarity to the previous bottle. I could see at least one person liked the corked wine better because this wine was way too fruit -forward, I suspected it was destemmed and might have had some new barrels in its past. It was like sucking on candy. The young man said, "It definitely wasn't corked but it was a little cooked. Cooked? Hah! But I saw that there was nothing I could say and really why should I? I learned my lesson at Inoteca and really didn't want a repeat of that pissing contest. Anyway, superior wine makes me a better person and that Leroy and LdH worked magic and so I really didn't care if the food was regrettable and the wine service a bit comical for a restaurant with such lofty wine aspirations. Yet, circling back to the Chateauneuf, the second bottle was so different we wondered if it was really the same year and producer. The wine was never presented, not opened in front of us. Yes, it was Rhone, but, well who could tell? My friend (and this is a treat for me, someone else can be the bully for once) asked, asked him, �Is there a reason that you don�t open the bottle at the table?� QUIZ: And, do you know what he said?

Adour, NYC--A Quiz

Adour is the new Alain Ducasse venture in NYC, billed as a wine restaurant, or as my oft fabulously snarky friend Lisa quipped, does that mean you don�t remember the food but you do the wine? And we also remembered the wine service, and the service was a case for the Wine Cop. There's nothing to drink by- the- glass. (Though I was assured they would find something for me and open it if I were that frustrated.) The actual list was stunning. Our sommelier explained that much of it was inherited from L�Espinasse, the previous tenant. Ducasse didn�t raise the prices. The 2000 Ren Engle Village Vosne was on the lists for $80. Bargains like that abound. While I am headed back as soon as possible to cherry pick--before the word gets out--- I�ll bring my own corkscrew and try to take as much control as I can. Why? Read on. Placing the list in my hands (thank you!) my host made noises about being in the mood for a Spanish white. I panicked because I wanted him to be happy but almost all whites I see from Spain are yeasted avec beaucoup de fruit tropicale or primed with grassy sauvignon blanc yeast like they do in Rueda to the poor verdejo grape, the wine that the sommelier suggested. I countered, �Any Lopez de Heredia whites?� Young sommelier who claimed he had worked at Cru, Chanterelle etc. (maybe he did but certainly he didn�t mean the wine dept!) said there weren�t any. Sorry. �Hey! Look! 1987 LDH Tondonia!� I said, thumping my index finger on a spot in the wine list that shone like a beacon of truth. (And, aren�t you proud of me? I didn�t add..you idiot!) �Oh,� he said, trying to grasp for credibility, �Your pronunciation me off. Are you sure you want it? It�s a little old.� I assured him it was exactly what I wanted. Hell it was only $80. I told my hosts they were in for an experience; "Hold on to your hats," I warned. It was a fine bottle, lively, like the ocean, like the pink soils it comes from. But the sommelier kept on checking back often in disbelief, did we really like it? What an oddball bunch we were, he must have been thinking. But then he redeemed himself when recommending a wine, one that I skipped over, because I didn�t know what my host wanted to spend. It turned out $165 for the 1982 Leroy Pommard Les Vignots was no problem. Wow, what a dynamo. Piercing aromatics, completely elegant, pin pointed long finish. When we commented on its superbness, the wine lad told us he agreed and to assure that the bottles come to us in perfect condition he tastes the wine before it gets poured. This is done to avoid embarrassing situations like the one the week before with Daniel Boulud and the corked bottle. So far so good, but then the next decision was my host's. Reluctantly I relinquished control. He conferred with the wine lad, selected a 1999 Chateauneuf du Pape, Domaine de la Charbonnire Vielles Vignes. It was poured from decanter, we never saw the bottle. The gentleman at the table didn't seem sure, but accepted it. It was definitely corked, but no one seemed to mind. It tasted like a dirty mop and not the whole moldy celler so they may have been confused. One even said the wine was delicious. But a few minutes, I looked at the glasses and mostly no one was drinking. It is so easy to be intimated into believing a wine is not corked, but glasses that remain untouched are a dead giveaway to the truth. I excused myself to head to the WC and on the way I buttonholed our nice young man and discreetly asked him, "Are you quite sure there is nothing the matter with that bottle?" He did look concerned. Did I out him or did he just not catch it? Meanwhile, I went to do what girls do in the little girl�s room thinking, so much for this guy taking a little nip from the bottle to make sure of its health. When I returned my friend laughed and said, �You won't believe this. He didn�t say anything just took them away. Can you imagine? All of the sudden we had no wine.� We presumed another bottle was arriving. We waited. Our food was getting cold. I wondered if they hated me because I made trouble and corked or not, they wanted something to drink with their duck. Finally another decanter arrived. A completely different bottle. As hard as I could I couldn�t say it bore any similarity to the previous bottle. I could see at least one person liked the corked wine better because this wine was way too fruit -forward, I suspected it was destemmed and might have had some new barrels in its past. It was like sucking on candy. The young man said, "It definitely wasn't corked but it was a little cooked. Cooked? Hah! But I saw that there was nothing I could say and really why should I? I learned my lesson at Inoteca and really didn't want a repeat of that pissing contest. Anyway, superior wine makes me a better person and that Leroy and LdH worked magic and so I really didn't care if the food was regrettable and the wine service a bit comical for a restaurant with such lofty wine aspirations. Yet, circling back to the Chateauneuf, the second bottle was so different we wondered if it was really the same year and producer. The wine was never presented, not opened in front of us. Yes, it was Rhone, but, well who could tell? My friend (and this is a treat for me, someone else can be the bully for once) asked, asked him, �Is there a reason that you don�t open the bottle at the table?� QUIZ: And, do you know what he said?

Jenny's French Language Wine Maker Seminar (and the mysterious bottle)

So much to tell and so little time to spit it out. So I�ll work backwards. Last night I attended the seminar the petite wine importer, Jenny Lefcourt was giving at the new Astor Center with a few of her producers entitled Vins Purs. Who knew there were so many would attend a French wine seminar in French, my only wish is that it would have been presented as a class so I could have felt empowered to ask for clarification as my French is...ahem.... pathetic. One of the big treats, by the way was a 1989 Domaine Oudin 1er Cru Chablis, "Vaugiraut." An incredible treat to see how that wine aged. Sure it was evolved, round, leesy, creamy, mandarin-orange like with piercing acidity and wool with brazil nut meets dulce de leche finish. After the seminar some intense guy was pressing the tall, angular vigneron Laurent Tibes (Clos des Camuzeilles) to tell him what was the matter with the wine he made. I wondered if he made the wine in his New York bathtub or perhaps one of the Crushpad custom made wine deals. The wine was really vile, but the first thing I smelled was sauerkraut and then dill pickle. The sauerkraut signified lactic bacteria going on the dill pickle was about the barrels to me, but after I spit it out the American oak was powerful, disgusting, bitter. I don�t know what grapes he used but it could have been extremely under ripe cabernet. What surprised me is that Tibes said there was nothing technically wrong with the wine, maybe he just thought the guy was such a jerk that he didn�t even want to partake in dialogue. But the question is: the wine was obviously from bought grapes and whacked out with all sorts of bad intervention and no real winemaking. So Jenny was really scratching her head, �Now, why would he choose these vignerons to show his wines? He crazy or something?� Now, on to my Night at Adour

Jenny's French Language Wine Maker Seminar (and the mysterious bottle)

So much to tell and so little time to spit it out. So I�ll work backwards. Last night I attended the seminar the petite wine importer, Jenny Lefcourt was giving at the new Astor Center with a few of her producers entitled Vins Purs. Who knew there were so many would attend a French wine seminar in French, my only wish is that it would have been presented as a class so I could have felt empowered to ask for clarification as my French is...ahem.... pathetic. One of the big treats, by the way was a 1989 Domaine Oudin 1er Cru Chablis, "Vaugiraut." An incredible treat to see how that wine aged. Sure it was evolved, round, leesy, creamy, mandarin-orange like with piercing acidity and wool with brazil nut meets dulce de leche finish. After the seminar some intense guy was pressing the tall, angular vigneron Laurent Tibes (Clos des Camuzeilles) to tell him what was the matter with the wine he made. I wondered if he made the wine in his New York bathtub or perhaps one of the Crushpad custom made wine deals. The wine was really vile, but the first thing I smelled was sauerkraut and then dill pickle. The sauerkraut signified lactic bacteria going on the dill pickle was about the barrels to me, but after I spit it out the American oak was powerful, disgusting, bitter. I don�t know what grapes he used but it could have been extremely under ripe cabernet. What surprised me is that Tibes said there was nothing technically wrong with the wine, maybe he just thought the guy was such a jerk that he didn�t even want to partake in dialogue. But the question is: the wine was obviously from bought grapes and whacked out with all sorts of bad intervention and no real winemaking. So Jenny was really scratching her head, �Now, why would he choose these vignerons to show his wines? He crazy or something?� Now, on to my Night at Adour

Want to See the Book Jacket?

It's starting to feel even more and more real. This just in from my publisher. Download file

Want to See the Book Jacket?

It's starting to feel even more and more real. This just in from my publisher. Download file

My Life With/Out TV ...and TB (Tre Bicchieri, that is)

When these tastings were at the Puck Building it was all so easy. But feeling obligated, I shlepped uptown on the Lex line. I took a tasting book. I formulated a plan of action and I went in to the Gambero Rosso Tre Bicchieri tasting. Fewer men were sporting velvet jackets. Too bad. I think they're sexy. Actually I really couldn't get a handle on the fashion report. Maybe it was the spring-like weather. During my short 40 minutes I tasted very few wines. One reason is that I couldn�t find tables 1-80. That cut down my choices quite a bit. I started with the Detorri Rosso, and got suspicious. The winemaker makes a big stink about making wine like his grandfather and has rejected sulfur. This wine had definitely been sulfured and I also don�t remember this kind of gritty concentration on the juice. But in retrospect that Rosso and Giacosa Barolo (anyone out there know the name of the common yeast used to inoculate Barolo?) were the best of show. Then came the disasters aplenty. Rainoldi Sfurzat Valtellina Fruttaio Ca'Rizzieri: the first time I had a wine made from dried Nebbiolo that tasted like bleach. Two Aglianico del Vultures. The Basilisco --whether or not it was--seemed to have had a bad acid job. The Bisceglia Gudarra was smothered in vanilla. The Gods of Aglianico were rolling over in their graves. (By the way, if you missed it, Ed Behr has a story on Aglianico in this latest Art of Eating.) For sentimental reasons I stopped over at Librandi, the major winery of Calabria to taste their Gravello; 60% Gaglioppo and 40% Cabernet Sauvignon. It tasted like toasty-oaked Lagrein. Feeling masochistic, I tasted Montevetrano, the long-time cult wine from Campania that was celebrated as a Cotarella Bordeaux look-a-like. I smelled it, threw the rest out. The guy next to me tasted it yet had the same reaction. He asked the pourer, "Only 10% Aglianico? From Campania? So much for Aglianico being the great grape of the south." I was reminded of the time I got rid of my TV. 1981. The catalytic enzyme was the evening news. It was up in Cambridge and some kid in Natick had plunged through a pond on Christmas Eve. The camera zoomed into Mom's face and asked, "How do you feel?" That's it. Unplug the TV, put on street for someone to garbage pick. Ever since, friends and relatives have foisted tubes on me. In the past I have been goaded into taking a hand-me-down. That little TV lived in my closet for a few years. I plugged it in twice and I was glad I was able to watch the Clarence Thomas hearings and a very strung out Dylan at Madison Square Garden. Shortly after Dylan, the tube went out on the sidewalk, yet again. True. True. When I find myself in a hotel room I am hooked and channel surf as if I was downhill skiing. It's not that I don't take that piece of cake sitting on the table; I just don't like it in my house. You see I left TV. Never looked back, at least not until the night after the tasting. I was reading the Biz section of the New York Times and there it was. The Treatment written by Amy Bloom was on YouTube! I love Bloom�s writing. I find therapy fascinating. And there it was in my computer. It was living inside of the computer which is like saying it was living under my skin. Here I am on episode 4. If all of the sessions were online, I'd be up watching them 'til the wee hours. But this is exactly why I got rid of the TV. I wanted life or fiction but not this passivity. I threw the damned TV out years ago and now TV found me. Now what am I supposed to do, get rid of the computer? Flay me of my skin? Is the lesson here that as much as I fight the wines of Tre Bicchieri they will one day find their way into my glass and I will drink them willingly? Or will spending time at the Tre Bicchieri tasting drive me to TV? I enjoyed talking to David Lynch, who is finding his writing chops again after years of wine directing over at Babbo, (and a fine writer he is indeed), and I had a hoot talking to an enthusiastic sprite named Lisa Qiu who complained about all of the green peppery wines in the room, but next year when the TB invite comes in the mail, I�ll have to consider the side effects of attending.

My Life With/Out TV ...and TB (Tre Bicchieri, that is)

When these tastings were at the Puck Building it was all so easy. But feeling obligated, I shlepped uptown on the Lex line. I took a tasting book. I formulated a plan of action and I went in to the Gambero Rosso Tre Bicchieri tasting. Fewer men were sporting velvet jackets. Too bad. I think they're sexy. Actually I really couldn't get a handle on the fashion report. Maybe it was the spring-like weather. During my short 40 minutes I tasted very few wines. One reason is that I couldn�t find tables 1-80. That cut down my choices quite a bit. I started with the Detorri Rosso, and got suspicious. The winemaker makes a big stink about making wine like his grandfather and has rejected sulfur. This wine had definitely been sulfured and I also don�t remember this kind of gritty concentration on the juice. But in retrospect that Rosso and Giacosa Barolo (anyone out there know the name of the common yeast used to inoculate Barolo?) were the best of show. Then came the disasters aplenty. Rainoldi Sfurzat Valtellina Fruttaio Ca'Rizzieri: the first time I had a wine made from dried Nebbiolo that tasted like bleach. Two Aglianico del Vultures. The Basilisco --whether or not it was--seemed to have had a bad acid job. The Bisceglia Gudarra was smothered in vanilla. The Gods of Aglianico were rolling over in their graves. (By the way, if you missed it, Ed Behr has a story on Aglianico in this latest Art of Eating.) For sentimental reasons I stopped over at Librandi, the major winery of Calabria to taste their Gravello; 60% Gaglioppo and 40% Cabernet Sauvignon. It tasted like toasty-oaked Lagrein. Feeling masochistic, I tasted Montevetrano, the long-time cult wine from Campania that was celebrated as a Cotarella Bordeaux look-a-like. I smelled it, threw the rest out. The guy next to me tasted it yet had the same reaction. He asked the pourer, "Only 10% Aglianico? From Campania? So much for Aglianico being the great grape of the south." I was reminded of the time I got rid of my TV. 1981. The catalytic enzyme was the evening news. It was up in Cambridge and some kid in Natick had plunged through a pond on Christmas Eve. The camera zoomed into Mom's face and asked, "How do you feel?" That's it. Unplug the TV, put on street for someone to garbage pick. Ever since, friends and relatives have foisted tubes on me. In the past I have been goaded into taking a hand-me-down. That little TV lived in my closet for a few years. I plugged it in twice and I was glad I was able to watch the Clarence Thomas hearings and a very strung out Dylan at Madison Square Garden. Shortly after Dylan, the tube went out on the sidewalk, yet again. True. True. When I find myself in a hotel room I am hooked and channel surf as if I was downhill skiing. It's not that I don't take that piece of cake sitting on the table; I just don't like it in my house. You see I left TV. Never looked back, at least not until the night after the tasting. I was reading the Biz section of the New York Times and there it was. The Treatment written by Amy Bloom was on YouTube! I love Bloom�s writing. I find therapy fascinating. And there it was in my computer. It was living inside of the computer which is like saying it was living under my skin. Here I am on episode 4. If all of the sessions were online, I'd be up watching them 'til the wee hours. But this is exactly why I got rid of the TV. I wanted life or fiction but not this passivity. I threw the damned TV out years ago and now TV found me. Now what am I supposed to do, get rid of the computer? Flay me of my skin? Is the lesson here that as much as I fight the wines of Tre Bicchieri they will one day find their way into my glass and I will drink them willingly? Or will spending time at the Tre Bicchieri tasting drive me to TV? I enjoyed talking to David Lynch, who is finding his writing chops again after years of wine directing over at Babbo, (and a fine writer he is indeed), and I had a hoot talking to an enthusiastic sprite named Lisa Qiu who complained about all of the green peppery wines in the room, but next year when the TB invite comes in the mail, I�ll have to consider the side effects of attending.

My First Review: Wine & Spirits Magazine

I didn't think it was going to be this hard to read reviews. I know there are going to be some people who will hate the book and some who will love it. But the April issue of Wine & Spirits magazine included editor and publisher Joshua Greene's take on my book. And I kind of panicked. For the first forty-eight hours the actual letters looked like hieroglyphics then after coffee and the NYTimes this morning the words looked more coherent and when the coffee burned off the fog, I was stunned. I felt the way I did the first time I saw a play of mine read and the actors understood what I had written. Mr. Greene understood. He got it. I was so happy. He got the irony, he got the humor and of course, he got the wine stuff. I didn't even flinch when he described me as having "a train of frizzy red hair," and I was moved to hear his last lines: ...like Lynch (Kermit), Feiring's storytelling muscle takes the book beyond the neat genres established in the trade. This is a great read, a great perspective on the movement for natural winemaking and it's funny. The April issue is their restaurant one. Inside you'll also read writings from a satisfying packet of word slingers. From Tara Thomas' Chatreuse story to Field Maloney's pinot radicals, I couldn't ask for better company.