The Feiring Line

Wine of the Year!

Wine Spectator 100 best wines of the year issue? Forget it. I did. I was going to grouse about it. And then, Bartholomew Broadbent stopped me. He was far more appreciative of the list than I was and to try to bring me over to his kinder, gentler side, he wrote, "There's a Portuguese wine near the top!" ---or something like that. His efforts were successful. So this year, they're off the hook. And I can hear Tom Matthews sigh in relief. Truly. (I mean there were at least 5 wines I wanted to drink on their list, not that bad.) Then tonight. I was feeling fatigued, not wanting to go out. I was looking at a pile of work and instead of digging in, I contemplated LAST year's AF wine of the year, the Clos Roche Blanche Pineau d'Aunis. The last time I cracked a bottle I found it a little cloying and I was doubting my unbridled enthusiams of a year ago. I knew the wine was going through transition, bottles started to push their corks. But this one, tonight, was all warm roses in the snow. Gosh, so pretty. It made me feel optimistic. In the Feiring household, optimism is rare, it is 24k crusted in rose cut diamonds. But, of late I've suffered from ennui. I've looked at the tub and thought, that needs to be scrubbed, poor thing. But I have not picked up the brush. Oh sure, I have polished a sentence here and there, but instead of elbow grease I've used Ajax. (cheap trick) And for that, I know, they'll make me wear the hair shirt. However, I was wondering until just this week what the AF wine of the 2008 would be. It would be far too easy to choose the 2006 Clos Roche Blanche Cot or the 2007 Gamay or a Breton and so I thought, nothing. Just nothing. I refuse to anoint something just because. But damn, what will I drink when the nights are cold and dark and bleak? Where is the wine that will make me happy every time I open it up. Oh not the wines I love, but the wines that can be the milk in my coffee? And then I went shopping. Yes, in this economy I went to Chambers Street in Tribeca and went shopping. And I found this: It was $11! The new Prat de Cest ! (read my book if you want to know what that means) The wine has been called rustic. Pfft. I say rustic is a rose. What means rustic. What a term. Rustic meaning---raw? Don't we love 'rustic food?" Why not rustic wine? And what means a rustic wine, a peasant wine? A wine with edge? Verve? A peasant that is a prince wine in wolf's clothing? A rustic gem in the raw wine? A beauty, a human who has been around the block, has the ironic edge but still has the innocence that will forever magnetize? This Bourgeuil I give you in its rustic innocence. The deal, I know little. Organic since 1965. No adjuncts other than sulfur. No new wood. There is a goregous cabernet franc-ness and underneath is a pure and simple plum. But wait, it's not THAT simple. In fact, it's the kind of wine you can quaff but will go back and back to taste and smell because it's a wine that has much to say. Take that and that those of you out there who deny terroir. Put your nose in the glass, maybe you won't say Bourgeuil, but I dare you not to say Loire, near Chinon. There is not much of it to go around. Chambers Street has it all and they direct import it. And if someone tries to poach it from them (importers, beware) I will come and throw oaky chardonnay all over their fine wool suits or Wolford body stockings. This is the wine that will nurse me through these hard times, affordable, fascinating. In these times where the tailors and shoemakers will once again have storefronts, even in my boutique riddled neighborhood. Along with the CRB's of the world, here is a wine for us. Happy New Year. It's going to be an interesting one. All we can do is hold on to the horns and go for a ride.

Wine of the Year!

Wine Spectator 100 best wines of the year issue? Forget it. I did. I was going to grouse about it. And then, Bartholomew Broadbent stopped me. He was far more appreciative of the list than I was and to try to bring me over to his kinder, gentler side, he wrote, "There's a Portuguese wine near the top!" ---or something like that. His efforts were successful. So this year, they're off the hook. And I can hear Tom Matthews sigh in relief. Truly. (I mean there were at least 5 wines I wanted to drink on their list, not that bad.) Then tonight. I was feeling fatigued, not wanting to go out. I was looking at a pile of work and instead of digging in, I contemplated LAST year's AF wine of the year, the Clos Roche Blanche Pineau d'Aunis. The last time I cracked a bottle I found it a little cloying and I was doubting my unbridled enthusiams of a year ago. I knew the wine was going through transition, bottles started to push their corks. But this one, tonight, was all warm roses in the snow. Gosh, so pretty. It made me feel optimistic. In the Feiring household, optimism is rare, it is 24k crusted in rose cut diamonds. But, of late I've suffered from ennui. I've looked at the tub and thought, that needs to be scrubbed, poor thing. But I have not picked up the brush. Oh sure, I have polished a sentence here and there, but instead of elbow grease I've used Ajax. (cheap trick) And for that, I know, they'll make me wear the hair shirt. However, I was wondering until just this week what the AF wine of the 2008 would be. It would be far too easy to choose the 2006 Clos Roche Blanche Cot or the 2007 Gamay or a Breton and so I thought, nothing. Just nothing. I refuse to anoint something just because. But damn, what will I drink when the nights are cold and dark and bleak? Where is the wine that will make me happy every time I open it up. Oh not the wines I love, but the wines that can be the milk in my coffee? And then I went shopping. Yes, in this economy I went to Chambers Street in Tribeca and went shopping. And I found this: It was $11! The new Prat de Cest ! (read my book if you want to know what that means) The wine has been called rustic. Pfft. I say rustic is a rose. What means rustic. What a term. Rustic meaning---raw? Don't we love 'rustic food?" Why not rustic wine? And what means a rustic wine, a peasant wine? A wine with edge? Verve? A peasant that is a prince wine in wolf's clothing? A rustic gem in the raw wine? A beauty, a human who has been around the block, has the ironic edge but still has the innocence that will forever magnetize? This Bourgeuil I give you in its rustic innocence. The deal, I know little. Organic since 1965. No adjuncts other than sulfur. No new wood. There is a goregous cabernet franc-ness and underneath is a pure and simple plum. But wait, it's not THAT simple. In fact, it's the kind of wine you can quaff but will go back and back to taste and smell because it's a wine that has much to say. Take that and that those of you out there who deny terroir. Put your nose in the glass, maybe you won't say Bourgeuil, but I dare you not to say Loire, near Chinon. There is not much of it to go around. Chambers Street has it all and they direct import it. And if someone tries to poach it from them (importers, beware) I will come and throw oaky chardonnay all over their fine wool suits or Wolford body stockings. This is the wine that will nurse me through these hard times, affordable, fascinating. In these times where the tailors and shoemakers will once again have storefronts, even in my boutique riddled neighborhood. Along with the CRB's of the world, here is a wine for us. Happy New Year. It's going to be an interesting one. All we can do is hold on to the horns and go for a ride.

Remedial Bubble Assistance!

The rain stopped. The snow washed away. I fetched my bicycle from the rear of my tenement. And there, tumbling from the garbage pails next to my little bike housing, were bottles of spent Moet et Chandon. I wondered, which one of my neighbors needed remedial bubble help? I had a suspicion the victims were my immediate downstairs neighbors, one French, one Australian. For years that apartment was haunted. First it was the heroin addict. Then there were a series of alcoholics, young ones, who mistook my door for theirs, sometimes rather aggressively. Now, the ghosts were renovated out, and this lovely and sweet but gullible couple moved in and they pay close to $3500 a month. Looking at the detritus, I felt sorry for them. For one, they over pay greatly for real estate. Two, They couldn't really like the stuff, could they? And even if they paid $25 a bottle, that was too much for sugar water and bubbles. After all, don't they make Moet in China these days? Here's the deal: this year if you're having a party for more than ten people, most likely real champagne is not on your list of bouvables. But splitting a champagne for a celebration a deux? There's no reason not to spend $20-$60 a pop. Or just have the damned party but make bringing a GREAT bottle of champagne a requirement by your guests...a modern form of rent party. But do email them the list of approved champagnes. Because you don't want to repeat the fate of a California friend who hosted a peanut butter and champagne party and had to contend with the headaches from down-market prosecco. CHAMPAGNES I LOVE They are all in the states and good luck finding them. I'm not giving descriptions for the most part, because it just doesn't matter. As far as dosage, they either have none or minimal, except for the De Meric...which has a bit more than the rest. Prices, like for the Boulard, can be as low as $35. If you drink these you'll never look at any of the LVMH big boys again. *Francoise Bedel (LOVE! Floral, complex. All black grapes, from a mere 45 minutes outside of paris) * Lassaigne (LIQUID LOVE and elegance from the chalk hills of Mongeueux far away from the primary grape growing area. See earlier entry from the champagne trip.) *Raymond Boulard (What this version lacks in acidity it makes up in minerality and complexity. Had this for the first time last night. What have I been missing? And it's $32 at Astor.) Guy Charlemagne (What can I say? Yum?) De Meric (Absolutely poor man's Krug) David Leclapart (Quirky. Glug. Glug.) Pierre Moncuit (Classic, adore the rose) Champagne Fleury (Cuvee Robert & the rose are the favs.) Larmandier-Bernier (Life will never be the same) Selosse (If I could find it and afford it I have no doubt I would worship its bubbles) Roger Pouillon & Fils (Wonderful complexity, rich) Pierre Brigandat. (Under $30. Tremendous steel for a steely champers.) All of these are small houses, those growers who do the best work. There are others I am so happy to drink that are not on the list merely because, they are not in my line of vision. But I didn't want you to think I'm a total snob. For me, the best big house champagne I never refuse is Bollinger.

Remedial Bubble Assistance!

The rain stopped. The snow washed away. I fetched my bicycle from the rear of my tenement. And there, tumbling from the garbage pails next to my little bike housing, were bottles of spent Moet et Chandon. I wondered, which one of my neighbors needed remedial bubble help? I had a suspicion the victims were my immediate downstairs neighbors, one French, one Australian. For years that apartment was haunted. First it was the heroin addict. Then there were a series of alcoholics, young ones, who mistook my door for theirs, sometimes rather aggressively. Now, the ghosts were renovated out, and this lovely and sweet but gullible couple moved in and they pay close to $3500 a month. Looking at the detritus, I felt sorry for them. For one, they over pay greatly for real estate. Two, They couldn't really like the stuff, could they? And even if they paid $25 a bottle, that was too much for sugar water and bubbles. After all, don't they make Moet in China these days? Here's the deal: this year if you're having a party for more than ten people, most likely real champagne is not on your list of bouvables. But splitting a champagne for a celebration a deux? There's no reason not to spend $20-$60 a pop. Or just have the damned party but make bringing a GREAT bottle of champagne a requirement by your guests...a modern form of rent party. But do email them the list of approved champagnes. Because you don't want to repeat the fate of a California friend who hosted a peanut butter and champagne party and had to contend with the headaches from down-market prosecco. CHAMPAGNES I LOVE They are all in the states and good luck finding them. I'm not giving descriptions for the most part, because it just doesn't matter. As far as dosage, they either have none or minimal, except for the De Meric...which has a bit more than the rest. Prices, like for the Boulard, can be as low as $35. If you drink these you'll never look at any of the LVMH big boys again. *Francoise Bedel (LOVE! Floral, complex. All black grapes, from a mere 45 minutes outside of paris) * Lassaigne (LIQUID LOVE and elegance from the chalk hills of Mongeueux far away from the primary grape growing area. See earlier entry from the champagne trip.) *Raymond Boulard (What this version lacks in acidity it makes up in minerality and complexity. Had this for the first time last night. What have I been missing? And it's $32 at Astor.) Guy Charlemagne (What can I say? Yum?) De Meric (Absolutely poor man's Krug) David Leclapart (Quirky. Glug. Glug.) Pierre Moncuit (Classic, adore the rose) Champagne Fleury (Cuvee Robert & the rose are the favs.) Larmandier-Bernier (Life will never be the same) Selosse (If I could find it and afford it I have no doubt I would worship its bubbles) Roger Pouillon & Fils (Wonderful complexity, rich) Pierre Brigandat. (Under $30. Tremendous steel for a steely champers.) All of these are small houses, those growers who do the best work. There are others I am so happy to drink that are not on the list merely because, they are not in my line of vision. But I didn't want you to think I'm a total snob. For me, the best big house champagne I never refuse is Bollinger.

Bloomberg La Tache Blooper and a Sad Article on Sparklers/ a rant

Looks like some lucky (or desperate) consumer from Beijiing just cooked a lot of pasta at CDG's over-priced wine department. A 1991 Cote de Rhone La Tache? At least I hope that's just some sloppy journalism instead of an over zealous salesperson looking to put something over on some poor shnook looking for a fancy label. I actually remember being shocked to see that La Tache at the airport store a few years back. I snapped a photo of it, mostly because it was so grossly overpriced and wanted to document. The Aeroporte person threatened to confiscate my camera. I haven't flown Air France since. (Though that was before KLM took them over and the last time I flew a Delta/AF share, the AF staff (not to be confused with this Alice Feiring, AF) were immensely more pleasant. I might give them another shot.) Where am I going with this post? Who knows. I was amused and wanted to have a giggle in order to avert my eyes from the growing stockpile of chardonnays on my bench. I am more and more convinced that all chardonnay vines should be ripped out of California and replaced with trebbiano. Aeroports de Paris Says Passenger Spends Record on French WineTarbell's Article

Bloomberg La Tache Blooper and a Sad Article on Sparklers/ a rant

Looks like some lucky (or desperate) consumer from Beijiing just cooked a lot of pasta at CDG's over-priced wine department. A 1991 Cote de Rhone La Tache? At least I hope that's just some sloppy journalism instead of an over zealous salesperson looking to put something over on some poor shnook looking for a fancy label. I actually remember being shocked to see that La Tache at the airport store a few years back. I snapped a photo of it, mostly because it was so grossly overpriced and wanted to document. The Aeroporte person threatened to confiscate my camera. I haven't flown Air France since. (Though that was before KLM took them over and the last time I flew a Delta/AF share, the AF staff (not to be confused with this Alice Feiring, AF) were immensely more pleasant. I might give them another shot.) Where am I going with this post? Who knows. I was amused and wanted to have a giggle in order to avert my eyes from the growing stockpile of chardonnays on my bench. I am more and more convinced that all chardonnay vines should be ripped out of California and replaced with trebbiano. Aeroports de Paris Says Passenger Spends Record on French WineTarbell's Article

Notes on a Los Angeles Wine Bars Part Scene, Part 2

Just when I was about to give up, return to the safety of AOC and settle for the glass of wine and no wine dialogue—unless Manny was installed-- I got a tip on 55 Degrees in Atwater, tucked into a mini-strip mall, shadowed by a Starbucks. Den-like. underneath its eponymous wine store, all seven tables were filled early on a Saturday night. Mike Brosnan poured Valtellina and Chiavennasca (a white Nebbiolo) and talked up the oft-maligned Lambrusco to the small crowd, another crop of millennials. Wine curiosity here was the focus and fuel. There was nothing tangential. The strip mall was no impediment to success. But as Lou on Vine is also in a strip mall, were the best wine spots in the most unattractive real estate? Sandwiched between a Thai Massage parlor and a Laundromat, the interior's reality is so altered by paint and paper that the obvious and seedy is replaced by secret and sexy. (And here I can break the fourth wall of my magazine voice. I discovered Lou last year, 2007, when I was in town for a Vin Italy thing. Loved it. Was thrilled they wanted to do a book event for me, which was one of the more fun ones (though nothing beats the Terroir SF event, that one was a hoot) so lucky for me, I already loved it, already sold on the place ---okay---back to the article.) The man himself, Lou Amdur reigns over his tiny empire spinning wines as a DJ spins vinyl. He strives to focus on wines most naturally made and terroir driven, which is why he is Euro-centric yet unearths the best he can from the home state. His boite is also noteworthy for crisp pig candy and crumbly Hook cheddar. Next to me sat an architect with both a Lou on Vine and yurt building obsession. Our dueling iPhones made conversation inevitable. We confessed our guilty pleasure of loving the new MacBook Air. "It's so sensual," she said. "The fact that this kind of thing is undervalued in our culture, is criminal." The attraction between form and function whether in Mac or whether in wine bar was an undeniable truth. She sipped and commented, "Crazy wine." It was the Coturri Albarello, an obscure grape transplant from Campania, she explained to me, "I don't know wine, I just let Lou take me wherever he wants me to go." (see Lou Amdur's comment below for the real explanation). I was still contemplative about the meaning of strip malls, wine bars and the connection to form and function but nothing that I'd seen over these wine bar days prepared me for wine right inside of a parking garage. Julie Brosterman has one hell of an imagination. What was she thinking? Putting a distinctive wine shop in a space the size of my bathtub inside of the Valet Parking at 2 Rodeo Drive? It's a really good store, too! If setting up in unlikely locations was a recipe for success, Brosterman's place is going to be huge. And just maybe she needs to open up a wine bar. Wine Valet

Notes on a Los Angeles Wine Scene

On this hot Christmas Eve I find myself thinking about the pieces that never saw the light of day, and find myself wishing I could get on the plane and go to Lou in LA. But instead, I'll give you this post. Seated at the back bar at AOC, which houses one of LA's most celebrated wines bars, I was sipping a Yann Chave Crozes-Hermitage, contemplating the curried cauliflower. I scrutinized another solo diner, Manny. Manny, had a surfer's build, ponytail, Hawaiian shirt and a self-satisfied smile. I was quite certain he had 'duded' the valet who parked his vintage convertible. I was equally sure he was going to order some fat, over-oaked chardonnay. Ready to pat myself on the back for savvy wine profiling, the man flipped my prejudice on its ear as he started to cobble together food and wine pairings. Jurancon for his paté. Loire Cab Franc for roast halibut. The pairings as they continued were so thoughtful and sophisticated, I digested the fact that Los Angeles' wine culture demolished my stereotypes. Watching Manny turned my experience profound, especially when I overheard him saying, "I was an accountant for sixteen years, it almost killed me." He found salvation through wine. Seems like there are a lot of others looking for salvation through wine out in Los Angeles as the wine culture is fierce evidenced by the sprawl of wine bars and some wine stores. LA is all about the car, and perhaps as a result, some of the best to visit are a drive as well as, at least from my New Yorker perspective, spoiled as I am by the appeal of a subway--are in the most unlikely places, like the suburbs as well as strip malls. Take Palate Food + Wine, way the hell out there in Glendale tucked into a triumvirate of a restaurant, wine bar and wine store, retrofitted from an old wine warehouse is a magnet, especially for their pricing policy; bottles are marked-up a mere $18 above retail. While I like AOC, I loved that Palate had a wine ringmaster. Someone who really knew their stuff and shared the enthusiasm. Los Angeles is teaming with wine bars, even though when I asked Julie Brosterman, owner of the shop Wine Valet which she liked, she pooh-poohed the pickings. But still, I wondered whether ones existed that could provoke excitement in me, also a like-minded wine curmudgeon? This meant, wines that had something to say, people who had something to say, and food that had something to say. Very unlike the place recommended to me by a pretty high profile wine guy, inside of the Old Farmers Market, Monsieur Marcel. Parking at the Whole Foods across the street, I risked a jaywalking ticket and sprinted across 3rd street. Inside, I was reminded of Barcelona's boqueria, but instead of gazing at honeycombs of tripe and knocking back cava, I was looking at Moshe's falafel shack, sniffing sauvignon blanc suspiciously. The waitress mistakenly gave me the New Zealand instead of my desired one from the Loire. No worries, she was sweet, made good on the switch. Not really worth the jaywalk but there was some sort of retro charm about the place. They're wine bar crazed over in Culver City! But there, I targeted Bottle Rock and the way they market to those crazy millennials. Starbucks meets brewpub. I didn't want to be too hard on it, especially when I remember my own baby wine bar experience—faux Tiffany lamps and pitchers of Lancers. After all I wasn't popped out of the birth canal wine savvy. We all have to start somewhere. Those starting out at Bottle Rock have far better choices than I ever had at the wine bar of my youth. While normal by-the-glass options are almost pedestrian, they also promise to open up any bottle on the list with a two glass order minimum. I zeroed in on the A&P de Villaine Blanc, at $13 a glass. All Aligoté, it's an underachiever grape of Burgundy from a terrific producer. I sighed, was he really suggesting a chardonnay from a bad producer instead of Aligoté from an excellent one? Next. Though I struck out, it did not flip my belief in the city's wine culture. But still, I started to long for my bare bones Parisian wine bars, places where I can steal a glance at the adjacent table, catch sight of their Dard et Ribo St. Joseph and hours of vinous conversation later, I've instant new best friends.

Notes on a Los Angeles Wine Bars Part Scene, Part 2

Just when I was about to give up, return to the safety of AOC and settle for the glass of wine and no wine dialogue—unless Manny was installed-- I got a tip on 55 Degrees in Atwater, tucked into a mini-strip mall, shadowed by a Starbucks. Den-like. underneath its eponymous wine store, all seven tables were filled early on a Saturday night. Mike Brosnan poured Valtellina and Chiavennasca (a white Nebbiolo) and talked up the oft-maligned Lambrusco to the small crowd, another crop of millennials. Wine curiosity here was the focus and fuel. There was nothing tangential. The strip mall was no impediment to success. But as Lou on Vine is also in a strip mall, were the best wine spots in the most unattractive real estate? Sandwiched between a Thai Massage parlor and a Laundromat, the interior's reality is so altered by paint and paper that the obvious and seedy is replaced by secret and sexy. (And here I can break the fourth wall of my magazine voice. I discovered Lou last year, 2007, when I was in town for a Vin Italy thing. Loved it. Was thrilled they wanted to do a book event for me, which was one of the more fun ones (though nothing beats the Terroir SF event, that one was a hoot) so lucky for me, I already loved it, already sold on the place ---okay---back to the article.) The man himself, Lou Amdur reigns over his tiny empire spinning wines as a DJ spins vinyl. He strives to focus on wines most naturally made and terroir driven, which is why he is Euro-centric yet unearths the best he can from the home state. His boite is also noteworthy for crisp pig candy and crumbly Hook cheddar. Next to me sat an architect with both a Lou on Vine and yurt building obsession. Our dueling iPhones made conversation inevitable. We confessed our guilty pleasure of loving the new MacBook Air. "It's so sensual," she said. "The fact that this kind of thing is undervalued in our culture, is criminal." The attraction between form and function whether in Mac or whether in wine bar was an undeniable truth. She sipped and commented, "Crazy wine." It was the Coturri Albarello, an obscure grape transplant from Campania, she explained to me, "I don't know wine, I just let Lou take me wherever he wants me to go." (see Lou Amdur's comment below for the real explanation). I was still contemplative about the meaning of strip malls, wine bars and the connection to form and function but nothing that I'd seen over these wine bar days prepared me for wine right inside of a parking garage. Julie Brosterman has one hell of an imagination. What was she thinking? Putting a distinctive wine shop in a space the size of my bathtub inside of the Valet Parking at 2 Rodeo Drive? It's a really good store, too! If setting up in unlikely locations was a recipe for success, Brosterman's place is going to be huge. And just maybe she needs to open up a wine bar. Wine Valet

Notes on a Los Angeles Wine Scene

On this hot Christmas Eve I find myself thinking about the pieces that never saw the light of day, and find myself wishing I could get on the plane and go to Lou in LA. But instead, I'll give you this post. Seated at the back bar at AOC, which houses one of LA's most celebrated wines bars, I was sipping a Yann Chave Crozes-Hermitage, contemplating the curried cauliflower. I scrutinized another solo diner, Manny. Manny, had a surfer's build, ponytail, Hawaiian shirt and a self-satisfied smile. I was quite certain he had 'duded' the valet who parked his vintage convertible. I was equally sure he was going to order some fat, over-oaked chardonnay. Ready to pat myself on the back for savvy wine profiling, the man flipped my prejudice on its ear as he started to cobble together food and wine pairings. Jurancon for his paté. Loire Cab Franc for roast halibut. The pairings as they continued were so thoughtful and sophisticated, I digested the fact that Los Angeles' wine culture demolished my stereotypes. Watching Manny turned my experience profound, especially when I overheard him saying, "I was an accountant for sixteen years, it almost killed me." He found salvation through wine. Seems like there are a lot of others looking for salvation through wine out in Los Angeles as the wine culture is fierce evidenced by the sprawl of wine bars and some wine stores. LA is all about the car, and perhaps as a result, some of the best to visit are a drive as well as, at least from my New Yorker perspective, spoiled as I am by the appeal of a subway--are in the most unlikely places, like the suburbs as well as strip malls. Take Palate Food + Wine, way the hell out there in Glendale tucked into a triumvirate of a restaurant, wine bar and wine store, retrofitted from an old wine warehouse is a magnet, especially for their pricing policy; bottles are marked-up a mere $18 above retail. While I like AOC, I loved that Palate had a wine ringmaster. Someone who really knew their stuff and shared the enthusiasm. Los Angeles is teaming with wine bars, even though when I asked Julie Brosterman, owner of the shop Wine Valet which she liked, she pooh-poohed the pickings. But still, I wondered whether ones existed that could provoke excitement in me, also a like-minded wine curmudgeon? This meant, wines that had something to say, people who had something to say, and food that had something to say. Very unlike the place recommended to me by a pretty high profile wine guy, inside of the Old Farmers Market, Monsieur Marcel. Parking at the Whole Foods across the street, I risked a jaywalking ticket and sprinted across 3rd street. Inside, I was reminded of Barcelona's boqueria, but instead of gazing at honeycombs of tripe and knocking back cava, I was looking at Moshe's falafel shack, sniffing sauvignon blanc suspiciously. The waitress mistakenly gave me the New Zealand instead of my desired one from the Loire. No worries, she was sweet, made good on the switch. Not really worth the jaywalk but there was some sort of retro charm about the place. They're wine bar crazed over in Culver City! But there, I targeted Bottle Rock and the way they market to those crazy millennials. Starbucks meets brewpub. I didn't want to be too hard on it, especially when I remember my own baby wine bar experience—faux Tiffany lamps and pitchers of Lancers. After all I wasn't popped out of the birth canal wine savvy. We all have to start somewhere. Those starting out at Bottle Rock have far better choices than I ever had at the wine bar of my youth. While normal by-the-glass options are almost pedestrian, they also promise to open up any bottle on the list with a two glass order minimum. I zeroed in on the A&P de Villaine Blanc, at $13 a glass. All Aligoté, it's an underachiever grape of Burgundy from a terrific producer. I sighed, was he really suggesting a chardonnay from a bad producer instead of Aligoté from an excellent one? Next. Though I struck out, it did not flip my belief in the city's wine culture. But still, I started to long for my bare bones Parisian wine bars, places where I can steal a glance at the adjacent table, catch sight of their Dard et Ribo St. Joseph and hours of vinous conversation later, I've instant new best friends.