The Feiring Line

COMMENT TRAUMA???

I've had MANY emails from readers who are thwarted when trying to post a comment. I have no idea why but, as you see, activity is way down on my blog so you are not alone. This advice came from a reader who was successful. if you are not registered you need to click on the Disqus icon immediately above "add a new comment". It will bring up a dialog box that allows you to register. If you attempt to register by clicking on "post as a guest" it can not be done, even if you select the register option. Hope this helps. And really sorry for this. Sometimes it doesn't even let me register or comment. If all else fails, email me your comment and I will post it and maybe knock some sense into its head.

COMMENT TRAUMA???

I've had MANY emails from readers who are thwarted when trying to post a comment. I have no idea why but, as you see, activity is way down on my blog so you are not alone. This advice came from a reader who was successful. if you are not registered you need to click on the Disqus icon immediately above "add a new comment". It will bring up a dialog box that allows you to register. If you attempt to register by clicking on "post as a guest" it can not be done, even if you select the register option. Hope this helps. And really sorry for this. Sometimes it doesn't even let me register or comment. If all else fails, email me your comment and I will post it and maybe knock some sense into its head.

Giving Thanks: Booty Call Dolcetto: Mood Lifter Vouvray

Erev Thanksgiving: Thanksgiving phobia set in shortly after puberty when the parents were in their High Ball days. Wine was the provenance of Friday nights and Saturday afternoons. Turkey belonged to watered down bourbon. The convergence of Fear of Thanksgiving and puberty was circumstantial, yet sometimes in a moment of mental weakness I wonder if a twisted astrological plot was afoot. There were deaths, including the dog Becky, a gorgeous creature who insisted on kicking me out of my bed and claiming my pillow. Then there was a stroke. Everything broke at once. Some palm reader at a cocktail party folded up my mother's hand, returning it to her as if it were a crumpled handkerchief. I have a feeling the seer saw the front page ad my dad took out to advertise his neighborly affair and voila. After the final split and the mother and father tried to split me in two, I checked out. Years later I boycotted the whole holiday, barricading myself in Boston, "I'm working," I would explain. Then there were the fine, fine years in the country listening to the locals shoot at beer cans at sunset, tripping in the fields and coming home to boys roasting turkeys, making applesauce from withered and frozen fruit. Life was good. But there is no doubt, the other part of this holiday is that it marks the beginning of Alice's Scrooge season. Each year it's a little different. The droning of the Christmas music is the worst of it. But this week it weighed on my soul that I was be only US wine writer not covering Thanksgiving wine. The accusation on Twitter? UnAmerican! Very possibly so. I still belong to the shtettle. But the true reason for my silence was that I never understood the neurotic pressure to choose the right bottle as if the world would come apart and the sea lions would crawl down Fifth Avenue and the polar bears would go on life support if the wrong wine pairing was decided upon. And for tomorrow? It will be a kosher Chinese restaurant on 3rd avenue followed by A Serious Man, with an elderly mother next to me howling with laughter, and then asking me 'but I'm not so sure it was good for the Jews." (by they way, it's brilliant.) I understand the urgency of choosing wine for company, I never understood the wine urgency on this day as any more serious than other gatherings. Isn't the meal a dinner party? Drink what you like. Truly. What's more when you give thanks, give thanks for GAMAY! My one and only tip for those who must do family affairs; pack a secret stash for yourself. Treat yourself and those who care. Sneak off to the bathroom as if you're doing coke, but take the Riedel with you. This year if I was an active participant, I'd be doing St. Joseph. Dard & Ribo. That is what I hanker for. Now. But tonight, I am celebrating a Vouvray. I find it uplifting, charming. Sebastien Brunet's 2007 Arpent Vouvray is well, just mindlessly delightful. Lemon and honey. Not too complex but it knocks back so easily. About $20 And tonight there was something totally different. This wine is like the man who dials me up for a booty call yet shows up demanding, empty handed and doesn't even feign interest in my day or thoughts, yet he is compelling. Damn. You'll be shocked when I tell you who is this wine is. Sit down. Brace yourself. Casina Degli Ulivi 2006 Nibio Terre Rosse. Stefano Bellotti is the Italian vigneron. He is also the nicest biodynamist you ever met. And I love this wine. I do. But it also has me disoriented. The 14.5 alcohol? The wild tannin is wild. I sip and I can just feel and taste the grapes are channeling some terribly dense clay. Oh, the cherry mass of it all, and wondering Dolcetto? The wine confuses me, yet compells me to pick up the phone when it rings. Booty call? Sometimes it's just the thing. About $14

Giving Thanks: Booty Call Dolcetto: Mood Lifter Vouvray

Erev Thanksgiving: Thanksgiving phobia set in shortly after puberty when the parents were in their High Ball days. Wine was the provenance of Friday nights and Saturday afternoons. Turkey belonged to watered down bourbon. The convergence of Fear of Thanksgiving and puberty was circumstantial, yet sometimes in a moment of mental weakness I wonder if a twisted astrological plot was afoot. There were deaths, including the dog Becky, a gorgeous creature who insisted on kicking me out of my bed and claiming my pillow. Then there was a stroke. Everything broke at once. Some palm reader at a cocktail party folded up my mother's hand, returning it to her as if it were a crumpled handkerchief. I have a feeling the seer saw the front page ad my dad took out to advertise his neighborly affair and voila. After the final split and the mother and father tried to split me in two, I checked out. Years later I boycotted the whole holiday, barricading myself in Boston, "I'm working," I would explain. Then there were the fine, fine years in the country listening to the locals shoot at beer cans at sunset, tripping in the fields and coming home to boys roasting turkeys, making applesauce from withered and frozen fruit. Life was good. But there is no doubt, the other part of this holiday is that it marks the beginning of Alice's Scrooge season. Each year it's a little different. The droning of the Christmas music is the worst of it. But this week it weighed on my soul that I was be only US wine writer not covering Thanksgiving wine. The accusation on Twitter? UnAmerican! Very possibly so. I still belong to the shtettle. But the true reason for my silence was that I never understood the neurotic pressure to choose the right bottle as if the world would come apart and the sea lions would crawl down Fifth Avenue and the polar bears would go on life support if the wrong wine pairing was decided upon. And for tomorrow? It will be a kosher Chinese restaurant on 3rd avenue followed by A Serious Man, with an elderly mother next to me howling with laughter, and then asking me 'but I'm not so sure it was good for the Jews." (by they way, it's brilliant.) I understand the urgency of choosing wine for company, I never understood the wine urgency on this day as any more serious than other gatherings. Isn't the meal a dinner party? Drink what you like. Truly. What's more when you give thanks, give thanks for GAMAY! My one and only tip for those who must do family affairs; pack a secret stash for yourself. Treat yourself and those who care. Sneak off to the bathroom as if you're doing coke, but take the Riedel with you. This year if I was an active participant, I'd be doing St. Joseph. Dard & Ribo. That is what I hanker for. Now. But tonight, I am celebrating a Vouvray. I find it uplifting, charming. Sebastien Brunet's 2007 Arpent Vouvray is well, just mindlessly delightful. Lemon and honey. Not too complex but it knocks back so easily. About $20 And tonight there was something totally different. This wine is like the man who dials me up for a booty call yet shows up demanding, empty handed and doesn't even feign interest in my day or thoughts, yet he is compelling. Damn. You'll be shocked when I tell you who is this wine is. Sit down. Brace yourself. Casina Degli Ulivi 2006 Nibio Terre Rosse. Stefano Bellotti is the Italian vigneron. He is also the nicest biodynamist you ever met. And I love this wine. I do. But it also has me disoriented. The 14.5 alcohol? The wild tannin is wild. I sip and I can just feel and taste the grapes are channeling some terribly dense clay. Oh, the cherry mass of it all, and wondering Dolcetto? The wine confuses me, yet compells me to pick up the phone when it rings. Booty call? Sometimes it's just the thing. About $14

Stuff from the Savio Soares Fall Tasting

Jura Philippe Bonard: I rest my case. Love the Cremant, pinot, l'aide memoire (we all need some help) Loire Domaine de Montcey 07 Cheverny White was quite racy and gamy 2007 Cour-Cheverny was melony and vigorous. Christian Venier Crazy guy. Fascinated by this winemaker. Look for the 2008 Cheverny Clos de Carteries, firm and mouthwatering. Reynald Heaule He might get the winemaker of the year award. '06 Contre Courant, a blend of Cab, Franc and Meunier drives me nuts. Like a chunk of clay. Another jumper is the '06 L'Insoumis du Village, all Pinot Meunier, firm, structure, dirt and edge. Needs a good decant. Rhone Andrea Calek I've talked about this wilde mensch before, the Babiole drives me wild with a solid grenache berry, muscled six pack of a wine. Bordeaux Ch. Chap des Treilles '05 Sainte -Foy Bordeaux, with a dollop of muscadelle, this is a lovely sipper, floral, femme. Normandy Cyril Zangs Cider---Cider alert!

Burgundies from Kermit

Oh, back when it was still hot Ibanez Pleven had a tasting of Kermit's Burgundies and there were a few high notables. Comtesse de Cherisey Meursault-Blagny 1er Cru, La Genelotte 2005 V. interesting stuff. Perfumed, exotic, earthy. My notes sound red instead of white but still, sign me up. Pierre Guillemot Saviney les Beaune Serpentieres 1er Cru '06 Cinnamon and spice and a lovely limpid, light cherry juice red. Feels like it went to finishing school. Wears white gloves. Polishes its shoes. Pierre & Francois Bertheau Chambolle-Musigny '06 Love it but is it worth about $70? Not sure. Gentle, firm, long finish, zippy acidity. In short, more than decent sex. Okay. It's worth it. Domaine Bizo Vosne-Romanee 2006 This gets the coup de couer of the evening. Will cost about $100+ but, pretty gorgeous, fruit, velvet, oh damn--there's that Chanel #5 that brings me over the edge when it comes to burgundy, and just for emphasis a blast of raspberry, and not sure bout the marshmallow, but what the hell. If its paired with the jungle hone and jasmine and aromas that focus my nose into hyperflexion? I surrender. Now, the Domaine Maume Bourgogne Rouge and G-C en Pallud? These 2006's are odd mother-fkrs and I need to taste older vintages to figure these out. I'm neither on the bus or off, but am truly intrigued about these stinky wines to see what happens.

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Back Story Of Living With Wine

--- Being included in Eric Asimov's Wednesday's column on winebooks was a treat. However hearing that my writing was besides the point was a big Ouch! ( I'm sure he didn't mean to be mean to me. I'll try not to take it that way.) The book, lovingly produced by Samantha Nestor, is a beaut, and expensive and a great gift. It might be the last of the great coffee books. But I must beg to differ. I think the words do indeed matter. When Sam and Clarkson Potter called to ask me to help out with the book and profile the collectors I was thrilled for the opportunity. My job was to bring life to the collectors and give shape to the practical information. Sam wrote the introduction, the captions, sidebars, titles...etc: really everything else. She collected the projects and photo edited Andrew French's photography. Working with them was, I admit it, a love fest. Once on the job I dug down to find out what these folk collect. Why they collect. How they started out and what were their particular storage needs. Tips are top heavy. The book is packed with practical information that just doesn't exist out there in book form; from the cellar designers on choosing materials, handling lighting, organization and high-tech flash. While my own prejudice is for a passive cellar, undergound, with no bells and whistles, others have different needs. And guess what? Those people out number me. Most of the cellar owners (obviously not freelance writers) had unlimited financial resources to get their desired effect. Some in the book are more accessible. But still lovely. For example: there's an LA cellar snuck under a stairwell. There's the functional closet transformation n the upper east side. Some reclaimed loft space for a young woman collector exists in the FlatIron. There is a green cellar as well. And yes, there are also cellars there for entertaining purposes only; who knew that people who only drink cocktails want a cellar as a courtesy for their guests, or build the cellar first and know the wine knowledge will come later? Life is strange, and all of these quirks are part of the wine world and how fun for me to discover the nuances and hopefully passed it on in the prose. Such as the man who used to purchase by points and then geek wine struck! And what do you do when the maid uses your 1982 Cheval Blanc for the meatloaf and how do you deal with your adult children raiding the wine cellar. This book pulled me out of my little natural wine nook and brought me into a different world, and back into the world of design, where I cut my journalist chops back in 1990. And while the book is piling up credits on blogs and in gift giving guides, in answer to one blogger who asked what my name was doing on a book like this, the answer is, having a great time!

Back Story Of Living With Wine

--- Being included in Eric Asimov's Wednesday's column on winebooks was a treat. However hearing that my writing was besides the point was a big Ouch! ( I'm sure he didn't mean to be mean to me. I'll try not to take it that way.) The book, lovingly produced by Samantha Nestor, is a beaut, and expensive and a great gift. It might be the last of the great coffee books. But I must beg to differ. I think the words do indeed matter. When Sam and Clarkson Potter called to ask me to help out with the book and profile the collectors I was thrilled for the opportunity. My job was to bring life to the collectors and give shape to the practical information. Sam wrote the introduction, the captions, sidebars, titles...etc: really everything else. She collected the projects and photo edited Andrew French's photography. Working with them was, I admit it, a love fest. Once on the job I dug down to find out what these folk collect. Why they collect. How they started out and what were their particular storage needs. Tips are top heavy. The book is packed with practical information that just doesn't exist out there in book form; from the cellar designers on choosing materials, handling lighting, organization and high-tech flash. While my own prejudice is for a passive cellar, undergound, with no bells and whistles, others have different needs. And guess what? Those people out number me. Most of the cellar owners (obviously not freelance writers) had unlimited financial resources to get their desired effect. Some in the book are more accessible. But still lovely. For example: there's an LA cellar snuck under a stairwell. There's the functional closet transformation n the upper east side. Some reclaimed loft space for a young woman collector exists in the FlatIron. There is a green cellar as well. And yes, there are also cellars there for entertaining purposes only; who knew that people who only drink cocktails want a cellar as a courtesy for their guests, or build the cellar first and know the wine knowledge will come later? Life is strange, and all of these quirks are part of the wine world and how fun for me to discover the nuances and hopefully passed it on in the prose. Such as the man who used to purchase by points and then geek wine struck! And what do you do when the maid uses your 1982 Cheval Blanc for the meatloaf and how do you deal with your adult children raiding the wine cellar. This book pulled me out of my little natural wine nook and brought me into a different world, and back into the world of design, where I cut my journalist chops back in 1990. And while the book is piling up credits on blogs and in gift giving guides, in answer to one blogger who asked what my name was doing on a book like this, the answer is, having a great time!

Been Doon For the Liquid Memories (Saved by the Wild Bunch and Real Wine)

Saturday night. The wind stopped, as did the rain and I pulled up to the bar at i Trulli on 26th Street. My first glass, a very appealing '07 Pelaverga from Castello di Verduno. Birthday dinner, not mine, ensued. Delicious dinner. Risotto-toothsome, perfect, under an icing of black truffles, what can be bad? Panelle, creamy, more like polenta, atop a very epplant and cracking fresh caponata. The other two had whatevers. They're not really about wine geekery so I chose the $56 safe bet, the Barbera from Castello (as the guest of honor was not as charmed as I by the Pela.) The first bottle went down and then my friend called in another. I twitched. But it was too late, the Barbera arrived, uncorked, poured and I found myself going through the chore, the chore of drinking. I drank and then I found myself thinking, why does wine matter? Why was I drinking just because another bottle was brought to the table. And why did THAT wine matter? Though I liked it, it just didn't have the levity or the gravitas to keep me going. I didn't want to drink. I was bored.

And so I stopped. I walked home, utterly stuffed with food but still thought about a spot of Madeira. As I went to sleep, I felt as if I had lost my identity. Who was I if wine didn't matter? Perhaps the meaning was buried in the pile of books next to my bed. So, I got up after an hour or two of slumber and one nightmare and did some digging into the problem in search of a solution. This is a book for those of us who were precocious children or wish we were, and grew up to sneak cases of wine into the apartment. Salutations to Grahm who still has the energy to show off (such as Grahm's reinvention of Finnegan's Wake to suit his own purposes). Randall Grahm, the Richard Forman of wine literature? Encased in verbosity, sometimes difficult, always charming and rushing with creativity, is the Grahm brain. I found myself happy for the opportunity to crawl into his psyche and experience how it tinkers and toys. Even with the flash there is substance. Within the let- me- dazzle -you -with-my- tap -dance, the book delivers moments, passages and themes that made me take out the stickies. In the last section, Earnest Speeches and Sober Essays, he calms down, stops breaking that fourth wall, the reading is worth the price of admission. These essays are earnest and sober as advertised. Particularly edifying and perhaps should be required of all UC Davis School of Enology staff and students is the chapter entitled, How I Overcame My UC Davis Education, which has a list of 32 points he wishes someone would have taught him including #3:Merlot actually does pretty much suck--and it's not particularly soft. #6- Absence of defect in wine does not necessarily equate to the presence of quality. There is plenty to be mined here, but pages 279-308 are for me, the books epicenter. Alas, the answer to my problem--why wine matters-- wasn't in those pages. But a true talmudist, he knows the question is far more important than the answer. And I'll follow that kind of person anywhere. Then we come to Jonathan Nossiter's Liquid Memory. Michael Steinberger wrote the review we all don't want to read about ourselves.  Mike's article

I too found Nossiter's book tiresome.  I had this feeling the author was waiting in ambush; looking for opportunities to burst out of the curtain to shout, "caught you!" But worse, it was just a difficult read with little pay off for the effort. I did come away with belief in his respect for Charlotte Rampling, and  that he sees Dominque Lafon as a paragon winemaker. As in his film, Mondovino, I am still surprised by his seemingly lack of awareness of the 'natural' wine movement. It would seem as if he would find something relevant here, especially as his book has a message about why wine matters.

However, I remain indebted to Nossiter. He was the person I first heard use 'cynical' in regards to wine. The year was about 1998 or so. Obviously he, who lived around the corner from me at the time, had an effect. I wish the book had more of one as well. I was no closer to a truth of why wine mattered after I finished than when I began. It might be that he is a better film maker than a writer of prose, but problematic at the book's core is that Nossiter had no questions to ask, there was no curiosity and therefore neither did I.

(For another take, another point of view, head to Ken Payton's 3 part interview with Nossiter This all brings me to a thirst for wine literature and that's why I have dug out two gems by Patrick Matthews. Patrick Matthews has decided that a falafel business in England is more profitable than a wine writing life. HE'S CORRECT. (And I am currently looking for my own personal falafel. ) In looking down alternate roads to fulfillment, he has probably found out that yes, sure wine might matter, but stopped trying to find out why. He searched for the grail in two fabulous books, and now, it's about chickpeas. The Wild Bunch, Great Wines from Small Producers (1997) and Real Wine, the Rediscovery of Natural Winemaking (2000) Haven't read either? Then correct your ways. While the Wild Bunch, really should be called Real Wine and Real Wine (mostly based in California) something else it matters not. These two should be the classics next to your copy of Adventures on the Wine Route. Oh, put them in even higher esteem than the Lynch book, because Matthews' are purer, they had nothing to sell and plenty to communicate. They are even more interesting to me now then on the first read, about a decade ago. Modern New and Old World winemaking are brought into historical perspective. There are tales from the beginnings of vin naturel, and Dard & Ribo and wines that couldn't even make it back to London without going dodgy. Unlike Nossiter, Matthews is devoid of snark. Unlike Grahm he is devoid of the room full of coo-coos and Deus ex Machina booming voices, or rubber ducks and flashing numbers. He delivers all with an even hand; Guy Accad, the wine consultant who screwed up Burgundy with his quest for color and fruit, discussion of sulfur (mechanical harvesting makes sulfur indispensible) cold fermentation, Chauvet and even the history and problem with clones. Years ago when I read Natural Wine I was more dismissive. I suppose I was reactive to seeing the names Mondavi and Grahm (far from natural back then) in this volume. But now, upon the reread, and mind you, I am not finished, his themes and discussions are still current, much more so than I gave credit for. I was wrong. He was right. It doesn't matter at all who the players are, the discussion is real and vibrant. Out of print, there are still a few on Amazon. Go dig them out, and perhaps some smart publisher, put them back on the shelves, because there is some genuine revelation in the pages about the truth that is in wine, the blood of agriculture and transformation, that does matter indeed, even though sometimes I just can't put my finger on why.