This month there's a little vegan wine guide thing I wrote up for Vegetarian Times. It's a little heavilly edited, but there is information in there you might not have known.
The PDF is living on the Querciabella site, so take a peek.
This month there's a little vegan wine guide thing I wrote up for Vegetarian Times. It's a little heavilly edited, but there is information in there you might not have known.
The PDF is living on the Querciabella site, so take a peek.
A few years ago my friend Becky said to me, "You'll have to find a new battle to fight."
The wine world had changed so much since I wrote The Battle for Wine and Love, she was indicating that winemakers had started to question their paradigms; make wine for Parker's palate or for themselves. The work was done.
I mean, have you looked to see what's going on in the Beaujolais? Just look at the names of the annual tasting La Beaujolise .
This season I'm aware of three significant debuts from the area, and I'm sure there's more.
Yohan Lardy, makes solid and enjoyable Moulin a Vent and Fleurie, in whole cluster, in old vats. The wines have backbone and are worthy of aging.
Anne Sophie Dubois went for a stint in Volnay and she's working Fleurie in no-carbo for her two cuvées, l’Achemiste and Clepsydre. Raised in cement of old wood, these are also wines built to last.
And then there's Domaine Robert-Denogent who works in the Macon but is leasing the old Jules Chauvet vines and recenly made a "Jules Chauvet cuvée." The man accredited with being the Grand Poobah of the natural wine world, and heralded as a great maker of (sometimes) no sulfur wines left shoes that I fear are impossible to fill. The wine had something to say, and I'll be watching all three.
There's a lot of land with a lot of beautiful old vines. It's still cheapish. So, it makes sense that I heard that some Americans were looking to buy land there. Not in fancy Burgundy, but in the Beaujo.
Even the locals are joining in and every vintage there are more people are joining the likes of those crazy Beaujoloises; Paul-Henri Thillardon, Rémi Dufaitre, Karim Vionnet, Julie Balagny, Julien Sunier, Dutraive, Ducroux,Bruno Debize (I featured his Beaujo in the wine society this last month). Lest we forget there are always the glorious outsiders, like Christian Ducroux and Roland Pignard.
Not all will be working in the vin naturel style, but all who start working now, if the wine is good, will be able to sell their wines because of the natural folk's work. Okay, I'm not sure a newcomer can sell their wines at $40, it would be wise to start at $18. But the world isn't sane. Anyway, I digress. Just to let you know, itwasn't that big, fat 2009 vintage that created the interest in the area. The reason for the renaissance is the delicious wines the gang of 5 showed the world that good work on gamay and granite demands.
Beaujolais vrais arrivée!
So, I was about to figure out what else I could do. I can't do a thing about ebola. I can't make a dent in Isis. I know I'm basically worthless that the only impact could be in wine, but what to turn my pen to next, I wondered. That's when I got a note from a winemaker from the New World who just read t the Battle, in Spanish. I live for such notes. I makes me think in the little way of writing, difference can be made. I guess I and my fellow writers still have 'work' to be done. Can't pull out the watercolors yet.
Last week three requests rolled in, "Alice, what is your position on wine ingredient labels?"Three requests meant that even though I have expressed my opinions in Naked Wine and in interviews, perhaps I best spell it out.
For a long time I've been in favor of less government in wine instead of more, but in this instance I have to fess up that with so many additives allowed in wine, an ingredient label is best. If there's an ingredient list for soda, there needs to be one for wine. If you are warned about an orange juice from concentrate, the same should be true for wine that has been reverse osmosed/concentrated.
Perhaps the TTB's willful ignorance in this matter, and yes, I do believe that it is, comes down to the influence of a wine lobby afraid to lose market share if required to disclose all. Even though, if I take the TTB's definition of natural wine, I could be convinced that the TTB, what I can imagine a non-wine drinking organization, believes what the wine lobby tells them, that wine is made in the vineyard, or that it is not possible to make wine with grapes.
Either way, the innocent is not so innocent, and a child of the 70s, in this case as in so many, the money lobby speaks.
With the allowed additions for example, of; water, sugar, concentrated fruit juice from the same kind of fruit, malolactic bacteria, yeast, sterilizing agents, precipitating agents, PVPP and other approved fermentation adjuncts, what will it take for the TTB to understand that most wines should be labeled as a wine beverage like my neighborhood convenience store's Chateau Diana? Because real wine, it is not.
I have not been successful in getting the TTB’s spokesperson Thomas Hogue, to take my inquiry about a real ingredient list seriously enough to get a satisfactory reply. Instead he sounding quite straight-faced wrote to me that on the table is an ingredient list, but the joke here is that it is only for nutritional value, carbohydrates, and calories.
How many of us are drinking for our five fruits and vegetables?
As more drinkers want their wines as natural as the food they seek, more wineries are going to present themselves as natural. Of course you can rely on your palate to be your guide, but the customer who is buying on philosophy and not taste will have a harder time.
Unless wine ingredients and processes make it on to a label, nothing can safeguard the product for the consumer who believes no label means nothing added. Right now some wineries like Ridge and Bonny Doon openly and extensively list their ingredient optionally. But as others follow suit, my fear is that the TTB will outlaw them instead of insist it be required.
So, where do I stand? I give up. There should be. Yes. Get the ink rolling. I want one.
In February of 2014, I traveled to Australia for the natural wine fair, Rootstock (next one is August 2015). Then I went off to see what I could drink. Never did I think I would find some gamay from the older generation that sung and a whole lot of chirping was going on from the newer. Here's an snippet.
The morning wine writer and ukulele-meister Max Allen and I tanked up on flat whites and headed out of Melbourne, the bush fires kept the Victoria air smelling like barbeque. Our first visit was Bindi (conventional but snappy and sexy pinot and chardonnay). Then we hit the biodynamic and dry farming advocates, Jasper Hill and Castagna (“I make syrah not shiraz.”).
Finally in the late day, as the light started to turn blue, we drove the twenty minutes or so from Castagna to Barry Morey’s backyard to discover the wines he makes under the Sorrenberg label.
His sleepy neighborhood was all about bleached picket fences and scrubby rolling hills. I slammed the car door, the cool white cocktatoos, strung white lanterns in the trees, barely reacted. Barry came towards us. A friendly man with a bent posture, he reminded me of a character out of the Wind in the Willows. The man was humble, or was that merely from years of bending over the vines? We piled into his truck to head just up the road a bit to his vines. “I don’t do much to make wine,” he said in a way that registered with authenticity. In that moment I understood that Barry was incapable of producing any kind of wine other than an honest one.
There is rapid wine change coming on in Australia. And to read the rest of the article and the rest of the rest...please subscribe!
In the introduction for The Battle for Wine and Love I talked about a screenplay I wanted to pen: girl journalist finds out about a global plot to kill of the authentic wines of the world, she springs into action.
The plot to kill off authentic wine is not such fiction.
Let's take the plight of tw wonderful wineries in different lands, in similar situations, penalized for not lack of quality, tastiness or stability, but solely on their lack of typicity.
Canada's Vintners Quality Alliance (VQA) could almost be rebranded as the Anti-Quality Alliance.
All wines of Canada's Ontario must to go through a tasting panel. Even if a wine is good, solid, tasty, might even be delicious, if it isn't typical, the wine is penalized. It is eligble for export, but loses a financial advantage, putting a small winery through tremendous financial hardship. I offer you Pearl Morrisette.
Pearl M. is one of the few Canadian wine amassadors to the United States, it is one of the few wines here getting people excited about what is happening up to our north. Minimalist, it feels right at home on the wine shelves of those who drink naturally. Even though the winery has extremely high standards, even though it's well-regarded, the wines continually have problems have passing through the Alliance.
From a spokesperson within Morrisette, we have this reality, "Non-VQA wines within the province of Ontario are not eligible for LCBO tax rebate. E.g. on a $25 bottle of wine, with VQA - the winery keeps $20, without VQA, the winery keeps $12.56. For a small winery, the loss is getting unbearable and is threatens its existence."
This year their 2012 Black Ball riesling has been refused four times for things like, "wispy sediment,"oxidative aromas and flavours," "unbalanced characteristics." Yet, they at the same time the wine was considered stable. It was just that it was a different expression of riesling.
But, I loved that wine. I shared with my friend, Jeff Connell when in Toronto for the Terroir Symposium in May. Yes, I drank it and loved it. A gorgeous expression of riesling, so enjoyable, I just drank and forgot to take notes. Sorry, I was off duty. (Tasting notes are coming in The Feiring Line Newsletter when I can procure the bottle.) Perhaps the VQA couldn't recognize the varietal, but to me the expression of a riesling with skin contact was familiar and identifiable. ( By the way, I am seriously proposing the possibility that the panel couldn't recognize native ferments either, so are we saying that only yeasted wines are allowed to pass? I'll take up this varietal maddness at another date.)
So, I ask; how can a tasting panel with a lack of tasting ability is able to comment on typicity? In other words, what do they know and how can they threaten the financial stability of one of their finest wines?
Over in South Africa and New Zealand, the problem is even worse. If the wine doesn't pass the board, they can't export. Done. Just recently, the excellent winery Sato submitted their chardonnay and was told it was not typical of a New Zealand wine. If they don't pass, they can't export. This is all supposed to be to protect the image, (which needs a serious lifting). Same deal in South African; it seems there's no trouble letting the crap be exported. The bulk, cheap and nasty supermarket side of SA wine is alive and well. Like, when is the last time you went out of your way to drink a South African wine? Enough said.
We rarely see Lammershoek in this country. Which is a damned shame as Craig Hawkins is one of South Africa's finest wine producers (at least as far as readers of this page and the TFL is concerned). But, there you go, his wines have once again been denied by the tasting panel. His latest battle, is yet agin for Sink the Pink--denied for inappropriate color.
Give me a break. I had a rosé in the Loire this year that was completely white and delicious (Patrick Corbineau's). Because of color? Since when does a rosé have to have a typical color unless it's aimed for the supermarket, or for demise, as is Provencal rosé?
This is from the winery to me. The Sink the Pink is a nouveau-style Pinotage. It is actually a small portion of our LAM Pinotage which we bottle early. This year we only bottled 560 bottles as it has a limited shelf life and needs to be consumed within 6 months or so. So very bright, fruity, relatively simple and just nice and juicy to drink young. But it doesn’t taste like any other Pinotage produced in this country and so it fails for things like being un-cultivar typical, being too light in colour.
The official language for rejection was. Turbid, hazy. Insufficient colour.
At one point perhaps this seemed like a good idea, to protect the image of South African wine, but when you think that it was just in 2004 that South Africans were putting artificial flavoring in their sauvignon blanc, and those had no trouble passing the Wine Board. But with wines that aren't pink enough?
Lammershoek has been continually going through this ordeal, and not only with Pink. Right now it's possible that they will pass the next tests, they have a few more shots at the board, but he's feeling a little beat down and not terribly optimistic.
Craig tells me there are plenty of more people in the same boat in SA, which is encouraging because then there's life there, but one wonders why they are not speaking up or working as much to help change the system. He is working for the change with the Board, the problem is that the change is not coming quickly enough. It is encouraging that as a concept of what a wine is changing and it follows that if a country isn't going to ruin their reputation, the rules must shift. And they will.
The slow pace could extinguish a winery. Craig sells near to 90% of his wines out of the country. If they don't pass the final exams, those wines will not be able to be legally shipped, causing tremendous financial hardship to one of the countries leading winemakers, ( in the natural world, at least) and the most celebrated that country has. So, what is the Wine Board really accomplishing by muzzeling the winery?
Taking it to it's illogical extreme, what if tomatoes were not allowed in stores because they were purple, or all French women who were not skinny were not allowed passports? It is time for countries, including France (and that accursed Vin de France) to realize putting a supermarket mentality on wine will bring them only disgrace.
It's time to sink, but please not the Pink.
Thus spake Bruce Palling.
Or, rather, so he wrote in his 2012 essay.
Palling's recent Newsweek piece was entitled much more astutely, Why Natural Wine Tastes Worse than Putrid Cider.
His title seemed inspired by the sensational Robert M. Parker Jr. and Michel Rolland. Yet the text seemed more in step with restaurant critic Steve Cuozzo.
It turns out that like Cuozzo, Palling (also a restaurant critic who loves his tipple) thinks he's the rare food writer who actually knows wine---as they say, a unicorn of the species.
Now, Palling still drinks 'claret' and 'vintages, ' and even though he knows as much about natural wine as I know about butchering, he writes about them as if he is an authority.
But there are signs he might not be the most reliable narrator.
+ The caption on the photograph accompanying the article refers to chasselat
While not in any grape book I can find, on Wiki it is one obscure synonym for the grape chasselas, too obscure to use in a caption. If I were the writer? I'd get on my editor's ass to fix it as soon as possible.
+ Natural wine isn't on the shelves of supermarkets.
Well....the Whole Foods in London --unlike most other Whole Foods--stocks plenty. At Marks & Spencer or Tesco? Most likely just industrial plonk there. But he takes it further to say they're not at wine merchants?
+ "The feeling goes that if the food served in a restaurant is best when it has no pesticides and herbicides, then the same must be true for wine."
Amen! Like this is bad? Especially if some are delicious?
+Real natural doesn't exist because all wine needs human intervention.
Such a tiresome straw man argument. There are brains out there. One of you guys, please jump to an original argument. Look, bread doesn't happen without intervention either. But there is Wonderbread and real stuff. Done.
+At least 30ppm of SO2 is needed to keep a wine without sulfur alive for a few days.
My experience? The more sulfur the shorter the lifespan of the open bottle. The little secret of drinkers and sommeliers is that the low or unsulfured wine lives dramatically over days and sometimes even months. Many natural wines love oxygen.
+ The natural wine movement kicked off with Noma in Copenhagen.
Now, where in heck did he get that one? The NWM kicked off in the Beaujolais in the late 70's. It came into its own first in Paris when in 2000 the natural wine bar of the city boomed. Thanks to the internet from 2006 to 2014 the category mushroomed. By now, the world's interesting winelists has exploded. Sure, Denmark is high on the natural hog, but they're relatively late to the game. Hello Japan?
+ Hibiscus has seen the light and gas "reintroduced top vintages."
According to the list's creator, Isabelle Legeron, she's always had some classic wines on the list.
+ Noma has seen the light and has "reintroduced top vintages."
That would be news to their wine maestro, Mads Kleppe.
Last month in Vienna I talked at length with Mads. The night was approaching the wee hours, there was some Overnoy involved. He confided to me that he is still trying to get rid of some of the earlier inventory which pre-dated him. The wines, he said, were an embarassment. Perhaps those are the very ones Palling thinks are new kids the list. I'm sure Palling would be appalled at Mads' wine pairings because he told me that those with preconceived notions have a hard time. Some were indignant, furious even. It was mostly the coffee pairing (very barely roasted coffee) that got them pissed off. "If you fuck with peoples conception what good wine and coffee looks and taste like they get really upset," Mads said to me.
Mad's pairings aim to challenge, inspire, break the fourth wall. He wants to provide an experience. To offer wines that were chemically farmed, yeasted, bacteriaed, tannined, acidified, deacidified, overly sulfured, megapurpled, RO-ed, micro-oxed etcetec, would be cynical. Devastating really.
Some of Mads' offerings would be gorgeous, easy to love. Others would be challenging, provocative, engaging. The purpose is journey, sensual, explorative. And at times, delicious. Or at least that's what I got from my conversation with him as I've yet to visit and dine.
I have no problem that Palling doesn't care, (nor can he taste) that his Cote Rotie has added tannin and the flint in his Chablis is actually too much SO2. What I have a problem with that he spoiled a perfectly good piece. He had a beautiful whine in the making of I can't go to eat the greatest restaurants of the world anymore (no, Palling, not the trendy ones, the greatest ones) of the world anymore because they've been invaded by the dreaded natural wines.
Ach, yet another case of a writer burying his lead, swapping for a piece for a flawed article a magazine like Newsweek should have never honored with publishing.
However, I will grant the critic three things:
1- Like in all wine worlds, some are sub-par.
But am I going to get in the way of someone who loves mousiness? No. But I won't be able to recommend them.
2- Dagueneau made some good wines, sometimes great ones.
But, if he wanted to drink them, he should have dug into his own pocket for his wallet and not wait for what was being offered to him.
3- I believe the critic that natural wines are just not his thing.
And while I have no doubt I could show him a completely no So2 added wine he would love.
I don't want to convert him. Let him drink claret! But believing him as a reliable narrator? Not so sure.
I offer you this knish.
Knish, In Search of the Jewish Soul Food, by Laura Silver, came out in May from Brandeis University Press. I was impressed.
Silver's story begins on the one-year anniversary of her grandmother's death when she drove to Brighton Beach in search of her Grandma Fritzy's favorite, Mrs. Stahl's. She was craving a memorial knish. The storefront was intact, but Mrs. Stahl had dispatched for Florida. Shortly thereafter Silver was further crestfallen to find the shop retrofitted into a Subway franchise. All was wrong with the world.
Bereft, she embarked on the sentimental journey, needing to understand the knish in all of parts and history. Her search lead her to Poland, Israel, France, England, Israel, Minnesota, California and ultimately back to Mrs. Stahl's family, the legacy and lesson.
Evidenced from Silver's first line, "The knish situation in Brooklyn is not what it once was," the word for the savory or sweet pastry can't avoid its punchline power. But to devour a knish? Ah, that's quite a different matter. That's when this delectable snack shows its poetic side.
The knish, you see, is no mere madeleine. It is history, soul and literature. Not only does it tell the tale of the shtetl, to Silver, it is a symbol of strong women.
Silver's writing makes us care. Her loss is our loss. We crave kasha. We yearn for the potato and onion. We cringe at the idea of the liver. We question the use of shmaltz instead of oil. We marvel at the people who baked and peddled them. Through it all, we learn that the knish is bigger than all of us.
Unlike Mimi Sheraton's The Bialy Eaters, which was a pessimistic death march for the lox-loving disk, Knish ends on an up beat. The knish lives!
Yet, I mourn.
The Long Beach Boardwalk had two: one belonged to my cousin's (Paula and Al Gewirtz). That was Royalty Knish and Donut Izzy's Knishes was the other. Royalty's, hot-out-of-the-oven, became my benchmark. Yet, there I was at this book's end, saddened. If only I could have compared them to Stahl's. When I read how Silver described the Stahl knish, "If you cut it in half, the cross-sections revealed a membrane of dough that split the innards into chambers, like those of a human heart," I closed the book and said, "Now, that's a knish."
** And what to drink with a potato and kasha knish? They're actually pretty wine friendly and you can go red or white, but what I think is almost brilliant is the new Coup de Foudre rosé pet nat from La Garagista. Read about it in the next issue of The Feiring Line.
Yesterday morning I woke up to a tweet from colleague Simon Woolf who writes The Morning Claret, a worthy blog.
His beef that morning was a wine with a ludicrous claim. Slurp, a €4,99 supermarket bottle claiming 100% natural status.
Its owner, Ilja Gort, a rather hyperbolic Dutch guy makes wine in France (Michel Rolland is his trusted consultant). From an advertising background, he learned his field well. All you need is a little bullshit and a false message.
But still, I spent some time trying to figure out what the man could have been thinking, other than a sucker is born every minute. Where was the morsel of truth in his claim? Perhaps it goes back to a wine unadorned by oak flavors? As in chips or yaourt nature? Plain? Simple? Was his nonsensical defense to be, "I used the word natural perfectly, your honor. I used it to mean no nonsense, in fact it's right there on the label for everyone to see!"
That is the pity of the word. As a writer, I struggle with it as many times a day as there are ants in a hill. Message is nearly impossible to control. The food industry had failed to protect the word natural. The fight went on for decades. I don't see the wine world being any more successful. Define the word as relates to wine?
Made from non-synthetic-chemical-based viticulture. Natural yeast and bacterial fermentation. Nothing added or taken away --including all of the 70 or so government allowed additives, except perhaps up to 20ppm So2. No flavor or texture changing machinery or additives used. Some gentle filtration may be needed, for stability.
Even if that was the definition, someone like Gort would find the loophole. Promise.
In the twitter conversation, when Simon suggested I take up the whip, I turned my back. I would leave the fight to others. I dismissed the whole issue. I thought, okay, we knew that was going to happen. People hop on a marketing bandwagon. And this man I never met, this Gort, was the first that I can tell, to be a true jerk about it. 100% so.
Even though people in the bible with such 'stiff necks' as mine were swiftly punished, (hello big fish and Jonah), I had other issues to deal with. So, I went to bed with schiste on my brain at 1am. I woke up full of Slurp at 4:30. The thoughts rushed like a nor'easter. Had I gone soft in my old age? Had I gotten lax. Had I grown tired of shaking my tiny paw at big business?
But this morning, in a fog of anxiety, I knew I was wrong. We are in an environment where the EU is allowing Monsanto to control all of the seeds in the world, where heirloom seeds might soon be banned. True shops like Les Temps de Vendanges in Toulouse are being hauled into fraud court because of using the word naturel for wines that truly are. I cannot do anything about the senseless killings in the schools, the horrifying situation in Iraq, but at least in this tiny sector of agriculture and humanity, that is one area that is small enough that falls into my arena. If we stop crying out, even about a label on a silly supermarket wine, we're all doomed.
Thanks for slapping me around, Simon. I needed it.
This week I opened up a 2011 Bartolo Mascarello with Pascaline, we loved it.
We both agreed that it was so very pretty, but somewhat tight and could use some age. There was cherry and tannin, and depth but it needed to have a window opened. I said it needed ten years, would love to see it in twenty.
When I woke up this morning, I saw that quite the tweet fest started and debate about its agebility.
They were in good company. Even in Piemonte its debated. Last year, when I talked to MT last year about the wine, she told me she wasn't as much of a believer in its long-aging as are others in the 'hood--such as her cousin, Marta Rinaldi or more profoundly, Trinchero down in Asti. But of course how it's made, how long the maceration, stainless or wood, all decisions in winemaking will have an effect on the aging.
But the question could well be, why lay down at all? After all, the Bartolo Mascarello is so delicious, it's difficult to summon the self-control to stop drinking. On the other hand, those tannins sure could turn into something interesting over a little time. So why will I keep back a bottle a few years (maybe five, I doubt ten per my tweet.) I'm simply curious.
So, if you're lucky to have two of these, try one tonight. True to Maria Teresa's words, the wine had plenty of sediment, decantation is not a bad idea. Drink, think, make your own decision on what to do with the second bottle. And what to do if you only have one? Get the corkscrew. You should experience the wine in its youth.
In the spirit of freisa curiosity and exploration, I offer you this article I ran this December in The Feiring Line Newsletter. (Hope you consider subscribing. Also, as below, clicking on the images should enlarge them.)
The first time I heard the name Alex Podolinsky I was in Bordeaux. It was in 2008m with Michel Favard of Chateau Meylet.
"You don't know Alex?" he asked, incredulously.
I admitted I did not. As far as famed Biodynamic consultants, of course I knew Joly and Armenier, but Podolinksy? Alex, who worked out of Australia, had been his initial consultant and Favard was in awe. How could I not know one of the most influential people working in Biodynamics in the world?
Alex was born in the Ukraine and raised in in Germany. He was there during the war. Post-war, the poet, musician, architect, philosopher ended up in Freiburg (Hello, Martin Heidegger).
Already a student of Steiner, he emmigrated to Australia either in 1947 or 1949 as a Biodynamic teacher. With uncanny foresight, he bought the name Demeter. He owns Biodynamics in his continent. His version is a somewhat different interpretation and this can prove polarizing.
One main point of departure is Alex's view of the iconic preparation 500-- that's the famed dung buried in the cow horn trick.
Over the months dung ferments and transforms into a superior sweet smelling and potent fertilizer to be used in farming. But Alex made a tweak. Wanting to make sure the preparations were useful for large scale Australian farming, he sells it ready made. He fine tuned this soil enhancer to the strong Australian sun. Its following as a magic potion is a devoted one, even among those who like Bindi, is not hooked on the Demeter certification or its dogma, but is hooked on the prep.
Throughout my visits through Australia, I met many who poked fun of Alex , even held him in some derision, meglomaniacal and all of that, as well as looking askance at his hightailing off with the Demeter name, but many view him with the same starry eyes that Favard had. They see him as an agrarian prophet of the truth, a guru. However all I met in Australia seem to agree on the prep.
The intensity of those devoted to him was driven home on the way to Barry Morey's place in Beechworth (read about this excellent producer from Victoria in this month's The Feiring Line) when Max Allen stopped us off off at Pennyweight Winery, a picture perfect example of the biodiversity of Alex's teaching. (The high intervention here might raise an eyebrow or two elsewhere, but the passion is electric.)
Morey is a little more hands off, but still he is fiercely respectful of the man, and so were dinner guests that evening, retired biodynamic wheat farmers.
The couple started down their path to soil spirituality when they saw a documentary on Alex on the news series A Big Country. They quickly got in touch.
Then they waited.
Alex wouldn't work with just anyone, you had to be worthy.
One day the phone rang. The consultant was nearby and could visit and see for himself if they would be candidates. They were thrilled. They met. It began.
This February when I was in the state of Victoria, driving about with Max Allen, I asked if we could go to the throne of Australia's Demeter, and see Alex in his Powelltown compound. "Are you sure?" Max asked.
There was no way I could be near someone this controversial and this influential and not meet him if I had the chance.
We headed from Beechworth to Yarra in the morning and as we pulled up the drive, the growth was bursting with spring -like fertility instead of the approaching harvest time slumber. It was a dramatic, lush contrast to the smell of bush fires burning.
We entered his cabin, something like a rustic Flatiron building in its angularity.
The house is bordered by windows on all sides, and even in the overcast day was flooded with light. Inside there were piles of books and papers, yet the feel was spartan and cerebral. Frail, in that abstemious way, Alex is also one of the few consultants I've met, who enjoy drinking and liked to talk of wine. Soon, just like Nicolas Joly, he was talking, channeling whatever.
He tested me to see if I was worth giving answers to.
He waved his wrist at me, flop, flop. "What does life say?" he asked, and I wanted to say a floppy wrist, I knew I was failing the test, and it was an awful feeling.
"It is the unending of life. It is endlessness."
I could have told him that, but I flunked the wrist test.