j.brix wines: Les Garagistes

2011-11-22T20:01:00.001-08:00

Hello, friends. We're getting ready to send out the Fall 2011 j˚ brix newsletter ... sign up now for an exclusive look into the very exciting '11 vintage, and to read what's going on with the '09s and the '10s. We won't spam you, we promise, and you won't find all this information anywhere else. Special goodies for our dearest friends, you see! (Because we love you.)

Adieu, 2011 ... one for the books! Sign up for the newsletter for todos los deets.

Watch this Space -- Or, How Riesling Happened

2011-11-04T17:46:00.000-07:00

The 2011 harvest has come to a close. We've put down a tale or two in words; now, it's time to show you a story. Take a look.

Riesling Harvest 2011 - Kick On Ranch

Simply Magical -- Or, Beauty and a Benediction

2011-10-09T16:31:00.000-07:00

If you read the last installment of the Harvest '11 story, you might remember I promised future tales of Pinot Noir; pasilla peppers; and magic. Wait no longer.

A foggy Pinot Noir pick. Wait, we're making Pinot Noir? I guess we are.

Pinot Noir from the Central Coast. It's been done. Ad nauseam, right? Sideways, and all that? So, why bother? Well, this site, this sandy, rocky, always-cold-microclimate site on the backside of Vandenberg Air Force Base, from whence a Pinot-Noir-loving rocket-scientist-friend-who-shall-not-be-named shares regular debacles ("Whoo! We had to blow that thing up!") -- it calls out and insists: Make. Wine. From. Here.

It's just so pretty

So, we did. Had to. One barrel. Clone 115. Saucy, naughty all-natural fermentation; cool, then hot, then cool again, aromatic as all get-out, pressed to barrel and living in the vein of trouble. It's quiet now, ready for winter, and we'll just see what happens, won't we. In the meantime, after picking those Pinot grapes and before heading home, we plucked some delicious pasilla peppers growing right outside the vineyard, and made a pepper-chorizo-cornbread stuffing dish for someone's 12th birthday celebration.

My spicy girl is 12. Mind-boggling.

Magic

This is how we roll.

The Santa Barbara Highlands Vineyard is not a "destination." No one visits for fun. It's not like a Sunset guide, wine country, right after I stop by this tasting room with Ionic columns and a golden dome and a special parking lot for party buses, then I'm going to check in on Foursquare at the SBHV! Yeah! No. This place, if you're going there, only to go there, which is the only reason you'd be going there, takes you a long time. It is not convenient. One hour is how long it will take to get to and/or from what most consider civilization, to arrive at this vineyard. Perhaps it is because of this -- and I write the following sentence knowing full well that most who read it will not believe me -- there is magic that happens at the Santa Barbara Highlands Vineyard. Every time.

After the Electrical Storm of the Uncontainable Rosé of Grenache, what else could happen, really? The weather was calm. In the forecast: an easy pick. Here we go, heading up once again in the dark of night, to bring back grenache fruit for the 2011 La Paloma Libresca. Ah, and though you never call out your favorite child (trust me, don't do that!), I love me some La Paloma Libresca. Translation: The Bookish Dove. Raw, brilliant, beautiful; unexpected, and ready for anything, anytime. The shed that had served as shelter from the storm before the Uncontainable was the landing place once again -- and what should appear but this:

Doves. White doves. A flock of them.
Buenos dias, las palomas.

They soared, and dived; they moved across the azure sky in glorious aerobatic unison, putting on a show for a good 10 minutes as we watched, completely gobsmacked. There must have been 20 of them. White doves? What... where... who...? Ours is not, always, to reason why. La Paloma Libresca, 2011, received a benediction this day. Gracious thanks, humble work, and only love.

Until next time, dear friends. Comments, observations, and thoughts always welcome!

Electrical Storm -- Or, There Must Be Some Way Back

2011-10-05T15:49:00.000-07:00

Are we really almost a month into harvest already? How can this be? What an (almost) month it's been. We've pulled in grenache for rosé; our first pinot noir; and two-and-a-half-weeks-riper grenache for red wine. The syrah and riesling fruit's still hanging, and we're hoping this rain that's falling in those vineyards as I type doesn't lead to any number of potentially disastrous results. Early October rain ... an out-of-our-hands reminder that a whole growing year, no matter how carefully managed, comes down to a few short weeks where anything can happen. This season has already held some seriously wild experiences. Take the very first pick...

Enter Zeus

The usual 2:30 am wakeup call? No big deal. Dangerously cut off in the fast lane by a dude with a live toucan perched on his steering wheel? Whatever. The 5 freeway suddenly shut down -- without signage -- detouring (also without signage, naturally) in an incredibly sketchy area of downtown Los Angeles? Do-able. The unmistakable smell of ozone heading up the 5 toward the 166? Wait ... tell me that wasn't lightning.

It was lightning.

A (non-forecasted, naturally) electrical storm, the likes of which I've never before seen in California, lit up the two lanes of the 166 like daylight. Furious, fierce, pounding hammers of blinding daylight, shining a spotlight flash on the golden grasses in the darkness. The thunder made me leap, every time, even though I knew it was coming. Angry chunks of hail hit the windshield intermittently, but when we pulled under the shed of the Santa Barbara Highlands Vineyard, no rain nor hail fell. Just the lightning, striking again and again, all around, and we watched it, mesmerized.

The sun rose, slowly, finally. The storm looked as though it was moving north; the lightning, still visible, had made its way into the distance, and the vineyard foreman said he could send up the pickers. Every visit to this site seems to hold a new and elemental experience. This time was no different.

Sunrise on the Uncontainable

If the sky can crack

Cuyama River - dry for now, but it could change in an instant...

Perfect for making glorious rosé

Enter Vulcan

Back at the scales, weighing and loading the bin, another unmistakable smell. Once a forest fire comes close enough to force you to pack your few most precious things and leave, as one did to us in 2007, the aroma of it -- anywhere -- grabs you with a silent, forceful message. Go. Go now. Yellow smoke was rising in a thin plume behind the mountains across the road from the vineyard. In the direction of the wide, straight-laned freeway on which we'd planned to drive home: heavy, black sheets of rain.

Change of plans. Through the winding mountains, the cliffs of the Los Padres National Forest, into Ojai, to Ventura and the 101, toward home, with this precious just-picked cargo, this very first of the vintage, wrapped in sheets in the back of the truck. Toward the making of the 2011 Uncontainable.

Fire trucks whizzed past us in the opposite direction on the treacherous mountain roads; brush-fire trucks, all squat and rugged; with thick, sturdy tires, and an attitude. Bound, determined, those trucks looked. They reassured me. The vineyard would be safe. They would see to it.

Next time: Pinot noir; pasilla peppers; and another magical moment at the Santa Barbara Highlands Vineyard. And, it's not over yet. Do check back, friends!

Harvest on the Horizon - Or, Punch List and a Wishlist

2011-08-27T15:06:00.000-07:00

It's here.

The morning light shifts, imperceptible in its drift, until one day it isn't. A breath of breeze carries the tiniest hint of brisk. And, the trees! They wear the secret; we can't look away. Liquidambars glow golden red at their tips. Sycamores, messy and brown. Our beloved harvest harbingers in both hemispheres -- the poplars -- move to yellow, fluttering, majestic. The time has come.

We are entering our third winemaking season.

Liquidambar photo by Jean-Paul GRANDMONT

Long before I felt the first electric thrill of handling winegrapes on an autumn day, the season held a sacred sense. A hopeful solemnity meets the transition at summer's end, even when one grows up in South Florida, where autumnal markers are scarce (though they do exist). Something about it lives in my bones. I was a September baby. My children were born in the Fall. This work of making wine resonates.

Coming Up

On the cusp for the j.brix 2011 vintage:

Grenache, for the Uncontainable rosé, and then, a later pick for La Paloma Libresca. We'll visit the vineyard in less than a week's time, and, I think, find ourselves returning for fruit shortly thereafter. Rosé shall soon be in the house!
Pinot noir, a first for the project, though it's not the first time we've worked with it. In fact, we cut our teeth on the good stuff when we first started volunteering to help with crush in the Central Coast.
Riesling, for the second consecutive year. Which reminds me, we need to open a bottle of that 2010 Riesling and see if the Goblin's turned into Prince Valiant, yet. Oh, I do hope so.
Syrah, from a site new to us this year. Details to come!
(If We Had Our Druthers and/or More Room for Bins & Barrels and More Time to Travel and Also More Money (or, Maybe Next Year)): Old-vine Chenin blanc. Old-vine Carignane-Zin-Mourvedre field blend. Vermentino. Sticky. Bubbles (Riesling or Chenin? Hmmmmm).

So, friends, you see, there'll be plenty to keep the j.brix project busy, and your glasses full, for many, many vintages to come. As always, we thank you for coming along for the ride. Stay tuned for the details ... it's soon to be nothing-o'clock once more. Here's to Harvest 2011!

In Which People Pit the j.brix Against Various Cult Wines

2011-07-09T22:25:00.000-07:00

Greetings, Friends, G(r)eeks, Romans, Countrymen:

Well! We've gotten some pretty fascinating feedback of late re the 2009 j.brix collection. It's so interesting to hear what people think of the wines, especially as we've gotten down to the point where hardly any of the '09 vintage is left on our end. Sadly, we don't have enough for any more cellar tasting parties (at least until the next vintage is ready, and then it's party time once more). Lately, the wines seem to be on an East Coast swing, being poured by (1) my mom ... and yeah, she likes them; or (2) Very Serious Wine People at Dinners Where They Also Pour Cult Wines.

It's best that we don't know when these Very Serious vinous gatherings are occurring, as the whole idea is completely frightening to us, not being members of the Cult Wine, er, cult. And yet, we've received after-the-fact statements we wouldn't even know how to make up if we were, well, making things up. Pour votre plaisir, dear friends, we present a sample of recent emails:

Exhibit A: "After the Sassicaia"

Subject: Your wine was a hit in Baltimore!!
> Em & Jody, As planned, we poured your La Belle Reveuse blind at a gathering of 8 fellow 'winos' on Tuesday. This group gathers occasionally to taste - and teach each other - about Italian wines. Your wine was poured in good company. At least half of what we had were wines listed in Joseph Bastianich's book of Italy's 89 finest wines.
> As we passed it around, the group was told nothing about the wine. They immediately went to California, with a few guessing Australia. One person opined that it was sangiovese, probably more because of the company in which it was placed than its actual flavor. Comments included, "lovely" "ripe fruit" "eucalyptus". Everyone LOVED it!! Towards the end of the evening - after we tasted the Sassicaia - we re-tasted your wine and it was still a favorite.

Exhibit B: "Next to the Sine Qua Non"

Subject: another tasting of your wine

>Em & Jody,

>We brought your La Belle Reveuse with us to Avalon this weekend. Our host brought out a bottle of Sine Qua Non, The Ventriloquist 2001 that we learned was a 80% Grenache + Syrah. This was a somewhat mature wine with restrained fruit and a firm finish. It seemed like the perfect time to open your wine. Everyone loved the J Brix! Much more forward and approachable at first, it showed as more forward fruit to the Ventriloquist's more restrained (and rather closed) flavor profile. Several people opined that they'd like to see what the La Belle Reveuse would taste like in 8 years. After an hour or so in the glass, it was hard to tell the difference between the two wines!!

We'll be quiet and let the back label speak:

With love, until next time...

Vineyards. Food. Repeat. Or, How to Find Yourself Saying Yes

2011-05-30T19:12:00.000-07:00

How did Spring come so silently, feeling like winter but turning toward summer like nobody's business? Between a lo-oooong stretch of 62-degree May Gray days in San Diego, and the recent 40-mph windy days in the vineyards of the Central Coast, I, for one, am ready for a sunny, warm day. Maybe a few.

We spent Memorial Day weekend trying to stay earthbound amidst the unseasonably strong winds, and investigating vineyards both new and loved. Take a look.

Here's a new (to us) cool-microclimate Santa Ynez Valley vineyard that's growing a number of varieties. Possibilities abound!

Well, hello, our Kick On Ranch riesling rows. Most aren't flowering, yet, which is just as well, considering the potential for shatter (poor fruit set) due to this crazy wind.

The children came along on this work/play trip, which is always an interesting experience, based mainly on keeping their tummies full. It's a constant surprise that two seriously lean little people (daughter T, 11.75; and son E, 7.75) can be so hungry all the time. Pre-breakfast; breakfast; elevenses; lunch; afternoon snack; dinner; dessert (whenever they can get it) ... Often, I'll just get busy and forget to eat, but that's never an option with these two. Where do they put it all?

Investigating the riesling vines, beaten and blown by the wind, likely between an "I'm hungry" and "When are we eating again?"

Food, Glorious Food

Thankfully for everyone, we ate plenty well on this trip. Our lengthy drive north was rewarded by a meal at Flatbread -- the best place in Los Alamos next to the Kick On Ranch Vineyard -- involving burrata-stuffed artichoke; bacon, egg and stinging-nettle flatbread; and a dessert that includes a brownie, and a marshmallow, and a wood-fired oven; the whole of which Jody made up, that we're still trying to convince our friends to put on the menu as the Brix Brownie. (C'mon, guys. You know "The Beast" just doesn't have the same ring. Clark???)

We also had dinner at the original Hitching Post in Casmalia, which, really, is the only way to go UNLESS one is in town M-W, whence one must suck it up and visit the (made-famous-by-Sideways) Hitching Post II in Buellton; sit at the bar; and order the burger. Then, plan to have somewhere to sleep that thing off. But, I digress.

On a clear night, from here, you can watch the missile launches from Vandenberg Air Force Base. (Whilst in a meat coma.)

All's Fair in Love and Pastrami

(or is it?)

The following day involved another lengthy drive back south and a stop at Canters Deli, which is what one must do, really, should one find oneself in Los Angeles 'round dinnertime. (Or, anytime involving eating. Yes.)

The four of us split two hot pastrami Reubens. (You can't take a photo of these things in the Canters atmosphere, as the light prohibits a true representation, So you'll just have to imagine.) And, well, all kinds of things happen when pastrami enters the picture.

(Mopping brow. Breathing. Sigh.)

The End (As We Know It)

Such is a weekend away, a visit afar, a time to fly, with wings still bound to home. Never too far. Never too much.

Stay tuned, friends; with harvest a mere four months away, it's a mystery still to see what will happen. We can't wait to share it with you.

Until next time ... cheers!

Coming Up Rosés, Uncontainably

2011-05-14T20:50:00.000-07:00

One of the nicest things about chronicling this entire winemaking odyssey is the ability to go back and see what one was thinking, before things happened. I remember, in 2009, awaiting our first harvest, announcing that we would make rosé before I died. I also said we wouldn't likely be able to make rosé until we lived in wine country.

Thankfully, the first statement turned out to be true -- and the second one false. Yes, the j.brix project needed just one year under our belts before we decided to go ahead and tackle one of our most favorite types of wine ... pink.

Rosé ≠ White Zin. Q.E.D.

While France and Spain have enjoyed crisp, dry rosé wines for centuries, many casual American wine drinkers have two words in mind when they see pink wine: "White Zinfandel."

I asked for rosé and you served me ... noooooooooooooooo!

In my college sportswriting days, a wonderful, seasoned, senior colleague would take me out to dinner whenever he came to town for a game. We'd go to the best Italian restaurant around, and as the one with the expense account, my colleague was unquestionably in charge of ordering wine.

"A bottle of Sutter Home White Zinfandel," he declared to the waiter, upon our first visit. Turning to me: "Do you like White Zinfandel?"

Too embarrassed to admit I had, in fact, never tried White Zinfandel (it was roundly frowned upon and regularly disparaged in the Big-Red-Wine-drinking household from whence I came); I said, of course, White Zinfandel would do just fine. How bad could it be? It was wine, right?

Turns out it was, technically. But my colleague had ensured he'd be the only one polishing off the remainder of that bottle -- and the ones he ordered, without fail, every time we returned in the weeks to come. Looking back, the recently developed affinity Jody and I had for the then-unaffordable Kendall-Jackson Vintner's Reserve Chardonnay put me just a few baby steps ahead of this sweet concoction.

Still, the Sutter Home Experience ensured that pink wines simply weren't on the menu at our house for many years. It wasn't until much later, when we discovered the rosés of Provence and the Rhône, that we fell completely in love with the style. Once we started making wine, the idea was undeniably appealing to create our own bone-dry, lightly shaded rosé of Grenache. You see, love ... it makes things happen.

Fruit, Transforming

It happened in 2010. The first harvest pick on the Mesa at the Santa Barbara Highlands Vineyard was ours; pristine grenache-noir fruit almost -- but not quite yet -- ripe enough to make red wine. Perfect for pink. We left home in the dark, and picked at first light.

Sunrise on the Mesa for the j.brix rosé pick, September 2010

When we got home with the fruit, we destemmed it and kept it on the skins for approximately five hours. The highly scientific method we used to determine when the color was just pink enough to press: Dip a glass into the bin of must, and squint. Pour back in. Repeat in 10-15 minutes. (This worked surprisingly well for our purposes.)

Here's where we decided to pull the trigger.

Once that magic shade appeared (cloudy as can be, of course, because it's all juice and pulp at this point), we spent a few hours gently pressing the must into two neutral French oak barrels, and allowed it to begin and complete barrel-fermentation naturally, with no additions nor subtractions of any kind. Once the wine finished primary fermentation in the two barrels, we combined it into one. With the longest fermentation of our 2010 wines at 21 days from start to finish, the outrageous aromas, flavors and continual sheer sauciness of this rosé led to its moniker: Uncontainable.

That early pick -- in which the ripeness level was on the lower side, but all the flavors we wanted in the finished wine were present in the fruit -- meant that, following primary fermentation, the acidity needed some tempering before the wine was ready to go. Enter malolactic fermentation: in which sharp malic acid gets consumed by naturally present bacteria, and converted into creamier lactic acid.

Now, we wanted just enough MLF so that the wine was pleasantly drinkable, but not enough to make it taste and feel too heavy. Strawberries with a dollop of whipped cream = delightful, right? But, whip that cream too long and you've got a bowl of butter, which I don't want on my strawberries. It's the same thing with malolactic fermentation.

Dream, Tangible

When you're making wine in super-small batches without a formula, how do you know when it's ready? Taste, taste, and taste some more. There came a point when we knew. With clear glass bottles selected and ordered, labels designed, and corks ready to go, in February 2011, we hand-bottled the one and only barrel of the inaugural vintage of the j.brix Uncontainable Rosé of Grenache.

Look out for this one.

As spring (where did it go?) hints toward summer, and the wine's had some time to integrate in the bottle, the 2010 Uncontainable tastes, well, almost unreasonably delicious. We're not just saying that because we made it. We're pleased to report it's won over some people who thought they didn't like pink wine -- and, astounded some who already did.

But, please, don't think we're bragging, dear readers. We can't really take a whole lot of credit for perfect fruit turning into delicious wine. How did this happen, you may ask?

I can't say for sure, but suspect this much is true: It all comes down to love.

Until next time...

Brown-Bag (Life)

2011-03-27T19:36:00.000-07:00

(Tap, tap. Is this thing on?)

Ahem. Greetings and salutations, patient friends of the j.brix project. It's been awhile. We do hope you've been keeping up with us on our Facebook page, as the humble status update's served as our main form of communication for some time now. We've had a busy few months here -- busy is good, to be sure, but it's also severely hampered our writing time.

So, what have we been up to whilst not writing? Last month, we took off from JB-HQ pointed north for a weeklong trip up the California coast, to spread the j.brix love and visit with friends -- and vineyards -- old and new. San Diego's a wonderful place and all, but those bottles were just itching to get out of the winery for a change of scenery. We'll share tales from the trip now, and in the weeks to come.

Stump the Chump

Ah, Santa Barbara County. Home of the j.brix fruit, and of our hearts. We had a grand time at Dierberg/Star Lane in the Santa Rita Hills, where we started with Sauvignon Blanc (theirs) and ended with Grenache (ours). It's a must-visit if you're in the area. Hollie runs an excellent tasting room, and they're nice enough to supply comprehensive, detailed stats on all the wines, which provide even the ~~geekiest~~ most inquisitive with as much information as possible.

Speaking of information: As much as I love it, sometimes one needs to go in the complete opposite direction. Enter the Bien Nacido Vineyard, a picnic table full of winemakers, La Paloma Libresca ... and a brown bag.

Did these sleeping Bien Nacido Syrah vines know what was coming?

"Stump the Chump" is a longstanding lunchtime tradition 'round those parts; bring a bottle, and a bag to disguise it; pour a taste for everyone; and let the evaluating begin. Nobody's shy with opinions, nor criticism (during this particular round, "Tastes like Fermaid-K" was one of the nicer comments on an early wine).

As I listened to bottle after bottle get reamed for winemaking flaws and overall boringness, I started to wonder if maybe it wasn't the best idea to have put our delicate, fine-boned, dear La Paloma Libresca in a brown paper bag, right out there, on the table. Could she handle it? Could we?

Time to pour.

"Beautiful color," someone commented. "Lovely fruit on the nose." "It's Pinot Noir, no doubt about it." "Santa Maria Valley." "Julia's Vineyard, that's it." "No, Edna Valley." "Tastes like something Lane (Tanner) would make."

Well.

The unveiling -- and subsequent shock at the fact that this wine was neither Pinot Noir nor from a coastal vineyard, and was both a first vintage and made in our garage -- marked the latest in a string of moments of surreality that have continued to occur ever since we started this project.

This was the next unexpected moment; the placing of the bottle on the "Wall of Fame" at the winery. (That's some company.)

On Vulnerability

Some part of you changes when you knowingly make yourself vulnerable. At a point, you will experience the terrifying truth that maybe it won't work; a flash of self-preservatory instinct that tells you flying under the radar is safest, and now, it's too late. If you truly have done your best, though, you will face this fear -- and you will know that whatever will come, must come, and you will welcome it with openness.

It is in these moments that we are gloriously, imperfectly, stunningly human.

Until next time, friends...

The First Supper -- Or, a Truly Homemade Pairing

2011-01-17T20:07:00.000-08:00

With the 2009 j.brix vintage bottled, labeled and suitably rested, clearly, the time had come for the final item on the to-do list.

The pairing.

Those of you who've been reading for some time may have forgotten that once upon a meal, Jody and I used to do this almost-trademarked thing called (Double) Double-Blind Food & Wine Pairings, where one of us chose a secret bottle of wine; the other planned and prepared a secret meal; and we put the two together no matter what. We had some stellar successes, some surprises, and one or two just plain awful matches.

Now this pairing was one for the books. (The never-again-as-long-as-we-live books.)

And, while it's still very much the plan to bring the (Double) Double-Blind stories back (keep hope alive!), we decided to plan the official home food-and-wine pairing debut of the 2009 j.brix vintage a little more carefully.

Enter the Rack

The 2010 purchase, and subsequent deep-freeze storage, of half a locally raised blue-ribbon-winning spring lamb has facilitated some interesting meal choices. We quickly went through the sausage, the ground lamb, the chops and riblets. However, the big-deal cuts -- especially, the mighty rack -- remained untouched.

Perhaps because I'd looked the lamb in the eyes, touched its tightly curled grey wool, felt the resolute poignancy of coming face to face with food -- it seemed imperative that this premium feast be properly considered and paired.

We knew Moroccan spices were a must for our first home-cooked pairing, thanks to more than a year of tasting the wine as it developed in barrel, and to the June 2010 recommendation of Master Sommelier Andrea Robinson, who tasted barrel samples of the wine, proclaimed it "luscious" and "delicious," and suggested pairing a Moroccan meal. As the lamb was nearing slaughter by that point, it seemed fitting that we plan to incorporate it, somehow, with our very first home-cooked wine-pairing dinner.

French Lessons (via Morocco)

So, we prepared the rack of lamb in a fashion somewhat akin to this recipe from Food & Wine, making changes here and there to suit our palates, as well as the flavors we knew we wanted to complement in the two wines we'd be opening that evening for a few friends who joined us for the event.

Jody trimmed and frenched the rack, rather expertly. (The unpleasant but necessary behind-the-scenes dirty work, you know.)

Alton Brown gives the lowdown on frenching a rack of lamb. (You can always count on Alton.)

The spices, I heated in a dry skillet, until their ethereal fragrances hung heavily in the air, like sacred incense, inspiring reverence, and longing, with each inhalation: coarsely ground black pepper, coriander, cumin seeds, sesame seeds, crushed red pepper, nutmeg, mace, cinnamon stick, clove.

I ground them together. They coated the rack. A sear, then a roast. Brutal wars have been fought, lives lost, fortunes made and squandered, over spices. I understand this in my bones.

All day, we'd slow-poached fingerling potatoes in a butter bath. Jody finished them in the oven after he drained off the butter, browning and crisping the thin skins. Sea salt. Black pepper.

Finally, Tuscan kale, roasted in olive oil and salt until it simply shattered between the teeth; successfully navigating the razor-thin tightrope line between crispy and burned; a savory, earthy component that introduced a welcome note of bitter to the unashamed richness and spice at the table.

Enter the Duo

La Paloma Libresca, our 100-percent Grenache, shone brightly out of the bottle; lithe, high-toned fruit and spice, wrapped around a serious core. Good bones, that wine. It paired with the Moroccan-spiced rack of lamb just about as perfectly as we could have hoped.

La Belle Rêveuse, our blend of 60 percent Syrah and 40 percent Grenache, decanted for an hour beforehand. It presented its usual scrumptiously dreamy black-fruit and licorice notes; it also surprised us with a developing and appealing muscular side that stood toe-to-toe with the rustic aspect of the lamb's flavors, and gives us high hopes for the bottle-aging potential of this wine.


No wallflower, yet never ostentatious...

No matter how wonderfully it may turn out, there's a sense of sadness once a moment you've planned for a long, long time comes and goes. This dinner -- which paired wine, made by our hands, with food raised by the hands of our friends -- arose as a spark of an idea propelled by the original let's-make-wine plan in 2008. It was uncommonly delicious, and rewarding in more ways than I can count.

Not the end, this. Not by a long shot. This is where we begin.

...In With the New -- Or, Taste the Love. (Feel it, Too.)

2010-12-31T20:25:00.000-08:00

In the glamorous life of a winemaker, New Year's Eve, it would follow, should be one of the most fabulous nights of the year. Decked in jewels and formal wear, rocking out under disco balls and/or crystal chandeliers (take your pick!), pouring your wine out of double-magnum for adoring revelers who've enjoyed incredible food-and-wine-pairings all night; then turn their adoring gazes to toast you when the clock strikes midnight...

Hey, wait, this sounds suspiciously like what's going on at Bonny Doon tonight. Unfortunately, it's not what's going on here at JB-HQ on 12-31-10. Below, beloved readers, is what's going on here, as others more celebratory and glamorous than we revel in the end of this year.

Labels. Finally, labels. 
Guess who's putting them on? Yeah. 
I got your handcrafted right here.

Hosting, Eating, Cookin'

Since we got all that wine in bottle, a few things have happened.

We've hosted tastings, some fancy-ish (painstakingly prepared hors d'oeuvres with personalized placecards), some not fancy-ish (crackers: eat 'em and like 'em).

(Fancy-ish.)

We've been through the Great Label Caper, wherein the labels did not arrive on Christmas Eve as promised, leaving us feeling sadly Grinched (though Christmas came just the same; where we poured for family and friends 'round the table from bottles marked with masking tape, instead of beautiful hand-applied labels).
We returned the last of the borrowed picking bins in a one-day turnaround trip to the Central Coast, and squeezed in a visit to Full of Life Flatbread, where the rainy weather of the past few weeks meant that chanterelles were in full and glorious force on the menu. We devoured them in a roasted cauliflower soup, and not one but two, TWO, flatbreads of deliciousness. I also took a deep breath and lost my oyster virginity with this Morro Bay beauty:

Yeah. It was ...good. Mmmmm.

After picking up the wayward labels in Orange County on the way to Los Angeles for a radio show appearance (see below), we hastily slapped the very first labels on a bottle of La Paloma Libresca in the car in the dim light of a parking meter in Little Tokyo. We then debuted the j.brix project at one of our favorite L.A. gastropubs, where LPL paired like a dream with the following varied and scrumptious items:

Pork chicharon skewers with harissa
Burger with cantal cheese and green peppercorn mustard
Za'atar spiced hen with black Tuscan kale, nutmeg and spaetzle

We visited the CRN studios in Los Angeles as guests on "What's Cookin' Today With Mike and Paul," a daily morning radio show dedicated to all things food and wine. We chatted about the project and the wines, and it looks like we'll be back on-air before too long, so stay tuned! And, in case you wonder what a radio show looks like, you can watch and listen to Parts 1 & 2 below. (See, I thought a radio show looked like someone sitting listening to people talking on the radio -- until five seconds before we went live, and Paul said, "Oh, this is going on YouTube." Great!)

"What's Cookin'," Part 1 (Dec. 29, 2010)

"What's Cookin'," Part 2 (Dec. 29, 2010)

De Manos, Y Amor

That brings us to this New Year's Eve, where we let others do the partying, whilst we stay home in order to perfectly align the labels on many cases of the 2009 j.brix vintage. And, I must say, long though the wait was, the labels are lovely.  The wine, too.

So if you, dear reader, ever happen to have your own hands on a bottle of j.brix wine, well, no matter where you've joined us in the story, know: While the word "handcrafted" has been usurped by marketers and now means practically nothing, everything about these wines begins and ends with gentle hands, and love.

May your new year be full of both.

To Bed With You, 2009 -- Or, Just in Time for the New Batch to Hit Puberty

2010-12-12T18:15:00.000-08:00

A Friday night. Pizza, beer. A bottle-filler, a floor corker ... and a wee bit of child labor.

Just like that, almost all of 2009's winemaking work now rests in 588 bottles; 49 cases, piled high and waiting for labels. (A single 2009 barrel remains, its future yet to be revealed. Shhh.) The 2009 j.brix vintage was bottled not with a bang -- nothing broke, and there were only a few spills -- but with a whisper (the lovely sound of air whooshing out as corks went in); and a whimper or two (the unlovely sound of children battling over whose turn it was to work the floor corker).

Below, the story, in a multimedia (non)extravaganza.

Jody, bottling up

Note: Maybe the most boring cellphone video ever. No need to watch. Really. Eighteen seconds of dimly lit, machine-soundtracked bottle-filling. Don't say I didn't warn you. Note to self: Work on videography skills in 2011.

Elijah, 7, had sore arms the next day.

Talia, 11, dressed for cellar work, and insistently proprietary about her spot at the corker.

You never forget your first.

48 cases later, that's a wrap!

To pull a cork you designed out of a bottle of wine you made and bottled is somewhat surreal, and very, very cool.

A beaker full of yum that didn't make it into bottle? Yes, please.

On Rebellious Aromatic Dissonance, and Sewers

And so our immediate attention turns to the 2010 vintage. They do go and grow up while you're busy doing other things, you know. Our Syrah has decided to assert its teenage angst and lock itself in its room while cranking death-metal and avoiding showers. In other words: One month into barrel, after a smooth, aromatic, textbook-perfect spontaneous fermentation, mercaptans has reared its ugly head. Instead of aromas of blackberry, cassis, blah blah: we've got sulfur, stinky, swamp thing.

Isn't that appealing? Don't you want to come over and barrel-sample that mess? No, you don't. Not yet, anyway. Which is why it's time for some tough love. (Please note the purposeful non-use here of any form of pun relating to Syrah/será. Thanks.) Racking, aeration ... this wine needs oxygen, stat.


The smile's only because this process bore a laughingly similar resemblance to the scene in "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" where Cousin Eddie stands with a hose in front of the storm drain emptying the septic tank from his R.V. ("Sh*tter was full!")

In this continuing quest to experience and document the luxuriously glamorous lifestyle of winemaking, I shall leave you, dear readers, on that glorious note. If you don't mind, I'm off to the cellar now to ~~empty the sh*tter~~ do some more moving around of that pubertal, misbehaving Syrah. Cheers!

Onward -- Or, More Glamorous Winemaking Tales

2010-11-28T16:33:00.000-08:00

It's happened. We've bid adieu to Harvest 2010, after the press and barrel of the last bin of whole-cluster Syrah. That lengthy Friday evening left us with hands stained, muscles exhausted, and a farewell-piece of cellar graffiti that makes me feel poignant every time I see it.


And in the end...

The final barreling of the vintage served as a clarion call for Jody's harvest beard, which actually was his second harvest beard, due to a whole heap of logistical issues I won't get into here, but it should be noted that HB v.2 had only been around since mid-October, and still managed to become fairly prodigious. It's now just a memory, though, as the razor came a-calling and down, down went the brambly thicket of facial hair that served as equal parts manly display, cellar warmth, and crumb trap.

The beardage, whilst, it must be admitted, is swarthily interesting, does cause the cleft chin to disappear.

Once we put 2010 officially to bed, we directed our attention to blending the 2009s. The final outcome? La Paloma Libresca, a spicy and luscious 100-percent Grenache; La Belle Rêveuse, a darkly exciting Syrah-Grenache blend; and ... a rather unexpected and delicious cuvée that's headed to our top-secret second label. Keep your eyes and ears open!

Design Time

I am not a designer, by trade nor training, but I have a hopeless affinity for fonts and layout, and also know just enough Photoshop to (1) become convinced I should be able to design our wine label; and (2) become completely frustrated in the process -- yet, somehow, end up with something we really love. A few things, actually. The grind of this creative part of the winemaking life isn't dissimilar to the creation of the wine (although I can tell you that while wine pretty much makes itself: labels? Not so much.)

In any case, the front and back labels for our three 2009 releases are designed, rasterized, and uploaded to the printing company's FTP site. We'll talk to them on Monday about having an embossing die made to add some texture to the logo on the j.brix bottles, and ... wait, is anyone still reading? Sorry about the digression, there. I won't even get into the story about the font designers in Russia who made me some special characters to improve the look of the label. Unless you really want to know. (I told you I had a thing for fonts. Sigh.)

This is the mockup of our corks. They'll arrive any day. Hooray!

And it Brings Us Back To...

Racked and blended wine? Corks? Labels? And, oh, 75 cases of Burgundy bottles stacked on a pallet in the garage? Did I mention a sweet little Italian bottle-filling machine has come to live with us? This can only mean one thing: Mis en bouteille au garage, baby.

This Friday night, it's time to bottle the 2009s, and if you happen to be nearby and are keen to join in the fun, well, let me know! It's likely to be a fantastic evening of filling, corking, and immaculately careful label-applying (if we can get them in time; otherwise, come back for the label-applying party). There'll also be some heavy lifting. And plenty of cleaning. 

It's just all part of this glamorous life.

Until next time ... thanks for reading!

Transformation -- Or, Come, Winter

2010-11-08T07:04:00.000-08:00

The end is nigh.

The end of 2 am alarm-clocks; of first-in-line-at-that-freeway-Starbucks; of three non-home-cooked meals per day because you're just.too.tired. You know your body's had it with the harvest lifestyle when you start craving arugula and quinoa, and you don't care to sneak a single piece of the kids' Halloween candy.

Indeed, we made the final pick of the 2010 j.brix harvest on October 28, ahead of the forecast rain. When we arrived at the Santa Barbara Highlands Vineyard hours before sunrise to get our half-ton of Syrah, we found the loading dock illuminated by floodlights, full of picking bins piled with fruit, and staffed by two very tired-looking forklift operators. The vineyard crew had picked all night long, as winemaker after winemaker called in fruit, rather than risk the rain this late in the season.

Jody inspects the Syrah, and finds it flawless

Pre-dawn forklift action

Nights are cold in Cuyama, and the Syrah clusters were as chilled as the air, about 39 degrees. Once we returned home, we sorted the clusters from the picking bin into the dry-iced fermentation bin (an easy task, as the fruit was beautifully clean, perfectly intact, with hardly a leaf in the mix.)

It's a stellar vineyard team working at the Highlands. We've spent a good amount of time in the vineyard during our picks this year, and I am consistently awed by -- and incredibly grateful to -- the intrepid souls whose own 2 am wake-up calls bring them out into the black night to pick cold fruit with their hands; to hoist it heavy on their backs, over and over; to notice when a stray leaf gets in the mix, and care enough to pull it out.

View To A Fermentation

We decided to leave the fruit in its whole-cluster state for fermentation instead of removing it from the stems. That meant one thing: foot-treading. With sincerest apologies to reader Todd, whose strongly felt assertion against male pigeage is duly noted, I present Jody's Climb in the Bin.

And he's off!

It's actually really helpful to have a man assisting with foot-treading. I mean, that 1,000 pounds of fruit isn't going to crush itself. I got in, too, but it seems there are already enough photos of my pigeage skills on this blog.

Yep, those grapes have officially been treaded. 

Something you must experience to understand: The smell of fermentation. This Syrah, in particular -- like all our 2010 wines, fermented on native yeast -- greeted us a few days in with the most glorious aromas of any wine we've made yet. It's continued through a graceful transformation, all the while revealing aromatic nuances -- exotic spices, deep black fruit -- that have me seriously excited about what it's going to become. As of this writing, it's almost dry, and we expect to press it to barrel in a few days.

A happy fermentation, on the move

Grapes'-eye view

They'll Be Back

Oh, but don't think we've been doing nothing in our spare time besides the thrilling combination of whole-cluster punchdowns and going to bed early. There's always work to be had in the cellar, between topping, barrel cleaning and ...final assemblage of the 2009 vintage in preparation for bottling at the end of the month! Which brings the need for glass and cork ordering, and label finalization, and all kinds of other details to keep everyone on their toes.

However, I can say with certainty and great satisfaction that I've eaten home-cooked quinoa three times this week. Once, atop an arugula salad, even. What's that sound ... could it be the impending return of the (double) double-blind wine-and-food-pairing dinners? (Which, I should clarify -- considering our recent culinary history -- have no relationship to a certain In-N-Out Burger menu item. None whatsoever.)

Farewell, harvest; welcome, winter. Solace.

A Halloween Goblin -- Or, I Wanted to Be With You Alone (and Talk About the Weather)

2010-10-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

Don't judge. Just, don't.

The 2010 vintage's inspired no shortage of hand-wringing, second-guessing and general perplexedness in winemakers all over California. Typically warm-climate vineyards metamorphosed into cool-climate spots this year, which is why we at the j.brix project still have Santa Barbara Highlands Vineyard Syrah fruit hanging on the vine at the end of October. (Last year at this time, we'd already barreled down the finished Syrah, and had shifted our focus away from takeout pizza and In-N-Out Burger back to actual cooking. With fresh ingredients. And wine pairings. Imagine. Oh, I'm sure that'll happen once more.)

We started the harvest season on September 21 with our Grenache rosé pick, and it looks like we'll have our final pick on Oct. 30 when we travel those 200+ miles again for Syrah, depending on what happens with the rain that may or may not come this week. The forecast shifts, seemingly, hourly. The weather obsession that necessarily comes with winemaking is only amplified by the Weather Channel phone app; whatever did people do before they had all this information at their fingertips? Obsess less, I guess? Yes.

Goblin in the Cellar

So, what's happened around the garage winery lately? Well, we've had a week without punchdowns (ah, no more 5 a.m. duty calls -- until the next batch gets started, anyway). The freshly crushed fruit of the last update fermented away naturally and perfectly smoothly, and we pressed and barreled the wine on October 15.

2010, so far, has presented us with a rosé of Grenache that's truly captivating (I can't wait to share it!); and a barrel of Riesling that's been ... some kind of lesson in many, many things. Bestowed with the working moniker "The Green Goblin" before it was even picked, this little baby wine brings new meaning to a few words; I won't mention them all in print. Just one: patience.

We knew we wanted to pick early, to try to make a California Riesling that combined all the gorgeous aromatics and flavors of the variety with the bracing acidity and lower alcohol levels typical of Germany and Alsace. When we tasted the fruit and found amazing flavors of white peach and almond -- with sugars at our target level -- at a much earlier point in the season than we'd expected, we made the call to pick.

I did some gentle foot-treading, and we pressed the remainder of the whole-cluster fruit that evening. We dry-iced the juice to keep it cold, and let it settle overnight. The next day, we moved it into two neutral white French oak barrels, where it fired right up. For the first few days of fermentation, the fizziness enhanced the peach and apricot flavors -- how exciting!

Foot-treading that green, green goodness.

Then, the Goblin reared its head; and, oooh, did someone say acid? Did I say acid? Well, I would, if words could come out of my mouth, which might still be permanently fixed in a tongue-sucking expression that roughly translates into "are-there-still-teeth-in-there-I-don't-know-for-sure."

Little E, upon tasting a drop of the Riesling. He sincerely wants to say, "This is phenomenal!" but instead is thinking about how to nicely say, "Wow, that's some acid!" If, that is, he could speak at all. Because of the acid.

We knew, when we picked the fruit earlier than anyone else, that there would be acidity that would (and will!) need time in bottle to calm down and integrate. Those beautiful, aromatic fruit flavors will shine again, once all the components weave themselves together. But since this is our first foray into making white wine, we also didn't know a few things.

Things We Didn't Know

Pressed white grape juice can look scarily not like white grape juice the next day. The key word being white.
White-wine grapes tend to give up less juice in the press than their red counterparts.
Less juice at press means that even with an (almost) half-ton of fruit, you won't have a full barrel when you finish fermentation.
A less-than-full barrel after fermentation means you have to do something to eliminate the headspace in that barrel, since oxygen = bad.
In order to eliminate said headspace in your precious barrel of currently Goblin-esque Riesling, you will give a not-insignificant chunk of your paycheck to a store you have, in fact, never previously visited, in which everything costs one dollar. You will visit this store on more than several occasions, upon finding that your last trip(s) did not procure enough of what you needed. You will clean out this store's, and at least two other branches of this store's, stock of large clear glass "gems," found in the floral supply aisle.

A mere $1 per pound for the magical gems. (A pound isn't as much as you might think it is.) Also, if you needed these for your wedding floral arrangements, or something, in the greater San Diego area, and couldn't find them at any of the Dollar Tree stores in town like you expected, well, I'm sincerely sorry about that. For the love of Riesling, you see.

Et Cetera

Meanwhile, we've done a few recent blending trials on the 2009 vintage, which is just about ready to bottle, and have come out with some rather surprising and delicious results. More on that later. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to head to the cellar. Something about sanitizing and placing more magical gems in a barrel of Riesling.

Until next time!

Trust the Wine. And the Kids. And Yourself. (Maybe None of Those After Midnight.)

2010-10-09T14:51:00.000-07:00

Last year, when we made our own wine for the first time, we quickly discovered the parallels between winemaking and parenting. The worrying; the self-sacrificial nurturing; the longing to somehow guide that inner potential, without being obnoxiously interventionist. Now that Harvest 2010 is in full swing, I'm reminded of what it really all boils down to: sleep. Or, the lack thereof.

We're punching down at 5 a.m. every day as the native-yeast fermentations roll, which also involves checking chemistry on the fermenting juice (ah, early morning chem), and the cleanup (dear me, the cleanup). Bed = early. Regularly scheduled middle-of-the-night-wakeups = time to ponder what, what will happen with this wine, and did we really do everything the way we should have?

Floods and a Climb

Last Saturday morning, we found ourselves driving north in the wee, small hours -- not for the first time this harvest, and not for the last time. We arrived at the Santa Barbara Highlands Vineyard before sunrise, where we barely made it across the flash-flooded Cuyama River to watch the 6:30 a.m. pick of our one-week-riper-than-the-rosé Grenache.

Cuyama River, flash-flooded, Oct. 2, 2010. There were some nerve-jangling moments when we weren't sure if we were going to make it across to get up to the Mesa section of the SB Highlands Vyd. (The pickers didn't -- not on wheels, anyway.)

The photo album of the whole event is here. Honestly, it doesn't do the place justice. The pickers' truck got stuck in the river mud, so they simply hiked up a (ridiculously steep) slope to the 3,200-foot elevation where the Grenache is planted. Once the 12 of them arrived, they bare-handedly picked a half-ton of fruit in minutes flat. The satisfying thunk-thunk of the clusters as they hit the picking bins resonated in the moist air, in the brilliantly clouded sunrise, like a call to prayer.

Many hands make light work.

Prismatic Life

After a visit with vineyard caretaker Manuel's dear new foal, and picking as many apples, plums and figs as I could fit in my hat, we headed home to process the fruit. Friends Angel (of last year's marathon pressing night) and Jennifer were kind enough to pitch in, which was wonderful. We needed extra hands, especially since there was also the matter of our daughter's 11th-birthday sleepover party for nine girls, compounding the lack of sleep, which began, oh, 11 years ago, when she was born, so, yes! Just more of the same, please. Thanks.(It was fun, though, when, after it became clear no one was going to go to sleep on this night, we brought all the gals down to the garage and had a little dry-ice festival.)

Squealing ensued. Lots of it. But we had to cool that fruit down anyway, so...

The lessons of this journey continue. The trust in one's instincts, and the willingness to allow healthy fruit, properly grown, to ferment and become wine on its own, just as a healthy infant innately knows how to grow into a child, and an adult, when guided -- but not forced -- by a parent's love and protection. They do have their own minds about them, though. (Oh, do they ever. Though some would say I shouldn't be surprised about this.)

I remain compelled to travel this road.

Until next time, friends.

Harvest is Here! Or, When Does the Sleeping Part Happen?

2010-09-28T18:18:00.000-07:00

In the days since I last waxed rhetorically about returning to the Santa Barbara Highlands "before we know it," well, we've done just that -- and much, much more. Harvest 2010 is upon us at the J.Brix garage winery. Last week, we:

drove 1,400 miles in three days;
visited a Starbucks at the opening hour of 4:30 am, after being on the road sans coffee for, er, three hours;
went from mountain vineyard, to the best Thai food in Santa Maria, to crazy barrel warehouse, to coastal vineyard, all in one morning;
made the decision to pick not just the Grenache for rosé, but, shockingly, the Riesling (We're making Riesling! I didn't even get to talk about the Riesling yet!);
processed a ton of fruit in the driveway (a half-ton on Tuesday, and another half-ton on Thursday);
pressed the resulting must into barrels;
did more cleaning than a janitorial service does in six months; and
happily watched the native-yeast fermentations fire away on both the Grenache rosé and the Riesling.

This week, we'll be headed back on the 400-mile-plus roundtrip drive to the Santa Barbara Highlands Vineyard for the second half-ton of Grenache, destined to become an elegantly structured red wine in the vein of our 2009 La Paloma Libresca (the '09 should be bottled come November). The fruit will be hand-picked early in the morning. We'll bring it home and de-stem, and let those native yeast get going.

(Aside: Did I mention we both have other jobs? You know, the kind that pay, and for which you're expected to show up regularly? Thankfully, each of our employers is supportive and sympathetic to our ~~obsession~~ deliciously rewarding pastime.)

On the Road to Nothing O'Clock

The photo album of the crazy week can be found here. It's a good thing there's photographic evidence, or else the lack of sleep, combined with the seriously intense physical work, surely would've convinced us by now that the whole thing was one of those crazy dreams. Except for all the barrels in the garage that weren't there before. Those, I really can't explain.

So, what happened, exactly? Well, we tasted the Grenache fruit up in the Highlands, and immediately knew it was ready for the sprightly, full-flavored but low-alcohol rosé we wanted to make. We scheduled the pick for the next day; then, headed to the Kick On Ranch vineyard in Los Alamos to check on the Riesling fruit, fully expecting that after the cool coastal summer, it'd be hanging for many weeks to come. We were stunned to taste amazingly focused, balanced, ripe fruit with a seamless combination of apricot and white peach, and a fierce acidity that tempered the rich fleshiness of the flavors. All of a sudden, we were set to return in two days to get that pick.

The first pick of 2010 at Kick On Ranch, Los Alamos, CA. Those pickers worked fast - one ton in half an hour!

After an incredible full-moonset and a sudden, blinding fog that turned the black to grey, we left with a half-ton of Riesling in the very early morning (having already been awake for some six hours) and headed back south. Our friend Matthew from Forlorn Hope Wines drove his own several-hundred miles late the night before from Napa to pick up his half-ton (here's the deal: No one gets much sleep at harvest time). We're all making Riesling for the first time this year. What fun!

Bubble, Bubble - It's No Trouble

Today, both the Grenache rosé and the Riesling are fermenting like crazy in neutral barrels on their ambient yeasts, making the garage smell amazing. (Thanks to a suggestion from friend/amateur winemaker/baker extraordinaire Rémy Charest, I've also put a mixture of flour and water in a jar near the barrels to try and get a native-wine-yeast sourdough levain started. And, after just a day, it's already bubbling! The more fermentation in this garage, the better, as far as I'm concerned.)

We've got our red-Grenache pick set for Friday morning, which means another middle-of-the-night odyssey and full day of processing. For days after these trips, time ceases to have much meaning, and we refer to whatever hour we may happen to glance at a clock face as "nothing o'clock." It seems perfectly suitable.

In Which Gourmand Tendencies Lie Dormant (But Not Dead)

Those double-double-blind food-and-wine pairing dinners of ours will return, don't worry. But during harvest, well, most deeply held cooking proclivities somehow get put on hold, as creative and vital energies become focused elsewhere. Also, for some reason, beer becomes unreasonably appealing.

True confessions: We've (gulp) ordered pizza more than once in the last week ... and I believe Matthew's fallen prey to the magical lure of the corn dog. Mmmmmm, corn dogs. OK, that's all! Until next time! Get some sleep for us, would you?

Vineyard Visit, Chardonnay, and Quite Possibly the Best Pairing Ever -- Or, Things Non-Recreatable

2010-08-19T18:21:00.001-07:00

We took a last-minute trip out of town at the end of July to visit our still-green Grenache berries, 3,200 feet up in the air at the Santa Barbara Highlands Vineyard in Cuyama, CA. The fruit looks fantastic – uniform berry size, nice clusters, healthy vines – it's been a great growing season in the Highlands so far. They'll be dropping fruit soon, in order to concentrate the vines' energy on developing the very best winegrapes. We'll (before we know it!) be making at least two more trips up there, to pick up fruit for two separate j.brix Grenache wines we'll be making. Two, you ask? Ah, yes. Let's talk about the first. 

This year, we've our hearts set on a dry Grenache rosé, which we'd like to pick nice and early, before the sugar levels get too high. This will keep the finished wine low in alcohol, while showcasing all the beautiful aromatics and flavors Grenache brings to the party. The best thing about it is that it'll be ready to release in spring 2011 … just in time for rosé season. (In future entries, I'll discuss the other j.brix wines in the works. Stay tuned!)

The weekend happened to coincide with the first Chardonnay Symposium, which I was able to cover for Palate Press – The Online Wine Magazine. (If you missed my first article for Palate Press, all about our garagiste adventures, you can read it here). The symposium was an excellent event, held in one of my favorite places in the world, and as the most descriptive paragraph in the story was painfully but necessarily lost to the editing process, I'm including it for you, my few, beloved blog-readers. Call it bonus content. Extra features. Excess verbosity. Whatever you want to call it; as I told my delightful editor, it's Santa Maria in a paragraph. (Graf 2, below.) 

En route to the first Chardonnay Symposium – held at the Bien Nacido Vineyards' historic Adobe on a morning that began, like most in this winegrowing region, wrapped in tangible veils of fog – the city of Santa Maria appeared in all its incarnations. 

There are old, industrial warehouses; and strip malls with barbecue pits in the parking lot, filling the air with the aroma of sizzling tri-tip steak. Everywhere, round agapanthus hold their heads heavily, reedy stalks bending under the weight of purple and white flowers gone to seed. Across Highway 101, vast agricultural fields emerge, bursting with broccoli, lettuce, squash. Distant, countless workers bend low, in the paper-clip hunch that instantly identifies strawberry picking.

Read the rest of the story...

I'll Buy You a Kebab?

The latest (Double) Double-Blind dinner 'round these parts involved a meal nonpareil and a spectacular wine that it seems a little cruel even to write about, since, while we might make this meal again, we'll likely never have another one of these bottles again, and unless you act quickly, you won't either. Even thinking too much about the pairing, which, as I look back over the tasting notes, causes tangible pain and suffering ... oh, yes, it hurts, a little. Nevertheless, I'll press on, because it happened, and it must be told.

These are kofta lamb kebabs. From our lamb. We had a lamb. We have a lamb, I should say; he's in the freezer, now. In an effort to eat as much locally sourced food as possible, we recently went halfsies on a blue-ribbon-winning 4-H lamb, the biggest at the Del Mar Fair this year. Local acquaintances of ours raised the lamb; we shared the meat with our friend Matthew Rorick. In 2008, he made the wine that we drank with these lamb kebabs. (Oops! Getting ahead! Pay no attention to that last sentence!) In any event, it all was very, very good. Read on.

So, when one purchases an entire lamb, one has many decisions to make about which cuts one ends up with in the end. We got some Flintstones-looking cuts (really, the massive shoulder roast one receives from a 172-pound lamb!), and some comparatively meek-looking ground lamb, which Jody turned into amazing kebabs for this secret dinner. He based his recipe on this one from Jamie Oliver; though he never really follows recipes all that much, so I can't vouch for exact ratios (just do what you feel!).

There was also homemade flatbread, made with half whole-wheat and half bread flour, crispy and delicious, to pile the meat upon, topped with pistachios, home-pickled red onions, and mixed greens with mint, extra-virgin olive oil, lemon, salt & pepper, and yogurt for drizzling atop. Oh, and a sautéed side dish with fingerling potatoes, eggplant, garlic, garden Roma tomatoes, harissa, lemon and parsley.

The condiments...

 The side dish...

The plateful, and with wine, too ... sigh.

Seam by Seam, the Vein, it Glows
I won't get too outrageous in my description here of my secret wine, our one bottle of 2008 Forlorn Hope D'Anconia Malbec from Solano County, CA -- which is long sold-out from the winery, but which I've just discovered you can still buy at Wally's, so hurry if you want it, because someone else deserves to have this pairing ... but let me just tell you that the nose and the palate both bring a seriously feral funkiness with tons of black fruit, ropey red and black licorice, and everything else black you can think of -- black pepper, black plum; just go ahead and paint it black, why don't you.

Seventeen cases produced. This Rare Creature made a mark, and met its match. Tussle on!

The combination of the food and wine: perfect. It couldn't have been better, I don't think. The way the wine seamlessly took on the spicy flavors of the lamb, and the velvety texture of the eggplant and potatoes, and the herbs and acid components in the condiments and the side dish; it simply lifted the entire thing to a level that's difficult to describe. (Some things just need to be experienced.) A lovely, keenly intense sensorial memory -- isn't that what the best food and wine pairings bring?

Friends, harvest and crush are around the corner, and there's lots of news and excitement to come, so come back soon! Thanks, as always, for reading. Leave comments and questions in the box -- they warm my heart. Cheers!

Is This Thing On? -- Or, Back in the Saddle Again

2010-07-12T15:52:00.000-07:00

First, it's been awhile. Sorry about that. There's good reason, though, I promise! My June 24-27 trip to Walla Walla, WA for the 2010 Wine Bloggers' Conference left me inspired, exhausted and looking forward to some exciting new opportunities (e.g., writing an article for the online wine magazine Palate Press -- watch this space for details). I'd been looking forward to the conference since I registered way back in October (when we also made wine; my, that was a busy month), and am happy to report that it exceeded my expectations in every regard.

After starting out with an early morning airport-confiscated-corkscrew incident (as all good wine trips must, I'm afraid), the charmed-weekend experience truly began in the Seattle airport when, while waiting for the Walla Walla puddle-jumper, I met a fantastic-in-real-life group of wine bloggers and industry folks I knew (online) from Twitter.

It continued in the airport shuttle van, when Master Sommelier and wine-and-food celebrity Andrea Immer Robinson and I had to practically sit on one another's laps in order to fit everybody in (fortunately, we're petite gals; the forced intimacy of our dueling hipbones quickly led to cheerful conversation, and a great story I'm saving for later). Throughout the entire weekend of delicious food and (mostly) tasty wines, I found myself surrounded by amazing people whose company made the early mornings and late nights a pleasure.

Oh, and I debuted the j.brix Grenache barrel samples for a number of fine new friends. I also learned a thing or two about writing; and Washington wine. (Fodder for posts, and articles, to come.)

Simple, Savory, Scrumptious

Back around these parts, the weekly double-double-blind food and wine pairings continue, and once I returned from my lost weekend, I was on wine duty while Jody cooked.

Regular readers of this space will know that Jody likes to prepare meals fit for a spread in ... well, what, now that Gourmet's no longer in glossy? (Though if it's true that it's coming back for the iPad, sign me up.) In any case, it's usually something quite fancy when he's in charge of cooking. (Recall scissor-trimmed quenelles.) So, in the event he doesn't start preparing days in advance and ends up making a "regular" meal, he mopes a bit afterward, as though he hasn't really done his job. Which I think is a shame, because, behold:

Rustic, (somewhat) simple, and satisfying. No one's complaining!

Bone-in, pan-seared, oven-finished pork chops, seasoned with plenty of salt and pepper. Quick-grilled summer corn on the cob, brushed with melted butter on the grill, so the kernels burst like juicy popcorn when they touch your teeth. Farfalline pasta (mini-bow ties) mixed with fresh ricotta, lemon zest, and delightfully bitter broccolini (which was quickly blanched first, then sauteed with olive oil, lemon juice, lemon zest and a drizzle of local raw honey).

I Choose You, Said the Bottle

What of the wine? I'd visited the local wine shop where they never know quite what to do with me (there's also the local wine shop where they're too aloof to really care what to do with me, and the other local wine shop where they're too distracted to find out what to do with me). Not a lot of time; a "last chance" bin by the counter; a quick review of a label, and yes; that's it. It's nice when the bottle finds you like that.

The nose on this wine! Currants, spice, white and black pepper, earth. Big, but balanced. On the palate, a soft texture with a grippy mid-palate sensation, and lasting acidity on the finish. Flavors of currant again, and red fruits. It was demanding food. So, we obliged. But first, Jody guessed. Malbec? Cab Franc? None of those. But, it was a blend.

2008 il campo red wine, Central Coast (CA), Giornata Wines, Paso Robles, CA. $14.99. 14.5% alc.

Ah, now, this sang. What caught my eye on the label, you ask? These words: "A Modern Red Field Blend - Inspired by Italy - Crafted in California." A red Cal-Ital field blend; that's just the kind of thing I didn't know I was looking for until it found me. But what's in it? Further investigation revealed a blend of mostly Sangiovese, with some Merlot and Petit Verdot. A short barrel-aging regimen (10 months) in mostly neutral French oak and stainless-steel let the fruit take center stage. And, it's made by dream-following husband-and-wife winemaker/viticulturist team Brian and Stephanie Terrizzi -- 350 cases produced.

An Easy Companionship

The pairing was just delicious. Easy to enjoy both with and in between bites, the wine complemented the meal without overshadowing it, fleshing it out around the corners; completing it, truly.

Things that work: A rustic (but not really) meal, and a rustic (but not really) wine. Perfect dinner companions; neither one overbearing, monopolizing the conversation, begging for attention. No, these guests will be invited back to the table, with pleasure.

Until next time, friends. Cheers! Leave a comment, won't you?

Flying High and Down to Earth -- Or, Icarus, Pastrami and Pizza

2010-06-18T19:53:00.000-07:00

I've been musing on the salted cured meats lately, ever since last week, when I flew too close to the sun on wings of pastrami at Canter's Deli in Los Angeles. Ah, it was brief, yes, but delicious, glorious. Made me want to defenestrate every reasonable guideline, nutritional or otherwise, and glide that pastrami high to soaringly, searingly unthinkable places.

Crashing much too quickly back to earth, I headed back to work, and (double) double-blind cooking duty, the very next day. Icarus knew: This can be a cruel world, indeed.

What If...?

Perfectionism is one of those afflictions that seems to lessen as one grows older, and realizes one can't, actually, ever be really, truly perfect at ...anything. (The introduction of children into the picture speeds this realization exponentially. In my experience, anyway.) However, as a lifelong recovering perfectionist, I still have quirky issues here and there that can send me into a semi-irrational seethe when they don't fulfill my personal expectations.

Pizzas are on the list.

For years now, I've been working to perfect my homemade pizza dough, starting with a basic Wolfgang Puck recipe and adapting it to experiment with different flours; yeasts; rise times; cooking methods; et cetera. When it's good, oh, it's so, so good. But no matter how fantastically everything starts out, the final result can all be sent spiraling by my pizza frenemy: the grill. On this day, I figured, what did I have to lose? I'd already suffered the highs and lows of the Pastrami Experience.

The first pizza of the night: Picky-kid-friendly (Yep, I've got one of those). Mozzarella, Greek feta, oregano, black pepper, and a crust that crisped up nicely on the grill.
(Link to the crust recipe here or at the end of the post.)

My dough recipe makes two 12-inch thin-crust pizzas. I always prepare the first pizza for the children. Typically, the grill really gets hot and going after the first one, and the crust on the second -- for the grown-ups -- gets brown and blistered; cracklingly crisp; and full of flavor (the lengthy second-rise I employ is, I think, what develops real flavor complexity).

The Enemy of My Enemy Is My Friend

In this case, that statement means whosoever refreshes the propane tank regularly shall never suffer the misfortune of the wrath that accompanies the reality of the gas, and subsequently, the heat, fizzling out on the second pizza.

Ahem.

The idea for the second pizza arose, inspired by a longing for more, more! salted cured meat, and took shape as a canvas for slowly caramelized red onions; Prosciutto di Parma; Point Reyes blue cheese; and sun-dried Angeleno plums. It was beautiful. Then, it stuck to the wooden pizza peel on its way onto the grill and got clumpy and misshapen. Then, the grill began to die its familiar, temperature-dropping why-didn't-someone-get-a-fresh-tank death.

It was salvaged, somewhat, by finishing up in the 500-degree oven, and it did taste quite good, but it didn't go like it was supposed to! What if the propane tank had been fresh?! What if it hadn't stuck to the peel? What if I were somewhere else right now, and never made this pizza in the first place...

Isn't There Supposed to Be Wine?

By now, you're probably imagining it's way past time for a glass of wine. You also may gather that I didn't really feel especially like playing the guessing game involved in the secret pairing that's half the equation of these dinners. So I put on my brave face and did it anyway. (Someone's got to.)

This is a staged photo meant to bring you in on what it might have looked like if I were actually eating these pieces of pizza along with the secret wine, instead of sulking in the corner with my glass. It's plot exposition; it has to go somewhere.

The light-golden wine initially smelled like a Rhône white to me. Despite my grumpiness, my inner wine geek was intrigued, and I started to get a little more excited about it, after all. I began jotting notes. On the nose, a bit hot, with aromas of musky melon, pineapple, jasmine flowers -- and a hint of funk, like a new pink pencil eraser. I thought it was Grenache Blanc.

It didn't seem quite so much like a Rhône on the palate, though -- a bit one-dimensional at first; high acidity; lemon-drop flavors, and slightly honeyed. Oh, who knows. I sure won't pretend that I did. Except I should have paid more attention to that funk.

2006 Domaine de Villaine Bourgogne Côte Chalonnaise "Les Clous"
Kermit Lynch Selections

White Burgundy! Very, very interesting. Domaine de Villaine is the organically produced, budget-priced wine label made by Aubert and Pamela de Villaine. On a decidedly non-budget-priced note, Aubert happens to own the fabled estate of Domaine de la Romanee-Conti -- hallowed ground for Burgundy lovers of exceptionally deep pockets.

With the food; that's where this wine really showed what it could do. The prosciutto's rich saltiness; the concentrated sweetness of the caramelized onions; the tartness of the plums; the earthiness of the blue cheese -- the wine's acidity brought all the pieces together with aplomb.

The only quibble I have with the whole thing is that I'm sure the alcohol listing of 12.5 percent is just absolutely not true. It tasted at least two percentage points higher; and I've heard separately from serious Burgundy collectors, and drinkers, and buyers, that most producers in the region slap a 12 or 12.5 percent label on every vintage, no matter what -- and "what" usually means much higher.

When a winery states "we waited as late as possible to harvest," well, in a warm microclimate, in late September/early October, that's more than likely going to give you a ripeness level that isn't going to end up with a finished wine anywhere near 12.5 percent alcohol. Is this a bad thing? Not necessarily. I'd just like to know the real deal. I think many other consumers would, as well.

Wrap This Up to Go

How do you feel about honest representation of alcohol levels on a wine label? Or would you just like to talk pizza, or pastrami, or perfectionism? Talk to me -- leave a comment below. Oh, and if you'd like the pizza dough recipe I've ~~wasted~~ devoted years of my life toward perfecting, click here. (I take no responsibility for what happens once you actually have to cook it.)

Cheers!

Emily's Pizza Dough (Plan Your Day Around It)

2010-06-18T19:51:00.000-07:00

INGREDIENTS

1 package (2 1/4 tsp., or .25 oz) active dry yeast (you know what, if you have some wine yeast lying around, which you shouldn't, because wine should be allowed to ferment on indigenous yeast; I believe that; it's much better for the expression of terroir; but if you happen to be refrigerating some leftover folly, RA-17 works better than RC-212; just saying)
1 teaspoon honey (preferably raw and locally produced; the yeast like it so much better than sterilized dead yucky mass-produced honey, and the bees do too)
1 cup filtered warm water -- 105 to 115 degrees (I have nothing smart-ass-y to say about this, except you definitely should measure the temperature with a thermometer so you don't kill, or alternately, bore, your yeast)
2 cups all purpose flour (unbleached, stone milled and organic, of course)
1 cup Italian 00 flour (yes, you'll have to search this out, and likely it will be a serious pain to find, but you must, or you can't tell people you used this recipe)
1 teaspoon pink Himalayan sea salt (oh, you can use kosher salt if you want, I won't tell)
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil (Spanish is nice)

Makes 2 12-inch pizzas.

DIRECTIONS

In a small bowl, dissolve the yeast and honey in 1/4 cup warm water. (Here's how you do this. First, heat up the water properly. Put the teaspoon of honey in the bowl, and pour the water over it. Stir it together so it's all mixed up. Then, gently add the yeast and mix it -- again, gently -- so there aren't any bits and pieces that don't get dissolved. You want happy yeast. Happy.)

In a mixer fitted with a dough hook, combine the two kinds of flour and the salt. (I like to whisk them to make sure they're really combined.) Add the oil, the yeast mixture, and the remaining 3/4 cup of water and mix on low speed until the dough comes cleanly away from the sides of the bowl and clusters around the dough hook. (If this isn't happening within the first 60 seconds, you'll need to add a splash more warm water.)

Turn the dough out onto a clean work surface and knead by hand until it's smooth and firm. Could take 3 minutes, could take 6 or 7. It's all about the feel. If the dough seems dry, add a tiny bit of warm water. If it's too wet, a sprinkle or two of the all-purpose flour. Let the dough speak. It's got plenty to say. (It always does.)

Once you're convinced the dough's been kneaded into submission, shape it into a ball; pop it on a Silpat or a piece of wax paper; cover it with a clean, damp towel and let it rise in a warm spot for a good hour. An hour and 30 minutes would be fine, too. Even two hours.

Divide the dough right down the middle with a big sharp knife or dough scraper. Then, fun: work the dough! Work it work it work it! Pull down the sides and tuck them under the bottom of the ball, 4-5 times. Then put the ball on a clean surface (unfloured) and roll the ball under the palm of one hand while spinning it with the other for a good 60 seconds, until the top of the dough is -- again -- smooth and firm. (You'll know when it's ready. You'll want to spank it. Control yourself.)

Put the new little dough balls back on the Silpat or wax paper and cover them with that damp towel (you may need to re-dampen it) and let it rise, rise up for hours, at least 2, or 3, but not too much longer, as it then starts to get crotchety and mad at you, and sticky and lacy and prone to developing holes later.

It's up to you how you want to cook your pizzas. If you happen to have a wood-burning pizza oven, I hate you. I mean, lucky you! Other options include a grill pizza stone; a bare-grill pizza; an oven pizza stone, etc. But do bake it on a preheated stone at the very least and don't put it on a baking sheet, or really, order from somewhere and don't waste your time with this recipe.

To prepare, you'll stretch this dough on your knuckles and move it gingerly all around so it becomes a thin circle. Set it down on a floured pizza peel and put on the toppings of your choice. (I like to brush the whole thing first with more olive oil, especially around the crust edge -- makes it crisp.)

Cook it until it almost looks like it's going to burn. Let it rest for a few minutes after you get it out; slice it; and enjoy with copious amounts of excellent wine. (You can toast me, if you want to. Or invite me.)

Wistful Dreams -- Or, Spicy Times in Food and Wine

2010-06-05T14:58:00.000-07:00

While the June Gloom's nowhere in sight this Saturday (yet), and it couldn't be a nicer day to live in San Diego -- 72 degrees, sunny, breezy, perfect -- I can't deny the aching wish to clone myself, and have both of me run away to the following simultaneously occurring events: the first annual international Grenache Symposium in the Rhône Valley; and the TAPAS Grand Tasting (Tempranillo Advocates Producers and Amigos Society) in San Francisco.

It's interesting, being on the periphery of something about which you're intensely driven; living the life of the day job, while being a part of, but not completely immersed in, another world entirely. More than a consumer, but mostly in that "other" category when it comes to the wine trade -- garagiste; wine blogger; pigeage fan ... where's the box to check? Some things simply can't be contained.

Dream a Little Dream

People dream about all sorts of craziness, don't they? Monsters; flying; slow-motion drives down Hollywood Boulevard... Anyway. Jody dreams about food. The recipe for his secret meal this week, as he explained it, came in a dream.

It was a colorful dream, to be certain.
(I have some of those, too.)

I made him describe it step-by-step, and I'll translate it as best I can. The rice layer you see up there began with a base of onion, okra and asparagus, sauteed until crispy, and deglazed with rice vinegar. That mix, along with chili-garlic sauce, was then stirred into the jasmine rice that'd been stir-fried with oil and egg.

Then, he topped the rice with grilled skirt steak marinated in soy, Worcestershire and garlic, and garnished it all with fresh cilantro, basil and sliced red jalapeños. Flavor party!

A (Pleasant) Brown-Bag Surprise

If you're racking your brain trying to think of something to drink with this, you'd probably be wise to open an Orion and call it a day. But if it's wine or nothing, you couldn't get much better than pairing it up with my secret bottle. The multiple flavors in the meal, while very tasty, could have been a wine-pairing disaster -- instead, it all actually turned out quite nicely.

2007 tercero wines "The Climb," 50 percent Syrah, 50 percent Petite Sirah. Santa Barbara County, CA.

Larry Schaffer, tercero wines owner/winemaker, and I first met on Twitter, and later in person at the San Diego Family Winemakers' Tasting. He's a super nice guy, and he makes a variety of delicious Rhône wines from Santa Barbara County. (Sound familiar?) I was excited to see this bottle at a local wine shop. You can order it from the website here.

Inky purple, with a brambly nose of blackberry, blueberry and baking spices, the wine was very smooth, and well integrated on the palate. The Syrah comes from the Thompson Vineyard in Los Alamos, one of the best-known Santa Barbara County sources for great Syrah. It's a big wine, but not overwhelmingly so.

With the food, the spiciness of the wine melded seamlessly. "The wine stands up for itself, and is delicious with the beef, with everything," I wrote.

Nice job, Larry! :)

Until next time, friends! And hey, if you happened to be at either one of those events neither of my non-cloned selves could attend, leave a comment and make me jealous.

Amazing Chemistry -- Or, a Meal and a Mystery

2010-05-22T16:01:00.000-07:00

As our three barrels continue to laze through their seventh month of malolactic fermentation (am I ever going to have anything else to say in this regard? I'm sure at some point, I will), we're tasting weekly and marveling at how the wine is developing. The Grenache is nearly done with ML, we know. How do we know, you ask? Well, thanks to a swell gift from a dear friend, enabling us to experience better living through chemistry.

A malic-acid quick testing kit! What fun! In case you can't tell from the fabulous lighting in this photo, we're hovering somewhere around 50-ish mg/L of malic acid in the Grenache. The Syrah test was much purpler (in all respects).

The fact that our barrels are still working to complete ML at this point in their young lives is perfectly normal and fine, experienced winemaking friends assure us. We allowed the wine to enter ML naturally, without adding cultured malolactic bacteria at the end of fermentation, as many wineries do. (All healthy wine should be able to complete ML on its own if allowed to do so; but wineries with strict timelines for aging and bottling prefer to control exactly when that will happen.)

Wait, Everyone Likes What I Made? Really?

If you've noticed that I haven't written recently about personally cooking a meal for our double-double-blind food and wine pairings, well, that's because I hadn't. Oh, I've been cooking it up here and there, but those meals just weren't coinciding with this event. All that's a long-winded way of saying my turn was long overdue. I took it on Friday night.

Meals that take days to prepare are always special and (usually) wonderful treats, but like most everyone with kids and/or a day job, my weekdays are busy, busy. What I've found with weekday meal planning is that, if I can have just a few minutes to shut everything else out and think about it, the components and the meal typically come together quickly and easily. That's what happened with my dinner this week.

Grilled-chicken sandwiches on rustic rolls with cayenne-lemon-parsley mayo, arugula, crisped Prosciutto di Parma, and candied home-pickled jalapeños and onions.

On the side: oven-roasted sweet-potato fries with a lemon-sriracha sour-cream dipping sauce.

It was a cinch to put together, and I'm happy to say it's now on the short list of Dinners Everyone in the Family Likes. Can't beat that! (Modification's the key. No prosciutto on Talia's sandwich -- what is that girl thinking -- and sliced avocado on both the children's instead of the candied jalapeños and onions.)

Before hitting the grill, the chicken spent about 15 minutes in a marinade of plain yogurt, olive oil, lemon juice & zest, chopped parsley, and cayenne pepper.

Hold that Secret;
And a Mystery-Wine Mystery

The secret wine was waiting to be poured, and for the first time in Double-Double-Blind History, it had to wait longer than usual. You see, we'd been (non-blind) sipping an absolutely delightful Amador County Verdelho before dinner, and enjoying it so much that we simply had to see how it paired with the flavors of the food. The verdict: Go and get yourself some Forlorn Hope Que Saudade. Right away. Well, actually, you can't just yet, because the current vintage (a mere 177 cases) is sold out. I happen to know, however, that the 2009 vintage was bottled this week, so get on the mailing list and make sure you don't miss out when it's released. (You might have to fight me for it.)

Now. Time for Jody's secret bottle. He poured it; I swirled it. A light shade of garnet, it smelled all Grenache -- lovely Grenache, with telltale aromas of raspberry and earth.

I was pretty sure it was 100 percent Grenache, from California, and I thought 2007...

The first sip surprised me -- this was a deep, multilayered wine with a weighty sense the nose didn't initially reveal. Strong licorice flavors kept the vibrant berry fruit in check, and pleasantly earthy flavors shone through, as well. I kept coming back for more. It was delicious, and a hit with the flavors of the meal. Prosciutto likes Grenache.

Ramian Reserve 2006 Grenache Rouge, California, 14.4% alc.
167 cases produced

The back label explained this reserve blend was created from the best barrels, and aged in French oak for 20 months. When I visited the winery's website, all I could find about 2006 Grenache, however, was a rosé-appearing wine in a clear bottle for which the tech sheet listed nine months in neutral oak, not 20 (though the winemaker's notes did sound interestingly similar to mine). It was obvious this wasn't the same bottle we'd enjoyed. Time for more research!

Getting to the bottom of a mystery is one of my favorite pastimes, and the more I dug, the more mysteriously interesting this one became. Dottie and John from the Wall Street Journal had even had something to say about the Ramian Grenache Rouge that wasn't our Ramian Grenache Rouge. But no one, anywhere, seemed to be able to confirm this bottle actually existed.

So, I'm venturing a theory. There is mention of a "Grenache Reserve" in the "Select 100" allocation club on the Ramian website. The website also mentions that club members receive wines made just for the club ... could this be one of those special wines? Jody purchased it at the WineSellar and Brasserie, where he assures me they could tell me what I want to know. But I'd love to hear from winemaker Brian Graham before I take the easy way out. (The easy way out's not nearly as much fun.)

Until next time, y'all - cheers!

A Swing and a Miss -- Or, Are You Going to Be in My Dreams, Tonight?

2010-05-08T13:57:00.000-07:00

Back when I was a sportswriter-in-training (a vocation I enjoyed, but wasn't in for the long haul), I was invited to attend a "boot camp" seminar where a most curmudgeonly newsroom denizen expounded on the evils of newspaper clichés such as: anything that doesn't get proper respect being termed the "Rodney Dangerfield of (fill in the blank);" sports contests being referred to as "war" (he found this especially offensive); and general hackneyed sports-centric phrases á la "swing for the fences."

How does any of this relate to my present life as a garagiste-in-training and self-appointed commentator on food and wine adventures, you may ask? Well, mostly to (1) apologize to you, Kenn, wherever you are, for the phrase I'm about to use; and (2) explain that yes, in cooking and in life, sometimes you do swing for the fences -- and sometimes in doing so, you miss.

And In The End

I'll start from the end. Here is the recipe for "Chicken Mar i Muntanya," which Jody spent two days preparing, and which I had to retrieve from the trash can in order to take this photo.

Those stains? Tears, maybe?

Why, Thomas Keller, why? Just because it works in your world doesn't mean it translates to a layperson's kitchen. No one's sure exactly what went wrong here -- a combination of variables, certainly. However, as a perfectionist in all things culinary, Jody was sorely disappointed in the results of what, by all rights, should have been a fantastic Catalan-style dish. It looked lovely; parts of it tasted lovely.

Saffron rice; brined and roasted chicken; mussels; shrimp; chorizo; green beans; peppers

You know how sometimes, the whole vibe's just off? A disturbance-in-the-force kind of day? It was one of those. The mussels were questionable. Something happened with the brine that made the chicken unexpectedly salty. The chorizo, shrimp, rice and veggies were quite tasty, but, sadly, the damage was done and the poor recipe ended up crumpled in the trash, never to be attempted again.

The Love You Take

It was a bummer, too, as the secret wine I'd picked had all the makings of a perfect match with this dish. It did, indeed, taste wonderful with the salvageable parts -- but the mood had already been ruined. It wasn't the wine's fault. We obviously need a little cheer here, don't we? Let's talk about the wine.

2006 Longoria Albariño, Santa Ynez Valley, Clover Creek Vineyard

I know! Albariño with a Catalan seafood paella? It should have been a grand slam. (Sorry again, Kenn.) This particular wine, according to the winemaker's notes -- which also recommend drinking it with "Spanish seafood dishes" -- is currently at the endpoint of its ideal drinking window. I found it a great example of a wine that had obviously changed quite a bit in the bottle.

The nose carried big, round aromas of cantaloupe and honeydew, with a pleasant musky characteristic, like a melon that smells overripe on your counter, and then bursts with sticky sweet juice all down your chin and your fingers. Honeysuckle made an appearance, too. On the palate: very clean, with great acidity (0.83 g/100 ml, for my dear fellow geeks out there) and flavors of lemon drop and pea shoot.

Is Equal to the Love You Make

So it didn't all work out as intended. Things don't always, do they? It's all part of the journey, and it's OK. The good thing about wine, and food, and the examination thereof, is that there's always a new adventure just around the next base. (Last one, Kenn. I promise.)

Until next week -- thanks for stopping by!

A Lost Week -- Or, Reality Bites

2010-04-24T15:03:00.000-07:00

Remember when I said last week that all would be back to normal this week? Yeah. That was a little too ambitious. This week was the prototypical "Ha Ha, You've Been Away For Two Weeks And Now You're Back To Reality" week. You know what I'm talking about. The kind of inhumane, grueling week that, each day, makes you wonder what part of you ever thought it was a good idea to go out of town, for any reason.

Some things that happened while I was away, though, were pretty darn cool, and it's those things to which I returned in my mind whilst wishing for death to come rescue me from the HHYBAFTWANYBTR week. Which, now that it's Saturday and I've finished my Saturday morning work meeting (yep), is once and for all, over!

Here is Something to Remember

Eight days ago, I received word that a famous, hugely talented and very experienced graphic artist (if you've ever bought an album, you've seen his stuff, and that's all I can say) was willing to help with the j.brix label in exchange for, guess what? The fruits of our labors! Look for our logo coming soon.

Seven days ago, I was frolicking at the Santa Barbara Vintner's Festival in Lompoc, CA; busily working my shift at the Tantara Winery booth, yes, but did get a little time to walk around and taste before starting to pour. It was during this time that I finally met Mr. Jim Clendenen, the larger-than-life, legendary Mind Behind none other than Au Bon Climat, iconic Bien Nacido Vineyard landmark producer of epic Pinot Noir and Chardonnay -- and something like 2,000 other microlabels (OK, slight exaggeration ... maybe) under which he crafts a few cases here and there.

During a chat with Jim about the j.brix project, he had a few arch words to say about our "starter vineyard." It was a true honor to be good-naturedly cuffed by an undisputed champion of winemaking. Almost felt like arriving.

What We Have is Strong and Tender

Six days ago, after the always-groovy Tantara Open House, Jody and I had the privilege of partaking in a semi-impromptu dinner in the Wine Cellar room at The Brothers at Mattei's Tavern. This dinner comprised 14 of perhaps the most unlikely folks ever to find themselves in the same room -- all thoroughly enjoying the food, wine and camaraderie. (Can't believe I used that word; I've had an informal ban on it ever since a certain 7th-grade Knights of Columbus regional spelling bee in which the grand poohbah torpedoed me with an improper pronunciation ... whoops, I'm not bitter!)

In any case, some (OK, many) seriously stellar wines were opened, shared and enjoyed, my absolute favorite of which was a magnum of 1990 Ridge Monte Bello Vineyard (thanks again, Barbara and Bill). Ever since that 1996 Ridge Carignan in February, we've been so eager to taste Ridge's flagship wine, but don't have the hundreds in spare cash it takes to pick up a bottle. This "American First Growth" still tasted young, fresh, vibrant and lovely -- 20 years hadn't faded it a bit. It was one of those wines you just breathe in for a good long time, before you even dare to taste it.

It's About Faith

Five days ago, we spent a brief, beautiful morning in the Bien Nacido and then drove the five hours home, where the week-that-shall-not-be-named commenced. Who wants to hear about that? I didn't think so. But you might like to see what the Syrah's looking like these days. Here it is:

Healthy Syrah shoots and leaves; and a nice rich cover crop, soon to be mowed once the frost threat is over.

This week, I have the utmost faith that the (double) double-blind dinners of old shall resume, and who knows what kind of secret food and wine pairings await? I can hardly wait to find out.

Cheers, all! Talk to me -- the comment box is a wee bit lonely.

A Break From the Routine -- Or, Get on Your Boots

2010-04-17T11:59:00.000-07:00

A little departure from the ordinary this week: no secrets, in food nor wine. It's spring break, and the resulting general upheaval in routine has turned all things slightly topsy-turvy.

I'm writing this from the Central Coast, where we'll spend this weekend helping friends from Tantara Winery pour during today's Santa Barbara County Vintners' Festival; and at Sunday's Open House at the winery. Stop on by if you're around!

Antlers & Wood (Spurs Optional)

Last night found us dining at the original Hitching Post restaurant in Casmalia, a glorious throwback originally opened in 1952, which one friend recently described as "The French Laundry before its time."

While the antler-heavy atmosphere is nothing like the heralded Healdsburg nirvana (where we dined in 2007), the courses do just keep coming. "Oysters and Pearls," well, no ... more like mini-shrimp cocktail in a tin cup, complete with tiny fork; salad drenched in homemade blue-cheese dressing; the best red-oak BBQ in possibly the whole wide world; a baked potato; garlic bread (with salsa on the side); and finally, if you can handle it, a scoop of ice cream at the end.

I had the outrageously delicious combination of the 5-oz. filet mignon and a 4-oz. quail. Jody had a 10-oz. top sirloin. We paired it with a bottle of Santa Barbara County's ampelos winery 2005 syrah-grenache blend, which had lots of nice fruit -- and an oak profile I just could not figure out. (If you read the winemaking notes, you'll see why. I don't think I've ever seen anything like this oak program.) It was a great match with the less-than-light, enormously flavorsome meal.

Next week's back to the grill again... until then, cheers! Have a Hitching Post or French Laundry story to share? What do you think about hybrid barrels? Leave a comment and we'll keep the party going.

Bubbles, Burrata, Beef and a Big One -- Or, Beautiful Day

2010-04-10T13:41:00.000-07:00

The heart is a bloom
Shoots up through the stony ground
-U2, "Beautiful Day"

Easter Sunday began brilliantly, with a warm, breezy sky; my favorite springtime flower -- azaleas -- bursting in blinding glory; and a (double) double-blind food and wine pairing that involved 1. brunch and 2. bubbles. It's fortuitous that we had so much fun before the 7.2 Baja earthquake rocked and rolled us later that afternoon, quickly shifting the day's focus to rumbly aftershocks, and leaving nerves just slightly ragged.

Still, it was a beautiful day.

Sparkling Personality

I was on wine duty this week, and as I thought about what to choose, I realized the ridiculous fact that sparkling wine has never made an appearance at our secret food-and-wine dinners. How could this be? Most of my friends know my eventual goal is to have an entire wine fridge dedicated solely to bubbles. Why on earth hadn't I brought a bottle to the table yet? Time to fix that.

The bead's so pretty on this one. Teeny, tiny bubbles.

It was pale straw in color, with a nose of toasted brioche and pear. On the palate, a tingly burst of bubbles, and then the lemony, buttery (with none of the heaviness that word implies) sensation of a delicious croissant melting in your mouth.

"Schramsberg?" Jody asked. How exactly he pulled that off, I'm not sure, because I can't remember the last time we drank Schramsberg, as yummy as it is. He was right, though. This happened to be a vintage bottle, of which I informed him, upon which he took another sip and called it 2006. Again, correct.

2006 Schramsberg Blanc de Blancs (100% Chardonnay) sparkling wine, North Coast, California.

This is Why We Eat

Brunch: It's what's for dinner. Today, anyway. Another first for the Garagistes-in-Training secret food-and-wine-pairing meals. I love brunch, so I was quite happy to find out that's what Jody had in the works, especially since bubbles already were involved. Can't go wrong with bubbles and brunch, right?

This one had nothing to do with eggs, but it still turned out to be a scrumptious pairing in all its parts. I'll get to them. First, allow me to rhapsodize for a moment about burrata.

Decadent, extraordinarily sensual, with a combination of textures that simply make your eyes widen at what is going on in your mouth, burrata is a ball of fresh mozzarella wrapped around a soft mix of mozzarella curds and cream. That definition does absolutely nothing to explain what happens to you when you slice the ball open; drizzle it with oil and aged balsamic; sprinkle it with fleur de sel and fresh ground pepper, and place a forkful between your lips.

I need a moment.

Some foods aren't done justice by their photographic representations. Burrata is one of them. Gioia Cheese in Los Angeles makes this amazing creation, which must be consumed almost immediately after it's produced. (Don't be fooled by the stuff of the same name at Trader Joe's. Pass it by.) In CA, the best cheese shops should carry it. You can order your own from Gioia, too. (Or, you could come visit and I'll see what I can do. But I only eat burrata with people I really like.)

The Rest of the Story, er, Meal

If you've gotten this far, you may have noticed something else on the plate in that photo. That's Jody's take on Jamie Oliver's beef carpaccio with marinated bean salad from the Jamie at Home cookbook. He used filet mignon; mandolined sweetpeas for the bean salad, and shaved Carmody cheese over the top.

Filet mignon and methode Champenoise Schramsberg blanc de blancs? Oh, it worked just fine. The fresh, spring flavors in the marinated sweetpea salad were enhanced delightfully by the wine's dry, citrusy notes, and the thinly sliced carpaccio didn't overwhelm the bubbles at all; in fact, the richness was a grand partner.

(There also were mashed potatoes -- mixed with more butter than I care to think about -- which had a natural sweetness that called to mind fluffy, butter-flavored candy.)

Shake-and-Bake
(Or, Did That Just Happen?)

We were happily sated, at least, when the earthquake hit. And, aside from the lengthy shaking and swaying of light fixtures, we all remained unscathed. The residual nervousness, though, lent itself to another glass.

Oh, who am I kidding? We switched to cocktails.

Until next week - cheers! If you'd like to leave a comment, I'd love to hear from you.

Wrong Place, Wrong Time -- Or, Just Not Meant to Be Together

2010-04-03T15:42:00.000-07:00

I know a few folks who -- while I enjoy their company for any number of reasons -- must never be in the same room at the same time. This is my own personal decision; these people don't even know each other, which is how I'm going to keep it, because whenever I imagine them meeting, the vision of the inevitably ensuing battle is enough to cause a hearty shudder and temporary loss of appetite. But paired with just about anyone else, these particular friends are all kinds of fun!

With that, let me start by saying each part of this week's secret food-and-wine pairing was a perfectly nice individual component. I liked them both very much. They just didn't like each other. At all. It was never going to work out. So without further ado, I bring you the story of Bad Double-Double-Blind Pairing Part Deux.

Ah, Old Bordeaux,
What to Do With You?

It wasn't a fishy fish mess this time, but it did, once again, involve old Bordeaux. Jody selected the wine this week; we've both now fallen prey to the lure of Bordeaux vieux, with which I now am convinced I know exactly what to pair. (Hint: Not a meal with multiple ingredients; many spices; and/or fruity sweetness.)

1998 Chateau Moine Lalande, Lalande de Pomerol. 80% Merlot, 15% Cabernet Sauvignon, 5% Cabernet Franc. 12% alc.
(Um, yeah, right. A good 14% if you ask me.)

Tasting the wine blind, I thought of some of the older California wines we've tasted lately; beautiful Ridge blends from the '90s, and a fantastically alive, amazingly textured 1975 Mayacamas Cabernet Sauvignon that dear friend, Luminesce winemaker Kevin Law, generously shared last weekend. (Quick aside: The TTB finally granted Kevin permission to sell his wines; you can buy them now, and you should - check out the site!)

My mind was in California, and I didn't guess Bordeaux. I did think it was a blend with some Cab. The nose was full of faded rose petals and minerals, and had a slight metallic tinge that came and went. On the palate: licorice, dust, lavender; and super-soft tannins.

"Tastings Notes" ... Good old French bottle translations. "'Plumy' Merlot fruit," too. (The Linguistics Faerie forgives all translation errors. She finds them rather charming.)

Chiles That Make Children Cry

I was in charge of the secret dinner menu, which turned out deliciously, and was all wrong for this wine. The main dish? A riff on Bobby Flay's recipe for chile-spice-rub pork tenderloin with ancho-mustard sauce. Four different kinds of chiles were involved. Spicy business! For the veg, I made a mixed baby-greens salad with fresh strawberries, goat cheese and strawberry-balsamic dressing.

Looks spicy, doesn't it? Oh, it was. Elijah, 6, nearly cried when he tasted a dip of the sauce, and Talia, 10 -- my spicy girl -- refused to even try it. Jody turned it into mole the next day; we ate it with chicken, rice, beans & tortillas, and drank margaritas, which was a much better pairing.

The salad was sweet and tasty, and a good partner for the spicy pork. We've got nice, ripe local strawberries in season right now. I wanted to sprinkle toasted pepitas on top, but didn't have any in the house.

Talia loved the salad, at least, which was nice, as it was all she had for dinner. Here's a dirty little secret: Many times, these grandly executed double-blind-pairing family meals end with one or another of the children eating a bowl of cereal before bed. Their palates are hugely disparate from one another. And often, from ours. (At least everyone loves cereal. Sigh.)

Maybe in a Parallel Universe

Together, these two charming individuals -- the wine and the food -- just weren't any good for each other. The meal had way too much spice and rich flavor for the soft, pleasantly faded, honestly interesting Bordeaux. A sip of this mature, gently nuanced wine after a bite of booyah! left my mouth with a flat, metallic taste, and honestly left me feeling somewhat forlorn.

(This feeling may have had something to do with my broader mental state at the time, but it seemed there was a deeper symbolism here than just a completely lame random pairing of food and wine.)

I ended up writing a three-page synopsis, from which I'll spare you, wonderful readers, except to note the highlights(?): that the meal needed something more like itself; well made, certainly, but also bold, unabashed, spicy, with rounded fruit flavors and pepper to spare. (Who has suggestions? Leave a comment!) The wine, too, deserved a worthy companion -- a sparring partner who wouldn't hit quite so hard; who would complement and flesh out the wine's inward nature, without fighting it for the spotlight.

To make these kinds of pairings, sometimes, you simply have to choose with blindfold off and eyes wide open.

Until next week!

Mediter-Rhone-ean Night -- Or, a Panoply of Olive Love

2010-03-20T15:58:00.000-07:00

I have a thing for olives.

My childhood olive experiences involved delivery pizzas topped with slivers of low-quality, lye-cured black olives that -- even with their gummy texture and chemical aftertaste -- held the promise, each time I nibbled and nibbled again, of something with incredibly delicious potential.

The fascination only intensified after my 10-year-old self read Beverly Cleary's tween-romantic novel "The Luckiest Girl," in which the lovely East Coast high-schooler Shelley ventures to California, and is tricked by her host family into eating an olive straight off the tree. Everyone laughs good-naturedly as she spits out the bitter fruit. Then they explain how of course olives must be cured before you can eat them, and isn't it silly how our sweet out-of-town rube didn't know?

Olives and grapevines -- and what human hands make of those fruits -- yes, I was always meant to be a Californian.

Olives and Pine Nuts and Feta (oh my!)

Thinking about this week's secret meal, my head was focused on the remaining mixed olives Jody had brought home from the Whole Foods bar a few days earlier. Bright green Castelvetranos; meaty Kalamatas; Cerignolas marinated in blood-orange olive oil and stuffed with pimiento -- as individually scrumptious as I found them, I wanted to turn the rest into a tapenade. The rest of the dinner would have to revolve around that.

Rosemary-Olive Oil Crostini with Mixed-Olive-Blood-Orange Tapenade.

To make the tapenade, I pitted and blended the olives with olive oil, anchovy, blanched garlic, capers and some freshly squeezed blood-orange and lemon juice. (Pinched a little taste before dinner. Just to make sure it was OK, and all.)

Building on the Mediterranean theme, I picked up some fresh basil-pine nut chicken sausages, and red peppers and onions to sauté. There also was a salad of mixed baby greens with Greek feta and toasted pine nuts, and honey-champagne vinaigrette.

The crostini passed muster. I decided it was suitable to accompany the meal. Only hoped the whole thing wouldn't be a bust with the wine.

Know When To Hold 'Em

Some friends and we are planning on an eventual game of blind-tasting wine poker. As explained, it's a table full of brown-bagged bottles (hello!), and a pot to which everyone contributes. Whoever gets the closest with their blind-tasting guess wins the pot. I make no claims, nor boasts, as to my accuracy whenever this game actually occurs; but I can only wish there had been money on the table when I made my guess this week.

 No money on the table tonight. Just bread and wine. (Can't complain about that.)

Jody's secret bottle took us back to red wine after a few weeks of white. I brought the glass to my face, and thought it smelled like a gorgeous Chateauneuf-du-Pape. A mix of rich fruit and minerality, it brought California spunk on the nose and the palate exactly where a true CdP would have brought French funk. It was a finely made wine; the exceptional fruit quality shone, and you could sense the restraint in the handling of what easily could have become an overextracted fruit bomb. I knew what it was.

Tablas Creek 2006 Esprit de Beaucastel Panoplie? 

That's my guess, and I'm sticking to it.

We've been members of the Tablas Creek Vineyard wine club for several years now. We're big fans of their organic farming methods and commitment to sustainable agriculture; their well made Rhone wines; and their friendly, smart and keenly insightful manager, Jason Haas, whose blog was an early inspiration.

 Paso Robles' finest. 68 percent Mourvedre, 27 percent Grenache, 5 percent Syrah. 15% alc.

I hadn't ever tasted a Panoplie, Tablas Creek's highest-end cuvée produced only in the best years. But after a few years in the club, I'm familiar with their style, and this tasted like the most stellar possible example of a Tablas Creek wine. Hence, the guess. (It's kind of fun to get one right on the merits.)

The Lucky Ones

Need I even say how deliciously everything paired together? The wine, which had been decanting for about 90 minutes, continued to unfold during dinner. Its ripe flavors and perfect balance supported the richness of the basil-pine nut chicken sausage; and blended juicily with the salty, moist feta in the salad. 

But what made me the happiest -- the luckiest girl, indeed -- was the blissful relationship, come to fruition at last, between the tapenade and the wine -- the olive and the grape.

Cheers, friends! Do leave a comment if you like.

Firmly On the Earth I Stand -- Or, A Wine & Food Conversation

2010-03-12T19:29:00.000-08:00

First, for a garage-wine update: This long, cold San Diego winter (stop rolling your eyes, Remy) is keeping those natural malolactic fermentations in our three barrels moving at the approximate speed of a grouchy teenager who's been awakened at 5 a.m.

In other words, malo's going slowly, slowly, slowly; which is fine, because next week it's expected to warm up into the 70s F, and we expect things to take off. The wine tastes delicious right now. The barrels continue to display their own individual and distinct personalities, and some of them even have names. (That's a story for another time. Stay tuned.)

That's the One, Then

My turn to pick wine for the (double) double-blind pairing this week - hooray! The local wine shops are used to me now, I think, ignoring me while I look at everything and try not to talk to myself under my breath. Or make faces as I read lamely pretentious back-label copy. (I'm really working on this one.)

This time, as always, not knowing what Jody was preparing for dinner, and without a firm white-or-red inclination, I went through all the reds without finding a candidate. (This particular shop is quite red-heavy.) So, I headed for the small "Interesting Whites" section located just behind the "Chardonnay" rack (hmmmm) -- ah, there it was. Tonight's bottle.

2007 Bonny Doon Vineyard Le Cigare Blanc, Beeswax Vineyard, Arroyo Seco, Monterey, CA. 64.3% Roussanne, 35.7% Grenache Blanc. 14.6% alc.

Jody said it smelled clean, crisp, green appley. I got lime and honeydew on the nose, and was pleasantly surprised when I sipped by the fact that the nose belied an unexpectedly round palate, with great integration of weight and acid. There was a hint of chalkiness, and a finish of lime and limestone.

It's a food wine, I thought. It wants interaction, dialogue, banter -- it needs to talk. I have a feeling it's going to be all the more exciting when this happens.

Comfort At the Table

Le Cigare Blanc '07 indeed found its match with the menu, prepared, as always, without knowledge of the wine that would be presented for pairing. 

Jody's meal included: roasted chicken with balsamic vinaigrette; melted brussel-sprout hash with bacon, onion & garlic; and our roasted-root-veg standby (new potatoes, sweet potatoes, blue potatoes, garlic, which were joined this week by broccoli, cauliflower and fennel).

The roasted chicken 

The food was hearty, hugely flavored and simply soul-satisfying. The wine wove itself between the flavors, marrying them perfectly and sparking a gustatory conversation in which each bite, each sip, brought something new and delightful to the table, as well as to those who enjoyed the pairing.

The happy pairing

"It's kind of the glue that holds it together," Jody said of the wine, which he'd variously guessed as anything from a Spanish white, to something perhaps Californian and Portuguese made by dear friend Matthew Rorick of Forlorn Hope Wines.

Grounded, Connected

Several days following the meal, as I got the children ready for school, I saw a tweet from Bonny Doon winemaker Randall Grahm, the maker of the 2007 Le Cigare Blanc; original Rhone Ranger; inimitable punster; and champion of terroir, who's being inducted this weekend into the Culinary Institute of America Winemakers' Hall of Fame.

Randall Grahm - Photo by Alex Krause

@RandallGrahm: Daughter comforts  herself by continually singing Michaelmas hymn,  "Firmly on the earth I  stand, Michael's sword within my hand."

As a fellow Waldorf-school parent, I know that Michaelmas hymn well. We sing a lot in Waldorf school, and that's actually my favorite of all the songs; it's sung at the dawn of Autumn when the days first begin to grow shorter, and the tune and words are full of strength and bravery. Randall continued:

@RandallGrahm: I realize that  having St. Michael as a comforter is a bit like having an "imaginary"  playmate with whom one converses. Further realize  that iPhone/twitter serve more or less the same function as Michaelmas  hymn, at least for this grown-up who needs comforting

I thought more throughout the day and week about the wine Randall makes, and the meal with which we enjoyed it, and the fact that in so many ways the combination of the two served as a force of grounding, and connection, and comfort. We all need that comfort; that conversational interaction; that weaving together. The wine called out to the food. The winemaker called out to the world. 

We are privileged both to bear witness, and to participate in the song.

Until next week, friends.

Adventures in Wine & Babysitting -- Or, Friends in Low-Lying Places

2010-03-06T13:57:00.000-08:00

Last week found me solo-parenting a pair of unreasonably grumpy children while Jody spent a few days in the Central Coast, ostensibly helping our friends at Tantara Winery bottle their 2008 single-vineyard Pinot Noirs. He also hung out with many wonderful people; did a little pruning with Lino at Laetitia Vineyard; attended a dinner showcasing Grand Cru white Burgundies from 1992, 1996, 1999, 2001 and 2002; visited the fantastic Full of Life Flatbread restaurant (which I first wrote about here), and drank wine from his birth year with our Winemaking Guru, Mr. Kevin Law.

Then, he came home. And it was my turn to cook.

Yeah.

Slightly Better Than Boxed Mac & Cheese

While I did, briefly, think of throwing the children at him and fleeing, I gathered my wits and resolved to cook Jody and the gang a meal that would (1) please everyone and (2) interact with wine -- any wine -- a little better than last week's fishy fish mess debacle.

These weekly (double) double-blind wine-and-food experiments typically send me recipe-searching online. I'm bored with our cookbooks and I like to make something new every time it's my turn to cook. Sometimes, I have an idea, and sometimes, I don't. This week, completely idea-free, I turned to Gourmet's archives, and, around 11 pages in, ended up with this: Lasagne in Bianco.

White lasagne with Parmigiano besciamella - OK, so maybe it's not a bold choice, but as I mentioned, trying to please everyone here.

I also crafted up a spinach salad with crisped shallots, bacon bits and a warm bacon-apple-cider-vinegar dressing. You know, to make up for all that rich, creamy white sauce and layers of Parmigiano, and ... oh, wait, I guess bacon doesn't really make up for anything. It does make for a most delicious spinach salad, though!

Shaved Parmigiano brings the dishes together. But I think there may have been a little too much stem inclusion on that spinach.

The Force Returns

Jody uncorked his brown-bagged wine in the kitchen, brought it to the table, and grinned. I gathered we were on a better pairing track than last week. (Not that it could get much worse.)

The wine was pale and brilliant, with a bright nose of green apple. Absolutely no trace of malolactic fermentation; just what we'd need to balance the lasagne in bianco. That apple characteristic carried through to the brisk upfront acid on the palate, where I immediately recognized Santa Maria, and chardonnay, and, hey -- "Is this Kevin's chard?" left my lips before I realized it was coming.

A perfectly designed secret food & wine pairing. (Whew!)

His poker face is better than mine, but Jody couldn't do much except laugh. I had nailed it. Our friend Kevin, of Winemaking-Guru, birth-year-wine-sharing fame, makes a tiny amount of wine under his own label, Luminesce.

2007 Luminesce Chardonnay, Santa Maria Valley

Soon, he'll be able to sell it, and when that time comes, you should buy it. You can email him to get on his interest list -- if you're looking for super-small-production wine that's lovingly made with a restrained hand, not to mention impeccable fruit sources. Anti-flavor wine elites (and do click on the link if you don't get that reference), this is a California Chardonnay for you.

Except I'd never tasted Kevin's Chardonnay before. So I'm not exactly sure how I knew what it was. As I'm increasingly finding on this journey of making wine, and friends, and connections with the seasons of growth and dormancy, flower and fruit; sometimes, you just know.

That's all for this week. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Cheers!

Nobody's Perfect -- Or, A Really Bad Pairing (It Happens)

2010-02-27T16:32:00.000-08:00

If you're a regular reader of this blog (hi, Mom), you're probably surprised at how often the secret meal and secret wine pairings, while sometimes unexpected, work out so perfectly. (Read last week's if you missed it.) I can just see them over at Food & Wine, racking their brains -- "How do they do it, those Garagistes-in-Training? Is it, maybe, some etheric force that connects us all, sending imperceptible suggestions to make every pairing better than the laws of probability or common sense could ever allow?"

Well, maybe. Why not? If that's it, though, then you've got to expect an occasional disturbance in the force.

It was my turn to choose the secret bottle of wine this time. I'm still searching for the perfect local wine shop, so I went to one I hadn't yet visited. I'm also still trying to figure out whether there's a San Diego School For Aspiring Wine Shop Owners where the admissions department peers at applicants over a checklist: Male? (Check.) White? (Check.) Between 50-65? (Check.) Tall? (Check.) Yes, you may open a wine shop. Next!

Wine, Interrupted

This particular tall, white, male, 55-ish wine-shop owner seemed friendly, and indulged my browsing ways without following me around or offering unsolicited advice. I took my time, but hadn't found anything yet that leaped out, when my phone rang.

Jody and Elijah (age 6), who'd gone on a grocery-buying expedition, were locked out of the house. (Our key situation is uninterestingly complicated.) Groceries needed to be brought inside, right away, and I was already at least 10 minutes out. All of a sudden: pressure! Just pick something, already! So, I did -- Talia, age 10, was with me, and I spotted a Bordeaux from her birth year for $20. Why not? I've got to get out of here!

1999 Château Lamothe de Haux, Bordeaux

12% alc.

We don't ever buy much Bordeaux. Nothing against it, really; I've tasted some older ones that I found fascinating, but for everyday wine drinking, it's just not practical, since most of it needs years of aging, and who has that kind of patience? Also, our palates simply skew toward different grape varieties than the typical Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot-dominated Bordeaux blends. (The other grapes used in Bordeaux blends, for my dear wine newbies, are Cabernet Franc, Petit Verdot and Malbec. Speaking of which, there's a new California Malbec that I'm quite keen to taste.)

This wine decanted for about an hour and a half. It had lots of cherry aromas, along with blackcurrant, and menthol. On the palate, pleasant enough, if a bit thin. It wasn't a terrible wine, though it tasted like it had seen better days. I wondered what would happen with the meal, which Jody had admirably created from a combination of odds, ends and what turned out to be the pairing's mortelle faille (oops, have I given away the ending?): salmon.

Do They Eat Salmon in Bordeaux?

Last time salmon entered the (double) double-blind pairing, it was a delightful partner to Randall Grahm's Grenache-based Bonny Doon 2004 Le Cigare Volant. It also was a perfect piece of salmon. (Note: This is what we creative-writing majors call foreshadowing.)

Jody tore it up in the kitchen per usual and invented a tasty ragout from things we had in the fridge, added to things he bought at the store because he thought they'd taste good together, to be spooned over fettucine and topped with the salmon -- wild and fresh, of course.

Ragout of artichokes, mushrooms, radicchio, herbs and bacon

Doesn't that look like a nice pairing? Ahem.

The ragout was delicious; the pasta, perfectly cooked. The salmon tasted, er, a wee bit fishy. Not fishy in a good, anchovy or mackerel fishy way. Fishy in a 1980s-Grandma's-medicine-cabinet-fish-oil-supplement kind of way. (Don't tell me I'm the only kid who used to bite off the end of those things, squeeze the foul goo into the trash, and chew on the gelcap ... wait, I am, aren't I? Never mind. You know what I mean.)

Still, the worst was yet to come. One sip of that reedy, fruit-faded (to be expected at 10 years old!) Bordeaux, and the inside of my mouth went from a slight smack of residual fish-oil to Oh! Oh no! My mouth! I must get this awful fishy fish mess OUT! (Involuntary throat-closing noises may have been involved.) The children, in disbelief, began laughing so hard they, in turn, almost choked. It was not a pretty scene.

Drink the wine you like with the food you like, begins the inevitable closing paragraph of every boring food-and-wine pairing article you ever read. It's mostly true; no one's found any Bacchanalian commandments carved into stone tablets -- but let me hand you this piece of advice, earned the hard way. If you like inexpensive 10-year-old Bordeaux, and you also like salmon, enjoy them separately. (Unless fishy fish mess all up in your mouth is your thing. Then, hey, just enjoy!)

Until next week, friends - cheers! Drop a comment in the box.

It's A Small World -- Or, Cal-Ital Parte Seconda

2010-02-20T14:10:00.000-08:00

Last week's post received some great and insightful comments. Thanks very much, wonderful readers, for sharing your own expertise and experiences. It's always a pleasure to interact and learn from others. I'm so happy the blog can foster that personal engagement in its own small way -- isn't that part of what wine's all about? Keep the comments coming!

This past week, I was responsible for the secret meal, and I had a plan in the wings. Last week's Mario Batali-inspired recipe reminded me that I had a Batali trick up my sleeve, too. A Babbo recipe I'd stumbled across months ago; saved in a folder somewhere on my computer; and promptly forgotten -- but now, it was time for it to shine.

Love in a Bowl

Bucatini all'Amatriciana. Doesn't it just roll off the tongue? This dinner marked the first time I'd made it, and it instantly established itself as the essence of Italian comfort food -- simple, hearty, with layers and layers of flavor stemming from the freshest ingredients -- and plenty of love.

Pancetta, garlic, onion, red pepper flakes, fresh tomato sauce, parsley, and some seriously toothsome bucatini.

As we ate, I thought of my great-grandmother Josephine, a tiny, dark-eyed Siciliana whom I never knew. Undoubtedly, her cuisine was different than this tomato-infused staple of Amatrice in Central Italy; this meal served to nourish tired shepherds returning from the mountains. Still, though, some familial sense stirred. Perhaps it was the bucatini, the traditional pasta of Sicily.

Age Is More Than Just a Number

But what about the wine? Jody had opened it a bit before dinner so we could have some time to taste and evaluate. It's not so easy to garner delicate wine aromas when pancetta and garlic are simmering -- and since I was tasting blind with the goal of figuring out what this secret wine was, I wanted some time with it before dinner.

It was apparent this was a wine with some age; definitely older than we usually drink. The wine was slightly cloudy, and light burgundy-colored with an amber rim. As I tracked the evolution of the bouquet over 15 minutes or so, I wrote:

"Dusky violets, deep blackberry, rosehips, earth. On the palate, cardamom and violet. Perhaps an older New World? It's aged, but still has something of the Cali exuberance to it. Restrained, subdued, experienced -- but there's that definite spark."

My initial gut reaction was 1997. But I thought it had Pinot Noir characteristics, and couldn't picture a California Pinot Noir of the time holding up that well, for that long. 2004, I guessed aloud. California cool-climate Pinot Noir -- Russian River, maybe?

1996(!) Ridge Carignan, Oat Valley Vineyard, Cooley Family Ranch, Sonoma County, CA. 13.1% alc.

Well! According to the back label, these vines were 80 years old in 1996 -- a true remnant of California's winemaking history, when Carignan was widely planted and blended into the popular red wines of the 1930s-60s. In researching the Oat Valley Vineyard, I can't find any evidence that any of it's still planted to Carignan. Ridge still makes a 100 percent Carignan for its wine club, but the fruit -- since at least 1999 -- comes from Sonoma's Buchignani Ranch (and they're spelling it Carignane, the American way, on the label now).

The cork, I heard, was very uncooperative. It did its wine-protecting job well, though!

Pairing, Brought Home

Carignan. Bucatini all'Amatriciana. The words, like the pairing, beautiful on the tongue. Was it our imagination, or did the wine begin to taste more and more Italian as we drank it with the food? The flavors blended in a seamless, rustic perfection, as though they were, somehow, meant to be together.

It turns out Carignan isn't commonly found in Italy so much these days -- except in Lazio. Lazio, the Abruzzese town near Amatrice, where the shepherds wearily made their way down the mountain and home to a lovingly prepared, hot bowl of bucatini all'Amatriciana. And, more than likely, a glass of locally made carignan.

In vino, veritas.

One Lesson Learned -- Or, Adventures in Cal-Ital

2010-02-13T14:37:00.000-08:00

As a novice winemaker, I continue to be eluded by many of the secrets of chemistry (though I'm definitely game to learn). Therefore, if any of you experienced, genius readers would like to share some scientific explanations for how a bottle of wine can change so drastically from the initial opening to one hour later -- post your comments. Really. The geekier, the better. Formulas would be cool. I need to understand what the heck happened this week.

Looking for something we hadn't tasted before, and of course, not knowing what Jody was making for dinner, I picked up this:

Jeff Runquist Wines 
2008 "R" Barbera, Amador County, CA, 
Dick Cooper Vyd.
14.5% alcohol, $19.99

When I got home with the wine, I poured a small splash, swirled it; and immediately felt a strange heat (degrees hot, not alcohol hot) hit my nostrils. It was as though the temperature of the liquid was warmer than body/breath temp, although I dipped in a finger to make sure that wasn't the case (it wasn't).

The inital aroma ... well, perhaps the notes tell the story best on this one.

Garlic? Um, yeah, and spring onions, too.

I was afraid the bottle was a bust. When I took a sip, the palate seemed highly acidic, with spicy green peppercorn, a touch of smokiness, green plum and green olive flavors. It didn't taste flawed, exactly, but it didn't seem like this was how it was supposed to taste, either. (Did I say "green?")

The Food

Jody'd gone Mario Batali-style, with Pasta Col Cavolofiore. (Full disclosure: We were out of pine nuts, and three out of four of us won't touch raisins, so neither of those made it into the final mix.) 

Cauliflower, fresh parsley, and a saffron tea with melted anchovies, tomato and garlic ... yes.

By the time the meal was on the table, and I poured the wine for Jody, the garlic aromas had disappeared, and the nose seemed much richer and smoother. Jody thought perhaps a Paso Robles Rhone blend; or a Cabernet Franc. It was hard to tell.

With the food, as the wine opened, it was a pleasant mix -- complementary flavors, with a shared Italian origin. But 45 minutes after I'd first uncorked the wine, this Barbera of Amador County became a completely different beast. Wholly approachable on the nose, the green plums had changed to black -- summer Santa Rosa plums, splitting from ripeness, still with a golden bite of acidity inside. 

So, what happened? How does something go from smelling like onions and garlic to black plums and strawberries? It was a happy turn of events ... but I must know how it works. Help!

The Lesson

Lesson learned? If a young wine's not obviously flawed (e.g., TCA), but seems odd, let it open and breathe before you guess what it is (if tasting blind), and before you drink the bulk of it. There's often some evolution that needs to occur. Patience -- always a virtue in winemaking -- just may be equally virtuous in wine drinking.

Still looking for that practical chemistry lesson, though, so have at it if you know. Until next week ... cheers!

In the Kitchen Again -- Or, How Spicy Do You Want It?

2010-02-06T16:17:00.000-08:00

I'm a spicy girl. Always have been. (My daughter is, too, for which I'm roundly and regularly given credit, and/or blamed.)

Yep, the spicier the better, as far as I'm concerned. You know what, though? Sometimes the situation doesn't warrant so much spice. Sometimes you have to know when to tone it down. Otherwise, you'll ruin a perfectly lovely piece of fish, and ... wait. Let me start at the beginning.

Just Don't Rub Your Eyes

My long-delayed turn to cook came around (again) this week, and I really did have to bring it, considering my last attempt sneaked kale into polenta and served up glorified (if tasty) chicken strips. Fine. I love a challenge.

I'd chosen a delicious-looking secret meal from the (sadly missed) Gourmet magazine: Grilled Tuna and Peppers with Caper Vinaigrette, along with slow-roasted new potatoes. Now, it was shopping time. Our friend Vanessa, Queen of Mexican Cuisine, had mentioned she had some extra peppers of all sorts left over from a marathon salsa-making weekend, so I stopped by her place to pick them up.

I was slightly surprised when Vanessa handed me a big orange Home Depot bucket full of many, many peppers: jalapeños, serranos, poblanos, green and red bell peppers, and a bunch of these intriguing-looking light-greenish-yellowish ones I didn't recognize. The dinner recipe called for light green Italian peppers, but these seemed infinitely more interesting, and here they were in a bucket for me, so that was set -- I'd use them.

And I got an absolutely stellar piece of ahi from Cardiff Seaside Market, a family-owned independent grocery with the best fish selection around. Take a look:

This ahi looks like a chunk of Himalayan pink salt. Can't get much fresher.

Since we had this windfall of peppers, we planned to roast them all up on the grill. I started slicing and seeding my mysterious yellow ones. My eyes began to burn. Well, perhaps they're a tad bit spicy, I thought. Great! The spicier the better! (Spicy girl, remember.)

Daughter Talia, 10, interrupted me to ask for some celery. I rinsed and dried my hands, pulled a stalk of celery from its bag in the fridge, and gave it to her.

"Aaaaaaah!" she shrieked upon first bite. "Why is this so spicy?"

Uh oh.

"You like spicy," I hemmed. "You're always pouring on the hot sauce, and..."

"Not on celery!" she shot back.

Guess we won't be making this anytime soon.
Photo via epicurious.com

It seemed I had some peppers on my hands -- literally -- with a Scoville rating that would ensure the only thing anyone tasted, if I used them, was the searing fire of hell on the palate. Which wasn't going to do that glistening piece of ahi any favors. Not to mention whatever wine Jody might have hidden away in the brown bag.

I roasted them anyway, along with the others, just to see if maybe we'd all been mistaken and the heat would lessen a bit with roasting, which it didn't. However, those mild bell peppers from the big orange bucket -- roasted up and mixed with a sliver here and there of the mysterious spicy peppers -- proved to be just what we needed.

Burgundy, Or ... What?

Have I been delaying this part a bit? The part where the person who selected the secret meal tastes the secret wine blind, and guesses its provenance? If so, it's only because I'm a touch embarrassed -- but what I really should be is proud. Not of myself, but of the folks we know who grew and made this wine. I'll explain.

The bright pomegranate color and the initial aroma marked the wine as Pinot Noir. It had a really pretty nose of round fruit tempered with a spicy (seriously) characteristic that drew an immediate reaction from me: It smelled like a young Burgundy. The flavors on the palate didn't change my mind -- layers of soft spice, silky -- and it worked quite well with the meatiness of the fish (which we'd pan-seared rather than grilled); the picante undertones of the peppers; the blend of capers, Meyer lemon and parsley drizzled about -- and the scrumptious slow-roasted new potatoes, which cooked in a bath of olive oil, sea salt, ground pepper and fresh thyme.

The blend of flavors in both the meal and the wine were bold, and simple. 2007 Santenay, I said.

Well, well. 2006 Laetitia Single-Vineyard Pinot Noir,
La Coupelle Vineyard, Arroyo Grande Valley, CA.

Laetitia wine two weeks in a row? And, wait, California pinot noir mistaken for Burgundy? Really?!? Grands travaux, Lino & Eric! Je vous félicite.

Regular blog-readers may remember that in 2009, we purchased the fruit for our first vintage of Grenache & Syrah from Lino Bozzano, vineyard manager for Laetitia Vineyard in Arroyo Grande and the Santa Barbara Highlands Vineyard in Cuyama. This wine, the Laetitia La Coupelle, is a first-time single-vineyard bottling and a victim of the economy -- it would be selling for $60 if we all had the money we used to have; but it now can be picked up for $35.

Another serendipitously successful (double) double-blind food and wine pairing. Now, if I can just get this residual capsaicin off my fingers...

Until next week! Comments, suggestions, thoughts always welcome.

We Shall Overcome -- Or, What to Pair With Scissor-Trimmed Dumplings

2010-01-28T21:00:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, it's barrel-sampling time, with our dear new old friend Matthew Rorick returning to the garage to join in the fun. We'll finally get to have that long-awaited dinner, where we'll re-create a pairing we originally experienced as a (double) double-blind feast.

This secret food-and-wine pairing was our best ever. It absolutely rocked me. I couldn't write about it here, though, because, along with the transcendent nature of the meal and wine together, was the absolute certainty that it needed to be shared before it could be fully explained. Who else but Matthew? Tomorrow's the night!

Visitors From the South

We did have the pleasure of welcoming my mom and dad, Chris and Larry, for a quick visit this past weekend from Florida. They'd expressed interest in joining us for a (double) double-blind food-and-wine dinner, so I put Jody on food duty (I know, I've got to start cooking again one of these days) and went to find the wine.

As far as what I wanted, I already knew; I was going to the only place in town where you can buy a mere one of Matthew's wines -- the Forlorn Hope Rare Creature Mil Amores. I've yet to taste the Wine of a Thousand Loves for myself, but really; click the link, read the description, and tell me you wouldn't wait half an hour outside a wine shop that should have been already open to buy it. Sadly, after my 30 minutes of awkward hanging-out in front of an obviously closed wine shop next to a security-guarded ATM on a Sunday morning, no one showed up to open the place, and I was forced to go to plan B.

Implementing Plan B

I had no idea what Jody was making, but I still wanted a personal connection between the wine, and the dinner, and us. I couldn't have my Mil Amores. So, while I had to settle for the grocery store selection, I still managed to pick up a bottle in which the grapes were carefully managed by Lino Bozzano, the very same vineyard manager who tended our own Grenache and Syrah vines:

2008 Laetitia Estate Pinot Noir,
Arroyo Grande Valley, CA

Our other Central Coast winery friends haven't even bottled their 2008 Pinot Noir yet (which, incidentally, we helped sort and crush in October 2008). I was surprised to see this wine already on store shelves. It mixes 10 (ten!) different Pinot Noir clones and sees 11 months of barrel time.

I got lots of cherry fruit and a hint of Vicks Vap-O-Rub initially, which wasn't quite what I was looking for. The eucalyptus thing blew off, though, and Jody called it as a 2007 (because, again, who would think the 2008s were already on the shelves...) Central Coast Pinot Noir. He enjoyed the spicy notes and found the acids to be nice and high.

The Food, Dramatically Rendered

What do you think when you hear "Chicken Soup with Dumplings?" Easy peasy? Quick little whip-up tasty munch? Here's how it went in our kitchen:

EMILY

(picks up two-page printed-out recipe on counter)

"Once the dumplings have cooled, trim any uneven edges with scissors" ... wait, this wouldn't be a Thomas Keller recipe, would it?

JODY

(deadpan)

Of course.

I'm linking to the recipe here, and using the beautiful picture from the cookbook, so you can really understand what "Chicken Soup with Dumplings" means in Kellerland.

Photo by Deborah Jones/Artisan Books - via online.wsj.com

I should also tell you that -- as Jody likes to use recipes as guidelines, not roadmaps, a la our Canadian gustatorial comrade Rémy Charest -- he substituted whole-grain mustard in the dumplings and did some other things I don't really know about -- and the soup was amazingly sublime.

And I trimmed each and every little quenelle-shaped dumpling. With scissors.

The Pairing

Once our very young wine opened up a bit, it paired quite nicely with the super-savory broth of the chicken soup. With fresh minced parsley sprinkled on top, the food and wine began to mesh like soft rain on a window screen. So many clones in the Pinot Noir; so many flavors in the soup; a parquet floor full of dancers, skirts swishing on the turn, moving in unison to the same song; out of many, one. Simple on the first perception; exceedingly complex in the execution.

(Still, though, the vague longing for what might have been.)

See you next week - let me know what you think of things!

Let the Wine Speak -- Or, Apple Inspirations

2010-01-22T17:28:00.000-08:00

Yesterday afternoon, we sent samples of the two Grenache barrels off to the lab, to run a panel on each and see where we are with malolactic fermentation, alcohol levels, pH, and other assorted numbers that will give us an overall technical picture of what's going on with the wine right now. It's helpful to have this information. Still, the taste and mouthfeel of the wine remain the key factors that will influence any and all decisions we make about what to do with it.

Blindly into Wine

This week, Jody took up the task of cooking a secret meal, and I chose the brown-bag wine. Daughter Talia, 10, accompanied me to one of our local wine shops.

"What can I help you find?" asked the proprietor.

"I'm just going to look and see what speaks to me," I answered, which was true, however amusing Mr. Wine Shop may have found it.

"I'll listen for the shouting," he zinged.

Rather than explain how the bottles actually speak in whispers, and save the shouting for later (if they are, in fact, going to shout at all), I let him enjoy his moment, and set off to find mine.

Let Me in the Sound

"This wine speaks to me," Talia said as we strolled the Spanish aisle, resting her hand on a bottle. My eyes hit the shelf-talker at the same time: Verdejo ... 75-112 year-old vines ... $14.99? I heard the whisper. I listened.

2008 Shaya 100% Verdejo Old Vines, Rueda, Spain.
13.5% alcohol.

Yes, there's an animal, but it's not a cuddly-critter label. The deer looks like an image of a hammered steel sculpture, almost three-dimensional. Very striking. The back label explains: "As the morning mist disperses across the undulating countryside, the Shaya deer emerge from the surrounding pine forest to forage."

However, according to my brief online research, Shaya deer don't actually appear to exist anywhere except for the label of this wine bottle. I even looked it up using the Spanish word for deer, venado -- nothing.

Ah well. Mysteries of life. On to the tasting notes. Extremely light in color, the wine had a wonderfully appley nose, which boded well for the secret meal. Why? Read on.

Winter Wonder-meal

As Jody tells it, his inspiration for the meal was a lone Winesap apple on the counter. He wanted something wintry, savory, and tart. This translated into (beware: menu-speak and insufferable hyphenation ahead) slow-cooked, pan-crisped pulled pork shoulder, served atop apple-balsamic-black-pepper cranberry sauce; and bitter greens sauteed with diced bacon, caramelized onion, and apple-cider vinegar.

Growing up in fine-dining restaurant kitchens gave Jody something of a flair for presentation. Oh, man, he's going to be annoyed that I just used "Jody" and "flair" in the same sentence. 

The Pairing 

The wine's green-apple nose carried through to the palate, with bracing acidity and flavors of honeydew, kiwifruit and lemon peel. A mineral streak added depth and flintiness. This wine was a pleasure to experience. It didn't shout -- it sang.

"It's almost like a Sauv Blanc, but it doesn't quite have the same characteristics," Jody mused. Then his eyes narrowed. "We're in Spain. 2008. Albariño." (So close!) 

With the meal? If you're planning on white wine with a dish like this, you can't miss with the Shaya Old Vine Verdejo. Even if those deer are imaginary. 

 The acidity of the wine enhanced the brightness of the winter flavors in the food, while tempering the richness of the heartier components. Crispy pulled pork, smoky bacon in the greens -- it handled everything admirably. We'll buy it again (and try it with a radically different dish next time, for fun).

Saddest part of the night? The empty glass. :(

See you next week for more cellar news, and the story of my parents' first visit to the (Double) Double-Blind dinner fun. Your comments are welcome!

I'd like to dedicate this week's writings to my Uncle Frank, who passed away on January 21 from ALS. I will forever remember Frank as a man who loved good food, good wine, and most of all, his family. He had a beautiful broad smile; a boisterous, fine-hearted Italian-Irish spirit; and, always, room at his table for another chair. Salute, sláinte!

As The Wine Grows (Up), and a Perfectly Nice Pairing -- Or, It's All Good

2010-01-15T20:35:00.000-08:00

We've just topped and tasted the three garage barrels, and are so pleased with the way the wines of the j.brix project are tasting right now. They are developing quite nicely, getting their feet under them a bit, shedding some gawkiness, and gaining shades of complexity from the few months they've spent in barrel.

Oh, Syrah. She's just a classic beauty.

The free-run Grenache's got absolutely no CO2 behind the bung -- it's been precocious from the start; I think it may have finished malolactic fermentation on the sly. (We'll be sending samples to the lab soon to see.)

There's a tad of CO2 behind the Grenache free-run/press blend, which tastes AMAZING.

The Syrah, which I pegged as languid from its first signals of fermentation, is still in the throes of malo (but also is tasting, honestly, awesome). I have a very special relationship with the Syrah because I climbed into it barefoot during initial fermentation ... we're familiar in more of a Biblical sense. So, trust me, 'cause I'm speaking the truth to power now: The.Syrah.Rocks.

Lately, I wake up in the night (3 a.m. Regularly. Anyone with me?) pondering blending, and whether we'll want to, and how we'll know what to do if we do. Advisers (a.k.a. winemaker friends; impromptu consultants; countrymen): get ready for the inquiries! You don't mind, do you?

The (Double) Double-Blind Pairing

The latest (Double) Double-Blind dinner occurred in a semi-happenstance way. We'd had a delightful polenta dish over the holidays, which the children adored, so since it was my turn to cook, I thought I'd do a secret kid-friendly dinner we could all enjoy, also involving polenta.

I'm sure when I'm an old lady, my kids will get together in my absence and make fun of the way I tried to sneak good-for-you foods into everything. (Oh well.) I made green polenta. Kale was involved. Quit laughing! It was delicious!

I also made organic chicken strips. As I said, I was aiming to please. What omnivore among us doesn't like chicken, dipped in melted butter, dredged in seasoned breadcrumbs and herbs and Parmigiano-Reggiano? With (previously) homemade tomato sauce on the side? (Let's be honest. You'd eat it, wouldn't you? We all did.)

Do not mess with my green-kale polenta. 'Cause I'm making it when you come over. And I'm also making you stir it. You think risotto takes a lot of stirring? Hahahaha! Polenta reqires a whisk! Harder!

The Wine

Jody bought, brown-bagged and poured; I thought it was a juicy, spicy, yummy, 2006 cool-climate California Pinot Noir, all of which was true:

Here's what the winemakers have to say about it. I love RRV Pinot, and while I'd never heard of this producer before, I enjoyed the bottle. I do think their website could use an editor. (I'm available.)

The Pairing

It was perfectly fine and tasty. No fireworks went off; no angels sang the "Hallelujah Chorus" in the heavens above. It wasn't dissonant, and it wasn't magical - but it went well, everything together, and sometimes that's just about all you really want.

Know what I mean? You don't always have to think so hard, about everything, all the time. (This is what I tell myself, anyway.)

The Children

While they weren't so much in the mood to play the guessing game about the wine this time (although Talia, 10, did think it was a California Pinot Noir), I'll leave you with this final quote from Elijah (6), which seems to prove the menu, at least, was a success: "And I am TAKIN' THIS IN MY LUNCH TOMORROW!"

As always, thanks for reading -- comments welcome!

Construction and King Crab -- Or, White Wine with Seafood?

2010-01-07T20:06:00.000-08:00

So, the uptight HOA that runs our fair neighborhood is embarking on a massive renovation of the complex. They're pressure-washing, and then painting, everything (I hear through the grapevine they're still arguing about what color to paint). Concrete's getting torn up and re-poured. They're replacing the wooden patio covers that line our front entryway, which involves a whole lot of sawing.

Yesterday, one of those saws punched through the drywall and into the garage winery above where the barrels are stored. Thankfully, it was way up high, and nowhere near our precious three barrels of wine (two of Grenache and one of Syrah; if you're new to the blog, the whole making-our-own-wine story starts here and the harvest story starts here).

As annoying as it all is, I'm glad it's happening now, and not during crush! That would have been, well, interesting. As it was, on the October day when we processed 1.5 tons of fruit out of the back of a refrigerated truck in our driveway, we were interrupted only by a couple of nosy neighbors and the letter carrier, who, upon inquiring and being informed what we were doing, left us with a wink and this advice: "Don't forget the mailman!"

See you in 2011, mailman.

Double-Double-Blind Food & Wine Pairing

Ah, the somewhat neglected double-double-blind food and wine pairing. Over the holidays, much food, and many wines, were consumed (note the intentional use of the passive -- who, me?). All of them were served without brown bags and/or the element of surprise. And while I enjoyed nearly every morsel and drop immensely (there was that one '05 St. Joseph that reeked like a muck-ready stable), it's with pleasure that I bring back our weekly pairing routine.

If you haven't read the blog before, then you don't know that each week, my husband Jody and I alternate between preparing a secret meal and selecting a secret wine. The wine's brown-bagged; the cook guesses the vintage, varietal and appellation. We then pair the food and wine -- whether or not the pairing seems obvious, or even a good idea -- and blog the results. We've uncovered some synchronous gems, as well as more unlikely partnerships that married very nicely.

This week, Jody was cooking and I was on wine duty. I decided it was time to go bold and bust out with a white that can be "difficult" to pair with food. What's the worst that could happen?

The Food

Jody happened to receive a Costco gift card as a holiday present. I don't know about you, but I can tell you that if a Costco gift card falls in J's lap, he is not coming home with a 36-pack of Charmin. He's bringing these little beauties:

Alaskan King Crab - way more fun than paper products.

But because it's simply too easy for him to steam and eat some crab legs, he combined them with shrimp, Carlsbad mussels and a bacon-infused homemade roasted-tomato broth to create this:

It's not possible for a photo to do this meal justice. Call it upscale cioppino, maybe? If a recipe existed, I'd share it.

The Wine

You'd think the worst that could happen to a white wine would be bacon-infused, red-pepper-spiked roasted tomato broth, no? No! Because, you see, I brought Condrieu. This Condrieu.

2006 Domaine Mouton Condrieu (Viognier) Côte Bonnette, Rhône Valley, France

Jody guessed it as an '07 French Roussanne. It was the color of golden straw. On the nose, honey, hazelnuts, pineapple upside-down cake, lemon pudding. On the palate, the essence of honey, with the weight of gossamer. Vibrant acidity, finely balanced.

The Pairing

With a bite of seafood -- especially crab -- the pairing was electric. If you're going to pair a white wine with a dish like this, Condrieu is a pretty good place to look. If we were pairing non-blind and red, I'd be interested in trying it with a spicy, cool-climate Zin, or maybe this.

What are some of your favorite food and wine pairings? Ever had any disastrous ones? What do you think of Condrieu, or cioppino, or this blog, for that matter? Let's chat. Leave a comment below!

Garagiste Holiday Cheer -- Or, Twinkling Cellar and Stockings On a Punchdown Tool

2009-12-31T16:03:00.000-08:00

Ah, the holiday season at our house. Dozens of family members gathered from points near and far; and nightly festivities involved copious amounts of food, wine, and music, late into the evening. As a result, our typical routine is in complete upheaval and I didn't post a thing last week. I'll try not to let it happen again. Happy New Year!

In the Garage

We've had an interesting blast of temperature extremes over the past few weeks - the usual for December in San Diego. On an 80-degree Saturday, we spent a few hours insulating the wooden garage door to better hold in the air conditioning. The insulation was well needed, as just a few days later, when the low temperature reached 38 degrees, it kept the cellar temp steady. We also decorated the barrel area with twinkly lights, because, why not?

Keeping the barrels happy with new insulation,
and some holiday cheer to boot

It was fun to host a variety of out-of-town family visitors including my parents, aunt, uncle, and cousins, who got to see the cellar and barrel-taste our wines for the first time. It also was quite satisfying to -- and we're officially laying claim to this invention, so call us, NapaStyle -- repurpose our lovingly welded punchdown tool as a stocking holder on Christmas Eve.

Hung, by the chimney, with care.

Brand New Day

The double-double-blind food & wine pairing report will return next week. (Honestly, there's been so much food and wine these past two weeks that I just may have to go on a lengthy, draconian cleanse. Nothing but raw food and alkaline water ... hmmm, no, never mind. But, the thought was fun while it lasted!)

On a note of closure, as 2009 ticks away: This year, Jody and I lived a dream in a way that hardly seemed possible when we first imagined it. Along the road, we discovered kindred spirits; special places; and confirmation that wine brings out the best in those who honestly seek to uncover its mysteries.

To all the friends of the journey (if you're reading this, that means you), one wish for 2010: May you fulfill your passion, in ways that sustain your soul.

Growing, and Olfactory, Pains -- Or, Spritz in the Barrel and S*&t in the Bottle

2009-12-18T15:42:00.000-08:00

All three garage barrels of the 2009 vintage are now going through their natural malolactic fermentations. As the malic acid in the young, fresh wine makes its way through the conversion to lactic acid, it again produces carbon dioxide, which makes the wine "spritzy:" a tad fizzy, tingly on the tongue.

It also means the color is cloudier, and the flavors are changing. Like a young teen who goes through phases of trying on different attitudes and styles -- discarding them when they don't fit anymore -- our wine is growing up, and needs to get through its awkward stage before it comes out at the end as the beauty we know it was born to be.

This is all part of a wine's life cycle. As the winemakers/parents, we step back a bit now. We give the wine its space to stretch out, to grow, and to look and taste a bit silly while it does so. We keep a close eye on things, but as long as nothing harmful's going on, we don't interfere. These are the lessons of the journey.

The Double-Double-Blind Food & Wine Pairing

Was it ever! I arrived home from work and the wine shop with wet hair and a brown-bagged bottle to the unmistakable smell of chili simmering on the stove ... Jody's dinner didn't keep its secret long. He'd prepared organic beef & three-bean chili, and sauteed the beef beforehand with onions, shallots, chili powder and cinnamon.

Here's where I'd normally put a picture of the food. But unless you have a test kitchen and a professional camera crew, photos of chili are always going to look like dog food. So you'll just have to imagine the cinnamon-infused deliciousness yourself.

The Wine

"This has a wicked nose," Jody said. (The meaning of "wicked" remained undefined.)

I smelled violets and tar; leather; wet asphalt; tobacco leaf; old saddle. On the palate, it tasted of lavender and licorice. Here was a surprisingly young wine that was about everything other than fruit.(You wine geeks are nodding your heads right about now, aren't you? You know.)

Talia, 10, took a whiff. "It smells like it smells right before it's going to rain in Florida!" (Ozone?)

Elijah, 6, stopped by and stuck his nose in the glass.

"Hey! This smells kind of like a toilet!"

All together now, fellow geeks: Chinon. (With a lil' side of Brett.)

2007 Les Pensées de Pallus / Chinon (Cabernet Franc) / Loire Valley, France

While I don't think it ruined the wine at all, based on the sensory characteristics, it's probably true that it contained some level of Brettanomyces yeast.

Brett can come from the wild, or from contaminated barrels and winery equipment. It's harmless to consume, and people's individual threshold for detection vary widely. Some enjoy its characteristics in lower levels ("sweaty saddle"), but in higher quantities it's known to impart some pretty nasty aromas. Like toilet. Or the unflushed contents thereof.

The Pairing

By the second pour, in time for dinner, the aromas of the wine seemed to have rounded out somewhat. During the meal, the spice and acid of the chili, and the smooth creaminess of the beans, softened the wine's rougher edges and made it much more pleasant. (And, for what it's worth, I didn't think it smelled like a toilet.)

It wasn't a wine you'd necessarily sit and sip without a hearty meal, but as a food wine, it was an unexpected success. Even Jody thought so. And he had told me after the first pour, and the reveal, that I could "take this chi...non back."

Until next week, friends!