Samantha Sans Dosage

Well, That Was Pretty Cool

2012-01-29T23:38:00.000-08:00

“We have how many?!” I asked, slight panic in my tone when I arrived to work the Friday of what was now a sold out White Burgundy seminar and tasting. Couldn’t believe it. Simply could not believe that we had filled every last possible seat for a Chardonnay class, a French Chardonnay class at that. Forty people, we had forty people signed up for our Understanding White Burgundy event and I found myself, as I almost always do, in the middle of a mini panic attack.

I always suffer a nervous tummy leading our classes here at The Wine Country. I’m not at all talented in the public speaking department. I get wobbly knees each time I step before a crowd and find that my already soft, albeit raspy voice does not carry above all those staring at me heads. My face goes hot and red the second I open my mouth and I find myself leaning against the tasting bar that rests upon the wall, not to look cool as I spout my bits of retained information, but so I can grip the bar and hold myself steady as I struggle with the internal conflict of wanting to share and teach and feeling like I might just hurl right then and there. The teaching always wins and I am happy to report there has been no, um, unfortunate incidents as of yet but that last Friday in January, well let’s just say it was touch and go.

So here’s the thing. I don’t do or see Burgundy as vineyards and slopes. Can’t wrap my head around which villages have what kind of sun exposure, which vineyards have east or west facing slopes, how many hectoliters per hectar, and who is using what percentage of new and used oak. I know those factoids mean something to some people, not to mention they sound damn impressive when wine people, (unlike myself) rattle them off. I get that and have honestly always felt that my lack of interest and retention of those things has marred me as less than credible, or less serious in some way. When looking at that long list of people coming, to learn from me, well I was guessing that tasting bar and I were going to be spending a lot of time fused together.

Hopped online, pulled out all my resource materials and buried myself in pages while scribbling feverishly on my notepad. Was up to my elbows in notes when it came time to pop the corks and check my beloved wines for correctness and make sure I had them in an order that would best demonstrate their uniqueness. My was heart pounding away in my chest, panic attacking my shoulders and making me stand a little less tall, my wrist twisting away as I pulled expelled corks off my trusty wine opener. All thirty wines opened and ready and I grabbed my glass. Buried my nose in the first wine and as the sultry, doughy, damn near salty aromas clung to the side of the glass and slowly wiggled past the lip to my waiting nostrils, my eyes closed in that way they do when sheer pleasure grips you, “Ah, Azo Vau de Vey Chablis” the aroma so familiar to me that simply smelling that wine made my shoulders soften and feel like they were being massaged.

The room began to fill with the evening’s attendees and by the time I had finished tasting the last wine I too was in attendance. Standing just a little taller, as confident as I have ever been standing before that many people. I began my wee lecture by reaching for one of my uber thick and packed-with-factoid books and spread its pages before the waiting crowd. The stark white pages full of tiny text and more information than any sane person could ever possibly retain, “This is one way to see Burgundy” I belted at my highest octave, fingers flipping the pages slowly, one white and tiny text page after the next. Then I reached for another book, one I have always felt retained just as much information but in a very different way. As I spread the gorgeous picture book of Burgundy before the crowd, the photos of vineyard workers, winemakers, families cooking and eating, drinking and celebrating, the faces behind the slopes and soil types, the people that create the wines we were about to taste looking back at the crowd, “This, this is another way. This is how I see Burgundy.”

My point was made, the whole crowd went beyond “Understanding Burgundy” they understood that wine is so much more than something to acquire, read about, hoard or covet. Each bottle has a history, a family, a face and has been made for you to enjoy. My hands never touched that tasting bar again as I flitted about the room pouring, talking, sharing each wine and the people behind them. One of the best classes I’ve ever had the pleasure to teach. Sure, some of it was digging into my own confidence but the real star, the wines.

2009 Herve Azo 1er Cru Chablis Vau de Vey $27.99

Azo has had placement here at The Wine Country for as long as I can remember. The wines always offer traditional Chablis flavor and texture and at prices that make a weekly indulgence possible. Classic Chablis aromas; stony, doughy, citrus, cold wet stones and toasted nut skins. Plump in the mouth with a finish that goes on forever. Heart stopper and bring on the oysters.

2009 Les Heritiers de Comte Lafon Macon-Chardonnay Clos de la Crochette $33.99

Brought to you by famed Chardonnay producer Dominique Lafon this wine is a screaming deal when you think about the fact that his wines from the Cote d’Or start at around $100 and fetch upwards of $1,000.00, a bottle! We poured this wine alongside the Azo Chablis just to show that Burgundy isn’t a style of wine but a product of its environment, soil and weather. This sumptuous Chardonnay is positively popping with ripe pears, toast, minerals and a sexy cut of caramel. From one of, if not the, oldest sites to produce Chardonnay, this is a wine that might even woo the domestic wine lover. Nice richness and has enough body to hold up to anything from steaky white fish to heavily seasoned chicken dishes. I dig it on it’s own but if you need food, think fuller and richer.

2009 Jean Chartron Rully $21.99

What a freaking rock star of a wine! Was the most purchased wine of the night and one sniff, taste, you will get why. Deep, really deep for a wine of this price point, fiercely nutty and almost greedy in its demand for your attention. So rich and toasty but still retaining that snap, that zip and bite of citrus that makes White Burgundy what it is. Quite complex and I recommend you buy at least two, one won’t be nearly enough. Trust me.

2010 Evening Land Pouilly Fuisse $26.99

Okay, this poor wine might have gotten lost in the lustiness of the more heady tasting and earthy whites in its flight. Whatever. I dig the purity of fruit here. Stark and exuberant, busting at the seams with ripe, cooked pears, almost as if they were simmering in a thick syrupy sauce. You get a big aroma of green herby notes in the middle but the finish is everything you want in a Pouilly Fuisse, soft caramel and sweet cream. Luscious.

2009 Chateau de Puligny-Montrachet Meursault $49.99

My wine of the night. The second I took a tiny indulgent sniff of this wine I knew what wine I would be revisiting once the chairs were all put away and the dishwasher was chugging away. Etienne De Montille has nailed it here, his generous but deft hand with oak adding just enough sexy seasoning to lift this alluring fruit to mind bending levels. Nearly thick in the mouth, staining, with a little nibble of acid that snaps you right back to reality and dares you to not take another sip. The finish is a river of sliced, dripping pears and toasted hazelnuts on a cup of citrus rind. We sold out of this wine but the second I got home I sent off and email begging for more. I need more and once you taste it, you will too.

2009 Deux Montille Saint-Aubin 1er Cru Cru Sur Gamay $41.99

Made by the other face of Montille, Alix, Etienne’s sister, who I can tell you is one firecracker of a woman but is steeped in the tradition of her family and the importance of place. A wine that vibrates in the mouth, seems to bounce from tongue to gums and back again. Alive and while weighty has the fluidity to spread, grow and expand across the palate with buttered toast, marmalade and savory toasted, oily hazelnuts. Shows plenty now but I ache to taste this wine after 3-5 years in the cellar.

Deadline Blues....

2012-01-29T15:29:00.000-08:00

Writers Block
Deadline
Not enough time to do all that I need to get done
Touch and talk with the people that want and need me
Wanting to be touched and needing back
Tired
Burnt out
Guilty feeling deep in the pit of my stomach
Unable to keep an idea in my head long enough to flesh it out
Daydreaming about having my own flesh...outed
Bit of helplessness
Bunch of frustration...
But,

This picture made me smile
And realize that sometimes, it really is that simple.
Just hoping you all send me your collective good ju-ju
Kisses
Until....
Me

My Sweat Pea Versus Your Meat

2012-01-24T10:12:00.000-08:00

“Sam! Be careful. Steps were designed to be taken one at a time; you freak me out when you do that!”

My mother watching me as I my small hands gripped the handrails on both sides of the narrow staircase that aligned the coliseum-like cement stepped seating at the Marina Pacifica center. She’d brought me there for cookies, or under the pretense of getting me a cookie. She was there for a cookie…both an actual one along with the blast of sugar like rush she got from hob-nobbing with the people she wished she was. I’d get a lemonade, fresh squeezed and face-puckering, my young tongue and lips lapping away at the sour, savory juice that would forever be my favorite. I’d drink my pucker juice and cringe through half a head sized chocolate chip cookie, (thus giving her one and a half to devour) while I watched her try so desperately try to fit in.

I never really cared for sweets, even then but I played along as she excitedly told me we were headed to the then beautiful marina setting with its swank shops full of things we couldn’t afford. My little hands wrapping around the rails, my tennis-shoed feet leaving the ground as I swung, and would leap three or four steps at a time. Each time I landed I would first put my hands out in front of me, just making sure I had my footing, before looking at Mom and giving her the grin that let her know I was fine. Her shake of the head and eyes retreating back to her bent and creased novel, fingers pushing past the butter soaked paper to snap off another piece of peace giving cookie releasing me to swing and leap again.

I used to save the big steps, the ones that weren’t even really steps at all, but were the romantic and somewhat grandiose coliseum-like seats that I’m sure, were dreamed up by some local architect that must have smoked lots of pot and ached for a live music venue that didn’t involve driving. I saved those for when I knew she wasn’t looking. I could go up those treacherous seats; my knees chin-high and calves pulling as I braved my personal Everest. Climbing the seats like some wild monkey as the Long Beach well-to-do bustled by, bags in hand and trying fruitlessly to pretend that they were in Beverly Hills. My chest pulling, hair being lifted with the rush of air as I gained some speed. I would make it to the peak, better known as the parking level, and I would dash over to the “regular” staircase to begin my assent. Gripping hands, swinging feet.

I did stairs wrong. Been known to do lots of things wrong but for some reason those stairs always flash in my mind when I’m being told I’m doing something incorrectly. Wrong?! Maybe not traditional or the way others do, or have been doing it, but wrong? Well I beg to differ, and once arena where I will most assuredly grab those rails or take those calve stretching steps is when it comes to food and wine pairing. Not content, or convinced for that matter, that the old ideas of pairing are all that relevant anymore. Sure the guidelines are great; white wine with white fish or chicken, but what if that delicate white flesh has been cooked in a deep tomato broth with smoked paprika, Spanish sausage and saffron? Red wine with “meat”, (this one has always bugged me. What kind of meat?! Veal, spare ribs, pork cutlet?!) okay that’s fine I guess but you still think that Zinfandel is going to go with barbeque if it is of the vinegar and mustard variety? Or Italian red wine with, “Pasta”, this one sets me aflame quite a bit. Pasta is a noodle jackass, and unless you’re fixing to eat a plate of dry noodles saying anything goes with pasta just makes you look and sound like a bleating sheep. Those kind of blanket, and let’s not forget, hollow, statements drive me absolutely batshit. Crusty. Crusty old ideas that don’t take into account the fact that food and cooking have changed in the last, I don’t know, hundred years.

“I think Syrah would go. Maybe a Cal-Ital or Chateauneuf” suggestion from a coworker, the one I happen to butt heads with on the whole pairing issue, like a lot. I was making dinner from leftovers, roasted tri-tip and a sweet pea and cilantro puree, so I asked my fellow wine geeks what they would serve. The answers were all over but this one person was just set on a big, juicy red to accompany the dish and I simply could not wrap my head around it. I went on to explain that the puree was on the aggressive side and would likely be the dominate flavor on the plate seeing as my tri-tip is simply seasoned with salt and pepper before it takes a quick sear in my cast iron before being slowly roasted in the oven. It’s not smoked or grilled so the flavor is quite subtle, and much like the aforementioned fish, the protein was providing more texture than actual flavor. I finished my little explanation only to be met with him looking at me, while holding his hands in front of him as if he were holding a football and he said, “But tri-tip, that’s big meat, I think you need a big red” dude. It’s not the size of the meat but what you do with it.

I ended up grabbing a Rose from Provence to go with the dish and nabbed a bottle of Manzanilla to sip on while I was cooking. Was doing my little kitchen dance while assembling; toast the tortillas on the open flame, take a sip of Sherry. Flip now charred tortilla into dry frying pan, sprinkle with Jack cheese, sip of Sherry, add thin slices of tri-tip and red onion, sip of Sherry, smear with pea puree, top with a bit more cheese and a second charred tortilla. Quesadilla built, might as well take a sip of Sherry. Once removed from the pan and given enough time of the cheese to cool just a little, I began cutting the quesadilla in quarters, slicing off a little sliver of one to see what I thought of this leftover creation. Wow. Kind of brilliant use of what we had on hand, I was feeling mighty proud of myself as I stacked the wedges on a plate and…took a sip of Sherry. What happened when that salty, nutty wine met with the cilantro and sweet pea flavors was down-right otherworldly. I took another sip, you know, just to make sure I wasn’t high…had sipped on a bit of wine while cooking but, nope, there it was again, this fucking mind bending combination of things happening in my mouth, the kind of perfect pairing that should be written about and could change the mind of those that aren’t inclined to think there’s much to this whole pairing wine with food business. It was in fact one of the most explosive and sublime pairings I’ve ever had the pleasure to put in my mouth and had I stuck with the conventional wisdom, red meat/red wine, I would not have ever experienced.

I think it’s time for more of us wine and food people to grip those handrails, let our feet swing out from under us and take a few more leaps….

Dessert I Can Get Behind. Weekly Cheese & Wine Feature

2012-01-21T01:03:00.000-08:00

Featured Wine:

Domaine La Tour Vieille 2009 Banyuls Roussillon, France

This French dessert classic has been our go-to wine when asked for something to serve with chocolate. This gorgeous semi-sweet red comes from Banyuls, a region in France’s Mediterranean just north of the Spanish border where the old vines, (in this case over forty-five years old) cling to terraced slopes so steep that all harvesting must be done by hand. Very much like port in that it is a fortified wine, but here you find a bit more restraint on the sweetness scale. Full and round in the mouth, lots of dark cooked berry fruit with a gentle hint of cocoa and plenty of refreshing acidity which keeps it from coming off too sweet.

Featured Cheese:

Clawson Huntsman

This is a layered cheese from England that most assuredly offers two great tastes that are great together. The base is a Double Gloucester, a cow’s milk cheese that most closely resembles Cheddar, with a thick slab of Stilton, England’s most renowned blue cheese, in the middle. Not only very cool looking, this cheese is powerful and full from the blue veining, but softened out by the creaminess of the much milder Gloucester. Tremendously flavorful cheese to just nibble on and absolutely brilliant on cheeseburgers or thinly sliced and left to melt on a freshly grilled steak.

Pairing:

Not being much of a sweet eater I’m always looking for an interesting, delicious and satisfying way to end a meal and have found that a nice chunk of cheese, served with a slightly sweet wine ends up being just enough without pushing anyone over into over-indulgence. Some might raise an eyebrow at the idea of calling Banyuls slightly sweet but when I was putting this pairing together I was also handed a glass of Paso Robles Zinfandel to evaluate and I shit you not, that Zin was far sweeter and Port-like than this "dessert" wine is. Not to mention the Banyuls had way more acidity which made it more balanced and hell, the alcohols were almost the same! So yeah, if people have the nerve to call that a table wine then I'm going to be okay with calling this semi-sweet.

This pairing is as much about texture as it is about flavor harmony. The coming together of rather big flavors; the dried berries in the wine and the sharpness of the blue cheese all seem to get cradled, softened and mellowed into the most sublime rich, almost sauce-like texture in the mouth. Achingly addictive, this pairing and after sampling a few staff members on the two, watching the wedge of cheese get hacked away at as they went back for, "just one more to make sure we love it" tastes and glasses were not only drained but refilled...I can safely say this is a crowd pleaser too.

Once Is Never Enough

2012-01-19T01:41:00.000-08:00

Do that to me one more time….

Been in the worst rut as of late. A rut in part because that’s just what happens when we get older; long work days, less stamina, less drive, a little less prickle at the nape of your spine to see what’s happening outside. In part as a recovery from the holiday season; the crazy hours, the anxiety, the stress, the running of numbers and receipts in your head and hoping against hope that the season will be all that you expected, planned for, needed. In part getting ready for my baby to be home; the planning visits, meals, gathering of stuff for him to take home with him. Customers, family, tastings, reps, shopping carts, razor cuts, sore back…the “oufff” as I landed on the couch at the end of each day….the, “Oh goddam it” upon waking at 4:00 AM in the same spot.

Getting through. The season is all about just getting through, and while I have always been down with that, I also suffer this post season hangover. The pressing need of others no longer propping up my tired frame and I’m left feeling like a bag of skin, all the air let out. Jeremy’s leaving just one more whistling hole of absolute deflation. I find myself flipping through books, magazines, scanning blogs, websites and importer pamphlets seeking that spark, that little scrape of teeth that will make me dig my own into my bottom lip and seek more. My ache to rediscover the me that lives, slithers and thrives without my strings, direction, emotion, being pulled by the puppet like yanking of obligatory and maternal need. I find myself digging deep beneath the tattered and season ravaged uniforms, frayed jeans, sweat soaked bras, tears of goodbye stained pillows. I know there is a woman under all of that. A woman that has way more lusting, wonder, elation, gasping, groaning, learning, puddling and purring to do.

Do that to me one more time…

Now

I’m done splashing around in those post crazy day gin and tonics. I’m done finding comfort and peace in their simplicity and not needing of my attention. Sure that relationship worked when I was merely seeking a way to quiet the hush and melt into my couch cushions but now, now that my wee brain is settled from the dizzying swirl of ribbons, tissue paper and UPS overnight rates, now I need more. Need to feel that nibble, wet mouth, garbled accent tiptoe up my neck and crash like waves across my shoulders….fingers scratch my scalp as you grab my head and demand that I notice…pay attention to You.

Once is never enough…

Bottle after bottle, your footprint across my skin

My lips parted

Heart pounding

Eyes watching each achingly too slow pour

I can’t get enough

Stripping off last year

Layer by layer

I’m ready for you….

Now

From The Department Of Douche

2012-01-18T14:54:00.000-08:00

“Yes sir, how can I help you?” me welcoming a somewhat grumpy faced customer holding a brown paper sack at the counter. “I would like to return some items” the snippy reply. This is rarely and issue but when it is, it is. We tend to look at wine as if it were a food item so once it leaves our shop we cannot determine how it’s been stored or cared for, therefore we cannot, in good conscience resell that item. Not to mention it is not really our fault that you bought too much wine or didn’t like something you picked. If the wine is flawed we have no problems whatsoever giving you an exchange, those things happen and we don’t even think twice about making it right, (plus we go right back to where we got it and have it made right for us too) but over purchases, well that’s not really our problem so we don’t accept returns for that.

As the scrunched face gentleman, whom I can’t say I’ve ever seen before, begins pulling tissue paper wrapped bottles from his bag I explain our store policy to which I get the, “Oh no you di-int’!” face and a very exaggerated flipping about of the receipts in his hand. This goes on for a few seconds before I hear, “Oh don’t mind me. I’m just trying to see where on your receipt it says that” to which I respond, “You know, that’s a very good point, we should have that on the receipt and I will talk to the owners about that” now the “gentleman” is really looking pissy at me and says, “Yes, why don’t you run off and talk to them about that now. It doesn’t say that anywhere on here does it?” receipt being waved in my getting-redder-and-pissy-my-own-self face. I’m doing my best to smooth things over, not piss this cat off any further, take his rather shitty condescension but still tow the company line, that’s when I look down at the 7 items he brought in for return just as this slips past his sneered lips…

“I’m a regular customer here! I come in once a year and buy 6 bottles of Moscato for gifts!”

On the counter:

Two bottles of Capetta Moscato di’Asti ($8.89 each)

Five Christmas wine bottle bags…in fucking January….

Gave the guy is thirty-eight dollars back, with a big grin and another explanation of our store policy. Just wasn’t worth it and last thing we ever want is to piss off a “regular” customer but….fuck, how about coming in not looking for a fight and not treating people like they are trying to screw you over?! You bought too many bottles and are now returning holiday themed items long past when we have any chance to sell them at anything but 50% off, if anyone is getting hosed here it’s us. Had the guy come in, explained that he over bought, the gift recipients didn’t drink, or even simply said that he could really use that $38.00 in a civil tone instead of walking in with a chip on his shoulder things would have been far more pleasant…for both of us and I wouldn’t be sitting here on my lunch break feeling the need to get that jackass’s garbage off MY chest.

You catch more flies with honey…

Wanker.

Happy Accidents. Cheese & Wine

2012-01-14T08:36:00.000-08:00

Featured Wine:

2008 Heitz Cellars Napa Valley Grignolino $14.99

This easy slurping red from one of the Napa Valley’s most prestigious of wineries has been one of my favorites for years now. I admittedly have an old world leaning palate, which is to say I prefer lighter wines with bright acidity and very little discernible oak flavors. This utterly delicious Napa Valley red seems to hit my happy spot time and time again. Grignolino, (pronounced green-o-lean-o), is referred to as the “little strawberry” in its native Italy and is exactly the kind of wine that begs for salty little nubbins’ to pick at while you drink it. A picnic red if you will and I for one have served it with everything from cold cured meats to fried chicken. Very pale red in the glass, just this side of looking like a Rose, the body and texture are probably closest to Pinot Noir but make no mistake, this wine is its own sassy little thing. Amazingly floral with hints of spice, like cracked pepper spice, along with some tart strawberry and citrus zest. Bright, exuberant and loaded with snap on the finish.

Featured Cheese:

Fiscalini San Joaquin Gold

This fruity and massively flavorful cheese came to be much like some of the greatest things in life……. and my marriages, by accident. Fiscalini Cheese Company, known for their incredible Bandage Cheddar, was looking to add a Fontina to their portfolio of cheeses and in their trial and error process they came up with this. Named after its birthplace in our very own San Joaquin Valley this delightful “accident” of a cheese crosses that line between a great sharp Cheddar and Parmesan, both in flavor and in texture. Packed with fruity, nutty flavors and laced with a bunch of those crunchy little crystals that taste a bit like butterscotch and the finish….goes on forever. This is a perfect cheese for a fruit plate, grating, shaved on salads or chunked up served alongside a bowl of roasted mixed nuts and a glass of wine that begs for salty nubbins’.

The Pairing:

This pairing, like the Fiscalini San Joaquin Gold, was something of an accident. I’d previously picked a gorgeous domestic triple crème and paired it with one of our bestselling, and in my opinion, prettiest…in that delicate way, domestic Pinot Noirs. I’d tasted the two together and was kind of madly in love with what happened to both things landed on my palate. I wrote my notes and on a whim double checked with my cheese supplier to make sure the cheese was in fact coming in….never done that before, must have had a hunch. The cheese was out of stock. Dammit!

Ditched my notes on the cheese, (a smart person would have saved them for when the cheese does in fact come in. I’m not a smart person) picked another and waited for my Thursday delivery. Hacked into the Fiscalini as soon as it came in, (exaggeration, I waited for it to warm up a little) and tasted it with the Pinot I wanted to feature. Not a bad combination in any sense, but neither the wine nor the cheese were heightened by the other which is fine, just not good enough. Loaded up a small plate with shaved bits of San Joaquin Gold and marched around the shop looking at bottles, taxing my memory and letting the thin shards of cheese melt across my palate. I was set on picking a domestic wine and the problem can, and has been, that with a cheese like this, that intense and firm…salty and nutty thing, when combined with a good clip of oak this fierce metallic thing happens. Not everyone is as sensitive to that as I am but when I get it, talk about your ugly scrunched face! It wasn’t until I ended up in our sparse Cal-Ital section that I lit up, “Fuck yeah, Grignolino!”

Popped the cork, splashed the wine in my glass, flipped another shaving of cheese on my tongue and took a sip. That humble wine simply exploded with bright, zingy fruit. Wild strawberries and black pepper wrapped around that somewhat aggressive cheese and both things not only tasted good, they tasted far better.

A happy ending.

Love it when that shit happens.

Radio Days

2012-01-11T08:10:00.000-08:00

“If this is a true story I am going to lose my shit” me looking at my son towards the end of watching the movie Radio with Cuba Gooding Jr., where he plays a mentally handicapped sports fan that ends up getting basically adopted by the football team he worshiped, then becoming a mascot…and inspiration for the whole damn town or whatever. Well of course the movie was based on a true story and as promised, I lost my shit. Bawled like a baby while my sweet son shook his head and laughed at me. Such a sucker for that kind of story, shit if I even hear the theme song for The Blind Side I get choked up. I can rant, argue, take fierce bites of anyone that tries to hurt or insult me but, honestly I’m basically a squish.

I woke the morning of December first, head pounding and eyes bloody red, after staying up until some ungodly time in the morning writing about my brother, http://sansdosage.blogspot.com/2011/12/slow-build.html our relationship and his current health. I’d slept maybe two and a half hours and not only did I look like ass, I felt it. Trudged through my morning, very thankful that the chores of “wake up, get coffee, read email, shower and go” were so engrained that I didn’t even need to use the four brain cells that were firing that morning. Shuffle, grunt, rub face and repeat as I scrolled through my emails and messages on Facebook. I was toying with reading my own post, something I almost never do when I write those somewhat exposed pieces. When I am writing one of those I just sit down, open my heart and talk to all of you as if you were right here in my living room and just as you can’t go back, or rewind a conversation, I don’t scroll back and read what it is I’ve written. Explains a lot I’m sure. So yeah, I’m sitting there swollen faced and second guessing myself when I happen to click on the bubble thingie that tells me I have a private message on Facebook. A very sweet message from a dear friend and writer I just so happen to admire the hell out of, telling me that the piece I wrote moved him, that he was thinking of me and that he wanted me to do something…something that I was unsure I had the courage to do. I followed the link he’d sent me and sat there, heart pounding in my chest thinking, “Dude, there’s no way”

The first couple of years after I started this blog I had this idea that no one would take me or my writing seriously unless I won one of those Wine Blog Awards. Like I would somehow be more relevant or respected I guess, if I could place one on those badges in the corner of my blog. Then, then people would know that I am like a serious player in the world of wine blogging and junk. Lofty right? To be a serious player in what is essentially a free for all….a girl has to dream right? The first year I was nominated I wanted to win so badly it quite honestly made my skin twitchy. I would check the website all the time to see when the finalists were announced, felt a massive kick in the gut when I didn’t make it. Took it as a sign that what I feared was true, that I was just some yammering hack that really didn’t fit in. Now as the years, posts and friendships have piled on this here blog, I long ago gave up on trying to win anything or see my number of hits, comments and accolade as any real indicator as to my relevance or writing ability. I’m profoundly moved, and honored that anyone takes the time to be here with me…matter of fact, those words are far too small to truly articulate what it means to me. At some point the drive that made me write was no longer about what I might get out of it, it was about having those non-rewinding conversations with the people that let me do this thing, this thing I seem to crave and adore, I get to write. Last year I didn’t even know I’d been nominated for a Wine Blog Award and didn’t hear the outcome until days after the whole thing was over. I think losing a finalist spot to Chronic Negress the year before might have put a nail in that coffin. I mean, if that was what people wanted in their wine blog, well right on, but I was no longer interested in being part of it. Might sound bitter but I assure you, it’s anything but. Giant relief actually. I don’t want to modify what or how I write in order to fit into some model that I don’t even find interesting enough to read. Some people get or like what it is I do here, others don’t and I’m more than okay with that.

“Oh, and the deadline is today” those words looping in my head when at 4:30, just a half hour before our final mail pick up, I was licking the flap of a giant envelope and buying stamps from The Wine Country’s stash. As I marched out to the mailbox on the curb outside our store, thick envelope clutched in my hand, a friend’s kind and supportive words like fingers in my back, pushing me each step and shrouding me from feeling afraid or anxious, I began chuckling at the very idea of what I was doing. I dumped the package in the mailbox with a thud and marched back to the store feeling really fucking accomplished. I did it. I’d applied for a fellowship to this year’s Professional Wine Writers Symposium. Knew there wasn’t a chance in hell but the fact that someone asked me to, believed that I should and that I had the sack to put myself in the line of, “I’m sorry but” fire for something that I feel as deeply as the writing I do here? Felt pretty goddamn amazing.

Woke last Tuesday morning to yet another one of my son’s late night reveling buddies crashed on my couch but was touched to find that my dear son, knowing that I’m a fairly early riser, had moved my laptop and cigarettes to the dining room table. I quietly moved about the kitchen, getting my coffee and settled in for the morning routine. Seeing as I was off, (well aside from inventory later that evening) I found myself there hours later. Scanning, picking at the breakfast burrito my son had picked up after depositing his buddy back to the bar parking lot where he was storing his car for the night, the three-way banter of my family in full swing when I saw that I had a new email. Opened my mail to see a subject line, “Fellowship winners” my rejection letter had arrived. No kicks in the gut and no anxiety as I clicked the email to open it. The hard part, for me anyway, was over. Getting past years of debilitating insecurity, my own issues with aching to fit or belong, the finding of a voice and not being afraid to use it. Those things, those things have been my award and no matter the wins and losses, they are mine…always.

“You have been awarded a fellowship to this year’s Professional Wine Writers Symposium. Your writing was the most envelope pushing of the bunch-the judges liked it”

I still cannot believe it….

So, looks like I’ll be heading to Napa Valley next month. There as a guest of Stag’s Leap Winery and the judges that saw something here, in me, and voted to have me there. Every time I write or say that the smile that spreads across my face and the pride that fills my chest are nearly enough to overtake me. Unreal. Never in my life would I have thought I would be here. With a family that adores me, friends that support and love me beyond measure, selling wine, traveling to Europe, the dinners, the laughter, the Champagne and this…simply unreal.

Radio, I feel ya dude.

Beaujolais, Now What? (Written For The Wine Country Newsletter)

2012-01-10T07:54:00.000-08:00

As a store that pays little to no attention to most wine press, favoring instead to taste wines, support the wineries that have proven themselves year in and year out, and we would no sooner slap stupid scores on our wines than we would stack crappy wines because we got a good price on them. We taste everything before it comes in and don’t rely on the press, or suppliers for that matter, to make decisions for our shop or the customers that do their wine buying with us. That being said, we do have to take pause and give the press a little credit, (it’s like due and junk) for reminding people about the uber-friendly and utter deliciousness of one of the world’s most easy drinking and food appropriate wines, those from the region of Beaujolais.

The wine press had a fierce love affair with the 2009 vintage throughout all of France and even gave a tip of their hat to an oft overlooked and almost never written about region that we have been championing for years. We’ve been waxing rhapsodic about how the Gamay based wines from Beaujolais are not only juicy and delicious but so gentle and refreshing that they are some of the most versatile and food appropriate wines on the planet. We were often met with hesitation when we recommend Beaujolais, people remembering the thin and tangy, almost vinegar like Nouveau version, scrunching up their mugs and thinking the wines not worthy or serious enough for their meals. I get that and to be perfectly honest, I think Nouveau Beaujolais is absolute crap, brilliant marketing and all but I can’t stand the wines personally, now village level or Cru Beaujolais, that’s a whole other creature. But still people were a touch hesitant, seeing Beaujolais mentioned in the shiny rags, due to an unusually ripe and full vintage, it either reminded people about those wines or inspired folks to give them a taste. The press about the 09s sent people out into the market looking to get their hands on those wines, and I would be lying if there wasn’t a little, “Um, duh” feeling for those of us that have been fans and preaching about Beaujolais and its place at the table for years, still it was nice to see the racks decimated, the online orders pile up and even better, the people coming back over and over again for more. The press may have sent them there but it was the wines that brought the consumers back.

So there, I said something nice about the wine press, but I have to wonder, now that the 2009s are pretty much slurped away are people going to go back to dismissing or ignoring Beaujolais? I simply can’t imagine that they could. Even more than that, can’t see a reason why they would. The 2009s were tasty enough; a little riper and fuller, maybe a touch less snap of brightness on the finish. Still wonderful and easy to drink but the 2010s are, to me anyway, even more exciting and definitely more interesting. Still there is all that vibrant and racy fruit but the 2010s also offer more complexity, more minerals and tons of mouthwatering zip on the finish. We can only hope, for everyone’s wine drinking pleasure, that the wine press might have inspired their interest in revisiting Beaujolais but it will be those crave-inducing wines that ignite a fire and appreciation for gentle slurpable, Gamay….give credit where credit is due. I have faith that the majority, of our customers anyway, won’t be led around by their, um numbers, and will continue to do as they have the past few weeks, walk directly to the Beaujolais rack, grab a few bottles and march right to the register with them.

Tasted through a bunch of 2010 Beaujolais over the past couple months, the wines are glorious and I’m thrilled to have so many grin inducing wines to offer.

2010 Domaine Dupeuble Beaujolais $13.99

Randy fell so in love with the 2009 version of this wine that he took a leap of faith and made it a Wine of the Month and I give him more credit than the wine press for getting our customers to take another look at Beaujolais. People would toss a couple bottles in their basket while shopping for other wines but once they tasted the Dupeuble they were walking back through our front door and hauling it out by the case loads! I tasted the 2010 and noticed just a hint more spice mixed in with the juicy fruit and shade more lift on the back. I brought the wine in without much fanfare, just stuck it on the shelf, two days later it was gone! This value wine is still just that, a wicked value.

2010 Dominique Piron Brouilly $16.99

The wines from this estate have been on our shelves far longer than I have been the French wine buyer. Each vintage simply lovely and all that we want in Beaujolais. This Brouilly has a beautiful dark color, lip-smacking dark red fruit, a refreshing blast of minerals mid-palate and the finish is ultra-clean. Think pork, grilled chicken and smoky flavored dishes.

2010 Domaine Diochon Moulin-a-Vent $21.99

This is my go-to Beaujolais when people want just a little more grip or tannin in their Beaujolais. Still lively as hell, brimming with nervy fruit but there is a bit of tannic bite on the end which makes it perfect for foods with a little extra fattiness that need something to help balance it.

2010 Chateau Thivan Cote de Brouilly $22.99

It was while at this estate that I finally truly understood just how food friendly the Gamay from Beaujolais can be. The lady of the house, Evelyne Geoffray, a brilliant cook, had prepared quite a feast for our visit. Everything from buttery puffed pastry studded with leaks and herbs to house made pates and there was not one thing on the table that was not enhanced by the estates utterly drinkable wines. Cooked red fruit leaps from the glass followed by a perfect amount of minerals that almost reminds me of fresh cracked pepper. The flavors mirror the aromas and the finish is super clean.

2010 Domaine Chignard Fleurie Les Moriers $22.99

I love this wine for its mix of tart red fruit and flowering rose petals! Achingly pretty aromas, mouth-filling and vibrant fruit, no perceptible oak, just pure, delicious, floral and fruit Gamay with a linger that is gentle and refreshing. Can’t think of much, other than dessert that this wine wouldn’t be absolutely wonderful with.

Favorite?

2012-01-07T08:48:00.000-08:00

“It’s a tossup. Can’t decide between chicken soup or Ecco’s Pizza”

Jeremy’s answer to the, “So, what would you like for dinner your last night at home? I can make whatever you like, or we can go out” via text message as I was closing out my day at work yesterday. I tossed my backpack and a bottle of Menetou-Salon in the front seat of my car, checked my phone to see if a decision had been reached, the empty envelope thing telling me that this was a tough one for the kiddo, shrugged and headed home.

Chatted myself up on the thirty minute drive from the shop to my home. Reminded myself how very proud I am of my son having the courage to be on his own. How excited he must be to be looking down the barrel of a brand new adventure; moving to a new city, trying to get into Grad school, moving even further from home. All things, that no matter how strong and courageous people like to say I am…not sure I would do. I let my pride keep my tears at bay, flipped the station if any song had the remote possibility of making me too emotional or feel too sad. I had promised myself that I would not give in to the night before the baby leaves blues this time. Dammit.

Walked in the house to see the kid futzing with the new phone Carl bought him that afternoon, (see I cook and cry….dad buys electronics) then looked to the kitchen to see if there was soup fixins awaiting me. “I went with Ecco’s” Jeremy grinned and went back to playing with his new gadget. I was a little surprised seeing as I drive past his beloved pizza joint every day on my way home, I had thought they would just have me swing by and pick it up but no, neither he nor Carl wanted to add any more time to my drive. They let me drive home and Carl bounced off to pick up Jeremy’s Ecco’s Special. Thus leaving me….alone, with the kid on the eve of his leaving. “Keep your shit together Sam” my mantra playing in a loop as I settled down beside my handsome, phone futzing son.

Basketball a welcome distraction, the cool gin & tonic I had poured myself a liquid partner in courage and I leap into some idle banter with the baby. We talked about his plans for the rest of the evening, what he did that day, when he was scheduled to be back at work and a little about his upcoming move in May. Easy, kept it light and easy…I could do this. Gin in my belly causing me to settle my guard, cheering and whistles coming from the huge flashing box keeping the thoughts of feeling sad far, far away. It felt just like any other night, not the last night, that was until Jeremy, who like myself is not a terribly cuddly creature, moved the remote control from the cushion between us on the couch, swung his long legs to the side and rested his head in my lap. Felt the knot forming in my throat but fought the urge to scoop him up…like I could anyway, or smother him with the years of kisses I’d been storing away, holding on to, just in case he needed them. Instead I took a sip of my drink, gently rubbed his man sized arms and let my nails run across the hairline I had kissed a million times. I could feel his shoulders melt and puddle against my leg and in the sweetest tone Jeremy whispered, “You’re my favorite” the knot nearly choking the air from my throat, my heart ripping a little but so determined not to wreck this moment or hurt his heart in any way, I stroked that hairline again and whispered “Oh baby, you’re my favorite too” No more words needed. We sat like that for a few more minutes, silent but knowing.

Jeremy and I found ourselves alone on the couch once again, this time it was nearly 1:00 AM, both of us with heavy eyes but not wanting to go to bed just yet, just sitting beside our favorite, no words, just knowing. I knew I was seconds from losing it, I stood and gave my customary, “Alright the baby. I’m going to bed” just didn’t want to ruin anything, make this harder for him, by seeing me cry. He seemed to grow as he stood from the couch, the same couch where just hours before he was my tiny little man again, resting his head on my lap. Now he was tall, grown and the handsome young man that I was going to have to say goodbye to in the morning. That knot, yeah it was back. We leaned in for our goodnight hug, one kiss on each cheek and a kiss on my forehead…always, this has always been my greeting and my goodbye with Jeremy, our arms wrapped extra tight around each other, my head resting upon his shoulder, this time it was me melting and my son scooping me up.

I managed to make it to my room before the tears just broke lose. Not sobbing, not hurt, not even sad really…not sure how to describe it, it just is. Sure it hurts, just in the way that I fear letting Jeremy see my tears might make him think. Happy for him. Excited for him. So very proud of him. Lonely for him. Scared for him. Nervous for him. Spent the better part of my life feeling all those things and on the eve of his leaving, nuzzled into my bed, the tears landing upon my pillow, each one containing all I still have left to give him, hope. Hope that all he wishes comes true and the hope that he knows how very much he is loved.

Woke this morning, knot still there but “You’re my favorite” making me stand very tall and ready to hold it together, at least until I got to my car. Walked past Jeremy’s room, the comforter covered lump that makes me smile, the pile of folded clothes….not my favorite. Got my coffee, settled into the couch, sipped away, checked my email and fired off some work emails before logging on to Facebook. Fucking knot returned when the most recent friend status was six hours ago:

Jeremy Keith Dugan- “Wish this were easier”

That little ripping of my heart, yeah it gave a little more.

I too wish this were easier Baby….would give anything I have to make it so. I can’t. This hurts and never seems to get easier but, you are my favorite, always.

I can hear you packing as I type this

Not my favorite

I feel your leaving like an elephant on my chest

Not my favorite

I know that walking out the door this morning is going to rip fiercely into my heart

Not my favorite but….

Our couch is here

Our memories are here and

They are, along with you

My favorite

Go get ‘em Baby

I love you so….

Cheese & Wine Feature

2012-01-06T10:38:00.000-08:00

Featured Wine:

2010 Heidi Schrock Gelber Muskateller $25.99

Also known as Yellow Muscat, Gelber Muskateller is a central European variant on the more famous and flowery Muscat a petits grains, (or Muscat Canelli). Not as delicate or made in a sweet style here, this wine offers irresistible floral aromas and bright grapefruit flavors. Quite rare as the grape tends to be problematic; susceptible to rot and often giving very low yields, so very little Gelber Muskateller is even planted. Randy and I ran across this wine while at a trade tasting, one featuring many of Austria’s most revered estates and this wine was the one that stole the show for me. Because of the wild floral aromas and intense citrus, grapefruit flavors this wine can be difficult to pair with food and we often recommend it be served as an aperitif, but with the right cheese? Brilliant!

Featured Cheese:

Somerdale Farms Black Mountain

A mature Welsh Cheddar that has been enhanced with white wine, garlic and herbs this big flavored and rather creamy cheese has been a store staple for many years now. Softer than your average Cheddar, the cheese is nearly spreadable in texture which gives it the most delightful mouth coating richness. The wine, garlic and herbs are explosive and the most dominate flavors for sure. A great cheese plate cheese, shamefully good on a burger and down-right perfect with very aromatic wines like German Riesling, or say something like an Austrian Gelber Muskateller. A very cool pairing and one that will feed the inner wine and or cheese geek in us all.

Um, Dude...Shut Up

2012-01-05T03:02:00.000-08:00

When I first got into wine, not just in the wine business but really into wine, I used to wonder why so many of the people that came into our shop were confused, nervous, would profess their lack of knowledge with the scrunched brow of the truly pained and seemed to turn the shopping for what should be something pleasurable into something akin to a visit to the dentist or gynecologist. I would stand there, big goofy grin on my face while these poor people would shift their weight from one foot to the other, hem and haw, tug at loose strings on the sides of their jeans while they sheepishly expressed their desire to find a wine, to go with whatever, at such and such price point, in nearly whispered tones as if they were confessing their sins to a priest or asking for a box of ribbed for her pleasure condoms from behind the counter. Never got that and as soon as I found enough swagger in my wine slinging step, I made it my personal charge to make every single one of the people that walked through the doors of The Wine Country feel comfortable enough to ask and tell us anything.

We aren’t priests, (although I have worn a collar, but only once and never at work) and we aren’t here to judge or impose our ideas or palates on anyone. You want to drink sweet red with your spaghetti and meatballs? Right on, I’ll show you the wines we have that will hit that sweet spot for you. You want to spend $8.00 on a bottle to go with your $35.00 a pound ribeyes? Right this way. You need a red wine to go with lobster? Well you tell me what you like to drink and I will happily slip a bottle under your arm that will be just what you asked me for. Not my place, unless asked, to tell you what you should be drinking and enjoying. That has been the way we’ve done things for years at the shop and while we continue to write articles, teach classes and offer our suggestions when we fear someone is on the track of wine and food pairing destruction, in the end it will always be your palate we aim to please. Period. So why the nervous and creased faces? Took only one click of my cursor on a friend’s posted Facebook link the other day to remind me….fucking crappy ass magazines.

Long time readers are all too familiar http://sansdosage.blogspot.com/2010/10/im-quitting-you.html with my vein-popping irritation with Food & Wine magazine and their cheese loaded, half-assed, half-hearted, “Ugh!” inducing, shit articles about wine. I’ve not only gone after them here but I ended up canceling my over ten year subscription due to their lack of understanding and actual appreciation for wine…you know, the beverage that they named half their ragazine after?! Yeah, so finally picked off that scab and now, well now I’ve got goddamn Facebook to alert me of all the pomposity and douchebaggery my beloved business has to offer. Yay?

So being the Champagne buyer for the store I was bound to click on an article someone linked about Valentine’s Day Sparklers. Had to right? No, no I really didn’t but I did. Should have scrunched my own brow and backed away slowly when I saw the cartoon picture of a man with sleek black hair…tying on a bowtie. I didn’t. “Who is this misogynistic effusive prick?!” the not so whispered, through clinched teeth, growl that inspired both my husband and son to emerge from the back of the apartment to see what it was I was fuming about. No wonder people think we are all crank yanking asshats…

So this, paid for, (grrrrr) article starts with,

“Depending on when you are reading this you have between two and six weeks to ace your plans for the Big V. Yes, that’s Valentine’s Day-for her the most important day of the year”

Okay, now if this is true, the first tip I might give is to stop dating 16 year olds. Really? The most important day of the year?! So “The Big V.” stands for “has vagina and will wig if you don’t pretend that this Hallmark sponsored day of love appreciation is not rightly recognized”?? Has she been pining away all day, ringing her apron and wrapping her curler heavy head in toilet paper waiting…breathlessly, all day for your to punch the old clock at 5:00 giving her just enough time to slither into that, “something pretty” you bought her, remove the curlers and brush out her curls, with a good spray of Aqua Net of course, and pouty her lips before you get home? I’m guessing not, dickwad.

Shut Up

“Plenty of relationships have tanked on St. Valentine’s Day, (adding the St. part is very important here…lets the reader know the author knows history and junk, therefore, wicked smart and a man to be listened to) because the guy’s efforts didn’t measure up to expectations”

She was already looking for a way out jackhole. If you think it’s really because you bought carnations instead of roses, you’re dumber than I thought. And…

Shut Up

“The best way to avoid disaster is to start the evening with a bottle of fizz”

Is fizz cooler or more man-like than bubbles? You just toss out the manned up term “Fizz”? Yeah, I’m sure you do and you probably call the one black man in your office, “Bro” complete with the teeth sunk into your thin bottom lip and a fist pump, rest your sunglasses on the back of your neck and give the head toss and “Yo!” to any dude that is younger, (and far cooler) than you are. You are quite the catch dude, might I suggest carnations?

Shut Up

He then goes on to talk about Prosecco, (yeah and I’m sorry, I still think it’s stupid) and Cava. He instructs his fellow Bros and Dudes that these are very fashionable right now but there is a dearth of shit ones to wade through, (and doesn’t tell you which to avoid…useful that) but is sure to give the “relationship saving” advice that at least they are cheap!

Please, Just Shut Up

He then goes on to further confuse shit with descriptions like”

“Almost ethereal in its delicacy. Elusive as early morning mist and just as beguiling”

“If she has a penchant for sweeter wines, this is the way to her heart, and your future well-being”

“despite its highly suspect bright scarlet color, this is a surprisingly balanced and grown up wine. A touch of cherry cola…..”

“It leaves the impression of crystalline clarity”

“Displays and impressive haughtiness”

Um, Dude

Shut Up….

On The Eve's

2011-12-30T12:31:00.000-08:00

Fuck I’m tired.

“It’s almost over” the smiling face of a customer days before Christmas, trying to perk me up or let me know that they understood and felt how nutty things in retail get this time of year. I love that they take the time to console or acknowledge how hard we are working. “Very sweet of them” is what I say to myself right before, “But I have one more week to go.”

Yes the Christmas Crazies are over but as the Champagne specialist, my work here is not even close to being done. The week between Christmas and New Year’s is traditionally one of my busiest of the year, as I’m sure you can imagine, but this year, well this year Randy and I conspired to ratchet up the pressure a wee bit.

This has been a difficult year, for everyone and especially for small business like ours. We’ve seen a frightening number of independent stores and restaurants fold this past year, slower sales combined with visionless landlords greedily hiking up the rent in a time when every single dime is needed to keep those companies breathing. The families that started, sweat and believed in those businesses forced to close their doors leaving one more empty storefront or giving our community yet another, much needed, Rubio’s, Starbucks, Jamba Juice or BevMo. The diversity and complex landscape of our beloved city slowly being demolished, reconstructed and painted with a fresh new coat of medium. Fucking depressing and something that Randy and I have been busting our asses, for over fifteen years, to not let happen to The Wine Country. We’ve been saying it for the past two years, “We are working three times as hard for less money” but you know what, we’re still here. A bit exhausted, a little stressed, eking through the slow months with a little less inventory and smaller staff but….we believe in the store and truly believe that we are an asset to the community that we love. So, we fight on….

With New Year’s Eve falling on a Saturday this year it gave us the opportunity to slip in a couple extra tastings. This would normally be the time for resetting, taking down Christmas decorations, attending to the farm of dust bunnies that have gathered beneath the racks and counters, writing the next newsletter and maybe catching a quick breather before picking up arms and battling through the typically slow month of January but…..well, that Thursday and Friday, days that we conduct our tastings during the rest of the year, just sitting there, this perfect storm of a last chance to boost our December sales. Two days before a holiday that just so happens to revolve around a wine that inspires sellout crowds, even in the slow months, Champagne. We went for it. Booked a Thursday afternoon “commuter” tasting for 29^th, one focused on Champagne for $40 and under and scheduled a year-end, Best of the Year Champagne class for Friday the 30^th. We had no idea what the response would be, people wiped from the holidays, out of town, tightening their pocketbooks after spending during the holidays, but we rolled the dice.

“There are 25 people on the waiting list” I told Randy when he asked how the sign-ups were going for the Friday night event. I had been experiencing a gentle gnawing in my belly for days, just this conflicting feeling of, “What if?” and “But I’m not sure it’s possible” that feeling was completely squashed when Randy said, “Hey, what if?” We drafted an email and put out calls to everyone on the waiting list, we were going to have to do a second class. Saturday night was out being New Year’s Eve and all and we couldn’t really ask people to turn out mid-week, so that left only Thursday, the day we were already hosting a tasting from 4:30-6:45…on Champagne no less. “What the hell, the worst that can happen is people won’t sign up. We will still have the afternoon event and Friday is packed. Let’s do it”

Tuesday and Wednesday had me feeling all panicky again, the sign ups were coming fast and furious for the second class and I was watching Champagne fly out the door which left me wondering if I would have enough to pour let alone sell…and the 28^th of December is NOT the time to be bringing in stacks of bubbles in the hopes that they are going to sellout. Panic. The short staff thing reared its head again when I looked at the schedule and the only helper I was going to have was our newest employee, one that had never worked a tasting before. Panic. And then the realization of having to try and clean up from one event, set up chairs and tables…for forty people, complete with place settings and glassware, open and taste the wines for the second event, with not nearly enough hands on deck, in like thirty minutes. Total fucking panic. I walked in yesterday afternoon feeling completely overwhelmed, stressed, cranky and nearly nauseous.

The afternoon event was very well attended, haven’t seen the final number yet, (no time to dick around with reading reports in between the two events….hardly had time to pee as a matter of fact) but it was over fifty people, some of whom were still milling about as we whisked away the glasses for cleaning, popped up tables and began setting up the chairs. I grabbed my wines from the sales floor fridge, oh did I mention that having only one fridge in the tasting room meant that I was going to have to store the 40 bottles of Champagne needed for the second event in the cooler that we sell wine from? Thus more bits of panic as I feared that people were going to buy the wines I needed to pour…argh! Filled a shopping cart with icy cold Champagne and ran them to the tasting room just in time for the “Bing-Bong of the front door to alert me that our guests for the night were beginning to filter in. Tables set, chairs awaiting, cheeses and potato chips in their baskets and trays, my hands still freezing and beginning to sore from popping the corks on the Champagne bottles from the earlier tasting, tiny beads of sweat puddling in that concaved area at my lower back, my uber-manager need to have this all look as if it came off flawlessly causing my heart to thump away in my chest and my breath to escape in tiny bursts. My eyes now falling upon the cart of wine that still needed opening, and tasting, my panic reaching its peak and that was when I heard, “What can I help you with Momma?”

My Baby standing there, tall, strong, handsome as hell, there to attend his first ever Champagne class, My Champagne class, reading me like a book and jumping in to help. If I felt like crying before it was nothing compared to the blubbering that would have happened had I allowed myself to show the absolute relief I felt in that second. The seats began to fill while my husband, my son and I ripped off foils, cages and popped corks. Halfway through I left the boys in charge of the opening duties and I ran through the wines at a feverish and quite frankly, burp inducing pace. Wines opened, tasted and the ones in the later flights placed back in the now free tasting room fridge and I looked at my watch to see, 7:25. We did it, with five minutes to spare…

I spun around to see a room full of faces, all happy to be there and ready to partake of my supposed wisdom and wines that I have spent over ten years preaching about. My son and husband taking the last two empty seats, (I had reserved two for them, right up front, next to me) in a class we were fearful might not generate enough interest to even happen. I took a huge chest filling breath, let my eyes fall upon those faces, some new, some so very familiar, their dimes breathing life into our small business and their want to be there that night breathing life into me. Grateful does not begin to describe it.

So yeah, I’m tired as hell. Got tonight’s Champagne class and New Year’s Eve still looming but the gratitude and hope that last night gave me soothes each tiny ache and has me craving the tingle of bitty little beads of hard earned sweat puddling at the base of my back. We fight and struggle not just to keep the lights on and make money, (although fuck, that would be nice) we do it just as much for our community, our city and for those of you that would put your name on a waiting list to taste anything-but-regular Champagne.

Thank you

Thank you all

Your humble, stressed, sweaty, hopeful wine slinger,

Samantha

Weekly Feature?

2011-12-28T13:42:00.000-08:00

It was at The Wine Country holiday party that Randy announced that he would like me to do a weekly feature of the store website in the coming year, a weekly wine and cheese pairing. I dug the idea, I mean I do loves me some cheese and my inner (okay, I know it's an outie) geek truly gets off on wrapping my head around pairing ideas. "That should be fun!" I buzzily responded and returned to over drinking my Champagne.

"I think we should start that pairing thing this week" Randy just days after the party. Huh?! You want to start that now? Right as we start having our assess handed to us in the holiday rush? Apparently the look of horror on my face was not enough incentive to sway him from his new idea and, "Yes!" with a big excited smile was what I got in return. And even though I was....well, a little less excited about taking on another duty, smack-dab in the middle of holiday craziness, well that damn smile and enthusiasm of his simply wrecks me, "Well alrighty then" was all I could say.

We've done them for a couple weeks now and I just sent off the one that will appear tomorrow on the website but as I was sitting here noshing my Triscuits, (note to self, save that term for later usage) and mortadella on my lunch break, feeling guilty that I have not posted in over week, guiltier even that I just found out that we are going to do a January newsletter, thus meaning that I will have even less time to write, it hit me. Why not post my pairings here as well? Buys me a day or two, I get double exposure on the pairings I slave (well I don't sweat or anything but I think real hard) over and it might get me my "Wine Blogger" card back or something. You know, by having some actual wine stuff on this here wine blog. Brilliant! Or lazy but as my greasy-with-mortadella fingers fly across the keyboard and I can feel the tiny pin prick of pressure that pokes the spot in my neck that reminds me I've been a bad blogger subsides...well I'm going to go with brilliant. Least for today...

Featured Wine:

N.V. Camille Saves Grand Cru Carte d’Or Brut $67.99

I often speak of the wines from Camille Saves as being, “Game changers” meaning that they have the ability to turn people from occasional Champagne imbibers to full-fledged Champagne freaks. The Champagnes from this estate are an amazing mix between full, richly textured, powerful and grace, delicacy and elegance and I find that this Carte d’Or tends to be the biggest and brawniest of the bunch.

Rich and toasty will be your first impression, not a bad way to begin I would think, but the wine seems to grow, get more layered and complex the longer it’s open. Soon that toasty note will be joined with some salted caramel and browned butter. The power softened by the aromas and flavors of warm baked apples. The flavors linger forever and paired with the right food, well mind-bending.

Cheese:

Berthaut Epoisses Affine au Chablis ($14.99)

Epoisses is a French cow’s milk cheese with a rather pungent aroma, edible rind and when fully ripened, a hauntingly creamy texture. The smell would imply a fairly strong cheese but in fact the aroma is the strongest part. The flavor tends towards the salty side, but perfectly so and that saltiness is what makes this a very wine friendly cheese. Serve at room temp to get the full effect of the astounding creaminess in this, one of my favorite cheeses, ever.

Pairing:

When picking a pairing for the week of New Year’s it took me only a second to marry Saves and Berthaut. Going for the whole, “Go big or go home” kind of kick off for the New Year. Well, maybe it's more that my mind was seeking uber indulgence, something so gloriously luscious that it is nearly dirty. Camille Saves washing down a mouthful of pungent and almost feral, gooey, plump and heavy in the mouth cheese? The powerful and succulent fruit in the Camille Saves Carte d’Or paired with the achingly creamy, meaty, salty cheese sure as shit gets my heart racing and palate watering. Don't think budgets, diets, what you should or shouldn't...do it. Just do it.

Wine Business (Kind of) Interview #11

2011-12-21T14:35:00.000-08:00

Just to give all three readers a heads up, Who are you and what is your connection to the wine business?

I am Jeremy Dugan and my Cousin Randy has owned a wine store for 16 years(?). I worked for it for a while when I was in high school, and my mother is the general manager there.

And what is it you do now?

I work in retail at Dick’s Sporting Goods. I work in the shoe department.

How often do you drink wine now?

Not very often, can’t say I have grown much of a taste for it yet, minus of course a Moscato every now and then.

Drink of choice?

Gonna have to go with Bourbon and Coke. Makers and coke if I’m being specific, or as we 20 somethings like to call it; “being fancy”.

Your first wine memory?

Man this one might get you in trouble. It’s a dual moment of one glass of champagne at the age of 10 with my awesome “night vision goggles” and calling myself “Falcon Man”. Which is now ironic since one of my least favorite teams are the Falcons… Gaux Saints!!! The second memory is my 13^th birthday party at the end of the night finding out what a Moscato tasted like and enjoying it. Going along with the introduction to Moscato was the introduction to a hangover. Fun for any 8^th grader yes.

In your very early days working at The Wine Country how were you paid?

Cheese, Brie more than anything. Man when I was a kid all I loved was the softness of that creamy cheese of toasted bread. Now I’m almost down with any cheese on bread.

Hangover cure of choice?

Hair of the Dog, go big or go home and cry the whole day.

What do you think were the most important things you learned from working in the wine/food industry?

How to deal with people. The wine/food industry, especially in L.A/L.A area, can be very uppity, people thinking because they can spend $100 on a single bottle of wine that they are better than those who are providing them with that wine. Well Rednecks aren’t much different from snobs in that sense. So patience and how to put on a smile and walk it off was my best lesson.

Playing rock star in your car, who do you pretend to be?

Lately, it’s been Prince. Don’t know why really, dude has some awesome lyrics and could wail on the guitar. So I guess those are reasons why.

Are “Wine People” snobby?

Hahaha I think a question or two above can sort of answer that question. There are snobs in every plan of existence. I have seen and spent many a night talking to Bourbon snobs about the “purity” of the Kentucky tap water. I have had conversations with shoe snobs who will rip on a last year’s version of a shoe because it’s not the new one. And don’t even get me started on some of the theater snobs I know. So yes and no, but that can be said for the world.

Have you ever sneezed while peeing?

Yes and man let me tell you something, nothing worse than losing control of you stream while standing.

The thing you miss most about The Wine Country?

Puppy pack mentality. And the Christmas parties.

Does it bother you that I share so much about myself and our history on this blog?

Not at all, I’m proud of our history together. Wouldn’t want to keep it from anyone. But it does bother me that I find out your history from this blog. Things I never got told are told to all these people and things that are news to me are common things to them.

Do you have any idea how proud I am of you?

I think the better question is, do you know how proud I am of you?

Best food and wine experience you ever had?

Gonna have to say tossup between Craft and Arte last time I was in town. Gonna led more towards Arte since I started to actually get it then.

Besides the Champagne I gave you on New Year’s Eve when you were like seven or whatever, (Remember that? Do you also remember proclaiming yourself “Falcon Man!” after drinking it?) what was your first alcoholic beverage?

Whoops, I swear I didn’t read ahead….

Why did you have to move so far away? (That one is from Dad)

Needed to grow. I had seen what I was gonna see of Southern California at that point and time, and I needed to be somewhere else for a while so I could see what else was out there. And that’s why I’m moving again, growth is endless but you always arrive back at square one at the end of it all.

Does it ever feel weird that so many people know and ask about you all the time, both from the store and from here?

Yea, But kind of used to it cause of Louisville, so many people know me from other people out here I hear “Oh so you’re Dugan” a lot so it’s not as weird as before.

What did your mother teach you to always have in the fridge?

Always have a bottle of Champagne in it?

If you could build your ideal dinner party, up to fifteen people, alive or dead, who would be there, what would you be drinking and what foods would you want served? (This is an augmented “Last” or “Death Row” meal question as I am your mother and cannot even think of posing a question involving those two things to you)

I would say the guest list would include you, Dad, Robo, GG, Tessa, Wayne, Boy and Girl Merritt, Evan and Mers, Grandma, Maggie, AJ, Fredrick Douglass and Franklin Roosevelt. We would start out with fresh oysters, duck spring rolls and tri-tip sandwiches. Main course would be prime rib, sautéed mushrooms, fresh veggies and pork pies. For dessert we would have a HUGE cheese plate, gorilla bread and gooey butter cake. To drink, we’ll I’ve always been a b.y.o.b kind of guy so whatever each person’s little heart desired.

Do you think the wine business shaped your childhood in a way?

Without a doubt it did, not many kids grow up going to the restaurants I went to, or go to parties like the Wine Country events very often. All was for the good though, taught me a lot about food and having a good time.

Favorite Randy moment?

“Someone get that kid a sucker!” Cause that would shut up the kid screaming it’s little head off. And really any of the parties where he got a little toasty.

If I told you that there is not one thing I am more proud of than being your mother and that you are the greatest love of my life, would you share a bottle of Champagne with me cuddled up on the couch during one of our late night talks?

Without a doubt.

In parting, is there anything you would like all three of my readers to know?

The woman you all listen to is crazy, she has no idea how special she is and why everyone likes her. She is strong, beautiful, funny (in that really cool smartass way) and knows how to throw down with the best of them. She always says she’s lucky to be my mother, and really I’m lucky she took a chance on me being her son. There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for her and nothing that will come between us. Our bond is odd, it is something very few people have, we can have the same thought from the other side of the country or say more words in one look than many people say in a book. We were lucky to find a man who could deal with both of our craziness, and he is lucky that we can deal with his too. And for anyone in the Southern California area who would like to see the awesome tripod from #408, I’ll be in town December 24^th-January 7^th and would love to meet you for a drink.

I would like to thank my wicked sweet son for taking the time out of his own retail holiday hell to do this interview with me. You, young man, own my heart, always make me so proud, (well aside from the passed out photo I got via your friends on Facebook) and your sweet words here....they made me cry, ya little bastard. I love you with all of my heart and am counting the days until you get home. Cannot wait.

Christmas List

2011-12-20T22:24:00.000-08:00

This is so on it....

but only if it comes with that sexy as shit lumberjack shirt...

I could ride a bull, not spill a drop and get rid of these pesky front teeth at the same time. Badass

All About The Bubbles? Re-post In Time For The Holiday

2011-12-19T10:50:00.000-08:00

“I hate to dump this on you your first day back from vacation but Adam is out with the samples of our vintage Champagnes. These were the only samples we had so he will be stopping by to see you this afternoon” an email from one of our favorite brokers that just so happens to bring in some of my most adored grower Champagne. “Oh just the vintage stuff? Well then I am sure I can try and make some time to see him”….rough first day back in the saddle right? “Some of these might not be as bubbly as they were yesterday” Adam confessed as he began sheepishly fumbling with the amazing line of wines he brought with him. Each bottle was topped with those treacherous little rubber stoppers….the ones with the little plastic caps and flimsy metal clasp, yeah those put-your-eye-out little fuckers. As he was reaching for the first bottle and flipping that metal doohickey, eyes twitching and brow deeply furrowed I explained, “Don’t give a shit about the bubbles kid, I want to taste the wine”. He poured the first wine and went on the tell me, “Some people only care about the bubbles, won’t even taste the wine if there isn’t a bunch of bubble in it” I watched as the fizzy but not violently bubbly wine was poured in the glass, saw it settle and noticed a tiny little stream of bubble rise from the bottom of the glass and break across the surface leaving a tiny little white froth along the top of the wine. I picked up the glass, gave it a good spin, (yup killing even more bubble but….opening the wine) dipped my nose into the wide opening, (I always taste Champagne from a standard tasting glass...always drink it from a white wine glass) and as I took in the rich and amazingly complex aromatics of the 2002 Camille Saves Grand Cru Brut my pirate grin lifted the left hand corner of my mouth. My nose still in the glass wildly taking in each layer…baked apple, pie crust, butter, red fruit…each thing landing upon the other in the most seductively pleasing way, I gave Adam the raised eyebrow and said, “Fuck the bubbles, this is remarkable wine”

When I was in Memphis having dinner with Michael Hughes and Benito I pulled a bottle of H. Billiot Grand Cru Brut Reserve from the fridge after dinner. Everyone was drinking red so they reached for one of the flutes that were still on the table from our starter bottle of bubbles. I tried to convince them to just finish the red and taste the Champagne out of that glass but….well trying to reason with buzzy folks is like herding cats, ask my husband. “This wine is made from amazing Pinot Noir, it can hold up in a regular glass” I tried desperately to explain but as the words fell out of my mouth I watched half the table dump the Billiot into what constitutes as a prison cell of a glass. I watched Benito smell the wine in his flute, he seemed pleased and all but then I slid him my glass….the big glass and had him smell them side by side, “That’s amazing” he said. Now I am not sure if he just meant the wine or how profoundly more generous it was out of the bigger glass but when Michael said, “I may never drink Champagne out of a flute again” I knew that my point was kind of made….I think.

“Will do in a pinch” we say that a lot about bubbly wines from around the world, they’ll do in a pinch. These are wines that have merit; they are frothy, tasty and easy, pleasant. These wines along with many from the actual region of Champagne are best served icy cold and in the straitjacket glass. This is where the bubbles are the focus, the number one most important thing; they should be fine and not raspy, graceful and not burn the tongue. From there the flavors come in and the range and scope that is absolutely about personal preference….sweet, dry, floral, mineral, sea shell, yeast and toast. Cava, Prosecco, Cremant d’Alsace, Cremant d’Bourgogne, California Sparkling, Perrier Jouet, Veuve Clicquot, Mumm’s, these wines all offer a nice celebratory bubble and are most definitely suited for that sexy shaped, elegant looking flute. In fact they are far more pleasing when they are served in one but wines like Billiot, Saves, Godme, Marie-Noelle Ledru and Pierre Peters….well they deserve to be treated like the very serious wines that they are.

Got home after work today and decided to take a soak in a hot bath, just felt the day heavy on my flesh and sought to soothe the arches of my feet, the backs of my knees, the muscles between my shoulder blades….felt myself aching just thinking about dipping my shoulders and hips into a pool of hot, clean, waiting water. Poured myself a glass of wine, plugged the ipod into the docking station…selected Van Morrison to keep me company. With Sail Into the Mystic working its way down my thighs I pulled my favorite sand colored crocheted sweater over my head, undid the button and zipper on my jeans and as I backed away from the mirror, (seriously even I don’t want to see me in my undies) I peeled the jeans from my hips I knocked a bottle of lemon scented bubble bath into the sink. “Oh shit, a bubble bath would be even better” I told myself. Flipped the cap on the bubbly junk, squeezed long squirts of it under the running faucet and instantly had the smell of lemon rind swirling around my day weary head. Perfect.

Did the “ouch ouch ahhh” thing that you do when the water is blazing hot but just feels so fucking good, until my fleshy backside settled into our way too small tub. Drew my knees closer so I was able to drop my whole back into the hot lemon scented water…heard the sizzle as the bubbles burst across my jaw and tickled my ears. “Feel your soul and spirits fly into the mystic” my soft whisper along with my bathtub partner Mr. Morrison. Sat there feeling as if the weight of the world were melting off my shoulders, my eyes closed, my skin clean and steaming. Opened my eyes when the track switched to Aint That Loving You Baby…a plucky little number and noticed….all the damn bubbles were gone. Just a fine layer of sparse fizz remained where the pile of billowy bubbles had been. I was kind of sad at first but as I looked down towards the faucet, saw my legs resting calmly beneath the still hot….still fragrant water, I realized once again that all the good stuff, all the important bits….they were as was the case with that Billiot and the 2002 Saves...lying in wait just under the bubbles.

And So It Begins....I Hope.

2011-12-16T08:48:00.000-08:00

Felt it in the first half an hour after being in the shop yesterday after a desperate phone call, “Do you still have those wine stockings? The ones you posted a picture of on your Facebook page?” I assured the slightly breathless caller that we did still in fact have a couple left and hung up the phone just in time to hear the “Bing” that alerts me that a customer has opened the front door. Followed by another and another and another. Brand new faces, lots of fancy or funny bottle stoppers, cocktail napkins, gift bags and hearing, “Yes!” when I ask, “Can I help you find anything?”. It started yesterday…

Not sure if it is because we are getting closer to the weekend or if it was simply the date, December 15^th, that kicked people into slightly higher gear, but yesterday was the first day that I felt that energy that makes my heart beat a little faster and vibrates just beneath my skin. Every retailer waits all year for this season but as a small, independent, family owned store, we wait and need it more than most and I have to tell you, the way December started, well it had my stomach twisted in fierce knots that has had me feeling nauseous and emotionally drained on my drive home every day.

Yesterday I left the store full of energy, (some of which was caused by the fact that there was a rather large, by SoCal standards, rain storm coming and I am a total fucking puss about driving in that crap. Turned out to be much ado about nothing.) busted through the front door and rather than shuffle off to encase myself in my Queen of Frump sweats I jumped right into making dinner and the re-telling of stories about my day.

The Chuckle Inducing:

“Where are the wines for men?”

“Oh I don’t know how much I want to spend, just Christmas present amount”

“His wife told me to come here and ask for Samantha, she would know what to do” (this is amazingly flattering but telling me you are buying a gift for “John, oh I can’t remember his last name” can be a bit of a challenge. The lady yesterday however, I knew him and the wines he loves…Yay)

“Do you have any nut wines?”

“Do you have a wine opener that even the dumbest human on the planet can use? It’s for my son in-law”

“I need something that tastes like Opus One but is sweet, maybe white and costs around $15.00”

The Salesmen:

“Can I send you five cases of that sparkling wine? I know you haven’t sold a bottle in six months but I can get you a really good price” (now where was this offer when you sold it to me last time? The reason I haven’t sold a bottle in six months is because you sold the same wine to a huge chain store at ten dollars less a bottle, thus making us look like we are ripping people off..ya douche)

“Hey I’ve got some killer deals right now” (Killer huh? Well I hope they turn on you and eat your head)

“I know you don’t carry it, or like it but I can offer you two free cases on five” (wow, two extra cases of shit wine? How could I pass that up?)

“Help me out here” (from someone I buy nothing from, ever. Why the hell should I be helping you?)

“It will sell buy itself” (fucking lie)

“Vons is selling the hell out of it and with this deal you can offer it for just a few dollars more than they do!” (massive incentive….and how long have you been huffing?)

The Annoying:

Caller-“Yes, I put my name on the waiting list for Samantha’s Champagne class on the 30^th, how is that looking for me?”

Me- “No one has canceled yet so you are still on the wait list”

Caller- “My girlfriend is going to be so mad at me. I need to get into that class. She told me to sign us up when we first saw it but I forgot.”

Me- “I’m really sorry about that and it’s still early so there is a chance that some folks will cancel and the, um, ten people before you on the waiting list might make other plans. We will be calling and confirming right after Christmas so we will have a better idea then.”

Caller- “Nope. Not good enough.”

Me- “Again, I’m really sorry, these are our most popular classes and they sell out really fast.”

Caller- “But we come to all of them and I have to get into this one. Why can’t you just bump someone?”

Me- “We don’t do that.”

Caller-“And why not?”

Me- “Because that wouldn’t be fair, I mean what if I bumped you to let someone else in?”

Caller-“If it were for something really important I would be fine with it.”

Me- “Well I’m sorry, we simply don’t do that.”

Caller- “Well you’re not very helpful, let me talk to that girl that does the Champagne buying.”

Me- “Samantha?”

Caller- “Oh maybe you’re new. Not the girl that teaches the classes, the one that buys all the Champagnes.”

Me- “Same girl. Samantha does both and this is Samantha.”

Caller- “Oh good! Samantha, can you get me into your class?”

Me- Speechless….

For all the nutty, (not wines, behavior) the frantic and at times challenging, I love this season. I relish in each, “Bing” of the front door, the running bottles and baskets to the shipping department to make sure they get out in time, the rolling bottles tightly in tissue paper before slipping them into gift bags, the faces new and familiar, the lines at the register. Even the razor cuts, sore feet and back, the tight jaw after dealing with someone difficult…it’s all part of the holiday season and this, this is what we work all year for. Feeling it starting yesterday was an absolute joy….

Woke this morning, a tad sleepier than I normally do, my thighs and hips not sore, but letting me know that they are there, a sign that I did more running, bending and stomping about the sales floor than usual and hopefully, a good sign of more to come. Bring it holidays! My mind, my breath, my memory, my sanity and my body are yours.

I’m ready, come and get me….

Summer Breeze Makes Me Feel Fine (Re-Post)

2011-12-14T01:15:00.000-08:00

My fingers trace your every outline

Paint a picture with my hands
Swaying back and forth like branches in a storm
Change of weather still together when it ends…

Song lyrics that were running through my mind as I sat quietly on my couch Sunday morning. The television so low that it might as well have been on mute, or better yet off. A neighbor’s often annoying wind chimes providing just the right tone as they danced upon the same breeze that was slipping through the rips in my jeans. The blue sky visible from my perch and the voices of people playing in the pool; the laughter, the splashing, the metal gate opening and closing….the sounds of summer acting as a soundtrack to this one moment. This much needed, freaking ached for moment of peace and utter contentment was so quietly powerful, so beautifully gentle…..so appreciated that it took a minute for me to notice I was holding my breath.

It was if I was terrified that if I moved, anyone moved or I took a breath that it would be gone. This feeling, this not so quiet, quiet would be gone just as quickly as it had snuck up on me and I was simply not ready to let it go. I sat still, allowing myself to take long, slow, deep, chest filling breaths of air. Finding something soothing and uplifting in the way my chest seemed to time each release of my held in breath with the breeze that was swaying the chimes and rustling the leaves on the tree that sits just outside my window.

That may be all I need
In darkness he is all I see
Come and rest your bones with me
Driving slow on Sunday morning
I may never want to leave….

My eyes slowly closing, lyrics gliding in and out of my head, the sound of summer providing the music to go along with it…..my mind letting go of all the wondering, the stress, the missing of things I don’t have and letting me dream. Fantasize about being in France, about being curled up on a hammock with someone I love….listening to his laugh, feeling my head rise and fall with his every breath as it rests upon his chest. Dream of a million more moments like the ones I had Friday night and Saturday afternoon, suspended in the bubble of admiration and adoration that is that of a customer’s face, a person that will forever understand wine on a level that they may never have had it not been for you. First kisses. First hugs. The touch of someone that has known and been in love with you….forever. Each one resting sweetly upon my heaving right along with the wind chest. Absolute happiness, I was being enveloped in absolute happiness and was feeling mighty fine.

I was brought back to earth, my lust and lips still tingling from their visits, by a neighbor in need of a screwdriver…the “crossy” one. Tool lent and me feeling almost drunk trying to put aside raspy dreamt up chuckles, admiring faces and memory of a slippery, warm lip between my teeth, I stumbled to the kitchen. There were two wines that were in dire need of a shelf talker and a palate… spirit that was in need of focus.

Sunday morning rain is falling
Steal some cover share some skin
Clouds have shrouded us in moments unforgettable
You twist to fit the mold that I am in
But things just get so crazy
Living life gets so hard to do
I would gladly get up and go if I knew….
That someday it would lead me back to you
That someday it would lead me back to you
Come and rest your bones with me
Driving slow on Sunday morning
I may never want to leave….

With the “snap” of the neck and the pop of a “cork” (synthetic) two little white wines whet my lust longing whistle and lent their tiny price tags to the inexpensive, pleasure giving nature of my Sunday morning. Pleasure. Pleasure that is simple….simple to get and even simpler to surrender to.

2009 Domaine du Tariquet Classic
Ugni Blanc and Colombard blend from the uber fancy Gascogne region of France…yeah just typing that little factoid might have yucked my yum if this wine was not so freaking delicious. Nervy and not hidden by cumbersome oak this wine is just dead sexy with vibrant fruit. Ripe, succulent summer melon with a blast of zesty citrus rind and the kind of acid that makes my flesh all bumpily. Swinging on a hammock, raspy chuckle and my aching to be kissed lips finding relief as this wine shook its stuff across my palate, damn.

2009 Domaine de Bidalere Cotes de Gascogne Blanc
Grassy, tart and vibrating with citrus this is a wine for the lovers of zing. The nose is reminiscent of green apple skin, the way its tanginess makes your mouth water. The way even the sight of it, the “crunch” assures you that what you are about to swallow is fresh, taught and going to fall back upon your palate not gently or smoothly, it’s going to wrap its tang around your tongue and be unshakably “there”. Make you ache and reach for just one more sip….

So I drove slow on Sunday morning. Let my desire and the not-so-silent silence cradle me, swallow me up and I allowed two succulent wines that sell for ten bucks tickle me. Thrill me and remind me that the very best things in life are, or are damned near….free.

Soulful Plates

2011-12-09T07:08:00.000-08:00

“That table of food gave Millie the strength she needed. She took her babies out from under Leroy and never went back”

Finally watching The Help. My eyes were still flowing with tears when one of the many scenes of redemption, resolution and resurrection slowly moved over plates of black eyed peas, ham, fried chicken and little coins of carrot slices. My fingers slipping beneath the frames of my glasses, wiping away the streams that were left from the scene before, as I watched a woman that was abused by her husband, her employers, the year she was born, where she was born and by race, seated before a feast that was created for her by a woman that had been forever changed and learned from her. The power of it all, so familiar when presented in the context of a dinner table.

“Can you make your tri-tip when I’m home?” a text from my very own baby. His mind starting to think of actually coming home, all the smells, sounds and tastes that mean home to him. I fired off an, “Absolutely!” text in return and have found myself making a mental shopping list of all the things I need to fill Jeremy with while he’s here, close enough to smell, hear and taste. That momma feeding thing has far less to do with us being worried that our kids aren’t getting enough to eat than it has to do with us needing to feed them…stuff them with as many memories of home as we can. I used to be alarmed at the amount of food my husband would consume while visiting his parents but now, now I know…they are both, her through the cooking and him through the eating, visiting with one another in the most intimate and primal of levels. Just as Jeremy can’t climb on my lap, snuggle into my chest and twist my hair through his fingers like he used to, my husband’s lap time is now delivered with a stab of his fork, the toothsome pull of pasta, the sweet kiss of his mother’s tomato sauce.

“I’ve never been more proud of you than I am right now” the line in the movie that killed me and had me on the brink of sobbing before those black eyed peas. A mother that had struggled with her daughter’s differentness…. fought and made awful, hurtful comments in an effort to “fix” her “broken” girl, finally swallowing all her wished for desires and seeing her daughter for the woman she has become. Tears. I was reduced to tears and as fucked up and blurred as my upbringing was, I, to this day, appreciate and long for that kind of affirmation. I’m forty fucking years old and still, still I find myself seeking that lap to nuzzle into. A late night snuggle, the twist of hair between my fingers, the pull of perfectly cooked pasta. Not something that plagues me often but definitely leaves a mark when it comes and it seems, that much like Millie, there is a place for me to go. A place where I don’t need to hear the words or feel the lap beneath me. A place to quiet the noise of my day, of my week and at times, of my life.

The sound of my knife hitting the thick block of wood as cauliflower florets tumble, the hiss of a cool pan as I rest it upon the screaming hot rack in my oven, the industrial sound of metal on metal as my whisk combines melted butter and dry flour, the sweet smell the second the flour has given itself over and knowing that now is the time to slowly add my mixture of warm milk and chicken stock. Watching the light brown paste become thick, milky white, creamy enough to coat my feverishly moving whisk, growing thicker with each handful of shredded Fontina and filling my house with the richest most decadent aromas…filling my heart with pride once presented poured over crispy, deeply roasted, fork tender cauliflower or golden brown hunks of pan roasted potatoes….

Been spending lots of time in my kitchen as of late. Just there alone, my thoughts and feelings put on hold as I build, create and pour my wishes into the food for my table. I may never get to hear my parents say, “I’ve never been more proud of you” but that, “Can you make your tri-tip when I’m home?” feels like what I would suspect hearing those words would. Knowing that in just a couple weeks my son will be home, sitting before many a wish filled, familiar plate of my food I can finally say…..much like Minnie, I’m very proud of myself.

Counting the days.....

Scandal-less

2011-12-08T13:56:00.000-08:00

Hey, I got a question. Why the hell is anyone acting as if the Jay Miller "scandal" is any kind of scandal at all? Isn't this the same dude that got his palms, (and maybe other parts....ewe) greased, or at the very least "sticky" in Australia a while back? What, and now everyone is all shocked.....again? My favorite part is anyone acting as if this shit right here makes any difference.

Parker supporters will continue to support the dude, already hearing all the "I never liked that Miller guy anyway" chatter amongst the devoted Advocates, and the people that get their rocks off bashing Parker, for whatever reason, are having a few moments of taunt time before this scandal-less scandal goes back to being the nothing it was before.

Look, I don't read Parker's publication, never have. I don't care for his palate, never have but I've no bone to pick with the dude. If there is one thing that bugs me it is that he is/was so influential that many of my beloved French wines, (Rhone, I am SO looking at You) shifted, oaked, pushed ripeness levels and such to please his palate. His fault? Oh sure, it's fun to blame him, and lets be honest, he is kind of demonic looking and what not, but the sad truth of the matter is he moved a shitload of wine with a wave of his powerful pen. Period. Wineries, no matter how romantic we like to believe, need to sell wine and many of them did and do whatever it takes to do so. To hate Robert Parker for anything just makes him far too important to me and for me, well he just isn't. I don't use his words or numbers to buy or sell wine so this Jay Miller chatter is just that, more chatter and another way for us wine people to argue. Meh, not interested, thanks.

Now the real news is come tomorrow morning my Los Angeles Lakers may be a very different team! And I say this as a lifelong Lakers fan, no, I'm not saying it I'm begging for it. I had to suffer through the Rambis and Mark Madsen years, loyal and devoted as ever so please, just this once, can you get me some of this...

To look at?! I-am-just-sayin'
Fingers crossed.
Me

Wines Of The Year

2011-12-03T08:37:00.000-08:00

Okay, before I get started here I would like to say that I’m not really a fan of this whole premise. Wine of the Year, Top 100, Top 10 lists, they have never made sense to me as I tend to see wines in context and find merit in their individualism, ability to pair with whichever dish and frankly, wine is much less of a thing to me than it is a moment, setting, memory….so I would much rather see a Top 10 Wine Moments kind of deal on blogs and in magazines than some beauty pageant listing of random wines. That being said I know I’m not in the majority on that and as someone that has worked at The Wine Country for 15 years, (wow, still cannot believe that) I know how customers look forward to seeing what wines we come up with. And outside of Randy asking us at the tasting table during judging, very few people ask us why we picked the wines we did. Lots of folks get all aflutter with excitement over these kinds of things and far be it from me to block anyone from getting their flutter on.

So for our Wine of the Year selections there are some very real constraints as to what we can chose, I mean we are a retail shop and unlike the goddamn Wine Spectator we aren’t about to select wines that no one can get their hands on! That chunk of stupid does us no good in the sales department and as someone that has, many times, had to shake my head and say, “No that’s long gone” to some poor person that comes in with the WS list thinking they are going to find the Spectator’s #1 pick for their wine loving friend/boss/wife/husband for the holidays, well I can tell you from firsthand experience that it just pisses people off. So first and foremost the wine needs to be available to sell, which depending on price, means anywhere from seven or eight cases for the wines in the over $60.00 price point and anywhere up to twenty cases of wines closer to the $30.00. So already many wines we might have picked, say my beloved 2010 Clos Marie Rose, cannot be a contender….even though that was clearly one of the most compelling wines I had all year. None to sell, out of the running. The next part up for consideration is the broad appeal. How many people are going to “get” and love this wine, the objective being that we can sell more wine if we keep that in mind but truthfully, I rarely let that influence my decision. I have plenty of faith in our customer’s willingness to try new things and I just can’t get excited about, “Because it’s easy” as my reason for selecting something that I am saying is my Wine of the Year….just a pain in the ass like that. Lastly price, especially in a troubled economy, while not a deciding factor, is something we try and keep in mind. We do want people to be able to afford the wines we’re all geeked out about, that and let’s be honest, crowning some $300.00 bottle of wine as Wine of the Year is kind of dickish and snobby and that, that has never been what The Wine Country is about. So last month the four buyers for the store tossed their selected wines in the tasting ring….

We gathered after closing on a Tuesday night. I had the day shift, (was in the middle of my hell weeks so of course I was the one pulling the thirteen hour shift…goddamn it) so I had contacted the people that were off asking them which white wines they would like me to get chilling for them. All but one of us having our wines selected well before the tasting, one….well he has a more organic approach to this yearly event. He walks around the store for two days, including the day of the tasting, scanning the racks, hovering over wines he feels might be winners, popping corks to revisit them then rushing to the back room to call the supplier to see if there is a healthy supply of them. Cracks me up. He struggles with the Wine of the Year thing as much as I do and likely for the same reasons, guess it makes sense seeing as he is my boss and the one that inspired and cradled my passion for wine from the beginning. I do love that man so.

Registers counted, doors locked, entire staff, buyers and non, (well aside from Dale who is a wine lover, not a wine taster and doesn’t care for these kind of slurp and spit events) present and accounted for, two stacks of paper in front of all of us, one full sized sheets for taking notes, the other little piles of cut up scratch paper for the secret balloting, and we launched into our Wine of the Year judging. Now, there are five categories total: Champagne of the Year, White Wine of the Year, Red Wine of the Year and Sweet Wine of the Year, from those we re-taste and come up with Wine of the Year. So lots of tasting, explanations and at times, arguing as each one of us fights and makes a case for each of our wines before everyone is tasked with selecting their top two wines in each flight. There have been years when we have had to re-vote, numerous times in each category just to come up with a winner but this year, having a much smaller staff, two of which are brand spanking new to wine, well it went pretty damn smoothly….except for one minor hiccup.

“I think this is corked” Bennett, our new world wine buyer was the first to bury his nose in the glass of 2007 Ridge Santa Cruz Mountains Estate Red that Randy had put up for Red Wine of the Year. We had been working our way through the reds and I still had some 2006 Produttori del Barbaresco in my glass, lost in the aromas of Nebbiolo and wondering if the wine might have the muscle to trump my selected Burgundy. Bennett gave me a, “What do you think?” look and I sadly dumped my Barbaresco and poured myself a glass of the Ridge. “Yup, corked” I confirmed. “Everyone get a new glass” Randy announced as he leapt from the tasting table and began gathering clean glasses for all of us. “Tim, can you go grab us another bottle of Ridge?” and our newest employee went scampering for a fresh bottle of Ridge. Foil and cork removed, new glasses poured and after one sniff the whole damn table went mute. Gone were the mutterings, scribbling, bickering voices…silence. “Holy shit” all I could think to say as these rich, deep, elegant aromas pulled me deeper and deeper into the glass. The hush at the table broke and this excited energy splashed from person to person as we all began sipping the wine. It became clear, in a matter of seconds that Randy’s under $40 red blend was absolutely going to win Red Wine of the Year, after my third sip I was sure it was going to take top seed as Wine of the Year as well. “I just can’t believe how beautiful this is” Bennett effused “It’s almost like drinking Montebello” the words hanging from his lips like a caption in a cartoon as my eyes fell on the bottle we were tasting….um.

“That would be because we are drinking Montebello” I announced.

Did I mention that Tim, the one we sent for a replacement bottle of Ridge Santa Cruz Mountains Estate Red is our newest employee? Did I also mention this is first ever entree into the world of wine? Poor kid ran off to do as his boss told him to but we failed to mention to him that all the Ridge wines have the same label. The wine that sent a hush across the whole table was not the Santa Cruz Mountains Estate Red, it was in fact Ridge winery’s top of the line blend and a far cry from $36.99. No, the Montebello sells for a whopping $110.00. “Guess it goes to show, sometimes wines are worth their price tag” I whispered to Randy.

We got another bottle of the Santa Cruz Mountains to taste, which of course tasted like poo after tasting the Montebello and we now found ourselves in a bit of a quandary….should we even vote for the Montebello? It wasn’t even a candidate, just a fluke accident but now, now it was a “situation”. Bennett and Randy both thought we should chalk it up as a funny story and go back to the originally selected wines and they had very valid points, not the least of which is that we don’t want to look like assholes by proclaiming what many already know is a spectacular wine, our Wine of the Year, or even our Red Wine of the Year…that and it’s pricey and we feared looking like elitist douchenozzles. “There is no way we can leave that wine out. It was clearly the wine of the night.” He re I was arguing not only for the most expensive wine but for an expensive wine from California. The wine was, without question, the wine of the night and snobby be damned, it deserved its shot and its win. Congratulations Tim, even though you are not a wine buyer your “selection” is The Wine Country’s Wine of the Year!

Is the 2007 Ridge Montebello worth $110.00? Absolutely and I feel lucky to have tasted it. To know great wine is to taste something like this and you owe it to yourself as a wine lover to try it.

My Wine of the Year Nominees

N.V. Gonet-Medeville Brut Tradition $41.99

Opting this year to step away from my usual meaty, full, rich and exuberantly fruit focused style of Champagne I went for more of a wine lovers Champagne. Each time I opened a bottle of Gonet-Medeville Brut Tradition I was floored by the complexity, the toasted almonds, seashells and grilled citrus. The wine drinks almost Sherry like and seeing as I have a mad crush on Sherry at the moment it just tingles my bits. Not a wine for the Champagne as a style set. This is a serious, nearly savory bottle of bubbles and I find it truly remarkable.

2008 Domaine Didier Dagueneau Blanc Fume de Pouilly $64.99

Seems like nearly every year one of us selects a wine from this estate and it’s no wonder why, they are simply stunning and hands-down the most compelling Sauvignon Blancs on the planet. I have a personal connection to this winery but I assure you, even without that I would have chosen this wine. Benjamin, (Didier’s son that has been making the wines since Didier’s passing) has not missed a step even though he is filling some very large shoes. It’s the texture, the weight and silkiness that kills me about this wine. Fierce minerals, loaded with tangy citrus rind and a tingling blast of acidity on the finish. I would drink this over most every white Burgundy we carry.

2008 Domaine Maume Gevrey-Chambertin $45.99

“Fuck” was all I could say after smelling this wine at a recent red Burgundy seminar I gave and the lustful, erotic aromas have been haunting me ever since. I had actually planned on putting up one of the Domaine de Montille red Burgundies we tasted when Etienne was here a few months ago but after one night with this wine….signed, sealed, delivered “I’m yours”. Anyone that has ever wondered what the hell I’m talking about with regards to a wine that smells sensual needs to bury their nose in a glass of this wine. Dark cherries, roasted meat, mushrooms, truffles, stone fruit…like nectarine, and spice. Brilliant. Sexy. Captivating. Period.

For the rest of the staff selections please visit http://www.thewinecountry.com/

Slow Build

2011-12-01T02:41:00.000-08:00

“I just wanted to let you know he’s not doing too well” A text from my far sweeter than me sister. She was letting me know that our brother, the senior sibling, the imperial, the entitled one that pissed away every advantage he was ever given, favoring instead to live the lavish life his father, (not ours) oozed, promised, schemed and inflicted on any poor soul that was looking for a fast buck and easy ticket to the fast track. Given, at least while it was convenient, anything and everything that should have made his life better. The brother that never let us forget he was older, never earned one ounce of credit other than the fact he was born first, never let me forget he was born “better”.

I pulled the leftover pork butt from the freezer. Let it warm a bit on the counter before slicing it into quarter inch thick slices, letting it come to room temp right next to the slow cooker that was bubbling away and rendering another bit of pork spineless. The scented water, rich with onions, garlic, bay leaves, fresh oregano, salt and pepper, slipping into the tissue of the meat, massaging it, the warm bath pounding against the flesh…emitting aromas that made me ache to dip my own weary skin into it. “What-cha making?” coming from the living room. “Just building a sauce” my response.

“This is my house. I don’t even know what you are doing here!” my painfully handsome brother hissing at me through clinched teeth. My eyes filled with tears, mostly because I didn’t know what we were doing there either. I know I would have given anything I had, which was not much, not to be. My brother and I had an on and off again relationship, not one we chose, we were far too young to be in charge of those kind of monumental decisions. He lived with his father, who to this day holds the crown as the most evil fuck of a human I have ever had the displeasure to run into. He was a sick and massively tortured man, one that first ran to the church to rid himself of the demons he was born with, then ran to the arms of a woman…one that was also tortured but in the way women of her generation and social class were. Lost, two lost souls with no clue what the hell they were doing, my brother the spawn of that ill-fated marriage and the victim of the master manipulator that would at some point convince a fearful divorcée that their child would be better off, be given a better chance under his care.

“Is that sausage browning?” my husband’s hopeful voice coming from our Sunday morning sanctuary. The sound of football behind my back as I stood in my church, in my kitchen using my hands to chop, simmer, scrape and urge food to do as I wish…. pouring myself into each layer of crispy browned bit, each tomato kissed tidbit. “I’m just making dinner love, we are still hours from eating any of this” I said before slinking out to the charger for my ipod, slipping the soft buds into my ears and steading myself with my trusty corkscrew. Opening one bottle for the sauce, one for me to sip on as I thought of the withering brother that once struck fear into me.

“Oh God baby, how long have you been here?!” my mother unlocking the little hook on the guest room closet. “Not too long” I reassured her when in fact I had been there so long that my bladder was shooting lightning bolts along my spine. Hours, I had been locked in that little closet, the little slats of wood allowing just enough light that I could see the shadows of those that walked past, free in a way I’m not sure I ever knew, for hours. Even then I knew the kind of hatred my brother had for me went far beyond the annoying sibling, the kind of viciousness that would laugh as my terrified voice begged him to stop as he shoved my delusional, “Sam you want to come swimming with me and my friends?” ass in the closet. That he was feeling pain that while different wasn’t all that foreign from my own. He never once got that…still doesn’t.

I walked out of my kitchen, the slow cooker doing its thing, my sauce of crushed tomatoes, garlic, parsley, crispy browned bits of pork and wine bubbling away on the stove. Slowly pressed my thumb on the clasp of my screen, my feet bare and alarmed by the cool concrete but free to wander. Cradled my glass of Maume Gevrey-Chambertain in my palm, letting the warmth of my skin coax even more exotic and alluring aromas from deep puddle of wine that sloshed and climbed up the side of my glass as I made my way out to the courtyard that looks out upon the stream that trickles through our apartment complex. Deep black cherries, roasted meat, truffles and soy sauce creating a bubble around me as I rolled the cuffs of my jeans. My lips drawing in little parcels of pleasure, momentary whispers of “more to come” as I gently plunged my ankles, shins, knees into the cool crisp water, sucked in my breath as the water gathered and rushed across my very exposed flesh. “He’s not doing well” fighting the Maume for my attention…

My brother is not doing well. His body a roadmap of family dynamics and nearly thirty years of addiction. Part of me feels like I should be more compassionate, like my own father’s addiction, (not his father…but a teacher in some ways I’m sure) would make me better at this. Better at understanding or better equip at dealing with this, but I’m not. Our on again, off again relationship has been nothing if not filled with blame, rage, distrust and avoidance. I don’t know him, my brother. I don’t know anything about him really. I know he is on the opposite of everything I believe in politically, his brief but very proud…chest thumping military background, no matter how brief and troubled, giving him yet one more sense of entitlement that no matter what he stole, broke, screamed about….locked in a closet wouldn’t make his life any better. His outrage at my not bowing down to worship his sacrifice at losing the crew of friends…the ones that he would have been with if I had not sent letter upon letter to bring him home to help me deal with our very sick mother. My fumbling letters to his officers spared him but now, it’s my lot and shame to bare that he didn’t go down with that helicopter. Just one more thing to hate me for.

“Is it ready? The smell is killing me!” Carl simply dying from the smell of pork, tomatoes and the bread I had begun searing in the pan. Wanted the bread to have a bit of a crust before I slathered it with shredded ribbons of pork and dousing it with my even porkier sauce. My feet still puckered and wet from my pond dipping but feeling freed from the horizontal slats of the guest room closet. My built sauce driving at least one man wild and filling my chest with my own worth. It’s not just the food I fill him with, it’s the pieces of me that I sprinkle over each little bit of food that I feed my family with.

“He’s gotten worse. I think I’m heading up to take him to the ER” another text from the sweet sister that bares far more weight than she should. I’ve found myself in tears for two nights as I struggle with my own demons and dealing with Our Brother. My mother left us far too soon. As broken as she was she would have held my head as I cried…hopefully let me throw my own punches before wrapping her arms around a very lost soul, in this department and kissed my hairline as I tried to feel something, anything for a man that has spent his life, just as I have, looking for hope, but finding his worth tied to this family. As much as every part of me wants to flip some mirror in his face, show him all that he has done, all that he has missed, I know his memories aren’t of seared pork, built sauce and Gevery-Chambertain. My broken heart and nostrils full of life can’t deny I owe him something….

My brother is 44 years old and his body is being ravaged by years of abuse and addiction. He would lose his shit if he knew I said that…my mother would too. Secrets are HUGE in the Kemner/Dugan clan. Our deficiencies the top secret kind of shit that some of our folks would go fist-to-cuffs for and about. But me, I find myself aching and missing my mother’s soft lilting voice. She would urge me to care for him, for my sister and as I let this last bit of Gevery remind me of what really matters…Cooked cherries and smoked animal flesh, the wines and people behind them, remind me of why I can still stand tall, in the face of the kind of chore that makes me ache for my kitchen. The soft whisper of onions, the rendering of pork…the bare feet of a woman that is free, for the first time and willing to sling that bottle to stand up and fight for those not even willing to fight for themselves.

Mike…I’m coming. I know you won’t be pleased but just like my slow, long cooked sauce, my Maume Gevery, I might not be easy to get but….I’m here and you are going to have to deal with me.

On my way…..

Thankful....

2011-11-25T00:54:00.000-08:00

“I’ve volunteered every year so that you could spend the time with your families, Jeremy isn’t home and I don’t have to cook but I would love to have this year off, just to stay in my jammies all morning, cook breakfast and watch football. Was wondering if either of you would be willing to step up so I can do so.” An email I sent to my coworkers a couple of weeks ago regarding working the Thanksgiving shift. It’s a short shift, (although Randy went and snuck another hour in this year) only five hours and I have to say, working the store on Thanksgiving is kind of fun. The people are in a great mood and always so grateful that we are open for a few hours, so it’s not at all a chore really but for some reason I just really wanted to be off. Randy works it every year as well and our newest employee Tim, (very young and hungry for the time and a half) stepped up right away but he doesn’t know wine so I thought one more person might be needed. Randy didn’t so even though my beloved Ronnie, (our Italian, Spanish, Bordeaux and Port buyer) offered to scoot in before the troves of family arrived at his door, Randy didn’t think it necessary…woo hoo! Off on Thanksgiving, now there’s something to be thankful for!

Opted to accept the invite to my best friend Merritt’s “Drunksgiving” a ritual started a couple years ago in which massive amounts of food and drink are consumed without the whole family around to keep you on your best behavior. Skipped it in the past as I had to be all spunky and shit for work the next morning but this year, all in for the festivities. After one too many white Russians, which is only one when they are being made by Merritt’s adorable boyfriend Evan, dude makes a mean ass drink I can assure you, (and some other behavior that I shan’t spill, gotta save some crap for the next time I am given one of those awards dealies and I have to confess to stuff), a plate of smoked turkey and mashed potatoes…okay I might have partaken in the better part of a bottle of 2009 Azo Petit Chablis…I stumbled through the front door with just enough spunk to do a, “I am so off tomorrow mother f’ers!” dance, wash my face, climb into my most adored green polka-dot pajamas and crashed, a spent puddle of the-day-before-Thanksgiving workday and too much merriment.

Woke this morning with nothing on my plate other than lounging amongst the cheers of football on the television, cooking some bacon and eggs and at some point slow roasting some Brussels Sprouts in bacon drippings and citrus to haul over to the in-laws for the holiday feast. Bliss. Unabashed and unfettered bliss.

“Powers out!” I heard it floating from my neighbor across the way as my eyes were still darting this way and that, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Television black and silent and ceiling fan slowly wheezing to stop, deafening silence, well other than the sound of my own voice screaming, “Noooooooo!” in my head. My first Thanksgiving off in I don’t know how many years and the fucking power is out. No football, no eggs and bacon, no internet and I can’t even leave yet as my lazy ass is still in my pajamas…something I was bragging to anyone that would listen, that I was going to do, stay in my jammies all day, as we don’t have a hairdryer that works on batteries. Don’t think even the shittiest of TBS writers could have made this up. Whimper….Merde.

So I write you dear reader from my little couch island, the tapping of my nails across the keyboard and the mutterings of, “Oh Goddamn it” in my head the only sound in my annoyingly still and quiet apartment. However, the stark silence does give one time to reflect, to think about what this day is about and the things I am truly thankful for and seeing as I passed on cranking out another lame-ass, useless, “What to pair with Thanksgiving dinner” post, and seeing as I have NOTHING better to do, why not use up the rest of this slowly dying laptop battery, (feeling mighty thankful for that battery business right about now) to share with you the things I am most thankful for. Very original idea I know.

I’m thankful for:

Fucking electricity….

Jack in the Box- Both for being slave drivers and being open today and for their divine breakfast croissant which is sustaining me as I am currently without stove.

The Potato- For weathering the storm of famines and Dan Quayle jokes to be here for me. One of my all-time favorite foods, since birth The Potato and I have been through a lot together. Fried and crispy, whipped or mashed into creamy lusciousness, or simply aromatically soothing me as they bake away in the oven, The Potato is simply brilliant and I am forever thankful to have it.

Francois Chidaine- For his truly masterful coaxing of Chenin Blanc into profound greatness. Giving me mind bending wines to drink, share and teach people about. Drinking them is my pleasure, turning others on to them, a joy.

My Dislike of Chocolate- Without which I would surely weigh in at 400 pounds.

Tessa Jansen- My sister. My first true love and now a woman with a laugh that I simply cannot live without. So proud of the woman she has become.

Epoisses- The slinkiest of all the things I’m thankful for. Ungodly creamy texture, saltiness just this side of being too much, a stink that now resonates the kind of guilty pleasure I should be ashamed of. Perfect. It is a perfect cheese….and it comes with the added benefit of pissing my husband off every time I bring it home.

Randy Kemner- For taking a chance on a very reluctant wine newbie. Giving me a job that I love going to each day, (crazy last two weeks notwithstanding) and getting a kick out of my sometimes irreverent outlook on life…and wine. He has changed my life in ways I could have never imagined and there are simply no words big enough to encapsulate my gratitude.

Dave Matthews- Although really fucking slow on discovering that we are madly in love, I’ve been yanked through the gambit of emotions; pleasure, desire, sadness, awe, hope and peace through his words and music. When nothing seems to soothe me I plug into Dave and I am a calm and often inspired.

Blogging- For cracking the protective layer I’d hidden behind a good chunk of my life. Doing this has not only brought new and astoundingly loving people into my life, it has forced me to tap into this writing junk, discover my voice and in turn, made me not only better at my job, a better and more complete person. Might sound stupid or like a bit of a stretch but I assure you, it’s not. I would not be the person I am now without having this place to share my stories, my heart, my history, my love and my soul. Beyond thankful to have this place and all of you.

The Save Feature in Word- Without which this post would be vanishing in a few minutes.

Pho- Spicy citrus laden broth and noodles, surely a gift from God.

Billecart-Salmon Champagne- Now a wine of my past as I don’t think they are what they once were but, this was the Champagne that rattled my bones and sprung my passionate wine lover into action.

My In-laws- Where I am now, plugged in and able to connect to the five of you. The glow of my trusty laptop sparking a gleam in my eye like that of a five year old on Christmas morning. The smell of turkey, mushrooms and tiny heads of cabbage roasting mixed with the smell of a home I’ve been in hundreds of times before…the smell of family.

Gevrey-Chambertin- For teaching me what lust smells like. For showing me that power is not proven with weight or force but with its ability to captivate. Cooked red cherries, smoked meat, nectarines, truffles, cola and soy….all in one glass and tiptoeing across my palate.

My Husband- aka The Saint. No one could put up with my shit the way he does and has and wakes each morning willing to take it all over again, for no other reason than he gets and loves me….enjoys waking beside me every day. I don’t understand how or why he does it but, am eternally grateful, thankful that he does.

My Mother- I miss her, today more than any other day of the year. This was her holiday and the one time a year she was genuinely happy. Her face lit up, beautiful and confident has she swung from pan to pan preparing food to fill us…in more ways than one. Yeah, I miss her and am thankful in ways too enormous to articulate.

Chablis- For showing me what Chardonnay can be. Thought I might be a part of that “I loathe Chardonnay” crowd…until Chablis.

Grown Up Wipies- Without which I would feel far less fresh than I do right now. We’ve had running water through the outage but not hot or even warm water…opted to skip the shower and Ho-bath it today. Might want to add how fucking thankful I am for hot water and goddamn electricity once again.

Working Retail- This unplanned for gig has taught me to be a more patient and fair minded human. It’s amazing the things I hear, both good and bad, working the floor and it has helped shape who I am as a consumer.

Southern California Edison- For paying ridiculous amounts of money to their poor turkey less employees to come out and restore power to our little conclave of apartments. 22 hours later and I am now back on my couch, television flashing and hot water heater starting to huff away ensuring, (please, oh please) that I will have a hot shower before work tomorrow.

My Baby- Now you know this had to be here right? I logged on this morning to have a picture of my son’s massive back tattoo meet my eyes. FFL, it runs down his spine and the message behind it was the first thing I saw…and it ran down the length of mine. Family, Friends, Life, FFL, his moniker and the thing that got him through when things seemed too much. Jeremy was on his own this Thanksgiving, his roommates all off spending time with their family and my son, my baby, was alone and still grateful for the love that has been bestowed upon him from thousands of miles away. I will confess that I cried, allowed myself an indulgent hanky soaked moment as sat with my courser hovering above the many names on my email list, wondering who to email to unload my, so-lonely-to-hold-my-baby grief upon. The only person that I knew would understand was the young man that had penned the post that made me cry in the first place. My son. Never in my life could I have imagined that another person could hold my every emotion so tightly in their grip…should have known the second those strong premature fingers gently but forcibly wrapped around mine. Not expected, wanted or understood…those fingers that tattoo, my son knows and loves me in a way that defies every bit of logic and conventional idea of family I had, or have, ever been taught before feeling his skin against mine. My heart and awareness came alive with his touch, his laugh, his snarl when he felt he was being held to an idea or image that was beyond what he was willing or able to give. I envy his strength and understand his plight. He is my personal hero…

Lastly I am thankful that even one of you come here, to visit and support me. Never sure what the hell I am doing here, the late night rants, the gushing and the endless waxing about wine, life, my son, my loves….am forever amazed and warmed by the responses and connection spun from my lips, tongue, fingertips and voice. You all let me do this? Showers and the ability to cook bacon have got nothing compared to the warmth I feel when I’m here, talking to You. I’m thankful every day that you let me do this. I need and love you more than you can possibly know….

Happy Thanksgiving All

I am so thankful for You.

Valuable Lessons

2011-11-23T08:19:00.000-08:00

“So, how was it?” me excitedly rushing up to one of my bosses, Dale Kemner after her birthday dinner at The Lazy Ox, a restaurant in downtown Los Angeles that I had been hearing great things about but had not tried as of yet. I listened, mouthwatering as Dale fed me nuggets of her birthday dinner through her retelling of each tiny detail, every small plate of expertly executed and seasonally focused food. I listened and mentally pushed the restaurant up my list of “must try” joints. “Oh and after all of that, and a bottle of white Burgundy, when we split the bill it was $100 a couple” joint just leapt to the very top of that list. I’m restricting my spending as much as the next guy, um, gal, but I don’t buy shoes, clothes, art, or fancy junk for my pad so, the occasional dinner out is something I allow myself. Something I need from time to time, along with a great bottle of wine, to reward myself for busting my ass and becoming the Queen of Leftovers. Have to…..

Got home and after the long day, and hearing about such a nice dinner out, I announced that I wasn’t really feeling the whole cooking deal that evening. “Well, we could knock another one of those chains off our list” my husband offered. Okay, this is where I need to explain that I have this thing, well I have many “things” but my chain restaurant thing is kinda weird. I go to a handful of them, enjoy the food even; Chili’s and Islands both have pretty decent chips and salsa, burgers and tacos, Outback is a go-to for crab legs when I am in dire need and I dig me some Cracker Barrel when I’m in a town that has one….although if there were a Cracker Barrel down the street I doubt I would be there too often. So I’m not some snoot that looks down my nose at chain restaurants. I wish there were fewer of them and that they weren’t running small restaurants, with better food, out of business but I don’t make sweeping “They all suck” comments. Now that being said, I do look down my nose at shitty food and have no problem calling out the places that serve it up but, you ever heard me tear apart Olive Garden? Nope, know why? I’ve never been. So this is the weird part, I just don’t feel like I can make fun of a place until I’ve actually eaten there. So every once in a while we belly up to one of these places just to see if it’s all that we fear it will be. “Well, we could knock another chain off our list” and I was on my way to TGI Fridays.

The last place like that we went to was Applebees and while I was completely grossed out by the menu and volume of crap they put on every freaking entrée, I mean do you really need to cover your steak in cheddar or parmesan shrimp sauce?! Gack! And I burst into a fit of giggles when the woman behind me ordered like the biggest entrée on the menu, swapped her veggie side for fries, with Ranch of course, added on some boneless chicken wings and then added “No salt” after picking the rice pilaf option. Nearly shot my martini through my nose after listening to that exchange but all in all the food wasn’t gawd awful. I had to make some modifications, no sauce whatsoever on my meat, medium rare as opposed to my normal rare…just knew better and went for a simple baked potato rather than one of their stuffed and stacked sides. Was far from great and I don’t foresee us going back anytime soon but better than I had feared. Now TGI Fridays? Two bites in and my husband actually said, “I’d give anything to be at Applebees right now” it was that bad. Bland, greasy, ugly food and the tiny side salad I ordered in place of some wretched fried, mashed, sweet potato option, was the saddest pile of once-frozen lettuce I have ever seen. To top it off I’m sure our server was on some work release program and the place was filthy, like having to pry the covered-in-sticky menu pages apart. Should have left them stuck and hightailed to Outback or whatever.

Marched into work the next day, straight back to my boss’ office and said, “I learned a very valuable lesson in perceived value last night”. “It’s cheap and easy” the thing I hear most when people talk about hitting up one of these chains, cheap and easy. One shared appetizer, two drinks each and two entrees and with tax and tip at that there TGI Fridays, $98.00, just a couple dollars less than Randy and Dale had spent on a real meal from an independent. What, The, Fuck?! Far from cheap and chocking down that sub-par food was anything but easy. Cannot for the life of me figure out how these places became known for being “cheap and easy”.

“Sorry we haven’t been here for a while” a fairly regular customer I hadn’t seen in a couple months. She went on to tell me that she and her husband were trying to reel in their spending and cut some costs where they could so they had been picking up wine at the grocery store while they were there gathering their other items. I nodded; let her know that I understood as she continued. “We burned through the wines at the market pretty quick and then started running through the options at Trader Joe’s” she went on. “They have so many wines under $10 that we thought we would find at least something we would enjoy drinking” she was becoming more and more animated as she shared her tale of woe with me. “I have no idea how much money I poured down the drain with each bottle of $7.00 wine, so then we thought we would up the price a little, you know, try the stuff from $11-$15 in the hopes that we could at least finish a bottle” her eyes big, shoulders and arms bouncing a little more with each expression of annoyance and frustration. “Then one night we were struggling through one of the more expensive wines we got from TJ’s and it dawned on me, why the hell are we suffering through this crap when we can go to The Wine Country?!” she motioned to her shopping cart that contained no fewer than twelve bottles, “Look at that! All of these are $15 and under and I already know we are going to be much happier with them. I don’t know what the hell we were thinking” she muttered as she made her way to the checkout. Not the first time I’ve heard that story, not even close to the first time. The perception being that you can get better deals at the grocery store or Trader Joe’s but how much of a deal is it when you are drinking, or trying to drink wines that are often purchased on closeout or factory made, lifeless, soulless swill? Of course not all of the wines in those places are like that, but more often than not the ones in that under $15.00 category are. I mean, do the math, when you are at a chain, a national chain and those skews are in every single one of those stores….well just how handcrafted and special can those hundreds of thousands cases be? Cheap but, easy?

“It’s my first time here and I noticed that you don’t carry any of the typical (nice choice of words by the way) high-end Champagnes” a gentleman that had stopped into the shop after visiting the bakery next door. I explained our Champagne department to him; that we have found that these grower, smaller production Champagnes offer so much more actual value in terms of flavor, depth, structure and length. I also mentioned the minefield of pricing games involved with carrying many of those “typical” wines, that suppliers will sell those dusty “yellow” boxes of Veuve Clicquot, (Boo Pecoche) to the Costco down the street, often at prices so low that thy can sell it to the customer for a price that is less than what we, as a small independent store, paid for it per bottle, and lastly I posed a question to him, “Now what would make a consumer drive out of their way to come here and pick up a bottle of Champagne that they can grab at the market while buying Tums and Trisquits?” I kept it short and not too preachy, the gentleman nodding and following along and in answer to my question he responded, “Well they can be good for a gift. You can give someone a bottle of Dom and they will think, Oh look how much you spent on me” not exactly the way I like to think about gift giving, or receiving for that matter but I guess there is some value to that. “Yeah but, with wines like these, that are so much more layered, mouth filling and complex, they will open the bottle and taste what a special gift you found for them. Opening a bottle of Dom is never going to turn someone on to a new passion, wines like this” my hand resting on a bottle of Camille Saves Carte Blanche, “They can”

Not sure if it was the explanation or my impassioned belief in what I was telling him but the guy gave me a big grin and walked out with a bottle of Champagne he had never heard of before, that and a curiosity that was just too gnawing for him to ignore. He had to taste what I was talking about and that right there is why stores like The Wine Country are so important, valuable to the community and worth driving to. No bottle necker is going to be able to explain things the way an actual person, wine loving person can. No shelf is going to be able to help you find a wine that is to your liking or explain why that Franciscan Cabernet might not be the best option for your poached dover sole, and no one at Costco is going to tell you that you don’t need to spend the $50.00 on Far Niente Chardonnay when you can get two bottles of wine that’s equally as good for less. Look, you don’t take your car to the florist for repairs or get a physical at the doughnut shop, why buy your wine anywhere else but at a place where the people working there live, breathe and bleed the stuff? People that drink wine every day and are stocking the shelves with wines in every price point that they would and do drink themselves and whose ultimate goal is to give you the best wine drinking experience you can have, give you that, “Holy shit, this is so good” moment so that you will make that drive to see us once again. Unlike TGI Fuckyou’s we care about your pleasure and aren’t slinging slop while resting beneath some veil of perceived value. With a good retailer you will not only drink better, you can do it much cheaper and that, in this economy is extremely valuable.

Getting Results

2011-11-16T12:19:00.000-08:00

Still cartwheeling through my crazy tidal wave of a work schedule right now, but I can see the light at the surface and am two events away from coming up for air….and maybe even having two days off in a row. Could have done without the thirteen hour shift yesterday, after having only one day off and no matter how hard I tried to freeze the screaming in my back, the fucker was relentless in letting me know just how displeased it was with the work load, reaching, popping corks, pouring and anxiety. But today is a new day. I slept like I was getting paid to do it last night, have the morning off to just chill and rest my bones before heading in to pour and taste a bunch of grower Champagnes for forty enthusiastic customers. Little part in the sea of craziness with just enough room for me to come up for air, exhale and give those of you interested the results of my “Help a girlie out here” survey.

Got about twice as many participants than I expected. I do know what a pain in the ass doing those things can be, also aware that many people simply find them stooped and won’t do it, so thank you so much to those of you that indulged me in my queries and loosely veiled attempt to take a few days off from posting. The real reason for doing that, I mean other than actually needing to take a few days away to deal with my workload, is that after listening to some people that are far smarter and more talented than I, tell me that I should look back on the body of work I have amassed here, get it organized and maybe get a few new readers by grouping like posts together so they can just click on the stuff that might interest them, well I finally took heed to their advice and urging. Getting my collective shit together as it were. So the real question I was seeking answers to was the fourth one in which I was looking for what categories my readers were most interested in. I had fully intended to start tagging away, scroll through past posts and start labeling while gathering the responses you all gave but two things happened. One was that upon coming home after the current schedule I am plowing through I flopped down on the corner of my couch, reduced to a spent pile of goo, unwanting and unwilling to even really touch my laptop and….well it dawned on me, without having all the categories I was planning on using I would be doing the work twice! I barely read my posts when I write the fucking things, not a chance in hell I’m going to comb through my blather over and over again. I may not be smart and junk but I’m wise, (read lazy) enough to avoid, or save myself, from doing more work than I need to.

Compiled the results of the survey this morning and this is what we came up with. Now the numbers are a tad wonky, that’s what happens when you allow more than one vote per question, so you “Math in the head” kids, simmer down.

Don’t You Hate These Damn Things?

77% of you were okay with taking the survey, thanks so much.

How Often Do You Visit?

37% of you visit this silly blog once a day

28% get the email alerts and according to the “other” option Google lets a chunk of you know when I have a new post up.

Even gots me a couple stalkers, again thanks so much.

I Hate It When……

75% picked the Go a week without posting option

11% are ashamed of their dirty thoughts

Had two people tell me they hate the memoir, my history and son posts….might want to find a new blog to read then folks, those won’t be going away.

There were a bunch of write-ins on this one with, “None of the above” being the winner there. My sister also hates it when I talk dirty but then again, she should.

Grouping Posts

58% would like to see a just wine group. Gonna have to see if I even have posts that are just wine but it will be a category for sure.

47% want to know when I use the “F” word more than twenty times.

31% are looking to get their kinky on.

How Did You Find This Blog?

43% of people ended up in this loony patch by seeing my comments or blog on another bloggers site.

27% were told by a friend (and thank you for spreading the word!)

Have You Ever Reposted Posts?

53% of you have and I am utterly floored by that….and very flattered might I just add.

I Often Find Myself__________

48% of you laugh

16% of you cry, (sorry about that)

13% of you are pervs

0% are pissed at me

Another big other section with “All of the above” taking that by a landslide…with some rather curious and mildly disturbing, (ahem, pervs) answers that I shan’t be sharing, but you know who you are.

Pickles Make Me?

63% are pleased by pickles

23% are puckered by them

17% are gassy

I Would Like To See A New Post?

59% are willing to wait until whenever

24% would like to see a daily post. Not happening, I’m no STEVE!

18% think weekly is sufficient

5% are content with a once a month. Also not happening, too much a blabber flingers for that.

I’ve Always Wanted To Know?

34% want to know what’s up with me and The HoseMaster aka Ron Washam. Tough shit folks, some things are for me to know and you never to find out. I will say Ron is a dear friend, one of the sweetest and most generous of heart humans I have the pleasure to know and love. He melts me like butta and only he can know how much I love him. There. Nosy bastards.

31% want to know why. Why what? I didn’t even understand that question.

31% are wondering what the worst wine I have ever had was. Okay, flaws notwithstanding, I have to say the single worst wine I have ever had was Molly Dooker Blue Eyed Boy Shiraz. Fucking disgusting. Tasted like chocolate and coconut covered cherries and I let out the loudest and horribly embarrassing gag when I tried to spit the vile shit from my mouth. Just like those caramel, chocolate, eggnog drinks aren’t coffee, that wine was not wine. It was a box of chocolates masquerading as wine. Hate it.

19% wankers. To ask a wine professional what their favorite wine is, well that’s just crazy. Unlike children I actually don’t have a favorite. I can’t. There is just too much involved for me to pick one wine to love above all others. What next? One meal? One song? One man? C’mon. I will say that I drink more Sauvignon Blanc than anything, have a passion….a fierce one, for grower Champagne and I am currently having a wild affair with Sherry. Good enough?

8% of you want to know what I really think about other bloggers. The truth is, I kind of don’t think anything of them for the most part. I’ve made some truly wonderful friends on blogs. Met some wicked cool people from them but, there are honestly so few I read anymore that I don’t spend much time thinking of them at all. My blogroll lists the ones I read daily, or whenever they have a new post but I don’t seek out new ones and have stopped reading most.

8% are wondering if there is anything left to know. Um, yes, yes there is.

As promised I said I would answer any questions left for me, I thank you all for taking it relatively easy on me here, gotta admit, I was a tad fearful but these are easy.

"Do you accept free samples for review?"
How dare you?! You know, I think I did once but no one ever asks me. Can't say I blame them seeing as I rarely review wines here.

"Why not?"
Right?!

"I'm a wanker & what would your death row meal be?"
Dammit. This question always kills me. Too fucking hard. I think honestly, a pile of super crispy, salty french fries and a glass of Pierre Peters, H. Billiot Brut Reserve or Camille Saves Carte Blanche to wash them down with.

“What writer (non-blog) inspires you?”

Obviously a question from someone that skipped those memoir and “history of me” posts. I was always a horrible student and am a tad ashamed to admit, I don’t read as much as I should. That being said, I always loved Dorothy Parker, Charles Dickens, Dave Matthews, Helen Fielding, Alice Walker and Kermit Lynch.

“How did you get the job you have & How did you become the resilient child?”

No fair, that’s two questions. I got my job at The Wine Country the good old fashioned way, nepotism. Randy Kemner is my second cousin and he drug me, kicking and screaming might I just add, to my now insatiable love affair with wine. He opened that door to me and changed my life in ways I could never have imagined. Not sure how I can ever repay him for that but, I won’t ever stop trying.

The resilient child thing, well I guess I just didn’t see any other option. Sure I could go by way of my brother and many others that blame every little roadblock or hurdle for why they fail or worse, stop trying. Just could never get past asking myself the next part, “So what are you doing to change it?”. Kind of a boring answer I guess but, it’s the only one I’ve got.

“If you are obsessively geeked-out about wine, what’s the best way to camouflage yourself so that normal people will not run screaming from you?”

Um, might I point out that you posed this question to a woman that writes erotica…about wine?! Best I can offer is to tuck those little letters after your name in and run with a herd.

“Do you think about your readers when you write your blog, and if so who, (and what should we know about that person) and if you don’t, why would you expect someone to read it?”

If I didn’t think about my readers I simply would not write at all. I think of them all the time, almost obsessively at times but the thing is, my readers are all over the map. I have wine people, not wine people, friends, family, and customers, people that seem to feel something when I write about one thing, others that swoon or get excited about something else. The responses I get are so varied, the voices, hearts and desires behind them vast. I write about my son and some people tear up, find hope, cry as it turns out and others aren’t interested. I write a rant about stupid ass Food & Wine magazine and their asinine wine pairing suggestions, some people hoot and laugh, others could give a shit. I don’t have one kind of reader and I am eternally grateful for that. I believe this question came from the same person, (and forgive me if I’m wrong…everything is anonymous so I can’t exactly tell) that thought my Memphis posts were over the top and disliked the topics that were, “More you than me” and it is for readers like you that this whole exercise is for. I don’t want you to have to, “suffer through the artistic process” when I label my posts you will be able to go right to the ones that have what you might be looking for. So see there, I do think about my readers. That being said, this is a blog, not a publication or the store’s newsletter. I come here to write whatever I feel and I’ve been lucky enough to have some people enjoy it.

“Do you grasp how amazing of a spirit you are?”

Um, not really. I have however grasped how very lucky I am….good enough?

“How do you find the intellectual energy to keep going; I’m glad that you do though”

Intellectual?! Clearly not a regular reader. I spend my energy and time here because it seems to feed me in a way nothing else has so far. I love the process, admit that I crave the responses and adoration and I have become addicted to watching a piece come to life. I rarely sit down with a post in mind. Just hunker down in front of my laptop and start talking. When something comes together it feels amazing to me. Intellectual, not so much, feeding the monkey on my back is closer to the truth.

“Did you ever go “All the way” with Amy?”

(Sighing) No. My best friend and I did in fact go through a “phase” where we flirted and might have kissed a little, (forgive me for spilling Aims) but I think it was more to get our husbands all atwitter…and dude, did that ever work.

“Will you marry me?”

Absolutely

“Do I have a chance, or not?”

Amy?!

Thanks for all the insight everyone. This was not only fun for me, it really was useful in the getting my shit together department. Got two more events to slug through….and I know you are all loaded up with sympathy thinking of me slugging through 11 grower Champagnes this evening, but I offer that I have to get through Nouveau Beaujolais tomorrow….and then I will have a bit more time to share, whatever it is I am feeling, with all of you here. Had my lips and tongue, (sorry sister) plunged in some heart stopping wines the past two weeks, got lots to share.

Thanks again.

Hugs and Kisses,

Wine Slinger

Crazy Couple Of Days

2011-11-11T00:43:00.000-08:00

So I'm eyeballing the shaft of a very long couple days. Not sure how or when I will find time to post, and I just know you are all on pins and needles, aching for the next spittle spattered bit of whatever creeps into this oft wine soaked melon of mine. Lots of events at the store and working all weekend, even Sunday dag-gum-it, only to have one day off and then I am right back at it with Wine of the Year judging at The Wine Country. Yeah, gots me a ton of stuff loaded on my pre-holiday plate and then, well and then we have the holiday madness.

Been doing some futzing with the blog here. Trying to make things easier for those of you that wish to click on a category and, for whatever reason, read on and on. So I'm tagging and or labeling all my 560 posts, (holy mother of what-the-hell-got-into-me) so as you can see, got more to do than time to do it in. I hope you all bear with me here and since I'm asking for patience and junk....might as well ask for one more thing.

So I have this here survey thing....

http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/86CZ3NC

Just looking for some feedback from you all. I hope some of you take the time to play along. Humor me if you will and in turn I will honestly answer or address whatever it is you share with me. C'mon lurkers, help a blogger out here.

Deal?

Just to be fair, seeing as I am momentarily tied up, (Hush Ron) I will share with you the shit that has entertained me over the past few days....tit for tat.

Thanks in advance to all of you that take the time to help this somewhat fumbling, often wordless but longing to scream, bubble wishing and picture stealing wine slinger...

You and your time, I never take them for granted.

Too Sensitive Or Not Sensitive Enough?

2011-11-08T02:43:00.000-08:00

Been thinking about this quite a bit as of late. Also tried thinking of a way to write/say this without people getting their knickers in a twist or sounding as if I’m pointing out a fault or pointing out a preference but then it occurred to me, twisting knickers is one of my favorite pastimes, that and as someone that has had my cheeks exposed after having my own twisted over and over again….well pardon me as I pull the floss from my ass and step upon my own soapbox for once. Okay it’s been more than once but whatever.

“I was glad there was that chili oil there. I poured that over the top and it was much better”

I stood there, my mouth agape, eyebrows nearly at the bridge of my nose my face so scrunched, listening to the recantation of a coworker eating a pizza that both Randy and I thought was one of the most subtly delicious we had ever had the pleasure to tug between our teeth. Randy had gone first, he and his wife checking out the new pizzeria attached to Michael’s On Naples, one of the best restaurants we have in Long Beach. Randy and Dale came in the next day, their energy so effusive and infectious…not to mention I have a very real respect for their palates, I knew I had to check it out. Once I did, once I sunk my grill into that mildly salty and toothsome crust, the supple and creamy, ultra-mild burrata cheese spreading its sweet milky flavors across my tongue, the tender and subtly spiced mortadella lending its meaty lean and the sprinkle of crushed pistachios, just one more bit of crunch and texture. It was simply sublime and I spent the next few weeks after taking that pizza for a spin in my mouth, telling everyone about it. My coworker went and honestly felt that it was bland, needed something and ended up squirting chili infused olive oil all over the top in order to find pleasure in it.

I spent days thinking about this. How could something two of found so completely perfect be deemed flat and dull by another one of “Us”? I know this shit rarely bothers others, in fact I know for a fact my coworker never thought another thing about it but…well I did and I even went back, this time to try it with the spicy oil and see if it did in fact make my perfect pizza even better. Hunkered down with my smoky-just-out-of-the-fire crust, the toppings gently placed upon its warm surface, the cheese beginning to ooze and the thin slices of mortadella starting to sweat and release its oils into the crust. I indulged in a chili oil free piece, sunk my teeth into it and let each and every little nuanced bit of flavor skip across my palate like a pebble across a pond. Slightly charred bread, milky cheese, green notes from the crushed pistachios and that haunting fatty, groan inducing spice from the lacy sheets of meat. Could have died right there…well okay, might have wanted a glass of Champagne and the wickedly wet and powerful kiss but short of that? Well this was a bite of sheer perfection in my book. Now if this back arching moment could be made better with the introduction of just one more component, well hell I was so in and my hands were almost shaking as I grabbed that bottle of oil and gingerly drizzled it across the next piece.

Dead. Everything I loved about that sultry bit of pie was rendered dead with the addition of that oil. It was as if all the notes just became one long flat note and after three bites I could not, did not, wish to continue eating that pizza. What the hell?! How was this better to him? How could he find more pleasure in this pile of bread with spicy oil….as you could not taste any of the subtle flavors underneath…more interesting or palatable than that knee weakening, “taste all of me” thing that I was getting from the piece of pizza I had experienced just seconds before? Left the rest of that piece on my plate and grabbed another, oil free one to revive me and as I sipped on my glass of Verdicchio began to understand….too sensitive or not sensitive enough?

“Randy, that’s not at all hot” Me after watching my boss tuck into a plate of Mexican food. His nose was running, eyes beginning to water as the rest of us snarffed away completely unaffected. I too am a bit of a baby when it comes to spice but he was suffering far more than I and way more than the rest of the team at the table. He kept proclaiming how spicy the food was, the rest of us shook our heads, wondering what the hell he was talking about…until my own tongue began to protest. I never got the runny nose and would never have outright called the dish “spicy” but I too was feeling a bit of a burn and was absolutely captivated by those around the table that were feeling nothing at all. The Scoville scale had not changed from plate to plate. The actual amount of spice was not different, so why the vast and pretty extreme difference in reaction? Too sensitive? Not sensitive enough?

Funny thing when you start talking about palate sensitivity, everyone gets their feathers up and takes offence to the very idea that you are saying your palate is in any way more sensitive or astute than theirs. I get it and I don’t disagree. No one wants to hear that anyone tastes or feels more than they do, it somehow implies a deficiency and who the fuck wants to hear that noise? I get it but to ignore or worse, act like it’s not a fact? Flat out lie. And I would like to also point out, to be too sensitive is just as much a deficiency as not being sensitive enough…trust me I’m a chick and hearing either of those, bad.

I once told Sir Charles Olken that I think I might have a problem with primary. I said it not only to take some of the heat off my shoulders but also to try and explain the way wine presents itself to me. I find that my palate reacts to primary fruit in a way that I personally don’t find appealing. Just this trouncing of brown or spun sugar that, much like that chili oil, makes everything taste one note to me. When that happens, much like that chili oil pizza….I reach for another slice. On that same note, I find that my palate reacts to wood tannin in a way that gives me nothing but bitter. In truth, if a wine is heavily oaked, (and I mean from anywhere, don’t start giving me shit about new world versus old here, not the point, like at all) I find that there is this horrifically unpleasant bitter note that rides along the sides of my tongue and absolutely refuses to let go…sucks and there is not a chance in hell I want to take another sip of that. Does that make me a better taster? I think not….

But I’m not alone here….

“I tested that wine you said had a bit too much sweetness for you. It did have a bit of residual sugar” a winemaker/employee that refused to believe that I got some sweetness on a wine he brought into the shop. “How did you even get that?” he asked, little sugar measuring machine in hand. “Well, I just didn’t love it” was the only thing I could say. When he tasted it he got no cumbersome sweetness, I did. Who was right?

We both were.

Machines and years of tasting aside, we all have our own palates and some of us need a little more pop to make an impression, others crave the “let me pull it out of you” kind of palate experience. Read all you want, slurp away on samples and defend as you must but there is no one palate that has it right. Not mine, not Randy’s, not our domestic or Italian wine buyer, not some blogger or wine writer. Just as each one of us craves a certain touch, kiss, refinement in speech, arch of the spine…for all the rhetoric and bickering, no one has it more right than you do. Find what speaks to you. Talk to us. Don’t be afraid or intimated, tell us what you want.

I loved my unadulterated pizza, my fellow wine professional did not. Was I too sensitive or he not sensitive enough? Neither. We both had it right…for Us.

Blood, Thicker Than Water? (Not a wine post)

2011-11-04T10:08:00.000-07:00

“The only thing that doesn’t fall apart in life is family”

Heard that sentence, or something very much like it my whole life, heard it again last night and to this day I still find myself somewhat baffled by it. Baffled in the way I used to be when I would sit cross-legged on the front stoop, feet bare, skin nearly mahogany from spending as much sunlight as there was outside, alone, lost in the texture of petals on neighbor’s flowers, squeezing tall blades of grass between my toes. My head cocked as I watched the green shards bend, fold and wrap cool and refreshing against my skin. Wondering why some would bounce right back to their erect stance while others seemed to be stunned and unable to find “their” place back in line, (hence the reason I still tip-toe or rarely walk across the grass….don’t want anyone to lose their place). The way I would gently purse my lips and close my eyes, fingers and forearms sticky and slippery as I whispered my wishes into a plastic wand and blew. My eyes opening and hopeful as I marveled in the big soapy bubbles….wondering which would sail and float down the block, escaping, taking my wishes and dreams with them. Which would simply sputter down the wand or worse, fill to amazing size, the fragile sphere glistening and shimmering with color, dancing and shifting with the wind…mesmerizing and distracting me before bursting, my wishes spilled across the concrete while I frantically searched regrouped and sought out the tiny, tighter bubbles that still contained my sweet seven year old breath, hope, desires and ache to get to hover above the block I was restricted to. Hoping one of those tiny ones had walls strong enough to hold, “I want to be remembered” the, “I want to been heard not seen” the “I never want to eat pancakes again” or, “I wonder if there is love big enough for me to actually feel it”

My entrance into the world of love by way of family was rocky to say the very least. Mother and Father both checking in and out; her through books, longing for love from anyone that might save her from the broken bits of life she was promised that never quite fit together. Him fighting voices, pain, feelings of failure compounded by the destruction caused in the wake of his finding peace, quiet and love in the form of a needle and the quiet hum of, “I can’t hear or feel how disappointed you are in me” in them. I danced, played in the stunningly beautiful ocean, made wishes on bubbles and played in the grass. Not sure what a shrink would say but from my stoop and whispered bubbles wishes, I would have to say, pretty much fallen apart. So that family is the end all be all bullshit just never rang true to me. Until….

“I have twenty-four dollars, will that help?” I was ten and my mother was in tears wondering how she was to care for the child that was now growing inside her. One of those hopeless affairs with someone married, stupid, (sorry I was 10 and knew he was a loser dumb ass) and not the least bit willing to help. Something in her sobs, desperateness and watching the person that is in charge of your whole life crumbling kind of feels like a match to your spine. “We can do this Mom, we don’t need him. Really, I know we can” and just like that, fuck saying it now I can’t believe how easy it was for her to bend and fold between my toes. She needed a voice and someone to take charge, was so deflated and lost that she let that someone be me. One of those tight little bubbles did in fact make it, I was heard and not seen and the second I held my baby sister, danced with her pressed against my chest, I knew one of the others had made it too. There was a love big enough to make me feel it…..

“If you are pregnant I will throw you out of this house” the tone had changed even though every example and slideshow I had been shown hadn’t. I was five months pregnant and looking at having my, “Only thing in life that doesn’t break” be shattered into a million pieces. Didn’t matter how terrified I was, didn’t matter what was to become of the child now growing inside me….the twenty-four dollars, the nights that I was up in the rocking chair with my lips pressed against my sister’s temple as I cooed at her and assured her she was wanted and loved. None of it meant anything in the face of having a knocked up teenage daughter and what people might think or say. Homeless with the child created with a “man” that didn’t give two shits about me or at home holding even tighter to a sister that was going to be a victim of what my splintered idea of love and family was. Baffled…

The day I felt my sons tiny fingers grip mine through those rubbery and horridly disinfected arm holes through the incubator I knew, knew like I knew as my mother sobbed and begged for clarity, it was time to face up, own and embrace a love that while not the stuff of whispered wishes, was in fact the stuff that dreams are made of. Rolled the dice and took my chances. I had fucked up so much, been a mess and source of so much “family” humiliation, what’s one more? Made the choice to keep my son and was willing to let the pieces fall into the already hodgepodge resemblance of some puzzle that was missing its box cover. Had no idea what the picture was supposed to look like and for the first time, I didn’t care. No more. I was done. No longer were my legs dark brown and crossed on the stoop, I was now looking down the barrel of a life changing moment and there were no bubbles and carried off whispers to wonder about. I closed my eyes, exhaled and chose Jeremy.

“I just wanted to thank you for taking a chance on me Mom” a call that I can still hear as clear as my nails tapping on this here keyboard. My son calling me, after acting out a scene in a play where he had to be the guy that took off after getting someone pregnant, his first thought was me…and he was so grateful. To this day I wish I were as clear and centered as my son. So open to each little scab picking moment and willing to see the pot of gold at the end of it. Wasn’t all wine and roses in that kid’s life but still, he finds ways to shine, feel lucky and never, ever sees life as anything but a gift. He is my miracle and the person I want to be when I grow up. So wondrous to me when he and I sit together one on one…both of us giving the other credit, praise and that feeling that comes from absolute trust, understanding and love. Looking in those soulful eyes of his, I find myself, seven years old again and taking an extra big breath to make wishes, but this time for him. I choose Jeremy…over and over again.

“I just want you to know that I pick you as my family” a text from my beloved Merritt just seconds after landing back in LA after being in Memphis celebrating two of my most adored people taking the plunge and even symbolically telling all of us, chosen ones, that they are madly in love. I choose her too and as I tossed my stained bra, smoke saturated sweaters and wedding worthy, ( this can be disputed) clothing into the hamper and nuzzled into the aromas of my home…I found peace on a level that is still working its way through my now pasty and milky skin. I no longer have to fill my days with flowers, blades of grass and soapy bubble wishes, my dreams and desires are no longer confined or restricted to my stoop or block. They now float about in the heart of my sister and my son, the only family of the traditional use of the word, that I really have but also in Merritt, Amy, Randy, Carl, Ron, Michael, Vicki, Sam, Val, John, Sara, Joe, Alfonso and all the others that have taken a chance on me, listened and felt me. Some relationships will bounce around on the breeze, take my whispered hope and heart with them, others will grow and burst before my eyes, leaving me wondering why that one failed but never forgetting the ones that slipped past the stoop and found their way to thrive.

So while the whole family or, “blood is thicker than water” thing still baffles me I now know a little better the sentiment behind it. Feels like I’ve found my place and no matter the feet that stomp and squish, I honestly feel like I can bounce back, stand tall beside My “family” and be ready for the next. I still play with bubbles but now, now they are in my glass. They dance about my tongue, tickle my nose and desire, get poured over the skin I’m about to devour. Tiny bubbles that break against my palate as I stand before a class of forty people that came to hear and learn….from me, my son and I clinking glasses in celebration, nights on the couch with the sound of my closest friend’s laugh ringing in my ears, the flavors of baked apple and graham crackers bubbling from a plastic cup in a backyard in Memphis. Family may in fact be the only thing in life that doesn’t fall apart but sometimes it’s not the one you were given but rather the one you have chosen….cheers to you all.

Now I'm Confused....

2011-11-03T07:43:00.000-07:00

Now, which one of these threatens the sanctity of marriage?

So any stoopid Kardashian can get married, clearly for ratings and money but two men that have been madly in love and devoted to one another....for ten years, can't?! I totally agree that one of these does in fact make a mockery of the institution, just not sure I'm on the same page with the rest of this country as to which one....