Early Morning Sautéed Wishes & Rich White Wine Dreams

I was startled awake this morning by the horrifically traumatic, (when you are locked in deep avoidance slumber, traumatic as hell) screeching sound of thin metal fingers being drug against cement and a deep rumbling that reminded me of the sound a jet makes when it is taking off, thankfully there wasn’t a jet near my open bedroom window…….there was however a rather large man standing there in bright orange reflective gear dragging a large empty plastic drum. Casually yelling back and forth to his cohort while standing directly in front of my window, nothing but chilly and dew covered screen to buffer his way-too-fuck-early-in-the-morning noise. Dammit! I tried, fruitlessly of course, to nuzzle deep under the comforter while surrounding my sleepy head with every pillow on the bed but it was to no avail, I was wide ass awake, way before I wished to be and as I stumbled my cranky ass to the kitchen for my cup of coffee I let my fingers longingly brush against the chilly top of my much beloved stove, slowing my pace just enough to trace the dials and nobs with just barely awake tips of fingers, “What should I make for dinner tonight?” seven in the morning and I was already fantasizing about losing myself at my stove, the sounds of things blistering, smells building atop one another, my forearms and tummy warmed as I pressed my frame tight against the stove to reach the bubbling bits of whatever on the back burners. Awoken with a start…to say the least, (fucker is lucky I didn’t come flying through the screen and rip into his neck like some beast Lincoln would hunt) but soothed by the very idea of preparing a meal, even hours later.

Foggy and cold drive to work, the sidewalks and driveways damp with the thick and soupy air, fewer runners and dog walkers than I see typically on my way to work and as I turned onto one of the sleepy side streets I traverse daily my eyes were met with a chunky plume of smoke billowing from a smallish house nestled in the middle of the block. I cracked my window and my nose was met with the most delightful and comforting aroma, that of a wood burning fire. My thoughts went right back to my kitchen, what did I want to make, what other smells was I craving?

“Bacon”

“Chicken lightly dredged in seasoned flour the second it hits the hot pan full of bacon drippings”

“Caramelized garlic”

“Sherry as it bubbles into the pan breaking up all those bits of left behind chicken”

“Black pepper”

“Chicken stock”

“Butter”

“Parsley”

“A loaf of crusty bread giving off aromas of toast and yeast as it warms in the oven”

“Olive oil as it combines with delicate white wine vinegar and broken little pebbles of blue cheese before it is tumbled over sturdy ribs of Romaine”

I had my entire meal planned by the time my huffing little red Camry pulled into the parking lot at work and now, now I have all day to wander between the aisles in between the times I am assisting our customers, all that time to recall the richness of that dish, the savory elements and intensity of browned garlic after simmering in Sherry and stock….all day to think of which weighty, fresh, sexy and curvy white wine I will sip to accompany the meal, “Of my dreams” as it were. Possibilities, pondering and the promise of things to come….

Vouvray?

Friuli?

Macon?

Alto Adige?

Sonoma Coast?

This is the stuff my dreams are made of…… 

And the winners were

Pinot Blanc from Alto Adige and a gifted bottle of Sonoma Pinot Noir. 

Both wines brilliant with the super savory dish, each bringing
something needed and compelling. The Pinot Blanc with all its richness, nearly sappy texture, luxurious tropical fruit that tasted like it was sprinkled with citrus zest and faint toasty components added a lift and splash of vibrancy to the food and the Pinot Noir keying off the meaty, saucy and savory notes, maybe magnifying the salt a tad more than the Pinot Blanc but nowhere near as much as the Amontillado, (that I used in the dish) felt indulgent and for some reason, I was feeling that tonight....

The Littorai was lovely and had just enough sweet red fruit to enhance the bacon and frame this easy but extremely layered dish and I found myself slurping down an entire glass pretty damn quick. So the thing is, as wonderfully beguiling as the Pinot Noir was, it was the white I craved...and dove into once my plate was scrapped, rinsed and in the dishwasher. Took both, (okay I am ignoring the glass of Lustau Amontillado Sherry I had while cooking and the half...three quarters, of a glass I tried with my dinner, and the one I am currently considering with a handful of roasted almonds as a reward for a successful dinner) to appease me tonight.

Pretty convinced there is never just one perfect wine
For one dish
But there are wines for specific people and I just know that poor Pinot Bianco from Terlan is so going to be my victim this evening. Kinda scrunched by my meal and soon to be pounded by my curious and yearning palate.