Wine Biz Interview Number Four, "Married To It" With Carl Anderson

So while hashing out my, “Hard hitting” questions I thought it might be fun to spend a bit of time talking to those that suffer most. The ones that end up having to drive, (or pick up in my case) and sit through hours of yammering about wine, texture, length…poor folks. Those that are, “All up in the business” even though they never chose or asked for it…the poor people that, by the luck of the draw, are all up in the Kool Aid.

I picked someone at random, just the first person I could think of that happened to be within my web, my super connected inner circle. It was tough getting this interview…cannot tell you what vile things I had to agree to, but I am here to deliver the news people. Anything I must endure for this, I did it for you…..sigh.

How many years have you been married to a person in the wine biz?

It has been almost 5 whole years since we walked down the aisle towards a real skinny Elvis. Man, that was awesome. 30 minutes, in and out. Gotta love Vegas!!! Of course, that was AFTER an 11 year trial period.

Least favorite part about having a wine wife?

Keeping those empty bottles around that you are going to write about, and yet somehow they still are there!!! Oh, and when you close during the holidays, since I can’t think of what I want to eat for dinner.

Favorite part?

It makes me feel better about me spending most of my free time on the range and course. Oh, and those times where I do enjoy a glass of those wines that you don’t “want” to share with me.
Oh yeah, and those multi-week trips you sometimes go on. It gives me the time to perform those upgrades we so desperately need. Michael, Kermit, you listening? I really want… err, need a new TV and speakers. I mean, I miss you and all, but it is much easier to sneak in a TV you won’t notice if you are in another continent.

How come you put your wet towel on my side of the bed…(just sayin)?

You are aware that your side of the bed is closer to the shower than my side, right? I mean, sometimes I am in a rush when I get dressed, so I just toss the towel on the bed. It is SOOOO much easier than taking those 7 steps back into the bathroom.

Have you ever sneezed while peeing?

I honestly don’t remember if I have. If so, I am sure I pressed my wiener hard in between my thumb and index finger.

Are you into wine?

No, I am more of a cocktail guy. I fear that if I get into wine, I will prefer those hard to find $200 bottles.

Do you ever tire of hearing about wine?

Do I tire about hearing about wine? Absolutely not.

How often do you read your wife’s blog and wine articles?

In all honesty, I rarely visit. Why? No reason other than that the interwebs scare me.

Is your wife really “Sans Dosage”?

Yes, since there was nothing added to make you sweet!!! That is all natural baby!!!

Single best wine your wife has ever shared with you?

What was that wine we had when we were at craft Los Angeles the 1st time? How come we don’t’ have one again?

Do you think your wife is obsessive about wine?

No, I mean just because I am a wine widower doesn’t mean that you are obsessive.

How do you feel about your wife’s blog?

Blog? Is that what this is for? Sometimes it gets a little time consuming, but hey, if you didn’t work on Saturday’s you still wouldn’t see me. It also makes you a much more confident person, especially as the writing improves, so I am all for it. Now if I could convince you to discreetly add some advertisements!!

Do you ever get jealous of the attention your wife gets?

Not really. I enjoy it actually, since I know you are coming home with me. Remember the Prospector? Yep, I puffed my chest out (in a SHE’S MINE manner)!!!!

Whose gravy is better, your mother’s or mine?

I don’t know if this is an entirely fair question. There are times when I do enjoy the flavors that I grew up with, and there are time when yours is the awsomz!!! I guess a better way to answer this is “If there is pasta with it, it’s all good!”

Airplane reading: Samantha Sans Dosage or Sarah Palin speeches?

Sans Dosage, right after I complete a couple of Sudoku puzzles. Although I am sure I could read ALL of Plain’s speeches on a flight from John Wayne to San Jose, CA.

Does your wife have any little wine secrets that you care to expose?

Wine secrets? Not really. Pastis secrets, only when this blog becomes a fee based site, with adult controls (and Jeremy may reads this!!!).

How if at all, has your wife changed since entering the wine business?

Remember when we were home bodies and didn’t go out? Yeah, didn’t think so. But there was a time where we didn’t. You are now also much more open, and are incredibly confident in the abilities that you possess.

You are aware that your farts do not, “Smell like roses” right?

Lilies then? Tulips, maybe?

Do you ever, and if yes, do you enjoy attending wine events with your wife?

I only go the Friday night Champagne events at The Wine Country. Those are a blast, since I get to sit at the kiddie table!!!

You ever get jealous of Tyler?

No. I mean why would get jealous of a 3 ½ year old absolutely cute toddler who gets to touch your boobs in public with no repercussions? O.K., yes.

How much in your opinion, (not that I will listen to you) is too much to spend on a bottle of wine?

No more than I would spend on an average round of golf (Pebble Beach, St. Andrews are exceptions).

What is the reaction when you tell people what your wife does?

“Dude, that sounds cool!!! Do you get to try all of these great wines???”

Hangover cure of choice?

Hangover? Me? I try to avoid them by getting down on my knees and depositing all of the excess food and drink into the toilet the way it came in.

If I were to tell you that you might just be the sweetest man alive and I don’t think another man on the planet could/would tolerate me would you love me forever and share a bottle of Pastis with me?

I will NOT share a bottle of Pastis with you. I may, however, slowly enjoy one glass, and let YOU finish the bottle. Know what I’m sayin’??????????



Yes folks, that’s my hubby. The much written about, Call-o and I am not sure why he has such an affection for exclamation points and question marks…I am assuming it is either an Italian thing, (not being able to talk with his hands) or his Snausage, (not a typo, that’s what I call them) fingers….pudgy and insisting that he does in fact talk with his hands. It’s that or I married a fourteen year old girl!!!!!!

Thank you Carl. Thank you for pretending that I was not annoying you when I asked you to do this. Thank you for finding something adorable in me and thank you for shinning a light on the little talked about, “Wine Widowism”

Hookin' You Guys Up & Answering An Age Old Question

I have been getting so many comments about this article that I wrote for The Wine Country newsletter this month, women coming in telling me how much they loved it, how they either cut it out or left the newsletter open for their dudes to see. I am touched and humbled as always but here’s the thing, the article in the newsletter is not complete, we had to chop it to make it fit on one page, so much of the stuff that made me snicker sadly had to be sacrificed to the space gods. So guess what?! I have a damn blog and junk….all the space in the world to yammer my senseless ramblings, howz about that? So without further adieu…..



What Do We Want?

“What do women want?” age old question is it not? Yeah, the reason this little nugget is still one of life’s unsolved mysteries is because the question is akin to, “What’s for dinner?” the answer is different for everyone. Always slays me that men, being the problem solvers that they are, are constantly vexed, haunted by this question. It’s quite sweet really, oh sure they are trying to make their lives easier by giving us challenging creatures what it is we need and want, it’s part of the whole, “A happy wife is a happy life” mantra, but ultimately they really do wish to please us and I think that is very sweet, kind of like when a puppy chases his tail.

Just about this time every year Randy tells me, “Hey Sam, why don’t you do a Valentines piece, something about what women want” as if to say, “Hey, you have a uterus, tots and some extra estrogen, you must have a manual or something”. Randy and I have had this conversation a billion times, he is one of the kindest, most open minded men I know, he loves women, respects women and has always had a staff that was full of women, but this one little thing just plagues him, nags away at him, fascinates him and I think I he hoping that I will someday reward his years of dedication to finding out what it is that makes women tick, with an answer.

Ladies,
Now before you read any further, I want to assure you that I am not about to give up all our secrets, not going to tell them all the stuff they taught us in that, “special” gym class and I will not divulge the, “Big Three”….but let me help them a bit okay? Hell, let me help you a bit, I mean do you really want another teddy bear dressed as Zorro, holding a dusty silk rose between his teeth? Oh man or even worse, one of those cardboard, and velvet heart shaped box of waxy chocolates? Or his, “Sexy Dance of Seduction” that he named himself, complete with hip wiggling, shoulder dropping and that painfully slow unbuttoning of the shirt? You see, I am here for you just as much, if not more than for them. Now just try and trust me, hand this newsletter back to him and…forgive me.



Gentlemen
Okay guys, I am going out on a limb here. I am seriously at risk of having my, “Girl Card” yanked and be denounced a traitor, but I am going to share a few things with you here in The Wine Country newsletter that you will rarely, if ever, hear anywhere else…I’m going to tell you what it is that women want. I going to crack open my manual and give you what all the men that came before you have longed to know. Read carefully, let it sink in and for god sakes remember what your local wine retailer is willing to do to help you out, I assure you that the stock boy at BevMo would never do this. Here goes…

Women Want:

To be admired for their intellect but Wanted for their beauty

To be wanted by everyone but Touched by few

To have their car full of gas but Never have to ask or feel dependant on it

To be worshiped and lusted after but Not pawed at or slobbered on

To be told the truth but Not if it will hurt our feelings

To be treated as an equal but With chivalry

To be seen as a strong and powerful person but Revered for the naughty vixen she is

To be cuddled but Not smothered

To be appreciated for all that she does but There is no but on this one

To not have to make every decision but Not have you make them, “wrong”

Practical Romanticism
Passionate Comfort......

Everything

Easy enough right? Can’t see why this is so hard to figure out. So here’s my last and final nugget of wisdom for you gentleman, the real deal, the most important answer to your age old question…we want you to keep trying to figure it out. We want to be the problem, (we prefer puzzle by the way) that you just cannot ever fix, the “question” that is always on your mind, we rather like haunting you.
So as your friendly and very helpful wine retailer might I make one suggestion? Respect her as your intellectual equal that you are dying to seduce…get her some wine. You never know, after a bottle or two of one of these wines, you may just get what it is that you want….for her to say yes.



NV Camille Saves Carte d’Or Grand Cru Brut $71.99
Big, rich, powerfully curvy fruit, baked apples and buttered crust but with a smack of citrus and a touch of an almost Sherry like complexity.



NV Vve Fourny 1er Cru Brut Rose $45.99
Romantic packaging, supple, deep fruit and wild spices and chalkiness…and it’s pink, C’mon!



2006 Domaine Tempier Bandol $41.99
One of the greatest wine couples ever Lucien and Lulu Peyraud, owners of Domaine Tempier. A couple in love with their wines, their food, serving both to a table full of friends and family…and each other. Lucien is gone now, and I was told he was buried on the estate where Lulu still brings him little treats. Is it true, not sure but the idea is damn romantic. This Bandol is full of wild herbs, smoky earth, meaty flavors all wrapped in gentle cooked fruit and a powerful, grippy finish.



2006 Chateau de Puligny-Montrachet Meursault $53.99
Meursault is just sexy. Ripe pears and red apples, roasted nuts, toasty flavors with a succulent mouth feel and a snappy little bite of palate cleaning acidity.



2006 Domaine Maume Gevrey-Chambertin $59.99
Another sexy wine in that contrary way. Dark red cherries, roasted coffee, spice but with a intriguing bit of raw meat, teriyaki and herbs. Deeply flavored with a medium mouth feel, bright vibrant fruit and a punch of mouth cleaning acidity.

Passionately Intellectual Wines....um, RAWR

You Might Just Be Right

“Life has been really good to you hasn’t it? I can just look at you and tell that. I’m happy for you.” I stood there unsure of how to respond to such a comment. This woman, a customer I had seen maybe ten times in the past five years….ten times in five years, and there she was saying something so profoundly bizarre that I was simply unsure what to do. I kind of shrugged my shoulders, found my eyes searching her face for some form of hint or clue as to what she was trying to say, or moreover, what she expected to hear. “Um, well I am pretty happy if that’s what you mean…” was all I could think to say. She pressed her over tanned hands together, gave me the head-cocked-slow-closing-eyes nod and said, “You’re blessed”…

I tried to just go on about my day, put this odd woman’s somewhat intrusive and highly speculative comments behind me but no matter how I tried to distract myself I could hear those words, see her somewhat age inappropriate glitter top, loose skin around her sun worn face…staring at me, waiting for me to respond. The way my tossed together, stuttered answer seemed to please her, reassure her that she was in fact right about whatever idea she had about me. The whole thing felt so weird, not that someone would say something odd…shit I get random comments thrown at me left and right but this, this felt so different, made me think…has it been good? Look, I am a very open woman, I have never been one of those private people…my stuff is kinda all out there, hell I even, (against the incessant warning of many dear friends) share my life here on this blog for all 14 of you to read. Don’t feel as my life is more special or compelling than anyone else’s, therefore it never dawned on me to keep anything a secret. That being said, I also never felt that I needed to wear it on my sleeve. Any badges or scars that I may carry, I try and feel them, never hide them…remember them but not blame them or use them as a crutch. Was it always easy?

“How many more days until no more pancake day?” I was five or six years old and sitting at our tiny table that was set up in the kitchen. “It’s on the calendar, remember the big circle on the calendar? You tell me how many more days” my mother, trying her best to distract me, have me count days…hear her daughter count off the number of days left until, “Circle day”…payday, most likely using the sing-song tone in my counting down to soothe her feelings of fatigue and failure. I dropped my fork on my plate of now most hated food, hopped off my chair and made that little flinching face as I drug the chair across the kitchen floor, the little metal disks affixed to the legs of that chair scrapping across the linoleum floor …a makeshift ladder to reach the wall mounted calendar. We had been living on pancakes, with Karo Syrup, for over a week, three meals a day every day. Not easy but it taught me two things; I hate pancakes, will not eat them to this day and, to look for the light at the end of each and every tunnel…




“Why does my dad fall asleep all the time? Is he sick or something?” around the same age and returning from a very rare visit at my, “dad’s” house. I don’t have any memory of my parents ever living in the same house, it was always our house and his house. “Yes baby, he’s very sick” my mother replied while parking her VW Bug, (to this day I can recall the smell of that car, leathery and rubbery with a touch of gasoline. Just thinking of that smell, merely recalling that aroma and I get a smile on my face. Me and mom either singing Kenny Loggins, “Even though we aint got money, I’m so in love with ya honey” or her quizzing me on the presidents…guess I have always had a connection to aromas) I felt the car shake as mom swung her door shut with an unusual amount of force. That night while tucked into bed I learned the name of my father’s illness, my mother was on the phone crying and that was when I heard it for the first time, “Junkie” A few months later I learned another word by eavesdropping on my mother crying on the phone…overdose. Not at all easy but it did teach me to fear loss a little less, taught me at a very young age that life does in fact go on. Loss is still horrifically tragic and painful for me but…I don’t spend much time fearing it. It also taught me, (and this would be cemented when I lost my mother) to love in the here and now, never forget to tell people what they mean to you…how they touch you, life is one crazy ride and you just never know…



“Sam, come in here” I was nine or ten years old and it was the most hated voice on the planet. My brother’s father, a person so full of hate, jealousy and self loathing that it seemed to bubble from his every pore. A man so conflicted by a Catholic upbringing…while trying to battle the conflicts of same sex attraction that he felt entitled to punish anyone, (that was smaller than he…he was like five foot three, that left me) that happened to be in his path. He was my mother’s first husband, (my father was her second) and he had used his big house, the promise of better schools, a better life, to reel my mother into moving into what was basically the maid’s quarters of his home. My mother loved that house, loved not having to pay rent, (she bought and prepared all the meals while working full time) loved the big backyard with the pool….adored giving her kids something that she never felt she could do on her own.

That’s why I never told her, never told her that my heart would race, my throat constrict and my tummy would flip when I heard his Trans Am pull into the downstairs garage. I knew the sound, had actually trained myself to hear the garage door open and that was when I would start the heart pounding covering of my tracks…I would turn off the television in the den, (that was there for everyone, but not really) walked backwards with my socks on, (always kept my socks on) shuffling my feet to cover any foot or toe prints that my feet may have made. Slip out the sliding door just off the den and run like the wind, eyes wild with panic, through the kitchen entrance and back into the area I shared with my mother.



He never touched me, never anything like that. No, what he loved to do was humiliate me, have me come into the den that he filled with whatever young men he was able to pick up at the bars…throwing his money around, promising drugs, talking about his big house and fast car. He would call me before them and start his bile spewing, “See I told you I had a troll that lived off the kitchen. She’s lucky her mother has to love her right?” the whole time laughing and pouring drinks to further intoxicate the prizes he had brought home. I would stand there either twisting my hair between my fingers and trying to recite songs in my head or on the nights when he was relentless…I would just focus on not making eye contact or letting them see my eyes welling up with tears. This went on for a couple years before I finally broke down to my mother, she found us a new place to live and we moved out. The one time he tried to pull that shit in our new home, he just walked in, started opening the mail and asked me, “Hey troll, what’s for lunch?” I learned something about myself…I was pissed. I snatched the mail from his tiny pale hands, leaned in, my face close enough to smell his expensive but cheap smelling cologne, “Your lunch is waiting for you down the street at Jack in the Box. Get out of our fucking house you evil piece of shit!” I swear had he flinched I would have ended up in juvenile hall. Not my best comeback but my first and something that is with me each and every day. That man died as he lived, miserable and alone and what I learned from that….what goes around comes around. That and to never make my physical appearance be more than an opinion. My worth should be about me, not how I look…good or bad, just me, the person I am…the person I try to be.





I could go on and on, the series of events that lent themselves to making up this…well, casserole that I am now, well they were all needed and I do not forget or regret any of them:

“Well, we figured out why your stomach hurts, you’re pregnant!”…fear and responsibility.

“You have zero funds available in your savings account”…finding out that helping your meth addicted brother is just another lesson in what not to do.

“Sam, you had better get here quick, I don’t think she is going to make it”…Mother

“We figured out how he was able to find you, tracking device on your car, one that he stole from work…it’s traceable Sam, we got him”…..no longer my word against his.

“So I hear you’re going to France with me” …..Michael Sullivan ruining the surprise.

“Mom, I just wanted to thank you for taking a chance on me”…call from my son after having to act out a play where he leaves his pregnant girlfriend.

“No Michael, she’s right..it is wood tannin” …..Didier Dagueneau siding with MY palate.

“Samantha Dugan, will you marry me?”…the day I said, “Yes”

“Would you like lobster or caviar to start?”….business class on my last trip to France.

“Does it please you?”…..tasting in Lafon’s cellar.

“I am so proud of you”….Randy Kemner, more times than I can count.

“Leaving you is the hardest part”….the closest friend I have ever had leaving for Texas.

“How’s my gorgeous girl?”…..a love that I never saw coming but will hold in my heart forever.



Come to think of it…life has indeed been very good to me. Thank you oddly tanned stranger, thank you for letting me know that each and every piece of my life is shown on my face, my gate, the bounce in my step…my fight, my laugh, my tears, my wide open heart..my palate, the one that tastes and the one that tells the stories. Seeing your life in the mirror of someone else’s eyes…so powerful and just this once, I feel puffed up, proud and beautiful in a way that is unlearned, not taught…only felt. I feel truly lucky.

Wine Biz Interviews Part Three With Alice Feiring

I first heard her name from a coworker who was trying to get me into this whole blogging thing, trying to get me to read them, post on them and maybe start one of my own…I was resisting. “She has been banned from the Parker boards” now my interest had been piqued. I had tried to read those wine chat boards, wanted to talk about wine with other like minded people…um, the thing was, there were very few people on those boards that talked about or liked the wines that I did, in short…I didn’t fit in there, nor did I want to.

Shortly after having that conversation at work I started reading Alice Feiring’s blog and before long I went out and got her book, The Battle for Wine and Love OR How I Saved the World from Parkerizarion. I loved the book and Alice’s willingness to stand up for what she believed in…her willingness to speak out against the globalization of her (and my) favorite wines. So I thought after Charles, “California Wine Guru” Olken it would be fitting to hear from a wine writer that champions Old World wines.
How many years have you been professionally writing about wine?

Irony. My feature-length piece was in 1990, for Connoisseur magazine. Topic? Long Island wine. I used to write on a trio of subjects: food, wine and design, but I finally got pigeonholed in 2000.




What wine was it that flipped your, “Damn” switch?

A California zinfandel drunk in the Boston Common during spring break in 1976 (?) with my college roommate and the guy we both had a thing for. Back at Stony Brook, we had been hitting the Germans, being mindless about fluffy rieslings but that domestic red forced us into discussion; “Wine or is it gasoline?”
However, the first exalted wine was the one pinched from my father’s mistress’ husband’s wine cellar. A 1968 Scanavino barolo.

How does it feel to be one of the most talked about women in the wine world?

If I take this as truth, I feel both uncomfortable, honored and mystified.

Mystified: I am no Jancis, or Elin or Lettie and they are far more well known than I.
Uncomfortable: I’ve been in shyness recovery for decades—relapse is a part of the disease. It has been a difficult to embrace that I am now a public person. Along with that comes both good and bad. The good (having an impact) is terrific, but the bashing? That one takes some getting used to.
Honor: Outside of academia, the female voice doesn’t usually factor in to the wine discussion. That Jay Miller has more clout that Jancis Robinson is one of life’s injustices.
When I let myself enjoy the fact that some people think I matter, it’s a kick. And if I’ve done a bit to help crack that well- defended territory and pave way for other women, well, hooray.

Boxers or Briefs?

Depends on the body, I actually love boxers though I did spend a dozen years with briefs. They suited him quite well.

I know you are not a big blog reader, (I know because you told me when you sent me and email…ahem, hear that people? Alice sent ME an email…just sayin’) but are there any blogs that are in your weekly/monthly must read pile?

I’ve been bad. I try to check-in every month (or so) to see what my friends are up to. But more frequently I rely on Tweets and Facebook to clue me in to a posting that should be on my radar. The regular reads for me are still websites and not blogs—Wines & Vines, Wine Biz, Decanter, and the like.
Note to self: Spend less time on line, and more time writing and-- dare I say-- museums. I still can’t forgive myself for missing Kandinsky because I couldn’t wrench myself from my apartment. There’s no excuse. I just don’t get out enough.

Biodynamics, real deal or horseshit?

You mean cowshit? It is both cowshit and horseshit
I don’t need science to tell me that many of the wines I love are the off-spring of Biodynamics. Sure, winemakers tell us of healthier pH’s, acidities and claim their vines have greater flexibility under the method.Their experience might not be enough proof for the naysayers but it is enough for me. I just care that about what’s in the glass. To hell with proof.
However, for many reasons, I am not convinced that large-scale Biodynamic farming is relevant or even advantageous; we can take that one up later. It also makes me queasy to see folk sling around manure for the camera. If I see one more cow horn on an advertisement… . Hell, now that Gina is married to Jean Charles, we are sure to see Gallo going for the dung.
Note: if the vineyards and winemakers lack talent, no amount of nettles and 500 will save you from making crap wine.




I heard that Tom Wark made you cry, you want I should beat him up for you?

Bring on the whips. Yes, sweet Tom staged an nocturnal event that choked me up (thank god the night was moonless). Nothing in my past has prepared me to handle that kind of attention graciously. All I could do was say thank you and try to stop from going Sally Fields on the evening.

What is the market like right now for wine writers?

The market is in marketing, public relations and blogging for free. Anyone who sets out to be a self-supporting, independent wine writer in America is delusional. That said, I don’t want to squish anyone’s dreams. The right creative spin can make anything work.
As part of my 2010 Think Positive initiative, I sent off my application to Whole Foods. I was planning on a brilliant mid-life crisis. I was dreaming about raising goats. And then I –against all odds—sold my next book proposal. I have a 1.5 year reprieve.

Have you ever sneezed while peeing?

As a matter of fact, I have, especially when I’ve been around shorthaired cats. But you know for those of us who sit to pee, it’s not really a problem.





Have you ever made out with a winemaker?

I have, though not with enough of them to draw global conclusions. I have to get back to my research.

Are you afraid I will ask you which one?

Nope!

In three words, “The wines I ache for are”….


Seductive. Expressive. Surprising.

Single worst bottle of wine you have ever had?

Yellow Tail shiraz tasted in 2007.



What would you rather put in your mouth, a roast beef sandwich or Rombauer Zinfandel?

Thanks for suggesting in my mouth and not down the hatch. The Rombauer of course. I have to taste all sorts of things and am quite adept at spitting.

Playing rock chick, Lady Gaga or Pink?

To make an informed decision I just snacked on You Tube. Bitch! Trick question! But, I guess I must Pink-out.

Barolo or Burgundy?

Burgundy. Don’t forget that until they secede, Beaujolais is still part of that region. Lucky as I cannot live without gamay.

Vacation: Cleveland or The Former Czech Republic?

I don’t think my passport works in Cleveland so let’s go for the CR. Even though they still drop tons of gum arabic in their whites, there’s a nascent natural wine scene, so I’ll have something to drink.




Pet: Parrot or Rock?

Last summer I babysat a cockatiel. Posy chewed on my finger the way my mother used to chew an ear of corn. I’ll go with the rock. Make it a fossil from Jura, please?

Airplane reading: Playboy or The Wine Advocate?

That’s a very, very hard choice as they are two iconic publications.
Playboy.

If you could go back in time and give yourself one piece of advice about wine writing, what would it be?

Become proficient in French, Spanish or Italian.

Hangover cure of choice?

A slice of toast with butter and honey and three aspirin before bed. But for some weird reason, no matter how hard I try, I don’t get hung over anymore.

Do you ever delete comments on your blog?

Yes! If someone is on attack mode and name calling or clearly crazy, I delete. There’s no room for evil in my community.





If I told you that your telling me that you read my blog was one of my proudest moments would you share a bottle of Champagne with me?

If I told you I envied your wit, would you share a bottle with me? I think hammering out which one or two we’d choose would be almost as fun as the drinking.

I would like to personally thank you Alice, not just for granting me this interview, (which was wicked cool of you) but for speaking up…no matter how unpopular the message might be in many wine circles, for wines of place, purity and integrity. Your voice is a very important one to people like me, people that want French, Italian and Spanish wines to taste like…well, where they came from. So um, thanks lady! Oh and when we share those bottles, (and it will be bottles, not bottle…who are we kidding) of Champagne we can swap winemaker stories…I just worry that with as close as our palates are, it might just be the same story…

Grumpy & Needing A Really Big Hug

My day started out really great, woke too early, (not at all shocking for those of you that have been reading for awhile, go to bed far too late…wake up far too early. Sleep and I, well we simply don’t understand or like each other much) but was in a great, feeling rested and ready to get back to work mood. I was off for five days, even with being out of town for a couple days, that is just too long for this wine slinger. I like me some time off and all but The Wine Country is like my home, when I am away that long it feels a bit like I am living part of my life in a hotel, nice but not where my stuff lives, my people live….I was ready to get my ass back in the shop.

Had a slow, chill morning, watched our president on the news, drank my coffee, took an early shower so I had time to let my hair dry a bit, (I loathe the sitting there with the fucking hairdryer…argh, such a waste of time and nothing to do but stare at myself in the mirror…not my favorite time of day to say the least) a smooth, easy morning. The only minor hiccup was when I went to grab my color appropriate bra and I remembered that it was in the other room drying….the room that I would have to walk past our open windows to go get. Now I have made this error so many times I am beginning to wonder if there is not some part of me that likes to wiggle her little inner exhibitionist. It’s always the same, me there in my jeans…topless muttering, “dammit….” Cupping my breasts in my hands and making this rather exaggerated, somewhat leaping dash to the other room to retrieve the needed garment. Okay, best part about this scenario, I never put the damn thing on the drying room, make the goddamn leaping dash back to my room to strap the sucker on…see, starting to wonder about myself.



It was so good to be back in the store, my beloved wines where I left them…aside from the ones that sold out while I was gone, damn I love that too. Got to see my people, Merritt, Ronnie, Randy and Dale, my little heart was so happy…the grin on my face unshakeable. Got a phone call that sent me into full twitterpation mode, a friend I must confess to having a MASSIVE crush on. Isn’t that the best? The way your heart pounds out of your chest, everything makes you giggle, that vibrant, bubbly feeling of hope, want, wonder…the powerfully beautiful feeling of being spun by something as simple as a voice…an idea, a laugh. The knowing that wanting is all you can or should ever do…just makes it that much hotter. The sassy feeling was with me the rest of the day, lifted me, made me all wiggly, full of snark and nibbles.

So while walking past the cheese case this evening I noticed a lovely piece of Huntsman, (a rather powerful but delicious cheese. A layer of Glouster which is like Cheddar, a layer of Stilton topped with another layer of the Glouster) and thought, “Oh, that would be amazing on a burger” Called the hubby to be proactive about the whole, “What you feel like for dinner?” call. Gave the hubby the shopping list, (this is where I should point out that we shop daily, and by we I mean he. Call-o works from home so he does all the shopping….I plan or pick the meals, cook them but he shops and does the majority of the clean up) bought the cheese and was so looking forward to my medium rare burger with a thick slice of Huntsman with some thinly sliced red onions…what a great day right? Yeah….

The reason I was all pro burger was we have a new BBQ at the apartment, one that like works and junk. Got to say the hubby has completely avoided the whole helping with cooking ever since the old BBQ took a crap like two years ago, thing still worked but it was so uneven it was not at all worth the bickering over. New BBQ meant grilled burgers and I have to say, that sounded marvelous. Got everything ready, burgers seasoned, formed and ready for the grill, onions taking a bath in cold water to shhhh the bite and thick slices of Huntsman ready and waiting, all that was left was the grilling….sigh.



Call-o was already tucked into his burger before I was even off the couch, “Ugh! It’s not cooked” he alerted with a look of indignation on his face. “Well you cooked them” was what I wanted to say but seeing as I am of the save the fighting for when it is really needed camp. I just let it go. Next thing I know the burgers are in a frying pan, on the stove, cheese melted completely away, along with any hint of grill flavor…dammit. Again, not wanting to bicker over something so tiny I just loaded up my burger, placed a thin slice of cheese across the top of my, “looked like it once had cheese” meatball….which is what is was now that it had been steamed and robbed of anything that I had been originally interested in, now it was merely sustenance.

Sliced the gray fucker in half and went to take a bite….now, have you ever had a favorite shirt? A shirt that every time you wear it you not only feel great but you get a shitload of compliments on…guess who was wearing hers this evening?! Two bites in and there was a blob of grease down the front of my most adored shirt…fuck, fuck. I was now so steaming, (like the meatball) that I just went to throw the damn thing away…trash was too full to do so, ARGH!!! Never said a word to the hubby, like I said, I save the fights for the big stuff but, dude I was fuming by this point. Snatched the shirt over my head, washed it in the sink….still drying so the jury is still out, wish me luck.

Tried to just put dinner behind me, pretend that it was not Carl that was bugging me, debated, (in my head of course) if I was being less tolerant because I had that twitterpation call earlier..trying to reason with myself. That was when I heard a loud clink and a call from the kitchen, “Whoops, I broke it”….my colander, the one I use all the time, the one that fits perfectly across the sink…broken. I just closed my eyes, breathed deeply and reminded myself how much I love my husband and that it was just dinner, and the trash, and the colander, not him. I knew that second that I needed something indulgent, just for me, something to end the night on a high note…hit the wine fridge for something that I should have been saving. I was going to self pleasure again and just this once, I will shout it from the rooftops, “I so need to do this!!”



Grabbed a bottle of 1999 Savigny-les-Beaune from Camus-Bruchon, felt the sleek, cold bottle in my hand, noticed how my body reacted to its touch, its promise of pleasure, felt myself wanting, aching and my lips curled into a self indulgent smirk. Took notice of each and every movement of my own body, the way the tiny hairs on my arms stood erect from the chill, the way I slipped my hand around the neck of the bottle, my fingers curled, my grip tightening and my forearm flexing as I pulled the foil from the neck. The thrill of domination as I forced the cork from the bottle, the submissive flow of brickish red wine splashing into the glass…that shiver of excitement ran along my spine and I could actually feel each and every hair standing up on the back of my neck. I raised the glass, spun it, watched as the wine fell upon itself in the glass, shinny, glossy layers slipping up the sides of the glass and settling slow and motionless awaiting my next spin or demand. I raised the glass to my nose…slowly, not wanting to miss one iota of fragrance, wanted to be seduced one layer at a time….

Fucking thing was corked….
I so need a hug

Went to take a bath after the wine debacle…ipod died halfway through, hot water was working though….whimper.

Here's To Old Friends

“I really miss good wine. I can’t seem to find anything here like the stuff we have at The Wine Country” these words were looping around in my head as I finished my day on Thursday evening. It was my beloved Amy bemoaning the offerings available to her in her new un-chosen city, Dallas. She had been telling me that she was pretty much stuck drinking New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, (and you must know how that made my heart just break) when she was looking for something racy and refreshing. Poor Aims, having one hell of a time finding her much adored Loire wines there in Dallas. I was thinking about all of this and right before closing the store before my trip to go see her, I grabbed a six pack shipper, called the hubby and warned him that we would have to check an extra bag and did a little shopping.

Now I knew she was longing for some grower Champagne, this she didn’t even have to tell me…I just knew. Amy and I have wrecked more bottles of Champagne than we will ever admit to. We fell in love over bottles of bubbles, got to know each other, laughed, taught classes, behaved wickedly, forgave each other, cemented our devotion to each other over bottles and bottles of grower Champagne…I was bringing some. Grabbed some Menetou-Salon, Sancerre, the afore mentioned bottles of bubbles and left two spots open for something from my little wine fridge. Got home and spent less than five minutes trying to figure out which two bottles to take, they damn near screamed at me the second I opened the door; Dagueneau Silex and a 1996 Herve Azo 1er Cru Chablis. Two old friends that these two old friends had a very intimate knowledge of…well, not the 1996 but Azo is one of Amy’s favorite producers in Chablis, so this was a no-brainer.

Sexy Bitch picked us up at the airport and he was elated to see two other people in flip flops, guess they aren’t big there in Dallas, stepped outside and figured out why….Holy Mother of All Frozen Digits, it’s fucking cold! I stood outside smoking my, “just off a flight” cigarette watching my toes turn as purple as my toenail polish.



(So a quirky little Amy and Sam story here. I have had red toes for like twenty something years, always red, kind of a signature thing really. As long as I have known Amy, and been noticing her toes, she has worn purple polish on her toes, kinda her thing I guess. So one time she talked me into getting purple polish after having my toes, “did”….hated it, it was like I was wearing someone else’s feet, went right back to red. After she moved away I stumbled upon a bottle of dark purple polish and gave it another try, kind of liked it and have been wearing ever since. So imagine how heartwarming it was when my little buddy ripped off her socks this weekend to expose….red toenails, it’s like we are wearing each other’s feet while we are apart. I might be reaching a bit but cut me some slack, I’m all post-visit-with-my-girl gushy.)

When we pulled onto the street where Amy and Sexy Bitch now live I was a bit taken aback by the, “sameness” of all the houses….everything looked alike. Brick, dormant trees, no cars on the street or driveway, it just felt vacant, cold and not at all like those two, felt myself getting a little blue, “They don’t belong here” spinning around my head, my lips slightly downturned and pouty. That pout was smacked off my face the second we pulled into the driveway, there was My Amy, brilliant smile, big blue eyes, jumping…jumping up and down and waving. Big hugs and kisses all around and we got our first look at where our people will be living for awhile….it’s perfect. The house is so them, hardwood floors, tons of windows, beautiful kitchen….perfect. We walked through the rooms and I felt my eyes well up as I passed little bits of the home I used to know, the home that we had some of our most amazing nights in. The couch where we would all end up, take naps, watch football and movies. The pictures that I had passed a million times before, the Sponge Bob alarm clock….all reminders of happy times, but a little sad as all those things are so far away now. But mostly it was just so nice to see them all again, Amy and Sexy Bitch, the puppies, the cat and all those little bits of a life that is much loved and very much missed.



Once the grand tour was complete we settled down on the couch and did a little catching up. Amy had made dinner reservations at an Italian joint she had been wanting to check out and these two friends popped a bottle of one of our old friends, NV Jean Milan Carte Blanche Blanc de Blancs, ($48.99). We skipped the Champagne flutes, something I do often with truly fantastic, (and I am talking grower here) Champagne. The bubbles being less important than the smelling and tasting of what is in fact truly great wine…fuck, it was glorious. Heavier than last time I had tasted it, it had filled out in that sexy, weighty way. The fruit was all citrus but there was so much more going on than fruit; minerals, seashells, salty raw dough…um, RAWR. The wine not only exploded on the palate, it shook its new curvy body and hung around for awhile. Neither one of us put our glasses down, not once.



Milan was tossed back in the fridge, (was not quite cold enough anyway, not that a wine of that magnitude should be served too cold…that drives me insane! Serve Moet icy cold, it needs it but let these wines shine dammit) and we headed out to nonna, (no capitalization…I checked) for dinner. We were seated in the front of the house, something that I tend to love, and often work my wild curls and funkiest outfits to ensure we get…but um, this table was right at the freaking front door of this rather hip spot. That means the door was being opened and closed all the damn time, sending icy blasts of air down my side and further freezing my already cold digits.

The restaurant could have been right out of LA, the look, the vibe, the house cured meats and the menu that changes daily according to what they were able to find locally, the servers…kinda laid back but super knowledgeable and more than willing to not only be playful, (I dig that) but offered suggestions and coaching on the best way to order. We jumped right in and ordered the starters; house made Porketta, olives and a plate of Salumi. Amy and I both had the wine list and knew right away what to get, Pra Soave, a wine we had shared numerous times back home, another old friend. I know a few people might raise an eyebrow to white wine with these sort of dishes, meat and all, I don’t know any personally but if you happen to be….let me assure you, there is something so magical about cold sliced meats, either cured or raw, with a crisp white wine like that Pra Soave. You know the way those things are served with a squeeze of lemon, (like with thinly sliced raw beef) or baby greens dressed with something tangy, well it’s the same idea…bringing some bright and lively to the plate, or in this case table by way of the glass. The Soave was sublime, lemony, fresh, bright, laser sharp focus and acidity…drank it throughout the meal as a matter of fact.

Let me just say, if you are ever in Dallas…give nonna a try. Everything from the bread, big puffy pillows right from the wood burning oven…little bits of char, lovely drizzle of olive oil, nicely salted. To the lobster ravioli sitting in a little puddle of broth, no thick rich sauces, broth…balanced food, beautifully done, perfectly portioned….I would go back in a heartbeat. The rest of the evening…well.



Once the Pra was drained we opted to go for a Martini, this is never a wise plan this late in the evening but we were all having such a great time just being with one another, just could not let the night end just yet. Drinks up, we asked if it would be possible to get a cheese plate, our menus were gone so we had no idea if what we were asking was kinda…douchbaggy. Turns out the chef came out to chat with the table that asked and whipped a plate together for us, complete with thinly sliced, very ripe pears…delicious.

We walked out of the restaurant full but not stuffed to find that it was snowing…did I mention I was wearing flip flops…dammit! So what do smart people do after a half bottle of Champagne, a bottle of Soave and Martinis…in the snow? Have no idea, but we went to a gay bar that Amy and Sexy Bitch had been to on one of their visits prior to the move. Not all gay but very gay friendly and a hell-of-a-lot of fun. Far too many shots, I seem to remember Jamison and something pink…pink is always bad. Pepto is pink and that should be a big old reminder of what pink drinks can lead to. In the interest of protecting the innocent, and the not…I will not go into all the nights events but I will say this, I can check meeting a very tall black man named Kim and being asked “if we wouldn’t mind leaving” a gay friendly bar in Dallas, off my list. Awesome.



The next two days were much more civil, lots of talking, watching television…recovering? Saturday we cracked into the other bottle of bubbles, one that I just wrote about so I will not wax rhapsodic, the NV Camille Saves Carte Blanche….holy crap, I just noticed that both the bubbles I brought were Carte Blanche, rather telling no? Anyway, the Saves was flashy, brilliantly crafted and had a finish that went on forever. I so adore the way wines like this seem so much bigger in texture, the way the envelope the whole tongue and make themselves at home there…damn, that is just out and out sexy.

The day I was preparing to leave Amy was feeling under the weather, we had not yet hit the Dagueneau and that 1996 Azo was staring me in the face each time I opened the fridge. I was willing to leave Dagueneau, had way more than my fair share of that Silex and I knew I could get more but, that 1996 Chablis was just taunting me. I simply had to taste it, was not going to be able to sleep if I did not. “Aims, do you mind if I open that Azo?” I asked in my sweetest, “Please can I have some. Please can I have some?!” tone. “Sure, go for it, it’s yours” she responded, well…I heard the first sure and I was up and in the kitchen, that last little bit landed upon my ears as I was drilling the corkscrew into the cork.



Now Amy has a very real passion for white Burgundy, I am sure it is even bigger than mine and like I said Azo is her favorite producer in Chablis. The one thing I forgot, she doesn’t love older white Burgundy…she misses the fruit and if there is any touch of oxidation, well she is kind of, “out” as it were. When I poured us each a glass and that deep golden color met my eye…well this old friend was thinking, “Woo hoo! More for me!” The wine was clearly advanced, deep, super rich and dense, oily in texture and brimming with nutty, salty flavors. Minerals, dough and bitter almonds were the primary flavors, a bit of honey and salt were on the finish. The thing that struck me, that always strikes me in older white Burgundy…length. Now if you don’t dig the flavors, (as I believe Amy did not) than you don’t really want them clinging on your palate…but when you DO in fact love them….well nothing delivers like a great aged White Burgundy.

I sat there on the couch I had planted my ass on a thousand times, (face planted once as well) my best friend at my side, wearing my feet and me wearing hers….feeling full of love, happy, complete, a little sad but mostly…at home, spinning this fucking unreal glass of 14 year old Chablis in my glass. Here’s to old friends indeed.

Wine Biz Interviews Part Two Sir Charles Olken...aka Puff Daddy

I had so much fun interviewing the, “Wine Blog King” Tom Wark and got so many interesting comments, (and let’s face it, we bloggers are in it for the comments) that I thought I would do a series of them….that and it gets me off the hook with the whole actual, “writing” deal. So I asked a few people that I find terribly fascinating if they would be willing to let me interview them; retailers, writers, sales reps, importers…still waiting to hear back from them. In the meantime I did find a couple people willing to partake in this little plan of mine, and one of the first to get back to me just so happens to be one of the first people I thought of and asked…



Hard Hitting Questions For Sir Charles Olken Editor and Publisher of Connoisseurs’ Guide To California Wines

When did you begin blogging and why?

I don’t blog, and I am proud of it. People who blog have too much time on their hands. And I always wonder when I read these endless strings of blogs, if these folks have so much time on their hands, when was the last time they wrote letters to their mothers. On the other hand, I am probably going to start my own blog one of these days, but here is my problem. There are a couple of dozen blogs I like and a couple of thousand that are too boring for words, and I am scared of those odds.

How come?

Well now, that really is none of your business. I don’t go around asking you why you read the Hosemaster of Wine or love your neighbor’s kid or drink that yukky Pastis, do I?

Okay, when did you begin your publication?

Earl Singer, a friend and co-worker and my mentor in serious wine-drinking, and I had too much time on our hands in 1974. Not our fault. Our boss, one Mr. Richard Nutcase Nixon, tried to shut down the poverty program we were working on at the time, and as the result, our entire agency was told to stay in our offices and do nothing for six months. So, instead of doing the people’s business, we used our time to devise a mythical wine publication for California wine drinkers like ourselves.

What inspired you to start Connoisseurs’ Guide To California Wines?

Seems that no one was writing much about the wines we were collecting. No offense to Robert Lawrence Balzer and others, but, frankly, the wine writing of the day either favored Europe to the exclusion of California or was being written by folks who, to be polite, were a couple of chapters short of a short story. After a while, it seemed like we might have a good idea on our hands, and, we became convinced that there were probably enough other crazy folks like ourselves out there to allow us to make a go of it. So we mortgaged the ranch, sold the kids and started publishing. It took about eight months from first idea to first newsletter in November, 1974. We bought ads in Vintage Magazine, the major wine publication of the day, and to our amazement and incredible good fortune, people sent us more money than the ad cost. So we wrote the next edition of our rag, took another ad, and people sent us more money.



How come your stars are so, “Puffy”?

In the words of Ronald Reagan, “there you go again”. I am not telling you why my eyebrows are so puffy or my stars so puffy—except for this. If you ever have a chance to read a red Guide Michelin, take a look at the “etoiles” that are employed in that publication. You will see that their stars are also puffy. In fact, we liked their puffy stars so much, that we copied them. Over the years, they have been called (by others, mind you) snowflakes, cookies, clouds and bomb bursts, but the nickname that stuck was “puffs”. I can’t tell you how many times I have met people over the years who have said to me, “Oh, you’re the ‘Puffs” guy”. If I ever get my hands on the SOB who first identified our stars as “puffs”, I will have a few unkind words for him, his mother and his offspring.

Have you ever gotten hate mail from winemakers?

It’s funny you should ask. Connoisseurs’ Guide has a couple of unfortunate habits that make it unpopular with some wineries. For example, we have this bad habit of reviewing every wine we taste rather than ignoring the bad wines the way some candy-ass writers do. You see, if you only say nice things, then you get to do things like ride Rachel Alexander and go to nice dinners at Cyrus. But, we started CGCW for the sole purpose of providing evaluations that would be as close as possible to what people would find when they pulled a cork. And part of that responsibility to the very people who put us in business (wine consumers like ourselves) was and is to also tell people what wines to avoid. So that was sin Number One to some wineries. And sin Number two is that we have not, to the best of our ability, engaged in grade inflation. Thus our ratings have always been stingy. Tant pis.

Are you afraid I am going to ask you from whom?

Scared to death. I can tell you this. A winery owner/winemaker once sent us a letter so filled with vile images that our description of his wines as barnyardy paled by comparison. It was so threatening that to this day, when I see his wines on the shelf at Trader Joe’s, I walk the other way just to be sure that I am safe.

Boxers or Briefs?

I don’t have a dog.

Where do you stand, Mr. Fancy Pants print guy, on the whole social media argument?

I am too old to understand what the hell social media is. Blogs, to me, are not much removed from the old wine bulletin boards. I like the writing on some blogs, but I like even more the conversations that go on in those blogs. As for Twitter, well, I have a marketing person, one of those new, smart winedrinkers who is studying to get two letters after her name (please don’t tell the Hosemaster), and she insists that I “tweet” as a way of getting attention. So, for the last six months, I have been tweeting semi-so often, and I have earned all of 37 responses. As for FaceBook, I am sure there is a way to use it constructively.

You have been very active in the blogosphere, how many blogs do you read and comment on regularly?

I read six or eight blogs regularly and others when I see mentions to something interesting that someone references or something interesting that a blogger will say on someone else’s blog. It is all a bit incestuous, isn’t it?



More than one blogger has named you the most interesting and prolific commenter, if they were to give you an award which would you prefer, a crown or a sash?

Tom Wark made a comment that I was the commenter he would most like to see have his own blog. I took that to mean that he hoped I would go away and stop posting so often on his blog. And, just the other night, I was at the ZAP Good Eats event, and a winery guy I have known for a bit (Tim MacDonald, who himself will comment on a blog now and then) said, “I know that if a good controversy blows up on one of the major blogs, you will be in the middle of it”. Sounds to me like he has been reading Wark and agrees with him.
And, by the way, my award of choice is a good Corned Beef sandwich on rye with strong mustard, no mayo, and a really briny dill pickle.

Hangover cure of choice?

Bloody Mary, hands down.

How have you seen your readership shift or change in the past 36 years?

A really bad thing happened to me tonight at ZAP. A guy comes up to me, a really old guy, must have been as old as me, and asks for my autograph. Turns out that he has been reading Connoisseurs’ Guide from the beginning. So, yeh, my readership has shifted. It is made up on octogenarians and their children. I plan on retiring when I start getting subscriptions from the grandchildren of my early subscribers.
Aside from that, the real difference is that we now have both Online and Print options, and as the older subscribers drop off, the newer subscribers are predominantly Online.

Have you ever sneezed while peeing?

No, but I once dropped a rozzer in snide.



You drink a butt load of California wines, when you reach for French….where do you go first?

No fair. You know I don’t drink that stuff. I am the California wine guy for goodness sake. So, now that I have that off my chest, I probably have ten or twenty answers to that question but not one.
No wait. Bring me a bottle of DRC La Tache or Romanee-Conti.
Or to put a more day-to-day face on it, we (my wife and I) go out of our ways to drink something other than California wine when we can find a decently or even semi-decently priced bottle on a wine list. And since I tend to bring reds from my own cellar to nice meals out, I look for whatever white fits what we are eating. Sauzet and LeFlaive whites Burgs, Dageneau or Huet, Zind-Humbrecht, Cuilleron.

Single best bottle of wine you ever had?

So many wines, so little time. One of these days, I will write a book about the one-hundred wines that are the best single bottle I ever had.

Single worst bottle of wine you ever had?

Did I tell you about the vile letter I got from the guy whose wine I called barnyardy? Perhaps, you missed that part above where I said I was still afraid of him two decades later. Well, let me tell you that barnyardy was a kind description, and the merde in his bottle had nothing to do with Burgundy. It could have been real merde.

Do you think wine blogs are having any effect, like at all, on the wine business?

My guess is that blogs are like all kinds of wine writing, and that they have an effect on those who read them. For example, when a noted wine writer tells people that they need to use words like “sweet” correctly, I assume that everyone who reads those comments does penance for their sins and gets it right going forward. Or like when Tom Wark charges out after the defenders of the three-tier system or Tyler Coleman (Doc Vino to his friends) does surveys about which wine to serve with smores. Sam, this is serious shit we are talking about here.



Pastis or Almond flavored sparkling wine?

May I leave now?

Vacation: Riverside or Provence?

It depends on the river. I like vacationing along the Thames, the Seine, the Rhone, the Po, the Charles (a river I used to believe was named for me when I was a wee lad growing up on its banks).

You once rode my ass over at Reign of Terroir, do you feel bad about that?

I thought I was trying to jump your bones. I guess it did not come through over the Internet.

When you play rock star in your car who do you pretend to be?

Billy Gibbons or Pete Townsend. I also play a very mean blues guitar, sort of like Ry Cooder in my mind but probably closer in real life to Eric Clapton imitating John Lee Hooker.



Airplane reading: The MS Conspiracy or TV Guide?

I could never cop to reading the M. S. Conspiracy, that lunacy over on the Hosemaster of Wine website. To do that, I would have to admit that my own sense of humor has a certain dark side that makes me laugh right out loud when the Hosemaster makes fun of Harvey Steiman’s backside. So, TV Guide, it is. I do need to preserve at least a shred of my dignity.
Oh? You say you saw my almost daily comments over at Hosemaster of Wine? Well, that must have been some other Charlie Olken.

What advice would you give to someone thinking about getting into the wine writing business?

I was walking along the beach in Atlantic City the other day when this cat comes up to me and says, “How do I get to Carnegie Hall”. I replied, “Practice, brother, practice. You’ll get there”.

If you had to change the mind of one of those simple minded, not using their words carefully, dismissive of California wines, people….what one bottle would you choose?

Freestone 2007 Chardonnay, a wine of great depth, impeccable winemaking, brilliant balance of acidity, alcohol and oak. At 13.7% alc, it puts the lie to the drivel that all CA wine is overripe, overoaked and flat as a pancake.
But, I would then serve them Hudson 2006 Chardonnay, a wine so pure that our tasting panel thought it was a ringer from that other place. Like the Freestone, it is brilliantly crafted. But in this case, it has 15% alcohol. OK, some people also do not like Le Montrachet. I do.

If I were to tell you that having you read and comment on my blog has humbled this goofy wine slinger, would you give me a hug and share a bottle of Pommard with me?

I like many blogs for all kinds of reasons, but there is not one blog I read that is as real, as giving of the writer, as cannily crafted as your best, and it is not I who humbles you. I stand in awe at the way you have twisted me around your finger in the last couple of weeks. Sure, bring on that wimpy French stuff. I am man enough to take it.



Thank you Mr. Charles Olken...you are a gifted writer, a cool ass cat and dude, you crack me up. Cannot tell you what it means that you would take the time to do this, not to mention reading and commenting on this goofy blog. I adore you kid.