Mom Would Have Been Proud

Posted on July 19, 2007 by Jim

It’s about scale.  I think Mom acquired her sense of scale from her Mom, Mommie Soph.  If you get something… get a lot of it — you can never tell if the store might run out.  If you cook something… make a lot — you can count on a recipe “for 8” won’t come close to getting the job done… that is, feeding eight and providing the necessary snacking reserves.

Everything in life springs from this concept of scale.

Two illustrations come quickly to mind.  One time on the Tonight Show, hosted by Johnny Carson in those days, it was mentioned, in jest, that there was a toilet paper shortage sweeping across America.  Mom did not take it in jest… rather she hurried down the next morning in the Ford Country Squire to the Big Buy (this was in the day before Costco, BJs & Sam’s Club) and she crammed the station wagon with two huge cartons of toilet paper taken directly from from the loading docks… she told the floor manager that she was buying the TP for a motel.  And of course she was sure to get the “insiders” price.

Mom had to be sure that she had enough for the family… the entire family.  What happens if someone gets diarrhea? (God forbid) Well, Mom was taking no chances.  She bought enough to cover the Statue of Liberty in paper.  I think it was five years before she had to buy another roll of toilet paper. 

Second illustration… food recipes could never be trusted as it pertained to portion size.  The only way a recipe for four served four was if it was a bad recipe… and if it was a bad recipe, it probably could serve eight.  Who would want to eat it?

But recipes do provide a gauge on which to go by.  A recipe for four could simply be doubled to get to its true serving size.  Fine.  But how do you arrive at the correct number of ears of sweet corn to cook?  Mom’s technique was to carefully record “eating experience”… she assigned a number to each person based on their high water mark — the most sweet corn eaten on one occasion.  So at age 15, when I had the metabolism of a humming bird, just for grins, I tucked into ten ear of corn, and from that point on ten became my number.  When Mom went shopping for family cook outs, I was counted in for ten… every time.

When I got married, Mom gave Ellen a pot to cook corn in.  Never mind that the pot covered all four burners of our first kitchen… or that we had to fill the pot in the bathtub because it couldn’t fit under the faucet in the kitchen sink… or that that when we cooked our four ear of corn in the pot, they looked like atolls in the South Pacific.

You see… it’s about scale.

It’s a shame that Mom never got to experience the glory of shopping in Costco.  That store was built for her… it approached her concept of scale… tubs of peanut butter, not jars.  Cup of Soups by the case, produce and fruit, fruit of Margie’s quality… and in quantities that went beyond the pale.

Mom’s only problem in shopping at Costco would be finding a car to cart the stuff home.  The Country Squire wouldn’t do.

When it comes to Costco I am small potatoes.  But on our return trip from Boston, Sandy and I put into the Costco in Waterbury.  Sandy had agreed to make some fresh fruit salad (something that I adore).  And since no one beats Costco on fruit, not Stew Leonard’s, not even Margie’s in its hay day… Costco was our place to provision out.

We puttered thru the aisles ’til we got to the fruit zone.  Then I made quick work of the selection: three cantaloupes, two personal sized watermelons (the geneticist who came up with the personal sized watermelon should get a Nobel Prize), a humongous container of plump black cherries, an equally humongous container of red flame grapes (the kind that crunch when you bite into them), a bigger container of monster strawberries, an unearthly quantity of rock hard dark purple plums (with yellow flesh… my favorite), one pineapple, a sensible container of those funny looking saucer shaped white flesh peaches and a box of soft and tasty apricots (that would be too ripe for the salad).

$60 in fruit.  But did we have fruit!

The next day Sandy added a few gala apples to our supply… and then she went about chopping, slicing, cutting, scooping and pitting… careful not to make pieces too small (this was done at my request).  Pitting the cherries was a bonus… I would have been content to spit them out as necessary.

When all was said and done, using about a third of our larder, Sandy had made enough fruit salad to fill a pot… A pot?  A pot big enough to cook sweet corn in! 

The fruit salad was outright delicious.  Exceptional fruit, wonderfully ripe, a melding of flavors, generously cut pieces… It doesn’t get better!!

And made in the right scale!

Oh, Mom would have been proud…

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Why talking to Mikey Bordeaux on a slow day is a bad idea, reason #6

Posted on July 16, 2007 by Jim

“What do you know about the Mayans?”  The question was put to me by my colleague, Mikey Bordeaux… well, his real name is Mike Wofsey; but I have another friend of that name who lives on the other side of the Hudson, and it will potentially confuse matters in future tales to use Mr. Bordeaux’s given name.

Fridays are a slow day at Grapes… the “sell team” stands down for the day… and by Noon Ash and Andre have departed leaving just Mikey and me to guard the nest.  And a question like “what do you know about the Mayans?” can appear innocent to an unsuspecting observer.  But I know better.  This question is classified as a “tip of the iceberg” type question.

“The Mayans?  Well… let’s see… the word Mayan means from the other side of the Hudson… and for a long time it was believed that the Mayans were one of the lost Tribes of Israel.  Then it was discovered that they were into human sacrifice… which was a definite no-no to the Hebrews.  The Ancient Hebrews were into sacrificing lambs for the Veal Chop Festival… which was later renamed Passover because Cecil B. DeMille couldn’t make Charlton Heston do a sex scene with a sheep.”

“No, the Mayans.  And the Mayan Calendar, dude.”

Uh, oh.  He was not deterred by my first evasive maneuver.

Mikey continued, “The Calendar has been around forever and it has never been modified… not like our Julian Calendar that had to be changed by Pope Gregory to account for a fistful of lost days.  The Ancient Mayan Calendar has been accurate to the day since day one!  BUT… and here’s the best part… the Calendar ends on December 21, 2012!”

“That’s the best part?”

“Jimbo, don’t you know about the Prophecy?”

“The Prophecy?  The Prophecy?  You don’t know who you are dealing with!  You are speaking to a descendant of the Kohanim, the Tribe of Priests that ruled the Temple.  This was in the day before we invented the title “Rabbi”, which didn’t come into use ’til we were in Babylonian Exile… AND, then, when we weren’t looking, the Catholics ran in and stole the title Priest from us!  In 1963 delegates from the Central Conference of Rabbis met with emissaries from the Holy See to propose a straight up swap of titles… we get back Priest and we give them Rabbi… Priests could now marry, Rabbis would have to remain celibate; but could eat pork fried rice… It would throw the anti-Semites of the world into chaos!  The deal collapsed when the Vatican insisted that Sandy Koufax had to convert.”  {I could see that my second evasion has also failed}… “Prophecy?”

“Dude, don’t you see it?  The Mayan Calendar has been out there for 5000 years, and then stops!  Stops!  December 21, 2012!  The Winter Solstice, dude!  And this is the Winter Solstice to end all Winter Solstices!  Literally, the end!  A perfect alignment of planets… and the Mayans knew this from the get-go!!

“A perfect alignment?”

“Sure!  Intense exertions on the Earth’s crust brought on by the unique planetary positions — in turn producing a shift in plate tectonics, which in turn will affect our orbit and atmosphere!”

“Uh, huh.  This sounds like some bullshit Bush’s people cooked up to cover global warming.”

“No Jimbo… for real.  Check out this website.  There’s a countdown!! Look: 1994 days, 6 hours, 20 minutes and 12 seconds left!!”

“Well, Mikey… I guess that’s going to put to an end to recommending Chateau Latour for long term cellaring… and my next car might as well be a lease…”

“Dude, Google ’21, 12, 21.'”

“Mikey:  you and I are going to have an understanding.  I want to nip this in the bud.  You and I are going to agree not to talk about this anymore.  We are going to declare this topic exhausted.  I don’t want you coming in here everyday announcing the Godamned countdown… or talking about five new websites, each one more extravagant than the next… or other such shit.”

Mikey seemed to take my ribbing in good stride… now I had another worry… perhaps I laid it on too thick… particularly the part about Sandy Koufax.  Mikey might actually come to work on Monday with the latest countdown update!

“OK.  Mikey… I am going to the bathroom now… and when I come out I expect that we will have put all this Mayan talk aside… and I am going stay in there ’til you tell me it’s safe to come out.”

Well… there you are… just another slow Friday in the bullpen of Grapes with Mr. Bordeaux and me.

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Letting Out the Crotch

Posted on July 11, 2007 by Jim

“I thought the custom was to fart after the meal.”  I could feel my nostrils burning, “I think my nose hairs just fell out…”

Raymond tucked into his pastrami on rye, took a swig of his Dr. Brown’s Cel-ray Tonic, “your nose was due for a trim anyway… you should thank me.”  A crunch on his half sour pickle added a punctuation mark to his comment, “Besides, it’s meant as a compliment to the chef and host.”

“That’s after the meal… AFTER!!  And that’s for Chinese food… we’re not eating Chinese food!”  I doubted this custom anyway… I think my older brother made that up to cover the time he cut a world class fart when we were having take home Chicken Chow Mein from The Far East.

I picked up my everything bagel with cream cheese, lox & tomato, started to take a bite, thought the better of it, and returned my sandwich to the plate, “You know, you’ve just killed my bagel… the tomato is turning red.”

“It already is red!”

“I mean more red… like when you plant tomatoes next to a nuclear waste site.  Look… the people next to us are getting up to leave.  You made them leave!”

“They’re leaving because they’re done eating… they’re going to pay their bill.”

“That old lady took out a lace handkerchief and is holding it to her nose.  I think she is going to throw up.  And that guy across the room just dropped his fork to his plate… and that’s there… I’m sitting two feet from the epicenter.”

“Enough already… will you eat your food, please and stop carrying on.”

“How’s your pastrami?”

Raymond an I go back years… to the sand box as Mrs. Bellaga would say.  We lived in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, dated the same women… he even married my ex-wife.

But every month, on the third Friday we have lunch.  We alternate paying the bill and choosing the restaurant.  One chooses the place and the other guy pays.  This lead to a spate of afternoons at very expensive restaurants as we would try to out do each other in sticking the other guy with a monstrous bill.  I left Ray with a $300 lunch tab once.  He paid without a blink and agreed that the Puligny-Montrachet and the Ch. Beychevelle had been excellent choices.

We’re past that now.  We go to places that we both enjoy… and invariably it’s to simple spots… no linen, sometimes paper plates; but always a place where the schmooze can be “let out to pasture.”

“Who are the Democrats going to put up?” I’m asked. 

You have to understand.  Raymond spent his college years worshiping the then Governor of California, Ronald Reagan.  As an adult he has morphed into the poster boy of every liberal cause celebre.  I never forget to remind him of his earlier allegiance.  He would tell me his position when he was an undergraduate was based on his choice of Fraternity and his desire to get laid.

“I think we could put up Mickey Mouse and win.  The trouble is I don’t think we have someone as good as Mickey Mouse.”

Topics that are usually taboo in conversation.. religion and politics, are the very areas that occupy our time.  We also talk of life’s aggravations, our work, the problems of getting old, our anxieties.  We don’t talk about the ladies in our life.  Particularly since he hooked up with the wicked witch of the west.

Perhaps that should tell you about the strength of our friendship… that there is nothing that would stand in its way.  Even the wicked witch of the west.

I sipped my glass of tea.  And just mulled over some things… nothing to do with my bagel… or the next Democratic candidate, nor global warming.  I just thought of my friend Raymond.  How he has appeared in virtually every scene in my life… how he has been there in times good or bad… a voice I could turn to… a voice not colored by the marriage bed.  A voice I could trust.  Trust… even if he married the wicked witch of the west.

“Ray… I’m worried.  I have more years in back of me than ahead.  And I have yet to do one important thing in my life.  My presence on earth isn’t as significant as a grain of sand.  I wrecked a business, I have horrible dreams, I’m afraid of running a red light… and my pants fit too tight!!”

The room fell into momentary silence.  The crunch of Raymond’s pickle cut the still.  He looked directly into my face, “Maybe you should let out your crotch.”

I was hoping for pearls of wisdom.  I finished my bagel thru the haze of Ray’s lingering fart… and thought how lucky I was… Lucky to have a friend like Raymond Bellaga… lucky to have the major problems of the world… the worries of a lifetime… rendered insignificant before what is truly essential — pants that fit comfortably.

“Ray, I don’t know how you do it.  But thanks…”

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Best of the Best

Posted on July 9, 2007 by Jim

Although we shared in the inspiration, I can not take any credit for being the architect for the wine tasting… that function belonged to Grapes’ owner, John Caplan.  My sole contribution was to recommend the first wine, which was actually tasted last — Chateau D’Yquem.  For the rest of the wine flight, I merely put at the top of a scratch pad: France, Italy, California and Spain (with a question mark).

It was John’s duty to flesh out the “dance card”.

We host a wine tasting of this magnitude from time to time… featuring an eclectic assortment of wines that are the “best of the best.”  From start to finish the wines have to be great, worthy of cellaring — and also available for purchase.  Well, after all, we are in the business of selling wine.  But it goes beyond the simple sale.  We all have tasted incredible wines… rare wines, wines that are truly hard to come by… and then reflected what a tease it had been.  No. Our tasting would not be a tease… wines had to be available to acquire.

In the two weeks leading up to the tasting John busied himself calling distributors, importers, portfolio reps… cashing in on a few debts owed to him in order to secure exceptional wines.

From across the room I would hear, “Hah!  Man, look what we’ve just landed!”  There would be a fist pump… “Quintarelli Valpo!”  This is the liquid equivalent to scoring Peyton Manning for your fantasy football team.

And that’s the way it went… two White Burgs from the ’05 Vintage, a monster Cali Cab, a gem from the Priorat… little by little the list was taking shape, ’til John had assembled a wine dream team.

Then, on Thursday June 28th, we sat down with 21 eager citizens drawn from the ranks off a list of our best customers.  It would be an evening to cherish.

Our lead wine is usually a sparkling wine of some type… for our regular tastings: Prosecco or Cava; but rarely true Brut Champagne.  The natural inclination for this tasting would have been for a tete du cuvee like Dom Perignon.  But Dom is really no big deal… as much as I personally love it… it’s really commonplace… albeit expensive.  I would have liked a Brut Rose from Billecart-Salmon… a favorite of mine… but our local distributor who has the label can be a bit of a pill… and in order to get any Rose we have to purchase an un-Godly amount of the regular Brut Champagne.

The other aperitif that would be top stuff is a Riesling or Pinot Gris from Zind-Humbrecht.  Unfortunately, the Importer and the Distributor handling Zind is changing and it will be a couple of months before Zind is in play again.  But John did find another Alsatian wine that would do quite well: Albert Boxler Riesling Grand Cru Sommenberg ’01.  This is not your “garden variety” Riesling that you sip pleasurably during a sticky summer day.  This is a wine packed with ripe fruit flavour, silky texture and length.  Deeply hued, fragrant and perfectly dry… attributes that you would least expect from a Riesling.  A glorious wine, still young, with years ahead to enjoy along side of impressive fare… like a Thanksgiving Turkey, an Easter Ham or a well prepared duck.  The winemaker for the Estate is Jean Boxler… 31 years of age, a graduate of the most prestigious “aggie” school of France, the University of Montpelier… the son of Albert, he has quickly achieved praise for turning out wines of great character… more opulent than Trimbach or Jean Meyer; but more restrained than Zind-Humbrecht.

We followed with two Burgundies: Vincent Girardin Meursault ‘Les Narvaux’ ’05 and Vincent Girardin Puligny-Montrachet ‘Champ Gain’ ’05.  After Red Bordeaux, White Burgundy is my favorite wine.  For years I have proposed that White Burgundy is not a white wine… it is great wine that just happens to be white.  The Meursault drew most of the attention and comment.  Hints of hazelnut, smoke & minerality added complexity to the tropical nature of Chardonnay fruit.  Its balance was near perfect.  Someone ventured that this was a wine that you could never tire of… a wine where one bottle would never be enough.  On our evening the Puligny took a back seat… its bouquet more closed, its flavours not as developed.  But this is a Vintage of immense quality, and for those of us who love Burgundy we know that 3 years down the road, the Puligny will shed its awkward stage and bloom to peak perfection.

Organizing the White side of the flight was easy… the Reds would prove more challenging. We knew that any of the Reds could “anchor” a typical tasting.  We began with Spain.  A wine from the Priorat Costers del Siurana Miserere ’01 to be followed by a single vineyard Rioja Valserrano Finca Monteviejo ’03.  I love the wines from Priorat… a tiny area in Spain, close to the Mediterranean.  The region is known for its steep hillsides… vineyards that have to be terraced into its rocky, inhospitable terrain and have to be tended by hand.  A region known for producing wines of great concentration… concentration  derived from old vines… vines that have to struggle for their nutrients.  Originally planted to Rhone varietals, Bordeaux varietals introduced more recently, this wine is an enticing blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Grenache, Tempranillo, Merlot and Carignan.  Aged for 12 months in French Barriques and bottle unfiltered and unfined the wine is a true gem.  Beautiful depth, still a “baby”… everyone in agreement that it would cellar splendidly.

The Rioja was more typically “Spain”… 95% Tempranillo with a soupcon of Graciano and Grenache.  A wine of sensuous appeal… a sexy blend of ripe dark cherry, cedar and vanilla with a plush feel on palate.  I can’t imagine a better wine for marinated flank steak.  Only 170 cases produced.  Talk about feeling lucky to taste a wine!

Italy was next.  From Veneto Quintarelli Valpolicella ’98, to be followed by Il Poggione Brunello Riserva ’01 from Tuscany.  Look up “wine maven of Veneto” in the encyclopedia and you will find a picture of Giuseppe Quintarelli.  His wines are some of the toughest to get from any region of the world.  It was a joy to taste this wine with folks who regrettably hear “Valpolicella” and think of Bolla Wines.  No. This is not a “commercial” wine.  Rather a wine of tremendous richness that exhibits great elegance and finesse… a balancing act that is only achieved by the world’s greatest winemakers… winemakers like Giuseppe Quintarelli.

The Brunello was extraordinary.  This caused some misgivings.  How could I measure this wine against one of my true loves, another Brunello: Valdicava Madonna ’01?  But here is a wine that Tanzer scored 95 points… he, the toughest grader on planet earth.  Only three other wines of the Vintage scored a point or two higher.  Yes, this was a terrific wine.  But my Madonna?  John told me to get over it. Il Poggione wasn’t “chopped liver”, it was a fabulous wine, sleek and purring like a Jaguar.

We judged the next wine to be our “soft underside”.  Nevertheless, a wine that John said he had to put on the flight, although its origin never appeared on our first work sheet.  It was a wine from Mendoza and it blew John away when he first tried it… Vina Alicia Malbec ’04.  We have been impressed by the quality of wines coming from Argentina.  Particularly at the premium level.  But this wine is yet again another story.  Made from vines with an average age of 95 years, and with only two clusters of grapes per vine… the resulting wine has amazing concentration; but with a European sense of restraint.  This is not a fat fruit monster lacking structural support; rather a wine that combines the best of both Hemispheres.  The wine that John and I thought was our “weak link” turned out to be the best seller of the night.

California stepped to the plate next. From Santa Barbara Dierberg Pinot Noir ‘Steven’ ’04.  I will confess… I do not care for “our” Pinot Noirs.  Red Burgundy is a different matter… some of the finest Reds I have ever tasted are Red Burgundies.  But Dierberg has given me pause for thought.  The Dierbergs are farmers really… they established their grape growing skill in that great wine producing State of Missouri.  When they moved West to follow their dreams, they settled in Santa Barbara County where land was cheaper than Napa or Sonoma.  They quickly established their reputation for knowing how to “tend vine”, and year after year they sold their produce to an appreciative wine market… Wines that received critical acclaim, huge ratings & top dollar.  They got an itch to create wine under their name… and as key contracts on their vineyards came up for renewal, they decided to retain the best for their use… and so a winery was given its birth.  But they knew how to grow grapes… not make wine.  So they enlisted the talents of Paul Hobbs and David Ramey to help make their wine… it was like penciling in Ruth and Gehrig to your batting order.  And folks, this is the best Pinot I have tasted outside of the Cote D’Or…

John loves Cabernets coming from Napa.  In fact, he may love Napa Cab more than he does Pink Floyd… and boy, does he love Pink Floyd.  Who was I to stand in the way of Rudd Oakville Cabernet Sauvignon ’03?  Described as a vin de garde… a wine for the keeping, this wine along with the wine that followed was our most “closed”… a wine that you would have to wait to truly savor.  I loved Parker’s  review: “this opaque purple-colored 2003 offers sweet aromas of scorched earth, tobacco leaf, blackberries and currents.  Layered, beautifully textured, broad elegant, and refreshing, this well structured, superb effort should be consumed between 2008-2020.”  You didn’t have to be a “Cali Lover” to swoon at this wine… we all did.

When John said that we had a Cote Rotie, I smiled.  “Thank you, John”.  It’s easier to get First Growth Bordeaux than it is to get top flight Cote Rotie.  So little is produced.  Allocations are infinitesimal.  Give up your first born and maybe you can taste great Cote Rotie… we had Guigal Chateau D’Ampuis ’01.  Rated by Parker a paltry 95 points, made from the finest parcels of La Garde, La Clos, Grande Plantee, Pomiere, Pavillon Rouge and Le Moulin… this is a wine to be reckoned with.  Not a wine for those who simply enjoy great tasting wine… this is a wine to study.  A wine to be appreciated for its complexity and its earthiness… not just for its fruit.  Even more closed than the wine that preceded it, this was the wine that was the hardest to grasp… but this the wine I sought out to re-examine after the formal proceedings were called to adjournment.  My gosh is it a great wine.

Our final Red was the “problem child” of the Red portion of the flight.  John and I had originally put it much earlier in the order.  After our private pre-tasting of all the wines, we knew that there could be no wine that could follow Jaffurs Upslope Syrah ’04 and emerge from beyond its shadow.  This Santa Barbara wine was too much of a flavour bomb.  Jaffurs produces some of the best Syrah in California… their most prestigious wines hailing from single vineyards at Thompson, Melville and Bien Nacido.  Upslope is the production of the finest six barrels from those vineyards and only 142 cases are produced.  We had tasted this wine one other time… when we hosted a “Cult Cabernet Sauvignon Night”.  The wine had been somewhat of an “after thought”… John’s idea of “let’s shake them up.”  We had to take notice when the wine out performed Caymus Select and other “fancy Dan” Napa Cabs.  No one was disappointed on this night either.

Hard to follow all those huge Reds… hard that is unless it’s Chateau D’Yquem ’95.  I have a saying, “buy the worst Vintage of Chateau D’Yquem that you can find, because there is no such thing as the worst Vintage of Chateau D’Yquem… they don’t know how to make bad wine.”  You see… Vintages that are considered to be of “lesser” quality by the pundits simply cost less… if the wine making team of Yquem feels that the vintage is not up to snuff, wine is not made… the entire crop is declassified and sold off to market.  The integrity of the label is deemed more important than any year’s vintage.  Regrettably, we could not secure any more of the ’94 Vintage… which was a “buy”.  But we were committed to showcasing one of the world’s finest wines (it was after all my only contribution to the flight)… and the ’95 would more than satisfy.

When the dust had settled, and an appreciative group had taken their leave… John would say to me that nothing had given him a greater sense of satisfaction than watching the reaction to Chateau D’Yquem… It is a reaction I have seen before… this was not a sweet wine, not a dessert wine… it is a wine that transcended any description or category.  And it is a wine that never fails to live up to its expectation. 

Well… there we are.  A great, great night.  I can’t resist the temptation to put this to an order… a ranking.  Sorta like judging Best of Show at Westminster… each of the dogs in the Show Ring already a declared Champion in it’s breed… and the final Judge having to decide the best of the best. 

Alright, what the hell: Chateau D’Yquem, Chateau D’Ampuis, Boxler Sommenberg (nosing out the Brunello).  And if someone in the room saw it differently… that’s OK, too.

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