The other night found me and Tracie B in the home of our dear friend Alfonso, who treated us to one of the best bottles of wine I’ve ever drunk in my life: 1968 Barolo Monfortino by Giacomo Conterno (steaks by Alfonso, photo by Tracie B). It was one of those truly life-changing wines, a miracle in a bottle and a wonder in the glass, at once light and lithe, powerful and awesome. I’ve tasted — tasted, mind you, not drunk — 55, 58, 61, and 71 (some of the greatest years for Langa in the 20th century). Martinelli calls the 1968 harvest “good” (not great) and the wine did have some vegetal notes that I believe were product of the vintage. But quality of the materia prima (there is superb fruit in nearly every vintage, sometimes less of it than more) and the winemaking approach (aged 10 years in botti before bottling according to the back label!) made for a wine that I will never forget.
Carissimo Alfonso, grazie per una serata indimenticabile!
In other news…
The other day at Bistro Vatel in San Antonio, I enjoyed one of the best meals I’ve had since I moved to Texas (save for daily dining chez Tracie B!). Owner Damien Vatel is a descendant of legendary 17th-century French chef François Vatel.
Above: Call me crazy but I paired cherry stone clam pizza and Nebbiolo the other day at Nonna in Dallas. It was delicious. The fruit in the 2005 Produttori del Barbaresco is showing beautifully right now and shows no signs of wanting to close up.
The San Diego Kid (that’s me, your resident wine cowboy) found himself in Dallas the other day, dusty and tired after a day of showing wine, with a six-pack of wine still slung around his back, his trusty companion Dinamite (the Silver Hyundai) beaten but not broken, and a bottle half-full of 2005 Produttori del Barbaresco still to be drunk. So he moseyed on over to the nearest saloon and parked his chaparreras at the bar at Nonna, where owner Julian Barsotti insisted he have the white pizza with cherry stone clams.
Above: Rock star owner and chef Julian Barsotti of Nonna makes some of the best pizza in Texas. He spent a season in Naples where he studied at the Associazione Verace Pizza Napoletana.
Julian opens the cherry stone clams first, reserves the juices, and then slowly wilts Vidalia onions with their juice and some cream until the onions literally melt and the cream and clam juice reduce to a thick sauce which he seasons with a mix of finely chopped herbs. Before firing the pizza in a wood-fired oven, he dresses the pizza with the clams, sauce, and a sprinkle of Parmigiano Reggiano. I’m still a big fan of his Margherita but the white clam pizza was the best I’ve ever had this side of New Haven, Connecticut.
The pairing was as decadent as it was delicious. In Italy, I still pair my pizza with beer (as tradition dictates) but here in the Wild West, crazy things can happen.
In other news…
I couldn’t be there this year (but I was last year): the first couple of Italian-American food and wine Michele and Charles Scicolone hosted their second “bygone wines” dinner in New York. Check out Eric’s post here.
In other other news…
Today (April 25) is Liberation Day in Italy, commemorating the partisans’s triumph over fascist and Nazi rule in 1945 (Milan and Turin were liberated on this day).
One of my favorite pairings is the Bandol rosé (Domaine de Terrebrune also makes a winner) with popcorn. No, not buttered popcorn. To really make the wine and popcorn work wonders, I use olive oil, salt, and dried thyme stirred into the popped corn. A hit of Provence.
Mr. Lynch, thank you for stopping by and thanks for reading.
I also heard from Clark Terry who works with Kermit. He contacted the “Beaune” office: roughly 5,000 cases of Bandol Rosé are released by Tempier each year. I’m glad that a few of them make to Austin so that me and Tracie B can enjoy our Bandol with our Idol! Next week, we’ll have to try Kermit’s popcorn…
Above: On Tuesday nights, Tracie B and I watch American idol, play armchair critic, and open a good bottle of wine. Last night we splurged (in celebration of my Princeton translation) and opened the 2007 Bandol Rosé by Tempier, which I found at a surprising palatable price at a “local” market. We paired with her excellent nachos.
The counterpoint wasn’t lost on me and Tracie B last night: we watched what may be the apotheosis of the commercialized and reified American dream (where rags-to-riches hopes are dashed or indemnified by the almighty texting hand of the American consumer) and we sipped a rosé made by a small winery in Provence in the south of France, that counts a meager 8 employees and just 30 hectares (that’s about 74 acres, 6 less than 2 X 40 acres and 2 mules!).
Tracie B and I had tasted the rouge a few weeks ago and she had not-so-subtly mentioned how she wanted to taste the winery’s famous rosé. There’s not a lot of this wine in the U.S. and not a lot of it made: according to Domaine Tempier’s site, its total production is 120,000 bottles, of which 29% is the rosé. I really wanted to surprise Tracie B with a bottle and I struck out at a few of my favorite wine stores.
But when I called my colleague, wine specialist Jen Powell, at a little local grocery store called Whole Foods in Austin, she told me that she had a nice allocation — at a great price. Btw, just because I work in the wine trade doesn’t mean I don’t have to buy wine like everyone else (even though the company I work for reps this wine!).
Above: Tracie B’s nachos are awesome. You can read her recipe here. The bright acidity in the rosé was a perfect match for the spicy flavors of the salsa, the wine’s tannin a great complement to the fat of the refried beans and her sautéed ground turkey topping.
One can argue whether or not Tempier’s Bandol Rosé is the best in the world (as a few did in the comments of a recent post), but when you taste this wine, there’s no question that it is a hand-crafted, artisanal wine that truly tastes of place where it is made, Provence — a classic and superior example of a terroir-driven wine, imported by rock star terroiristeKermit Lynch, who, btw, just launched a new blog.
I can’t help but wonder (on tax day in our great land): is our country interesting because our Coca Cola (official sponsor American Idol) culture reigns supreme or because at our “local” markets we can find the wines of a tiny little winery in Provence in southern France, where slopes are so steep that they must be tended by hand? Or is our country interesting at all? Or does the answer lie in the fact that the two phenomena live side-by-side?
As much as I love what I do and as fortunate as I feel to work in wine and get to travel to Europe for work, a career in the wine business is not as glamorous as it may seem. When I go to Verona for the annual trade fairs, I get up very early and taste wine all day, running from one “stand” to another, trying to keep with appointments, hoping to see all the people I need to see. It’s exhausting and and by no means as fun as “getting to taste wine all day” may sound.
Above: There wasn’t enough sausage to go around at the dinner I attended on Sunday night in Breganze, near Vicenza in the Veneto. When it was served, they piled the other meats on top of it and all of the juices mingled to make a rich “tocio” (TOH-choh) or jus, as they say in the Veneto dialect. The grilled polenta sopped in the tocio was as good as it gets.
And the worst part is that I was a stone’s throw (an hour or so drive) from so many of my very best friends, like Steve and Sita and Gabriele (aka Elvis) in Padua, Stefano and Anna in Milan, and Corradino and Puddu in Bologna. But when I attend the fairs, I am bound to use my time there to taste as much wine as possible (taking notes on new vintages and learning about new labels) and talking and schmoozing with as many “suppliers” as possible.
Above: Roast guinea hens.
Another thing that really sucks is the food. There I was in Italy, one of the world’s greatest food destinations, and imprisoned in the trade fair grounds in Verona where the only chance for something good to eat is stopping by Alicia Lini’s stand for a snack of erbazzone and mortadella.
Most of the dinners you attend are held in cafeteria-style restaurants where you sit at long tables with sales reps and suppliers. For the most part, the conversation is boring, everyone is tired of tasting and running around, and all you want to do is to go back to your hotel room and crash.
Above: I sat with Chris and Cynde Gangi, a delightful couple who own and run Josephine’s in Frisco (Dallas), Texas.
The one good meal I had during the fair was a dinner I attended with Italian Wine Guy in Breganze near Vicenza. The Veneto is the Italian region to which I feel the greatest bond since I went to university there (Padua) and I spent three summers playing music there (Belluno). The menu that night included some of my favorite dishes, Veneto comfort food: baccalà mantecato (creamed salt cod, a classic Venetian dish); radicchio di Castelfranco (a type of red-spotted white leafy chicory, dressed with olive oil, salt, and a drop of traditional balsamic vinegar; Castelfranco is a town not far from where we were); homemade tagliatelle tossed with radicchio trevigiano sautéed with bits of prosciutto (radicchio trevigiano is a type of long-leaf, red chicory from Treviso, also not far from where we were); Bassano white aspargus risotto (it was white asparagus season in Bassano, also not far); grilled sausages and chicken thighs (bone-in), and roast guinea hens; and the best Veneto comfort food of all, grilled polenta.
It reminded me of a song that I love and used to sing many moons ago:
Se il mare fosse de tocio
e i monti de polenta
oh mamma che tociade,
polenta e baccalà.
Perché non m’ami più?
If the sea were made of gravy
and the mountains of polenta
oh mama, what sops!
polenta and baccalà.
Why don’t you love me anymore?
— from “La Mula de Parenzo,” traditional folksong of the Veneto and Friuli
WARNING: EXTREME PAIRING AHEAD, PROCEED WITH CAUTION
It’s a very kinky pairing/the kind you don’t bring home to mother…
In Italian you say, ti tolgo il saluto, literally, I withdraw my greetings from you.
I imagine that’s what Franco will say to me tomorrow at the Vini Veri tasting when he learns that Tracie B and I paired Nebbiolo with oven-fired gulf oysters last night.
Since I moved to Texas last year, gulf oysters have become something of an obsession. I’ve always been a fan of the mollusk but I never thought the shucked shellfish of New York and Long Island could be beat. That lasted until I tasted my first gulf oyster in New Orleans last month.
Above: Coalminer Mark, aka Mark Sayre, aka “the best sommelier in Austin” serves 2007 Langhe Nebbiolo by Produttori del Barbaresco by the glass at happy hour at Trio, the excellent steakhouse in the Four Seasons Hotel in Austin. The wine list is killer, the comfort food appetizers menu is yummy, the prices are right, and the valet parking is FREE! Run, don’t walk.
The 2007 harvest in Langa was a classic vintage and will potentially be a great one, probably similar to 96, 01, and 04 in its profile. The 2007 Langhe Nebbiolo by Produttori del Barbaresco was showing handsomely last night and I cannot conceal that I am ENTIRELY geeked someone in Austin is doing it by-the-glass at a happy hour price. Wine director Coalminer Mark of the Four Seasons and the San Diego Kid might just have to bury the hatchet.
Above: Tracie B’s boss Jon Gerber served raw gulf oysters at his annual “Shuck and Suck Crawfish Boil,” a yearly blow-out party, benefiting Habitat for Humanity.
Nebbiolo and spicy, oven-fired gulf oysters? An unconventional pairing to say the least, but the freshness of the Langhe Nebbiolo and its lighter body and acidity was delightful with savory oyster and chorizo that adorned its silky surface. Hey, Franco, call me a Super Freak… ;-) I’ll see you tomorrow in Isola della Scala.
In other news…
The Italian wine trade fairs start today and I’m about to get on a plane for Venice. Stay tuned: next post from Italia…
Who could resist the colors in the frame above, between the Tempier Rosé and the heirloom beets offered on the forgivably precious menu at York Street in Dallas? It’s one of the perks of working in the wine trade: getting to dine at top restaurants and getting to bring your own wine. Members of our trade are accorded such liberties — a common courtesy extended to defenders of good wine.
If you don’t know the Provence producer Tempier, you should: its rosé is considered by many to be the best in the world (that’s not an exaggeration). Everyone from BrooklynGuy to Alice to Eric to Alder to Dr. V to Ray to Genevelyn would agree (Alder, wouldn’t you say that it’s the “best rosé in the world”?). I consider myself lucky to represent the winery here in Texas.
Sharon Hage of York Street has been nominated this year by the James Beard Foundation for the best Southwest Chef (together with Texas fellow Andrew Weissman of Le Rêve in San Antonio. Her “Bacon and Eggs” above are pretty darn precious, but, man, are they good.
Other perks include getting to taste some kick-ass wines, like this label-damaged Château Pichon Comtesse de Lalande 1988 that überhip sommelier D’Lynn Proctor poured me the other day at Graileys, also in Dallas. I have thumbed my nose at Bored-oh before but not this one… Not one of the greatest vintages of my lifetime but the wine is showing beautifully right now. 20-year+ Bordeaux is always fun to taste.
The greatest perk of all is the wide variety of fine wines I get to taste these days (yes, there is life beyond Nebbiolo and Chenin Blanc) and the many interesting people and palates I connect with during my travels.
Speaking of travels, NN+ will be performing in San Francisco and Los Angeles in early May. If you’re around, please come out and support our music:
Check out Tracie B’s awesome post on pastasciutta. On occasion, I have been known to be the beneficiary of her fine cooking (another benefit of being in the wine trade!).
Does anyone remember this line from Hemingway’s short story, “Che ti dice la patria”?: “The pasta asciutta was good; the wine tasted of alum, and we poured water in it.”
It may be hard to believe but I had what was probably the best cannolo I’ve ever had in… yes, you won’t believe it… in Little Rock, Arkansas where I was traveling for business (cannolo is the singular of cannoli, btw). For me, the cannolo is all about the buccia, the shell. It needs to be firm but light, crunchy but consistent, sweet but not too much so, with just the right amount of savoriness to balance the richness of the cream filling.
I’m not quite sure how they got there, but Santo Sacca (left) from Messina (the front of the house) and chef Rosario Patti from Palermo run a fantastic little Italian restaurant in Little Rock. Some may come close, but their cannolo cannot be beat.
Rosario seasons his excellent pasta mari e monti (sea and mountain) with saffron. It was delicious.
Vesuvio Bistro
1501 Merrill Dr
Little Rock AR 72211
501-225-0500
Holy cannolo Bill Clinton! Now it’s time for me to get my butt back to Austin for some holy mole at Polvo’s.
In other news…
A lot of people have asked me about upcoming EU Common Market Organisation reforms whereby the Italian appellation system will be absorbed by the EU, to take effect on August 1. The names and classification of Italian appellations won’t change but the power to issue new appellations will pass from Rome to Brussels. I’ve translated and posted Franco’s editorial at VinoWire, including some useful links. Other alarmist bloggers have claimed erroneously that the CMO reform will wipe out the Italian system. The real question is how EU bureaucrats will deal with requests for new appellations starting in August.
The weather’s still cold here in Texas but folks are already beginning to hold their annual crawfish bolls (boll is Texan for boil). The crawfish boll is a true convivium, in the etymologic sense of the word, a “feasting together” or “living together.” Although the crawfish are sometimes served on trays after being bolled (boiled), most folks spread them out on a table over newspaper and everybody eats standing, shelling and sucking the crawfish communally. Yesterday, I attended my first crawfish boll ever at the invitation of my new friends, wine professionals Craig Collins and his lovely wife April.
Baby onions, whole bunches of garlic, mushrooms, corn, sausage, and spices are set to boil in a large pot. Then, the crawfish are dumped live into the cooking water. Crawfish or crayfish are also called “mud bugs,” said Tracie B.
They simmer, covered, for about 20 minutes. When asked if it was okay that the pots were boiling over, Chef Drew Curren said, “actually, it’s preferred.”
The crawfish are strained and then seasoned again with hot spice.
The crawfish are then distributed over newspaper (we finally found a good use for Dorothy and John’s article on money-saving wine list tips!). As in a bollito misto, the flavors of all the ingredients intermingle. As the crawfish cool, they purge their savory juice, which is sopped up by the baguettes. So tasty…
You twist the crawfish at the top of their tails. You suck the head and then peel the tail.
That’s April and Craig in the foreground, right. What an awesome way to spend an afternoon. Tracie B and I brought Camillo Donati Lambrusco, which showed beautifully with the spicy flavors of the boll.
The wine cowboy drank beer, the lady sipped Riesling.
Round these parts, they call me the San Diego Kid. You see, I’m a cowboy… a wine cowboy, and I ride a silver Hyundai with a six pack slung across my back. It’s a tough job keeping the mean dusty streets of these towns safe for Italian wine. But someone’s got to do it.
Last night, me and my lady Tracie B were at the hoe down when Mark Sayre showed up. Some say he’s the “best sommelier in town” and I knew the moment of Nebbiolo truth had arrived.
He drew a 1999 Pajé by Roagna and said “reach for it, mister!” Me? I reached in my holster for my trusty Produttori del Barbaresco… Luckily for me, I happened to have the 2001 Pora on me. Bullets began to fly and charcuterie was served…
Do Bianchi