NEW ALBUM: “Their Love Is Here To Stay” by the Parzen Family Singers (FREE DOWNLOAD)

Happy holidays, everyone! We hope you enjoy the new album from the Parzen Family Singers, “Their Love Is Here to Stay”!

DOWNLOAD ALBUM FOR FREE HERE. The Soundcloud stream also follows below.

Many of the songs on this album were inspired by our girls, Lila Jane age 5 and Georgia almost 7. Over the course of the year, they challenged me to write songs about them and their lives.

The lead track, “Safety Song,” came about when Lila Jane asked me to compose a song about, well, “safety,” something we spend a lot of time talking about at our house.

Georgia makes an appearance on vocals on “Minivan,” another one they asked for (although now they are more excited about our F150 than our Odyssey).

“Sonny,” the album’s only instrumental, is about one of their stuffed animals.

Sonny the Cheetah makes another appearance in “We Are The Bunnaroos,” a song about their make-believe rock band (inspired by “Josie And The Pussycats” and [Paul Collins’] The Beat).

“(This Is Called The) Go Rusty,” a track about our new dog, was co-written by Lila Jane who performs vocals.

“Welcome To The S—hole” is self-explanatory (rock ‘n’ roll is one of the best antidotes to Trump and his racism brand).

“Taking A Bath” was another song challenge from the girls. We wrote it together as I strummed a guitar and they played in the tub. It’s my homage to Randy Newman.

“ABCs” is the album’s only cover, performed by Lila Jane.

“At The Museum” was inspired by our visits to Houston’s excellent Museum of Fine Arts. It’s testament to the old adage that you can write a song about anything under the sun. I’m really proud of the lyrics on this one (and all the while in the café/the milk is steaming/sipping cappuccinos and dreaming).

The title track, “Their Love Is Here To Stay,” was written after white supremacists sent an anonymous defamatory letter about me to Tracie’s 97-year-old grandmother “memaw” (the folks back home/they say she’s crazy/to love a spirit such as he/she’s been around the world that lady/nobody knows her mind but she).

Thanks for downloading and listening (any proceeds from pay-what-you-want sales will go to our efforts to repurpose the newly constructed Confederate memorial in Tracie’s hometown, Orange, Texas).

We hope you enjoy the music as much as we did making it…

Happy Thanksgiving and happy holidays, everyone!

Is wine a work of art? The Minimus 2017 Pinot Gris from Oregon was one of the most artful wines I’ve ever tasted

Please join me tonight (Friday, Nov. 16) at Sud Italia on University Blvd. in Houston (Google map) for an evening of great Italian wine and conversation. I’ll be pouring wine for guests all evening.

The greatest works of art and literature are those which are conscious of being works of art and literature, texts that are self-aware of being texts, so to speak.

Without diving headfirst and recklessly into a discussion of “experiential” versus “experimental” poetics, suffice it to say that there are two types of “art” in the [post-]post-modern world: those which merely entertain us and those which expand their genre by forging new ground, as they entertain us all the while.

This dichotomy can be traced back to antiquity, of course. But in modern times, the “art vs. entertainment” dialectic was best summed up by Umberto Eco in his (in)famous 1985 essay “‘Casablanca’: Cult Movies and Intertextual Collage.”

“According to traditional standards in aesthetics,” he wrote, “‘Casablanca’ is not a work of art… [I]f the films of Dreyer, Eisenstein, or Antonioni are works of art, ‘Casablanca’ represents a very modest aesthetic achievement.”

A lot of Casablanca fans will be surprised to hear that. But as Eco illustrates (and despite being a diehard ‘Casablanca’ fan, I agree with him), Casablanca is a great film but it’s not a work of art. In other words, it’s not a film that’s conscious of being a film. It’s just a great film.

Late-night graduate-days debates over the intersection and divergence in art and entertainment — fueled by pungent cigarettes and acrid coffee — came to mind as we drank the Minimus 2017 Pinot Gris from Oregon the other night.

Where so many skin-contact and natural-intentioned wines can tend to be monochromatic in their aromas and flavors, this wine delivered gorgeous varietal expressiveness, with brilliant fruit (ripe peach and apricot), elegant acidity, and artful weight, body, and texture. In a word, I loved it.

But I was also struck by the fact that, like many of the Craft Wine Co. wines, it’s a one-off, one of the many bottlings they do just once — when the confluence of growing conditions and availability of fruit gave the winemaker the unique opportunity to make. No, there won’t be a 2018 bottling and that’s simply because the winemaker has already moved on to his next aesthetic adventure (well, honestly, I don’t know that for sure but it’s my understanding that each of their wines is intended to be an entirely singular viticultural expression, a sui generis bottling).

The packaging and meticulously compiled metatext (see the image above) also struck me as remarkable and remarkably thoughtful and thought-provoking.

Like a text that’s left the hands of its author and has gone on to become its own living and breathing objet d’art, this wine seemed to have a life that came into being only after the moment of its issuance. At the risk of sounding unintentionally macabre, I’ll borrow Barthes’ equally infamous declaration that “the author winemaker is dead…” In other words, this wine, so mindful and self-aware of being a wine, had taken on a life of its own once it left the confines of the cellar where it was born and found its way to me in Houston.

(For the record, the man who made this wine is alive and well; meaning here is figurative, of course, not literal.)

Is winemaking an intellectual pursuit? I believe that no, it’s not. Is it an aesthetic expression of its winemaker? I believe it is… but not when she/he seals the wine with a cork or screw cap. It becomes poetical the moment a wine lover pulls that cork or twists that screw cap.

And the other night, the Minimus 2017 Pinot Gris was pure poetry…

Buon weekend, everyone! Have a great weekend and drink something delicious!

Native Grapes of Italy author Ian D’Agata coming to Houston next month…

Del Posto group (NYC) buyer and Italian wine guru Jeff Porter shared the following press release with me yesterday and I’m happy to repost it here: Ian is THE LEADING English-language authority on Italian ampelography. I hope you’ll join me in welcoming Ian next month to Houston! (Image: Barbera grapes as depicted by 19th-century Italian botanist Giorgio Gallesio [Flickr creative commons].)

Indegina World Tour
Ian D’Agata
Houston, Texas
December 11 & 12, 2018

Please come experience one of the greatest speakers on Italian wine in the world: Mr. Ian D’Agata. Ian is one of the world’s foremost experts on native grapes of Italy and his most recent book Native Grapes of Italy has become a defacto tome for wine lovers across the globe. In addition to being an author Ian has established the Indegina Center for Food & Wine studies in Barolo, Piemonte. Indegina has been created to teach and explore the world’s native foodstuffs and wine grapes from all angles: science, economics, history, culinary and sociologically.
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Taste with me this Friday in Houston at Sud Italia (and Houston-centric Thanksgiving wine recommendations)…

Please join me this Friday evening at Sud Italia on University Blvd. in Houston (Google map) for an evening of great Italian wine and conversation.

I’ll be pouring bottles from the restaurant’s all-Italian list and I’ll be visiting with guests who want to chat about wine and Italy.

Working as a sommelier on the floor of a great restaurant is one of my favorite things to do and I hope you’ll stop by for a glass of Verdicchio or Sangiovese!

In other news…

Check out my (Houston-centric) recommendations for what wine to drink for Thanksgiving, my post today for the Houston Press, “Wines for a Purple State Thanksgiving.”

You might be surprised by what I wrote. Please check it out.

What will be drinking at our Thanksgiving in Orange, Texas next week? The “wine of freedom”!

Thanks for your solidarity and support, everyone. It really means the world to Tracie and me. Please join me on Friday if you can. It will be a super fun evening for sure.

A Jew in America…

As the cloudy sky looked on, the sheriff’s patrol car that idled outside Congregation Bonai Shalom (in Boulder, Colorado) politely moved to allow me to take the last parking spot in the lot outside the synagogue.

Three 30-something congregants greeted me warmly as I approached the temple entrance.

“I’m from out of town,” I said.

“Oh, where from?” one asked me smiling broadly.

“From Texas,” I said, “Houston. May I join you today? I’m on the road for work and there’s no way that I’m not going to shul today.”

“Of course,” they answered heartily and nearly in unison.

By the time services were in full swing, the sanctuary was packed. And the young rabbi didn’t shy from noting what an emotional time it was for all of us. Only a week had passed since the worst anti-Semitic attack in U.S. history. Tears welled, it seemed, in everyone’s eyes, including mine.
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My first (and last?) taste of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti

Of all of the events at the Boulder Burgundy Festival (now in its eighth year, my fifth as official blogger), there is no more spirited gathering than the “Paulée-Inspired Lunch.”

For those not familiar with the term paulée, it’s an annual party thrown in Burgundy to celebrate the end of harvest (paulée means literally a panful or the amount a pan holds, a reference to the early years of the outdoor celebration when attendees made single-pan meals). The Burgundian paulée was also inspiration for the New York and San Francisco wine festivals known as La Paulée.

Every year, on the Saturday of the Boulder festival, top Burgundy collectors bring prized bottles from their cellars to share liberally with other guests. It always makes for an extraordinary luncheon, this year hosted at Boulder’s excellent francophile Mateo where the kitchen turned out classic French country dishes including escargots, coq au vin, and the boeuf bourguignon in the photo above (the food was fantastic).

Yesterday’s meal happened to find me seated with a high-profile distributor who sells, among other fine wines, the highly coveted Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. And as it so happened, one of the guests (a very generous collector) sent over a glass of 2001 Échezeaux Grand Cru by the storied estate.

As we shared the wine (a small taste for each of us at the table), the conversation turned to the exorbitant cost of these wines and how they are allocated throughout the world.

According to WineSearcher.com, the current release price for this wine is around $1,650 per bottle (yes, per bottle). And the market price for the 2001 is around $2,300 per bottle.

But even these sums pale when compared with the current release price for the domaine’s top wine, the Romanée-Conti Grand Cru, which retails today in the U.S. for roughly $17,000 per bottle. (To wrap your mind around these astronomical prices for 750ml of wine, see this Barron’s article.)

One of the neatest things about my career arc is that so many Italian collectors enjoy sharing their wines with me. And over the last five years, my work with the Boulder Wine Merchant and the Boulder Burgundy Festival has given me the opportunity to taste some extraordinary French wines otherwise above my pay grade and beyond my reach.

But I had never touched my lips to the holy grail of fine wine, D-R-C as it is known in the trade by its initials.

It was an emotionally charged moment, I have to admit. And the wine, however youthful 17 years since it was harvested, was utterly and thoroughly delicious. With rich fruit, elegantly balanced acidity, and fine texture and weight, it really delivered greatness and wholly lived up to its name.

Will I taste it — let alone drink it — ever again? Probably not. And that’s okay by me. It’s kinda like the old bit about the rabbi who enjoys a bite of a ham sandwich but then notes that he can live without it (that’s not really how the joke goes but you get the drift).

I would have been happy with the fat glass of 1997 Latour Corton-Charlemagne Grand Cru (one of my favorite appellations of all time), poured for me by a friend at yesterday’s event. It came from her father’s cellar and still had the price tag affixed: $125 per bottle, presumably purchased in the early 2000s before Burgundy’s prices began to skyrocket.

All in all, it’s been one of the best festivals of my run and I feel truly blessed to be a part of it.

Heartfelt thanks goes out to festival founder and organizer Brett Zimmmerman, who invited me up here for the first time five years ago, and to all the amazing sommeliers who have poured me truly unforgettable wines.

It’s always a wonderful gathering, attended by some of the best and brightest in our community, and I can’t recommend it enough to you.

Now I’m off to the last three events: Chablis brunch, Gevrey-Chambertin seminar with Pierre Rovani and Kelli White (both super cool wine writers), and grand tasting. Nice work if you can get it (as the song goes).

The oldest wine I ever drank was delicious last night: 1934 Henri de Villamont Chambolle-Musigny Charmes

Thanks to everyone who contributed to our Go Fund Me campaign, part of our protest of the newly erected Confederate Memorial in Orange, Texas. It only took us two days to meet our goal of $1,000. Thank you! It means the world to us to know that you support us in our efforts!

It was just the week before last that someone shared three “older than me” wines in New York. The oldest was from 1957.

Last night found me in Boulder, Colorado where wines going back to the 1930s were poured at the opening event at the Boulder Burgundy Festival, now in its eighth year.

The top wine of the night was the 1934 Henri de Villamont Cambolle-Musigny Charmes from Henri de Villamont. No one, including the three Master Sommeliers who were among those pouring, expected this wine to be so fresh and vibrant, with acidity and popping fruit flavor (black cherry and wild berry). Usually when you open wines like this, you expect to find at least some oxidation, muted or fading fruit, and hopefully a trace of the acidity of its youth.

This wine really surprised and wowed everyone last night.

It was the oldest wine I’ve ever tasted (nearly as old as my parents) and it was utterly delicious.

Note the importer’s imprint on the label: this wine came through the port of Houston, probably in the late 1930s. Just think how the world was different then!

Note also how the wine is annotated as “Red Bordeaux Wine” (thanks to Stephen S., who lives in Bordeaux, for pointing that out).

There was also a remarkable flight of Camille Giroud stretching back to the 1950s, 40s, and 30s, including a 1947 Richebourg (another stand out for me).

Here’s my write-up Today for the festival’s blog (where I’ve been posting for the last five years).

Between two kids to clothe and feed, two music programs to support, and two ballet classes to pay for (not to mention a rescue dog with heart worms and a fondness for scrambled eggs), Tracie and I have had a really tight year moneywise. But we are sure blessed to drink so well! It was an incredible night.

I’ll be posting about the festival here as well. Please tag along. Thanks for being here and sharing these experiences with me.

Slow Wine guide 2019 to include more than 130 California winemakers, 50 from Oregon

Above: Massican’s Annia, a blend of Ribolla Gialla, Tocai Friulano and Chardonnay from Napa. Los Angeles-based sommelier and consultant Taylor Parsons poured me the wine back in 2014 when he was running one of California’s hippest wine programs at the time.

Overheard last night at a progressive wine bar in Houston…

Wine professional 1: “I’m really a francophile at heart but I also love Italy. I don’t drink any Californian wine at all.”

Wine professional 2: “Well, you should try this Sauvignon Blanc from Massican. It’s a real ‘f— you’ to the California wine industry.”

Massican winemaker and owner Dan Petrosky is widely known in the industry as a maverick (to put it mildly). For the last 10 years or so, his elegant, lean, “moody, textural” white wines (as one wine writer put it) have wowed “young, t-shirt clad sommeliers across the U.S.” (see this excellent profile and interview by one of my favorite American wine writers Lauren Mowery).

But more than a decade after he set out to show the world that Napa Valley could produce acidity-driven, fresh, food-friendly, and nuanced Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc (not to mention a smattering of his favorite Italian white varieties), Petrosky seems no longer to be part of the California wine counterculture. Today, in fact, he’s part of an expanding movement of California growers and winemakers who have embraced old world styles and sensibilities. Like many of his peers, he learned winemaking in Europe and brought his experience and newfound tastes back to the states with him.

And he’s one of the winemakers who will be profiled in the 2019 Slow Wine Guide to the Wines of Italy, Slovenia, California, and Oregon.

With all of their field work completed over the summer, the editors (me among them) are in the midst of putting the book together.

The 2019 edition, the second to include American wines, will include more than 130 California winemakers (last year’s featured 70) and 50 Oregon producers (this is the first year the guide covers Oregon).

Like last year’s book, the 2019 guide isn’t intended to be exhaustive or comprehensive: it’s a growing, living, and breathing almanac that’s meant to give voice to the new wave of America’s viticultural renaissance.

I couldn’t be more proud to be one of the guide’s senior editors for California and the coordinating editor for the U.S.

About the Slow Wine Guide:

The Slow Wine Guide is part of the international Slow Food movement, which was founded in Italy by foodways activist Carlo Petrini in the late 1980s to counter “fastfoodization” and to safeguard the world’s gastronomic traditions. The first Italian edition of the wine guide was published in 2010 and in 2011 Slow Food began translating it into English. In 2018, the editors released the first edition to include California wines. And the current edition of the guide (2019) will include not only California but Oregon wines as well.

Unlike the overwhelming majority of wine reviews and guides, the Slow Wine guide doesn’t “score” its wines. Instead, its mission is to “tell the stories” of the wineries through their people, vineyards, and wines. The overarching criterion for inclusion is the winemakers’ “connection to the land” where they grow their wines. With this guide, the editors hope to share with their readers wines that reflect the place where they are grown and the people who make them.

More than 40,000 copies of the guide are sold in Europe each year and the entire guide is available online for free. Copies of the guide are also sold in the U.S. at each of tastings organized by the Slow Wine tour.

The powerful allure of drinking wine that’s older than you: why is it so appealing?

“Everything living dies from causes within itself, and returns to the inorganic [and thus] we can only say ‘The goal of all life is death’, and, casting back, ‘The inanimate was there before the animate.’

Sigmund Freud
Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1922)
[italics his]

Wine is the one agricultural product that can outlive us. It’s also the one form of nourishment that can live before us.

It’s true, as Eric Asimov wrote recently for the Times, that “no wine is meant to last for a century. If it does, it’s by accident.”

But many wines are conceived to have lifespans longer than those of their producers. And the longevity of those wines often ensures that the winemaker won’t live long enough to experience the wines when they “peak,” in other words, when they achieve their true greatness in complexity and nuance.

There is no other agricultural product that we allow to age so long. Can you imagine slathering your sandwich with 30-year-old mayonnaise? Would you stuff your warm tortillas with huitlacoche harvested years earlier?

Cheese can rival wine in terms of its ageworthiness. But it still comes in at a distant second when it comes to wine’s ability to age with spectacular results.

For many wine lovers and professionals, one of the most memorable experiences is drinking wine that is older than the persons consuming it (as Eric did when he attended a dinner at the storied Bordeaux estate Lafite and drank a wine that was harvest in 1868).

Last week I had the immense fortune to attend a dinner where three of the wines in the flight were older than me (I was born in 1967). A fourth wine was harvested the year my wife Tracie was born (she’s younger than me). The wines were all very fresh on the nose and very vibrant in the mouth. They were very much “alive”: the color was rich, the acidity was bright, and the flavors nuanced. We drank them with our meal, not as a curiosity or a lab experiment. It was an unforgettable and thoroughly enjoyable experience, as you can imagine.

Wine is the grape’s last dying gasp. Once picked, the fruit begins to decompose. Oxygen and yeast team up to transform its sugar (its life blood) into alcohol. And as the process unfolds, the winemaker (through a rational distortion of nature, as Lévi-Strauss might have said) captures the essence of the fruit and its flavors.

The winemaker then protects the wine from oxygen by sealing it up in a tank or cask and then in a glass bottle. Later she or he lets a tiny bit of oxygen come into contact with the wine (through the pores of the wood staves in the cask or the pores of the cork in the bottle) over a long period, so that the “dying” process continues very slowly.

Some people cite a romantic notion of history or narrative through wine when they taste wines older than they are (or the same age). It’s always an emotional experience to taste a “birth year wine” or a wine that was grown in a historically significant year (the 1945 vintage is among the most coveted among wine collectors, for example).

But I believe that the powerful allure of drinking wines older than you goes much deeper than that.

When you taste a wine that was grown before you were born, you experience its “death”: its ultimate degradation as the fruit decomposes into an inorganic state. True, you experience that with all wine, even young wine. But when the wine is older than you, it represents a life longer than yours and as such, its decomposition is — I believe — more profound and compelling on the palate of the drinker.

Freud held that there is “a tendency innate in living organic matter impelling it towards the reinstatement of an earlier condition” (Beyond the Pleasure Principle). In other words, we have an intrinsic drive to return to an inorganic state as Freudian scholars put it.

Since he first published his ideas on the “death drive,” scholars and clinicians have argued heatedly about the validity of his theory.

But there’s no doubt that the idea has a deep resonance within the human experience.

As G-d says to Adam in Genesis,

By the sweat of your face
You will eat bread,
Till you return to the ground,
Because from it you were taken;
For you are dust,
And to dust you shall return.

Ashes to ashes, as they say, dust to dust. We all know that we will all return one day to the ground. We will all return to an inorganic state.

As I sipped the 1957, 1961, and 1964 the other night, I thought of those lines from Moses’ books. I was consuming grapes that were grown before I was born and I was tasting them as they finally began the last leg of their trip back to the ground. They weren’t allowed to drop to the ground naturally. No, they were picked and then vinified, their essence captured in a bottle for someone to experience many years later. The person who made those wines is no longer alive today, I thought.

I also thought about my oldest brother who died in a car accident when he was 15 and I was five. He was born in 1957, too.

Thanks to its unique nature and unrivaled longevity among foods, wine has a remarkable ability to evoke intense feelings and thoughts in the drinker.

It can taste pretty good, too.

Everything dies baby that’s a fact.
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back.

Bruce Springsteen
“Atlantic City” (1982)

Thank you Grandi Marchi for coming to Houston…

It was a true honor and pleasure for me to lead a tasting of wines from 19 members of the Grandi Marchi (Top Estates) Institute winemakers yesterday in Houston. And it was amazing to see how many of the “principals” made the trip.

From Piero Mastroberardino (the institute’s president) to Federica Rosy (Pio Boffa’s daughter, the new generation of the Pio Cesare winery, and the youngest person to present), it felt like Italy’s wine aristocracy had bivouacked along the Gulf Coast.

Today, the group is on its way to Boston to present their wines and then it heads to New York where it’s going to host a luncheon at the New York Wine Experience.

Before the event, Piero showed me a letter his grandfather had received in 1932 from a Texas-based importer. Prohibition would soon be repealed, it declared, and said importer wanted to order wines from the family’s estate. Galveston and New Orleans would be their ports of entry.

Piero’s 2011 Taurasi showed gorgeously as he shared notes on his favorite vintages of the wine stretching back to the 1930s.

Another highlight yesterday was the 2014 Barolo Conteisa by Gaja, the second release of this cru from the winery since it reclassified it as Barolo in 2013. It was my first taste of the new designation.

And I was really impressed by Giovanni Gaja, who has stepped up recently to join his sister Gaia in traveling for the family’s properties. In his presentation, he offered some interesting insights into how their vineyard management team has been responding to the challenges of climate change.

Another highlight was the Umani Ronchi 2011 Conero Riserva (above).

I remember tasting these wines back in New York in the late 1990s. Their Verdicchio and white blend also really blew me away. it’s a mystery to me why American lovers of Italian wine haven’t discovered these yet. Great wines.

And dulcis in fundo, Alberto Tasca treated me to a bottle of Tasca d’Amerita 2008 Nozze d’Oro over dinner and a lively conversation on sustainability and the legacy of organic farming in Italian viticulture.

For Americans, the 2012 vintage of this wine — a blend of Inzolia and “Sauvignon Tasca,” a spontaneously mutated clone from clippings planted on the estate during the first world war — is available only in New York, he said.

But last night the 2008 was thoroughly enjoyed in Houston. Ten-year-old white wine from Sicily, still showing fresh and with vibrant fruit? This wine has “enohipster” written all over it. I loved it.

As I read the morning’s New York Times feed over breakfast with the girls and Tracie, I laughed out loud when I stumbled upon Mimi Swartz’s column Jeremiad.

“Non-Texans,” she wrote, “are still stunned to discover that even people who don’t live in Austin know about Tuscan blends and Karl Ove Knausgaard.”

We tasted a good Tuscan wine or two yesterday in Houston. But Cesare Pavese was the novelist we discussed at the event, not Knausgaard.

A big shout-out to IEEM USA for putting on this great event. And thank you for thinking of me as presenter!