Rich Man, Poor Man

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Above: hot dogs from Katz Delicatessen and Barbaresco.

I’m a man of means by no means.
— Roger Miller

This summer’s mid-life crisis has rolled over into fall: it’s snowing in New York, I’m broke, soon-to-be unemployed, living out of a suitcase, sleeping on a futon on my buddy’s living room floor, and I’ve got a lot of good wine that needs to be drunk because I have nowhere to store it (since I became homeless back in August).

Money’s tight and so Friday night I picked up hot dogs from Katz Delicatessen on the Lower East Side and met up with a few wine buddies to open some bottles.

A 1999 Rabajà by Produttori del Barbaresco was “cooked” or maderized (a term derived from the Portuguese island Madeira where they make a fortified wine). When I pulled the cork, I could feel that it was brittle and dried out. This can often mean that some oxygen seeped it into the bottle and caused the wine to age rapidly. While it was drinkable, it was indeed oxidized, had a syrupy texture and brownish color (reminiscent of a fortified wine, hence the term, maderized). Good (unoaked) Nebbiolo should always be clear in color. Opacity and color are always the first indication of a wine’s quality (N.B.: color and opacity vary depending grape variety and winemaking style).

A Produttori 1996 Pajé was fantastic and drank beautifully. The last glass had tartrates in it (see above): tartrates — sometimes called “wine diamonds” — are tasteless, odorless tartaric crystals that can form on the inside of traditional old oak barrels. Many mistake them for sediment. They impart no flavor to the wine and are actually a good sign (in my book): when you see tartrates, you are likely drinking a wine that was made in traditional, large oak casks.

Barbaresco and hot dogs? Rich man, poor man — depending on how you look at it.

Anarchist Wine

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Above: “The Earth Trembles… Authentic Wines and Winemakers, Peri-Urban Farmers, and Autonomous Gastronomy,” an alternative wine and food conference held late last month at the historic “centro sociale” Leoncavallo in Milan. Themes included “self-certification” and “source pricing.” Note the symbolism in the battle between spears and shopping carts.

Is there anything more romantic than the Grand Tour of Italy? Piazza San Marco, the canals and vedutista paintings of Venice? The Uffizi galleries and the Basilica di Santa Maria in Fiore of Florence (although I am partial to the Fra Angelico frescoes in the convent at San Marco and the Laurentian library)? The Vatican, the Coliseum, the Borghese Gardens, the Spanish Steps of Rome? And, of course, who can forget that little trattoria where you had the “best meal of your life”?

Dig a little deeper and you may discover an Italy beyond its famous hospitality and its ancient, medieval, Renaissance, and Risorgimento treasures.

Since the early post-war era, Italy has also been the backdrop of ideological, political, and economic strife that has often expressed itself in extreme and — sometimes — violent manifestations. From the gun-slinging “lead years” of the 1970s (which culminated in the Aldo Moro kidnapping and assassination) to a legacy of organized crime that stretches from the southernmost tip of Sicily to the Dolomite Alps, from the indiscretions and excesses of the historic Christian Democrat and Socialist parties to the “continuous struggle” of the only politically relevant Communist Party outside of the ex-Soviet Union and People’s Republic of China, from the “economic miracle” of the 1960s to a current-day negative birthrate and the 30- and 40-somethings who still live at home because of economic hardship in one of the western world’s most prosperous countries… Italy continues to represent one of Europe’s greatest paradoxes.

While we often read about Italy’s “trasformismo” (transformism) governmental system, its ever-changing coalitions, and colorful politicans, we rarely hear about the country’s underground movements of autonomi, off-the-grid individuals who seek to live their lives unfettered by Italy’s unbridled consumerism and bourgeois values.

Late last month, one such group of “autonomous” farmers and winemakers held a food and wine conference entitled La Terra Trema (The Earth Trembles) at Milan’s historic Leoncavallo, a centro sociale commandeered in the 1970s by “autonomous” citizens who demanded better social services for the community. All kinds of conferences and rock concerts are held there and the venue — I know from personal experience — is hemp-friendly. (I found this article on “anarchist” culture in modern-day Italy.)

I’ve taken the liberty of translating the following passage from the manifesto posted on La Terra Trema’s website:

“La Terra Trema [The Earth Trembles] tells the story of gastronomy conceived as cultural action: the act of cooking as the practical fulfillment of free, commonly shared knowledge and not the instrument of the restaurant industry’s technicist, professional insinuations. It is in the kitchen (including and above all in everyday cooking) that we may discern a thousand traces of the ages: the contamination and nomadism of food and people, economic and social shifts, changes in the land, alienations, the qualities and rhythms of our work, and the countless deviations/depravations of mass-media flavors.” (N.B.: my translation reflects the rigid pseudo-Marxist style of the original.)

Among the themes discussed at the conference, supporters of “self-certification” proposed that every winemaker, “beyond that which is prescribed by law…, has the right and duty indicate the origin of the raw materials, their classification, and the methods of transformation, conservation, and packaging.”

Producers, they argue, should not be bound by appellation laws and the restrictions of market hegemony. There is more than a grain of truth to the notion that small producers’ market access is limited by Italy’s often bureaucratically and politically driven DOC (appellation) system and the market’s inherent tendency to favor mass-marketed wines.

Another theme was “prezzo sorgente” or “source pricing”: proponents argue that consumers have the right to buy wine at the producer’s price.

I didn’t attend the conference. My account is drawn from the conference website and other bloggers’ previews, like this one by Franco Ziliani, who fairly and even-handedly points out some of the organizers’ shortcomings and linguistic foibles,* and reviews, like this one by kNOw Future Inc., who doesn’t address the conference’s ideological implications at all (last year, however, the same blogger wrote this succinct description of the “Critical Wine” movement in Italy).

But I applaud the organizers’ spirit: it’s important, I believe, to remember that wine — like any commodity — will always be politicized and ideologized. In our increasingly globalized world, we need voices who zealously oppose the complacently embraced hegemony of mass-marketed wines.

* Ziliani points out rightly the weakness of conference’s English subtitle, “Critical Wine,” borrowed from the “Terra e libertà/Critical wine” (Land and Liberty/Critical Wine) movement co-founded a few years ago by the great Italian food and wine writer Luigi Veronelli.

Sex, Wine, and Rock and Roll

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…well, no sex actually, just good wine and rock and roll with Nous Non Plus and The Little Death last night at the Mercury Lounge in Manhattan. Thanks to everyone who came out last night to support us and rock out. It was a great way to end NNP’s 2007!

Special thanks to our sponsor, Bollinger, who generously provided refreshments for the green room and our set — no other beverage will suffice (although last night they only sent non-vintage Special Cuvée and Céline noted that she only drinks Grande Année).

It was one of those super packed nights at the Merc, and, if I do say so myself, we were electric.



Céline was in top form… man, that girl can sing.



Céline instructs the crowd to clap their hands and say yeah.



It happens every time… she makes me blush on stage.



Laura and Moby from The Little Death. They rocked it pretty hard last night.

For more photos, check out fan and friend Gary Wexler’s gallery.

Utterly California

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John Yelenosky — a good friend from my La Jolla High School days — and I had dinner last Tuesday at what is clearly one of San Diego’s finest restaurants, Market in Del Mar (about 20 minutes north of La Jolla). His father owned a wine store when we were coming up together and today John is the European Wine Specialist for the San Diego offices of Southern Wine and Spirits, one of the preeminent distributors of European wines in North America.

The concept behind Market is what some in the business call “market fare,” i.e., heirloom produce sourced from artisanal growers. The restaurant is located not far from the legendary Chino Farms,* a once humble roadside produce stand in Rancho Santa Fe that became a flash point in the heirloom vegetable revolution (thanks, in part, to a hearty endorsement from Alice Waters). Nearly all of the fruits and vegetables used in the kitchen, explained our waiter, are sourced daily from Chino Farms.

Executive chef and owner Carl Shroeder (La Jolla High, class of 87, same year as my brother Micah) shows a deft hand in the kitchen — especially with the entrées — and his food was excellent if not entirely original. The wine service by Brian Donegan was impeccable but our waiter was a little overly enthusiastic and too precious for my taste.

The dish that impressed me the most was the “Market salad,” which strangely does not appear on the menu.

The salad consists of fresh and lightly steamed heirloom fruits and vegetables (note the light green, pine-cone shaped broccolo romanesco florets above), dressed in olive oil and cask-aged vinegar, served over different types of heirloom lettuce. The pasta-bowl serving dish was warmed before assembly and the heat gently wilted the lettuce leaves and delicately accentuated the flavors of the dressing. We matched with a 2005 Vin de Savoie Apremont by Pierre Boniface, made from Jacquere grapes — an unusual and commendable wine-by-the-glass. This utterly Californian dish needed the bright fruit and acidity of the Vin de Savoie and the pairing of the seemingly just-picked vegetables and this fresh wine was great.

Above: the “Hot and Sour and Wonton” soup that the chef sent over didn’t exactly overwhelm me but was tasty.

Above: wine director Brian Donegan really knows his stuff and his wine service was top-knotch. I liked the 2004 Spätburgunder by Julius Wasen und Söhne that he poured for us by the glass. I was nonplussed, however, to see only a few tables ordering by the bottle on this busy evening (after all, this decidedly upscale restaurant is located in one of San Diego’s most ritzy neighborhoods, Del Mar/Rancho Santa Fe. Do Californians not drink wine at dinner? This one does!).

Back in the day, John and I used to play in a band together, ditched fourth-period art class together, and generally had a good time growing up in a sleepy beach town where nearly everyone surfed and/or played guitar (I only did the latter). Neither of us would have imagined in 1985 (when we graduated from high school) that — at age 40 — we’d both be working in the world of wine.

Above: John Yelenosky circa 1985.



Above: despite my doofus looks (and all the trouble I got into), I did well in high school.

* Chino Farms
6123 Calzada del Bosque
San Diego, CA 92067
858-756-3184
Hours: Tue-Sat 10 am-3:30 pm, Sun 10 am-1 pm

James Beard Meat Loaf

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Following my post on the The Reification and Hierarchization of Wine (which included a note on my mom’s James Beard meat loaf recipe), a lot of friends and readers wrote me saying they hoped that mom would indeed make a meat loaf while I was out in California for the holiday.

Luckily, mom was reading and planned the meat loaf for Sunday night (I am flying back to New York, tomorrow, Monday).

We paired with a 2002 Chambolle-Musigny Mommesin, earthy, tannic, and with nice fruit to go with the rich, irresistible meat loaf — a standby, comfort-food dish that brings back good memories of childhood while rewarding even the most discriminating palate.

Above: Ecce panis caris! James Beard meat loaf with roast potato and carrot, homemade coleslaw, and secret chili sauce.

Today’s secret ingredient? “I didn’t have any bread crumbs so I used matzoh brie,” my mom said.

As per James Beard’s recommendation, the cold meat loaf makes for great sandwiches the next day (see below).



My mom also made a great baby arugula, shaved Parmigiano Reggiano, and pine nut salad.

Beard, James, James Beard Cookbook, New York, Marlowe, 2002 [1970], p. 220.

Chardonnay in them there hills…

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Above: many private gated, luxury communities in the Temecula, CA wine country have names like “the Vineyards,” “the Harvest,” or “Chardonnay Hills.”

Chardonnay is the name of the prevalent white grape variety grown in Chablis, Côte de Beaune, Côte de Nuits, and the Mâconnais (Burgundy, France). Chardonnay is a toponym, the name of a village near Mâcon (Burgundy, France), where some believe the Chardonnay grape originated (perhaps once called Pinot Chardonnay or Pineau Chardonnay).*

Chardonnay Hills is the name of a luxurious gated community in Temecula, California.

Chardonnay is also a label that many California winemakers use for their oaky, buttery bottlings of 100% Chardonnay, which generally don’t taste anything like naturally vinified, traditional-style Chardonnay.

Above: it should take you about 30 minutes by car to get to Chardonnay from Mâcon (according to Google Maps).

This morning, my mother and I enjoyed a leisurely drive from Palm Springs (where we spent the holiday with family) to San Diego, stopping in Temecula, this time to drive through the wine country (on the way up, we made a quick stop in Old Town Temecula for lunch). The altitude climbs gently as you drive up Rancho California Road from Interstate 15. About a quarter of an hour from the freeway, you find yourself in a small valley lined with vineyards and wineries. I imagine vine growers decided to plant here because of the altitude and the breeze that blows through what is now called the Temecula Valley American Viticultural Area.

Above: some of the private roads in the Temecula wine country are lined with Cypress trees like in Tuscany.

Do not attempt this at home! I snapped this pic of a tumbleweed from the driver’s seat. I imagine that the same breeze blowing the tumbleweed helps to provide ventilation to Temecula vineyards.

* Some believe the toponym originates from the Latin cardus or “thistle” (akin to the English cardoon).

Burrito Origins

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“Signor polpettone venite avanti, non vi peritate,” wrote Pellegrino Artusi in La scienza in cucina e l’arte di mangiar bene (Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating Well, first published in 1881). “…lo so bene che siete modesto e umile…”: “Please step forward Signor Meat Loaf and please don’t be shy… I know that you are modest and humble.”

In today’s world of ubiquitous haute cuisine, “heirloom” vegetables, and “molecular gastronomy,” we often forget to raise a glass to those salt-of-the-earth dishes that we all — at least most of us — love. Just as Artusi loved his meat loaf, I can never say no to a good burrito — whether ranchero, Mission style, or chimichanga (fried).

When I posted the other day on a burrito I ate in Temecula, I speculated on the dish’s origin. The passage below is the fruit of a little internet research I did this morning (from Palm Springs).

“The burrito, meaning literally little burro or donkey, became irreversibly linked to the tortilla-rolled packages. Burrito lovers David Thomsen and Derek Wilson believe that the modern burrito originated ‘in the dusty borderlands between Tucson and Los Angeles.’ The word burrito first saw print in America in 1934. It was sold at Los Angeles’s famed El Cholo Spanish Cafè during the 1930s. Burritos entered Mexican-American cuisine in other parts of the Southwest around the 1950s and went nationwide a decade later.”

Cited from Smith, Andrew F., “Tacos, Enchiladas and Refried Beans: The Invention of Mexican-American Cookery.” Presented at the Symposium at Oregon State University, 1999.

“1962 MULVEY & ALVAREZ Good Food from Mexico (rev. ed.) iii. 81 Burritos in the northern part of Mexico and in the southwestern part of the United States are quite different. Now a popular dish in many restaurants and taco stands in California and Texas are northern burritos, which are made by folding a flour tortilla around a mound of re-fried beans, seasoned to taste with chili.”

Cited from the Oxford English Dictionary (online edition).

*****

Let’s drink to the hard working people
Let’s drink to the lowly of birth
Raise your glass to the good and the evil
Let’s drink to the salt of the earth

Say a prayer for the common foot soldier
Spare a thought for his back breaking work
Say a prayer for his wife and his children
Who burn the fires and who still till the earth

And when I search a faceless crowd
A swirling mass of gray and
Black and white
They don’t look real to me
In fact, they look so strange

Raise your glass to the hard working people
Let’s drink to the uncounted heads
Let’s think of the wavering millions
Who need leaders but get gamblers instead

Spare a thought for the stay-at-home voter
His empty eyes gaze at strange beauty shows
And a parade of the gray suited grafters
A choice of cancer or polio

And when I look in the faceless crowd
A swirling mass of grays and
Black and white
They don’t look real to me
Or don’t they look so strange

Let’s drink to the hard working people
Let’s think of the lowly of birth
Spare a thought for the rag taggy people
Let’s drink to the salt of the earth

Let’s drink to the hard working people
Let’s drink to the salt of the earth
Let’s drink to the three thousand million
Let’s think of the humble of birth

— “Salt of the Earth,” Mick Jagger and Keith Richards

Thanksgiving 07 (Palm Springs, CA)

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My niece and nephew Amalia and Abner.

“Don’t carve the turduckenTM without me!!!!” (nephew Eli, bro Tad, and mom Judy)

It was the first time we’d all spent Thanksgiving together in many years. Brothers Micah and Tad made toasts about how lucky we all are to have never known truly hard times in our lives. We all remembered how our “poppa,” our grandfather (our mom’s dad), grew up poor and made it his life goal that his children and grandchildren would never face the troubles he did. He made it…

It all helps to put this year’s trial and tribulations into perspective.

In my toast, I told everyone how happy I was for the support and love they’ve given me over the last four — very (emotionally) tough — months. It taught me, I told everyone, that it doesn’t matter how good or bad the wines you drink and the foods that you eat (even though I make a living writing about that stuff)… all that matters — I know now — is the people with whom you break bread and the folks who share your cup of wine… “Family,” said Micah, “that’s the most important thing…” Thanks to Micah for hooking up our Palm Springs family Thanksgiving. I even got a tan!

Nephew Cole is a rockin’ guitar player (and I mean that… we made a recording of us playing some blues).

Nephew Eli and his dad (my bro) Tad. Eli told me that he is a “fiscal conservative.” He’ll be able to vote next year… amazing…



Tad and my sister-in-law Diane.



The 97 Leroy Bourgogne Blanc was corked (damnit!) but the 99 Quintarelli Valpolicella was a treat, the 04 Roty Gevrey-Chambertin perfect with the meal, and the 03 Barbaresco by Produttori del Barbaresco (opened 3 hours before we drank it at the end) was heavenly.

Mom Judy and sister-in-law Marguerite (she’s expecting… Marguerite, that is…).

Bro Micah wrastles the turduckenTM.

Out in the Dessert

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Yesterday, my mom and I stopped for lunch in Temecula on our way out to Palm Springs. I had a classic ranchero burrito (also called a “wet” burrito or burrito ahogado, a “drowned burrito”). I’m not sure but I believe that the burrito and the ranchero burrito are Californian inventions since I’ve never seen burritos served in Mexico (where smaller-sized tortillas are always served warm alongside grilled and roast meats and fish).* It wasn’t bad, actually.

Click here for my post on the burrito’s origins.

Old Town Temecula is a touristy shopping district.

The main street is lined with tchotchke stores and speakers that play country music. There was a wine store but it was closed.

Made it out to Palm Springs. The house where Micah (my brother) and Marguerite vacation has a salt-water pool. It’s really nice.

Micah’s grilling up some sausage and my other brother Tad cracked a beer open.

Sweet potato, bourbon, and spicy Italian sausages from Siesel’s Old Fashioned Meat and Deli in San Diego (where Micah and Marguerite also got the turduckenTM that we’ll be eating tonight for Thanksgiving).

El Pescador (back in California for the Holiday)

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El Pescador on Pearl Blvd. is the classic La Jolla (CA) fish monger. They have a grill behind the counter and there are few seats in the front of the store where you eat facing the display cases filled with fresh fish. Everything about this place — from the freckled-faced, sun-bleached kids that work behind the counter and grill to the laid-back sleepy-beach-town vibe — says Southern California. I had a grilled California yellow tail sandwich with avocado. It was awesome… Tom Wolfe didn’t know what he was missing.



I don’t know why but I love looking at raw seafood displays. I just find the patterns hypnotizing.



Note how the California “spiny” lobsters don’t have the big claws like the east coast kind.



They also have New Zealand salmon (left) and Idaho trout (center) but the yellow tail is always local. Those tuna steaks looked pretty good, too.

Later today I’ll be leaving for Palm Springs where I’m spending the holiday with my whole family…

In other news…

I really like what Eric Asimov said in this interview: “in my blog I’ve tried to take a stand against the tyranny of tasting notes that has overtaken the wine-drinking world. I don’t write about wines that I’ve tasted and spat, I write about wines that I’ve drunk, most often in the context of a meal. So I feel that I’m giving a more complete picture of the pleasures of wine drinking than you get reading the usual litany of wines and scores…”