Christmas in the Heart
By Bob Dylan
Clue #1: Clipart cover, showing a horse-drawn sleigh.
Clue #2: Once getting the damn CD case open, the first thing to greet your eyes is bosomy pin-up girl Bettie Page, done up in naughty-girl Christmas lingerie.
Clue # 3: The album starts with jingle bells and a ‘50s style chorus humming. Then the man himself starts to warble (or is it wobble?) ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’. Yes, Bob Dylan has indeed recorded a Christmas album, and it feels like it fell right out of a late 1950s Christmas stocking.
“Christmas in the Heart” is Dylan’s light romp through 15 Christmas nuggets (couldn’t he have written at least one newbie?). And while it will certainly put a smile on your face, it may also leave you wondering; Is this a joke? Dylan’s attempt at sounding like Andy Williams? Or some kind of corny nostalgia?
Produced by Dylan (aka Jack Frost) the arrangements, with one notable exception, are utterly –if not miserably- conventional, circa 1959. It’s as if he had knocked Connie Francis off her stool, and took over behind the microphone for this recording session. The simpy chorus, chimes, bells, strings, all working across an o-so-standard Christmas oeuvre (no, please, not ‘Little Drummer Boy!’). Occasionally a slide guitar, or fiddle sparkles, but by and large, Christmas cookie-cutter stuff.
The exception comes by way of a lively zydeco take on ‘Must be Santa,’ a wonderful ode to the polka roots of the song. And it gives the album its one real juicy bounce.
And yet, the remaining songs are far from dull. It’s just a little weird to hear Dylan singing ‘Adeste Fideles.’
Sometimes he sounds a little too stodgy, almost self-righteous, on songs like ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing,’ and ‘The First Noel.’ But on most tunes, he’s loose and personal, in particular ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’, ‘Christmas Island’, and ‘Winter Wonderland’. And his growl is perfect for the Dean Martin vehicle, ‘The Christmas Blues.’
And by time Dylan gets to ‘chestnuts roasting on an open fire,’ we’re convinced he really does fancy himself a crooner.
Crooner? With that voice? Croaking, bucket-of-gravel, straining, nasal, weird phrasing. And when he sustains a note, especially in the (relatively) upper range, it’s like he’s trying to hold a blob of jello in his fist, and it keeps jiggling through his fingers. Typical Dylan of the last ten years -you can’t listen to him without wanting to clear your throat.
It reminds me of the (apocryphal) story circulating of Dylan playing guitar and singing for one of his grandchildren’s kindergarten classes, and being asked by parents to stop it, because he was scaring the kids.
“Christmas in the Heart” is definitely not scary. It’s a pretty, simple, standard set of obvious Christmas tunes, sung by a crusty old folkie. And amazingly, it works, in a time-warp, where’d that come from, sort of way.
Is it a joke? If so, Dylan plays it straight-faced, and with absolutely no sense of irony (or, is that the ironic part?). Who knows, maybe he is nostalgic. If not, as Joan Baez says, ‘give me another word for it.’
Might not be the kind of thing you want to listen to over and over again, but us diehard Dylan fans will welcome it into our collection. In any case, there’s an antidote. After a couple times through, put on Andy Williams’ Christmas album, or Connie Francis’.
They still put a smile on my face.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
No Paycheck, No Wine
Despite what Bernanke says, we’re still in a recession, folks. Lookit me, still out of work. Soup-line Mayfield, they call me.
Yes, us wine writers have been forced to scavenge among the blogger’s discount racks, relying on our feral wits, our savage cunning, and slender pocketbooks. That’s why I go shopping at Whole Paycheck. Ha, ha, no really, even the most pricey of stores has some bargains to offer.
Observe the Cameron, 2008 Cameroni Delle Colline Rosse Giovanni Vigna Pinot Bianco, $10, a delicious, refreshing, crisp white wine. I’m not a betting man, but I could swear I taste (and smell!) some Muscat in here. Okay, actually I’m cheating, I happen to know that in previous years, John Paul has put a small percentage of Muscat in his Pinot Bianco to bring up the flavors, and tweak the aromas. We’ll assume that’s the case here. And at $10? Throw all the Muscat you want in it.
Patty Green is doing the Bernanke Shuffle as well, releasing the Dollar Bills Only, 2008 Oregon Sauvignon Blanc, $10. This puppy’s got plenty of SOB tang, acidity, but weirdly, it’s also a fairly rich wine, body-wise. Flavors are a bit muddled, some citrus, melon, pear, and, hey, it may sound like I’m dissing the wine, but no way. Very tasty, just not classic (Loire, NZ) Sauv B., and certainly without the aggressive grassiness of Willamette Valley fruit. In fact, note the ‘Oregon’ designation, maybe the grapes come from somewhere warmer. Like Roseburg? Applegate? Could be.
All well and good, Monsieur Blog Dawg, you say, but what about red wine? What about Pinot Noir, eh? Well, hang in there, Pierre, or should I say Gunther, and check out the Two Worlds, NV Bi-Continental Pinot Noir, $15. Germany’s Dr. Loosen and Oregon’s J. Christopher got together for this mash-up.
Typically, I would say, a German Pinot Noir is going to be fairly lean and spicy, while Oregon Pinot Noir is more opulent, lush. What happens when you slam the two together?
Well, in this case the result is a lean, spicy, wine with bright acidity. My first guess was, it’s dominated by German fruit. I don’t get the luscious cherry, plum flavors of Oregon. And that’s fine. If I’m sitting on Frankfurt’s Romer Platz, this is a perfectly representative Pinot. Downtown McMinnville? Not so much.
It was only after this consideration that I examined the label and found the blend is 90% German, 10% Oregon. Okay, that explains that.
Now excuse me, while I go dumpster diving for some Bratwursts to match with this wine.
Yes, us wine writers have been forced to scavenge among the blogger’s discount racks, relying on our feral wits, our savage cunning, and slender pocketbooks. That’s why I go shopping at Whole Paycheck. Ha, ha, no really, even the most pricey of stores has some bargains to offer.
Observe the Cameron, 2008 Cameroni Delle Colline Rosse Giovanni Vigna Pinot Bianco, $10, a delicious, refreshing, crisp white wine. I’m not a betting man, but I could swear I taste (and smell!) some Muscat in here. Okay, actually I’m cheating, I happen to know that in previous years, John Paul has put a small percentage of Muscat in his Pinot Bianco to bring up the flavors, and tweak the aromas. We’ll assume that’s the case here. And at $10? Throw all the Muscat you want in it.
Patty Green is doing the Bernanke Shuffle as well, releasing the Dollar Bills Only, 2008 Oregon Sauvignon Blanc, $10. This puppy’s got plenty of SOB tang, acidity, but weirdly, it’s also a fairly rich wine, body-wise. Flavors are a bit muddled, some citrus, melon, pear, and, hey, it may sound like I’m dissing the wine, but no way. Very tasty, just not classic (Loire, NZ) Sauv B., and certainly without the aggressive grassiness of Willamette Valley fruit. In fact, note the ‘Oregon’ designation, maybe the grapes come from somewhere warmer. Like Roseburg? Applegate? Could be.
All well and good, Monsieur Blog Dawg, you say, but what about red wine? What about Pinot Noir, eh? Well, hang in there, Pierre, or should I say Gunther, and check out the Two Worlds, NV Bi-Continental Pinot Noir, $15. Germany’s Dr. Loosen and Oregon’s J. Christopher got together for this mash-up.
Typically, I would say, a German Pinot Noir is going to be fairly lean and spicy, while Oregon Pinot Noir is more opulent, lush. What happens when you slam the two together?
Well, in this case the result is a lean, spicy, wine with bright acidity. My first guess was, it’s dominated by German fruit. I don’t get the luscious cherry, plum flavors of Oregon. And that’s fine. If I’m sitting on Frankfurt’s Romer Platz, this is a perfectly representative Pinot. Downtown McMinnville? Not so much.
It was only after this consideration that I examined the label and found the blend is 90% German, 10% Oregon. Okay, that explains that.
Now excuse me, while I go dumpster diving for some Bratwursts to match with this wine.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Scrubs
A white coyote lopes by. A scrub jay squawks and zips out of the hazelnut tree. A couple tiny finches alight upon a branch of the Asian pear tree, but the two of them together are so gravity-challenged, they barely set the branch to jouncing. A rabbit scampers into the vineyard. Then scampers back out. A robin pokes its beak into the ground. Missing the worm. The scrub jay swoops back into the hazelnut tree.
Ah, September on Spudders Crest. The waning days of summer, closing in on Autumn. Quiet days filled with nature’s wonders, the serenity punctuated only by a maniac sprinting across the yard, shouting and clapping his hands together furiously. The maniac? That would be me. Chasing off that scrub jay. Little bastard.
Time to drag out the talk radio.
I have no idea what is up with scrub (and occasionally the ill-named stellar) jays, but they like to steal my nuts. There’s a lone hazelnut tree in our backyard, visible from my upstairs window, and for some peculiar reason, just as the nuts are about ripe, jays swoop into the tree, steal a pair of nuts (hazelnuts most often come in pairs), fly up into the huge maple tree, and realizing there’s nothing else to do with the nuts, drop them. And then bitter gall, they return to steal more nuts.
I just don’t understand. It took me a while to even realize what was going on. Our first couple years on Spudders Crest, we got very few hazelnuts. I just thought, o well, tough luck. Then one year I noticed them, jays, stealing the nuts. Beatrice informed me, at the base of the maple tree, where she often played, were dozens of scattered hazelnuts. Unripe.
So whenever a jay swooped into our tree, I banged pie tins, clapped hands, screamed, and threw Asian pears at them. Which is not a good idea, as throwing pears just knocks off more nuts.
And then last year, as I realized that shouting was a sufficient deterrent, it occurred to me, I could put a radio beneath the tree, crank it up really loud, scare off the bastards. My first experiment failed, as I tuned the radio to KMHD, jazz. Except for the occasional squalling sax solo, the jays were unperturbed. So then I tried ESPN –sports talk radio. That did the trick. Especially early in the morning, with Colin Cowherd. He scares the bejeebers out of jays. They sit quivering in the maple tree, shielding their beady little eyes behind a wing. The bunch of bozos that follow Cowherd are all full of noise and fury, signifying nothing. And the jays hate them.
Dan Patrick, on the other hand, just bores them to death. I saw one literally fall out of the tree in a stone cold trance.
There is one ill side effect to this cure –I have to listen to that shit all day. I never realized Western Civilization was in such jeopardy until I was forced to listen to this trash. Whining, squawking, bitching, haranguing, boasting, fulminating -all in the name of sports?! You can hear the minds of testosterone charged males all over America turning to mush.
The two local goons who finish off the day are appropriately loathsome, but it’s Cowherd who remains the pinnacle of madness. Which is fine, because he comes on in the morning when the jays, after a couple cups of espresso, are at their most active and annoying. They come swooping down at the hazelnut tree, and Cowherd barks out one of his moronic sputters, and like hitting Sue Storm’s invisible shield, they bounce off and fly away.
All the while, I suffer in silence. Hour after hour, day after day, praying and hoping that the hazelnuts will hurry up and ripen, so I can turn off the radio.
Relax. And wait for the starlings to dip into my vineyard. Little bastards.
Ah, September on Spudders Crest. The waning days of summer, closing in on Autumn. Quiet days filled with nature’s wonders, the serenity punctuated only by a maniac sprinting across the yard, shouting and clapping his hands together furiously. The maniac? That would be me. Chasing off that scrub jay. Little bastard.
Time to drag out the talk radio.
I have no idea what is up with scrub (and occasionally the ill-named stellar) jays, but they like to steal my nuts. There’s a lone hazelnut tree in our backyard, visible from my upstairs window, and for some peculiar reason, just as the nuts are about ripe, jays swoop into the tree, steal a pair of nuts (hazelnuts most often come in pairs), fly up into the huge maple tree, and realizing there’s nothing else to do with the nuts, drop them. And then bitter gall, they return to steal more nuts.
I just don’t understand. It took me a while to even realize what was going on. Our first couple years on Spudders Crest, we got very few hazelnuts. I just thought, o well, tough luck. Then one year I noticed them, jays, stealing the nuts. Beatrice informed me, at the base of the maple tree, where she often played, were dozens of scattered hazelnuts. Unripe.
So whenever a jay swooped into our tree, I banged pie tins, clapped hands, screamed, and threw Asian pears at them. Which is not a good idea, as throwing pears just knocks off more nuts.
And then last year, as I realized that shouting was a sufficient deterrent, it occurred to me, I could put a radio beneath the tree, crank it up really loud, scare off the bastards. My first experiment failed, as I tuned the radio to KMHD, jazz. Except for the occasional squalling sax solo, the jays were unperturbed. So then I tried ESPN –sports talk radio. That did the trick. Especially early in the morning, with Colin Cowherd. He scares the bejeebers out of jays. They sit quivering in the maple tree, shielding their beady little eyes behind a wing. The bunch of bozos that follow Cowherd are all full of noise and fury, signifying nothing. And the jays hate them.
Dan Patrick, on the other hand, just bores them to death. I saw one literally fall out of the tree in a stone cold trance.
There is one ill side effect to this cure –I have to listen to that shit all day. I never realized Western Civilization was in such jeopardy until I was forced to listen to this trash. Whining, squawking, bitching, haranguing, boasting, fulminating -all in the name of sports?! You can hear the minds of testosterone charged males all over America turning to mush.
The two local goons who finish off the day are appropriately loathsome, but it’s Cowherd who remains the pinnacle of madness. Which is fine, because he comes on in the morning when the jays, after a couple cups of espresso, are at their most active and annoying. They come swooping down at the hazelnut tree, and Cowherd barks out one of his moronic sputters, and like hitting Sue Storm’s invisible shield, they bounce off and fly away.
All the while, I suffer in silence. Hour after hour, day after day, praying and hoping that the hazelnuts will hurry up and ripen, so I can turn off the radio.
Relax. And wait for the starlings to dip into my vineyard. Little bastards.
Monday, August 31, 2009
It's Not the Heat, It's the Humility
I was frying an egg on my coconut the other day, weighing my options; over-easy, or sunny side up?
Thanks to a persistent Hungarian heritage, my flat skillet head makes such breakfast choices possible. Though, this was late-afternoon, with temps hitting 99 degrees. Not exactly bacon and eggs time.
However, the BTUs emanating from my stove-pipe were less from the scorching heat than the assault on my palate from an over-oaked Chardonnay, a wine I was sipping in hopes of cooling down the system. But, chard-no-way.
I will neither insult nor flatter the producer of this atrocity by divulging its name, but only say it hails from a state known for over-oaked Chardonnays (rhymes with ‘shall-I-mourn-ya’).
So, there I was, egg on my face, fuming, when I realized I had the means, within reach, to thermo-regulate; in the person of Kramer Vineyards, 2006 Dijon Clone Chardonnay, $16. What a delightful rebound. As with vintages past, I pretend to detect a bit of Chassagne-Montrachet in this wine. That is to say, light and lean texture, with lemon, green apple, and pine nut flavors. And yes, okay, there’s some spicy oak, but restrained. In comparison, anyway.
Compared to what? Well, Les McCann, try to make it real with the Chateau St. Jean, 2007 Belle Terre Vineyard Chardonnay, $25. After picking the splinters from my tongue, I scribbled notes of butterscotch and caramel (New Oak!). But once you wiggle your sensory percepts between the shards of wood, you will find some elegance in texture, and pretty citrus notes. Nice stuff.
Speaking of white Burgundy (Chassagne-Montrachet), longtime readers of this blog (hahahaha) will remember (keep scrolling down, Baby!), that I often extol the virtues of Saint-Aubin, great wines at (relatively) low prices. And the Louis Jadot, 2005 St. Aubin, $40 is exceptional. Note the vintage. From most any other wine region, a Chardonnay of this age would be on the slippery slope downhill, if not already toast. But, dude, this is Burgundy, and the wine is just coming into its prime. Big, rich, yet austere and elegant. Brr. Gun. Dee.
While we can stand in awe of the above wines, let us admit, they’re high-falutin’, with higher falutin’ price tags. What if yr just hanging out, chillin’ with yr home skillet? Take a step down to a nice, simple refreshing wine, the Cupcake, 2008 Yakima Valley Riesling, $14. Nothing to ponder over, no lofty exaltations, just a nice humble wine. It’s the perfect expression of Washington fruit, more apple than apricot, more rich than lean, and plenty tasty. Chill.
And as for those 99 degree temps? Well, vanished, vamoosed, gone. Which means, the yolk is on me.
Thanks to a persistent Hungarian heritage, my flat skillet head makes such breakfast choices possible. Though, this was late-afternoon, with temps hitting 99 degrees. Not exactly bacon and eggs time.
However, the BTUs emanating from my stove-pipe were less from the scorching heat than the assault on my palate from an over-oaked Chardonnay, a wine I was sipping in hopes of cooling down the system. But, chard-no-way.
I will neither insult nor flatter the producer of this atrocity by divulging its name, but only say it hails from a state known for over-oaked Chardonnays (rhymes with ‘shall-I-mourn-ya’).
So, there I was, egg on my face, fuming, when I realized I had the means, within reach, to thermo-regulate; in the person of Kramer Vineyards, 2006 Dijon Clone Chardonnay, $16. What a delightful rebound. As with vintages past, I pretend to detect a bit of Chassagne-Montrachet in this wine. That is to say, light and lean texture, with lemon, green apple, and pine nut flavors. And yes, okay, there’s some spicy oak, but restrained. In comparison, anyway.
Compared to what? Well, Les McCann, try to make it real with the Chateau St. Jean, 2007 Belle Terre Vineyard Chardonnay, $25. After picking the splinters from my tongue, I scribbled notes of butterscotch and caramel (New Oak!). But once you wiggle your sensory percepts between the shards of wood, you will find some elegance in texture, and pretty citrus notes. Nice stuff.
Speaking of white Burgundy (Chassagne-Montrachet), longtime readers of this blog (hahahaha) will remember (keep scrolling down, Baby!), that I often extol the virtues of Saint-Aubin, great wines at (relatively) low prices. And the Louis Jadot, 2005 St. Aubin, $40 is exceptional. Note the vintage. From most any other wine region, a Chardonnay of this age would be on the slippery slope downhill, if not already toast. But, dude, this is Burgundy, and the wine is just coming into its prime. Big, rich, yet austere and elegant. Brr. Gun. Dee.
While we can stand in awe of the above wines, let us admit, they’re high-falutin’, with higher falutin’ price tags. What if yr just hanging out, chillin’ with yr home skillet? Take a step down to a nice, simple refreshing wine, the Cupcake, 2008 Yakima Valley Riesling, $14. Nothing to ponder over, no lofty exaltations, just a nice humble wine. It’s the perfect expression of Washington fruit, more apple than apricot, more rich than lean, and plenty tasty. Chill.
And as for those 99 degree temps? Well, vanished, vamoosed, gone. Which means, the yolk is on me.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Backblog
E-mail, Facebook, blogging, Kindling, texting, and now Twittering –I have all the e-neurological diseases.
And why? Hey, dude, I’m networking (the host disease for which all these other things are merely symptoms). But what the heck am I ‘networking’? Myself? My wine writing? The Ridgefield Farmers Market? All the above.
I text people to get them to my tweets, which draws them to Facebook, so that they’ll find my blog, where they’ll stumble upon my Kindle (‘A Ruminant on Spudders Crest; Part I’), which they’ll buy, and I’ll become rich and famous, and every newspaper editor in the country will clamor for me to return as wine columnist. But I’ll tell them, nah, I’d rather run the farmers market.
Where I can tell people about this, my blog.
And I know, as some have pointed out this has lain dormant for about two months. I’ve got my excuses –Amsterdam, Bruges, Brussels, Paris, returning to a wildly overgrown vineyard, moving from Bellwood Heights back to Spudders Crest, unpacking, starting a farmers market, running the kids to piano, clarinet, tennis, soccer, basketball, volleyball, bottling a lovely viognier, and a somewhat less lovely Rosato Negra- phew!
Forget all that. I’m back. So, both feet, let’s jump in. Starting with Pinot Gris, a wonderful summertime wine, and specifically the Kramer Vineyards, 2007 Oregon Pinot Gris, $15. Apropos of the vintage, this is a lean, almost minerally version, with pretty peachy flavors and just a touch of grassiness. In fact, close your eyes and you might imagine a Sauvignon Blanc (hey, Trudy, ever thought of doing a Sauv B?). Very refreshing, and a nice food wine, with say, shellfish, or –how about vineyard designated dolmas.
Next up, from King Estate, Next. Yup, Next is the Washington label from the Eugene area winery, and the Next, 2008 Washington Riesling, $12, is the perfect expression of Washington fruit. It’s a rich and succulent wine, with floral and lemony aromas, and flavors of lime, lemon, and a note of apricot, with justajustajusta hint of RS (that is, residual sugar). Miss the acidity? Me too, but it’s sure a luscious wine.
And now, back to Pinot Gris, and its finest expression; Alsace. Don’t get me wrong, I love Oregon Pinot Gris, and when I’m not in a grumpy mood you might even catch me saying something nice about Italian Pinot Grigio. But frankly, Alsace is where it’s at.
Witness the superb Lucien Albrecht, 2008 Cuvee Romanus Pinot Gris, $19. The rich, viscous texture alone conjures up visions of the vine carpeted hills of Alsace. Bursting with flavors of pear, apple, brown spice, with lingering notes of citrus in the background, this comes on strong, and yet there is finesse, a subtlety about it. How do dey do dat? O, forty-year old vines might help.
Extra bonus wine: Lucien Albrecht, NV Brut Blanc de Blancs Cremant d’Alsace, $20. If I could afford it (go Kindle, go!), this would become our house bubbly. Furious bubble action, fine, creamy texture (this is a cremant?!), lovely apple aromas and flavors. De Wine is Divine.
Lucien Albrecht rocks!
And why? Hey, dude, I’m networking (the host disease for which all these other things are merely symptoms). But what the heck am I ‘networking’? Myself? My wine writing? The Ridgefield Farmers Market? All the above.
I text people to get them to my tweets, which draws them to Facebook, so that they’ll find my blog, where they’ll stumble upon my Kindle (‘A Ruminant on Spudders Crest; Part I’), which they’ll buy, and I’ll become rich and famous, and every newspaper editor in the country will clamor for me to return as wine columnist. But I’ll tell them, nah, I’d rather run the farmers market.
Where I can tell people about this, my blog.
And I know, as some have pointed out this has lain dormant for about two months. I’ve got my excuses –Amsterdam, Bruges, Brussels, Paris, returning to a wildly overgrown vineyard, moving from Bellwood Heights back to Spudders Crest, unpacking, starting a farmers market, running the kids to piano, clarinet, tennis, soccer, basketball, volleyball, bottling a lovely viognier, and a somewhat less lovely Rosato Negra- phew!
Forget all that. I’m back. So, both feet, let’s jump in. Starting with Pinot Gris, a wonderful summertime wine, and specifically the Kramer Vineyards, 2007 Oregon Pinot Gris, $15. Apropos of the vintage, this is a lean, almost minerally version, with pretty peachy flavors and just a touch of grassiness. In fact, close your eyes and you might imagine a Sauvignon Blanc (hey, Trudy, ever thought of doing a Sauv B?). Very refreshing, and a nice food wine, with say, shellfish, or –how about vineyard designated dolmas.
Next up, from King Estate, Next. Yup, Next is the Washington label from the Eugene area winery, and the Next, 2008 Washington Riesling, $12, is the perfect expression of Washington fruit. It’s a rich and succulent wine, with floral and lemony aromas, and flavors of lime, lemon, and a note of apricot, with justajustajusta hint of RS (that is, residual sugar). Miss the acidity? Me too, but it’s sure a luscious wine.
And now, back to Pinot Gris, and its finest expression; Alsace. Don’t get me wrong, I love Oregon Pinot Gris, and when I’m not in a grumpy mood you might even catch me saying something nice about Italian Pinot Grigio. But frankly, Alsace is where it’s at.
Witness the superb Lucien Albrecht, 2008 Cuvee Romanus Pinot Gris, $19. The rich, viscous texture alone conjures up visions of the vine carpeted hills of Alsace. Bursting with flavors of pear, apple, brown spice, with lingering notes of citrus in the background, this comes on strong, and yet there is finesse, a subtlety about it. How do dey do dat? O, forty-year old vines might help.
Extra bonus wine: Lucien Albrecht, NV Brut Blanc de Blancs Cremant d’Alsace, $20. If I could afford it (go Kindle, go!), this would become our house bubbly. Furious bubble action, fine, creamy texture (this is a cremant?!), lovely apple aromas and flavors. De Wine is Divine.
Lucien Albrecht rocks!
Friday, June 5, 2009
Hemingway's Notebook -Found!
Last night I lifted up a copy of The Three Musketeers from my night stand, and there it was; my review of King Estate, 2007 Domaine Oregon Pinot Gris, $25.
No way anyone would remember this, but some months ago I wrote about this wine, all the while admitting I’d lost my tasting notes (okay, Anthony Broadbent I am not).
And so just like Groucho finding his steak (a joke for those who tweet -you can find me under ‘wineiconoclast’, natch), shazam, there were my post-it notes with this sterling review: ‘peach, spice, lean, good acidity, lemon, a food wine through and through. Tremendous balance, with flavors, acidity, structure, all rowing together for a one great joy ride.’ (Also noted this on the flip side of the page, ‘the Wreckonomy’-hmm, must’ve been in a weird mood that night).
And now that that mystery is cleared up, I have yet a more current review, and guess what –no tasting notes. You know why? We had this Clos du Chateau, 2005 Viré-Clessé, $25, the other night with dinner and it was so awesome, I couldn’t stop raving, not even long enough to reach for a pen. Rich, succulent, big, busting with flavor. So good, who needs tasting notes?
I only discovered Viré-Clessé, a region in Burgundy’s Macon, when dining at a one-star in Tournus some years ago. I bought several bottles over there, and every now and again I’ll find a Viré-Clessé stateside, and for old time sake, purchase it. The grape is Chardonnay, and typically lean, and crisp, a big step-up from Macon-Villages. But this one is so incredibly explosive it’s in a different universe. Availability? Well, I got this in San Diego, and skate-boarding the web I can’t find any reference to it here in the Northwest. So you might have to hop a flight south (or way east) to find it.
Okay, let’s venture out into the middle of the muddle that is my vineyard. After a slow start (I didn’t do my first spray until May 20, almost a month after bud-break), suddenly we had two weeks of uninterrupted great weather, mostly in the 80s every day, and suddenly -Wow! the vines went nuts. Not only that, but this is by far the best opening salvo to a growing season I’ve ever seen. Every shoot has at least two clusters (one has 4!), and they’re beautiful, well-formed, and already verging on bloom.
And then the bad news; just as predictions of thunderstorms were seeping in, I did my second spray, and wisely added a fungicide to the mix. Then all day yesterday we had some faint mist, hardly a sprinkle, but it worried me all the same, as temps were in the 80s. Wet, heat -sure fire recipe for mildew. And then last evening, right at about 5:30, it hit. Torrential downpour.
All of this will probably revise my spray schedule, as we shift into a different gear once bloom comes, and with higher mildew pressure, and all of this on top of the fact I’m heading for Europe in a week, makes everything a little trickier.
Sure wish we had those dry, 80 degree days back.
Finally, let’s return to Groucho, The Three Musketeers, and tomato slices. One might wonder why it took several months for me to find my review of Pinot Gris. Well, truth is, I’m not getting on very well with The Three Musketeers. Pretty much a romance/swashbuckling novel, that, despite its girth, is exceedingly light weight. So I only read it sporadically. And just as I’m about to doze off.
That, and I’m not exactly Anthony Broadbent.
No way anyone would remember this, but some months ago I wrote about this wine, all the while admitting I’d lost my tasting notes (okay, Anthony Broadbent I am not).
And so just like Groucho finding his steak (a joke for those who tweet -you can find me under ‘wineiconoclast’, natch), shazam, there were my post-it notes with this sterling review: ‘peach, spice, lean, good acidity, lemon, a food wine through and through. Tremendous balance, with flavors, acidity, structure, all rowing together for a one great joy ride.’ (Also noted this on the flip side of the page, ‘the Wreckonomy’-hmm, must’ve been in a weird mood that night).
And now that that mystery is cleared up, I have yet a more current review, and guess what –no tasting notes. You know why? We had this Clos du Chateau, 2005 Viré-Clessé, $25, the other night with dinner and it was so awesome, I couldn’t stop raving, not even long enough to reach for a pen. Rich, succulent, big, busting with flavor. So good, who needs tasting notes?
I only discovered Viré-Clessé, a region in Burgundy’s Macon, when dining at a one-star in Tournus some years ago. I bought several bottles over there, and every now and again I’ll find a Viré-Clessé stateside, and for old time sake, purchase it. The grape is Chardonnay, and typically lean, and crisp, a big step-up from Macon-Villages. But this one is so incredibly explosive it’s in a different universe. Availability? Well, I got this in San Diego, and skate-boarding the web I can’t find any reference to it here in the Northwest. So you might have to hop a flight south (or way east) to find it.
Okay, let’s venture out into the middle of the muddle that is my vineyard. After a slow start (I didn’t do my first spray until May 20, almost a month after bud-break), suddenly we had two weeks of uninterrupted great weather, mostly in the 80s every day, and suddenly -Wow! the vines went nuts. Not only that, but this is by far the best opening salvo to a growing season I’ve ever seen. Every shoot has at least two clusters (one has 4!), and they’re beautiful, well-formed, and already verging on bloom.
And then the bad news; just as predictions of thunderstorms were seeping in, I did my second spray, and wisely added a fungicide to the mix. Then all day yesterday we had some faint mist, hardly a sprinkle, but it worried me all the same, as temps were in the 80s. Wet, heat -sure fire recipe for mildew. And then last evening, right at about 5:30, it hit. Torrential downpour.
All of this will probably revise my spray schedule, as we shift into a different gear once bloom comes, and with higher mildew pressure, and all of this on top of the fact I’m heading for Europe in a week, makes everything a little trickier.
Sure wish we had those dry, 80 degree days back.
Finally, let’s return to Groucho, The Three Musketeers, and tomato slices. One might wonder why it took several months for me to find my review of Pinot Gris. Well, truth is, I’m not getting on very well with The Three Musketeers. Pretty much a romance/swashbuckling novel, that, despite its girth, is exceedingly light weight. So I only read it sporadically. And just as I’m about to doze off.
That, and I’m not exactly Anthony Broadbent.
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