Wine Columns for the Week of December 8th, 2006

Perhaps taking the dictum of Christmas as a time for reflection a little too seriously, wine writers decided this week that instead of all writing about the conifers and tinsel, they'd rather just not write at all. Many newspapers feature a single, perfunctory gift guide (Chicago Tribune, Miami Times, NY Times) plugging dire goods like oenological neckwear. Most of those actually talking about wine give us nothing more than a lonely Wine of the Week column (LA Times, Detroit News, Denver Post). The straggling remnants of sparkling wine and wine pairing pieces ($140 Taittinger with hot dogs, anyone?) have also limped somewhat painfully into print.

With such a shortage of decent wine articles, I've scrabbled together journalistic highlights like wine as disinfectant, gossip about Dan Ackroyd's forthcoming line of moderately-priced wines, and a piece in the Washington Post that's too local to be of any relevance (I'm including it anyway because they earned my goodwill with my favourite headline of the week: "Shabu-Shabu? The Pot Thickens.").

Anyway, for wine coverage, skip straight down to the SF Chronicle. W. Blake Grey's Bargain Wine column dallies as dangerously as ever with the line between charming irreverence and excruciating cringe-inducement. Other than that, Jerry Shriver files an informative wine travel article; Michael Lonsford reports briefly on a visit to a Piedmont winery; there's a nice Gaiter/Brecher piece in the WSJ; and there's one from the AP about young French drinkers.

And that's it.

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Fancy Schmancy

Limbering up for Thanksgiving this year, I steeled my stomach for a day of gratuitous over-consumption with a terrific dinner at Cyrus. Even with occasional minor lapses in service, food and decor, something about the place makes me inclined towards generosity. Maybe it has something to do their own kindness. At one point, for instance, our waiter appeared with a large glass of 1981 Margaux poured from a bottle another table had inexplicably left half-full (at that price, it was definitely not half-empty). "Not quite as good as the 1982," he said. "It'll do," we said.

While Cyrus's two Michelin stars reflect the fact that it lacks the overwhelming extravagance of the Parisian three star experience, it's not too far off; and certainly compared with somewhere like l'Ambroisie [it's delicious to think about what a master of foie gras like Bernard Pacaud would make of Douglas Keane's salt-cured "torchon" with peanut butter and jelly] or even the nearby French Laundry, the $110 7-course tasting menu is something of a bargain.

Keane dictates that the entire table must partake of a tasting menu, and sadly my dear dining companions seemed to lack the gall (or cash) for a full seven courses, so I had to settle for six. Highlights included a pitch-perfect truffled red wine risotto, an amuse-bouche of scallop ceviche with an exhilarating explosion of flavors that one of my friends likened to an oyster, and an absolutely stunning cheese course (accompanied by a panforte which was simply one of tastiest things I've put in my mouth all year).

I won't spend too much time describing the food. I have a theory that at what Olga terms "fancy schmancy" restaurants, the hefty price of admission isn't so much for food as it is for the theater of the meal. As such, maybe the most entertaining part of the evening was seeing the waitstaff whirring around the dining room like they were extras in a silent movie. I particularly liked watching a troupe of them march from the kitchen to a large party, and the almost comic timing with which they simultaneously set down plates at the signal of a barely perceptible nod.

There is, I think, nothing wrong with going to a restaurant for reasons that aren't purely gastronomic. Or maybe part of gastronomy is precisely what some see as an accoutrement. Theater and performance are integral to our experience of eating - even at the most basic diner. Even our own acts of consumption are pretty much always performative.

As for enjoying the show, it's just a matter of choosing whether you want to watch an orchestra perform incredible feats of massed-rank precision, or a bunch of punk rockers hammering out sloppy two-minute hits...

Ruminations on Noodles

One of the most wonderful things about gastronomy is how it defies simple laws of economics. You can spend a hundred dollars on a lavish dish, but it won’t necessarily be tastier than a plate of food that cost mere cents. In fact, for every carpaccio of olive-scented langoustine studded with Iranian caviar, there’s an insalata caprese whose raw, insouciant flavours threaten make a mockery of haute cuisine’s meticulous calibrations.

The way I think about it is this: certain dishes (say, the langoustine carpaccio) are fine-tuned so that each component has its place, but never the boldness to disturb the dish’s decorous symphony; the whole is crafted to be precisely the sum of its parts. Yet there are other foods - generally simple, traditional, more emotionally evocative fare - which are defined by being more than the sum of their constituent ingredients. In these cases, even if most of the dish is made from inadequate ingredients, as long as one critical aspect is excellent, it’s already well on its way to transcendence.

Take pizza, for example. If the crust is good (i.e. paper thin, chewy and meltingly light, and wood-oven baked), it doesn’t matter whether you put San Marzano tomatoes or ketchup on it. The result will inevitably be delicious. Granted, I wouldn’t think much of a ketchup pizza - even if it emerged piping hot from the oven of some storied Neapolitan wood-fired oven - but you get my point.

Or look at sandwiches. One of the most memorable sandwiches I’ve ever had was layered with nasty orange Kraft-esque “cheese” and half-wilted iceburg lettuce. The fact that everything was bound in a Gosselin baguette a l’ancienne didn’t just redeem the minor atrocity of a filling; the bread rendered it utterly beside the point. Like a good NYT Magazine fluff piece, the risible content may just have been an excuse for the article’s existence.

My thoughts turn to such abstractions because I’ve been thinking a lot about noodles lately. Specifically of the Japanese variety. I don’t know of any other national cuisine so intensely obsessed with long chewy strands of gluten.

On a recent rainy day, I found myself sitting in Kyo-ya for lunch. Nabeyaki udon. Mmm. The soup had a wonderful, smoke-tinged aroma redolent with shitake mushrooms. It was clean, light, and rich all at once, with addictive undertones of fish stock beneath the mushrooms. Sadly, the swathes of noodles - obviously store-bought, bland, and overcooked - weren’t nearly so good, and the pretty huge bowl (pot?) of noodles was filling but not all that satisfying.

I had always thought of noodles as being in the same vein of food as pizzas and sandwiches. Get one simple element right, and the rest of the dish follows. Who, for instance, eats pho bo for the noodles or even the beef? They are really just placeholders (albeit essential all the same) for the glory of the soup. So what was wrong with the udon?

Maybe it’s as simple as the thickness of udon noodles, which makes them more prominent and noticeable. Similarly, the assertiveness of the buckwheat in soba noodles (which I tried on another day) leads them to take on a more crucial role than the rice noodles in pho. I don’t know too much about the process of making udon, but soba noodles are a much more complicated enterprise than rice noodles.

Hm. Either way, I think the only way to be sure is to eat more noodles.

Day 10: Sunday, Los Vascos

Sunday morning we awoke in our room-fit-for-a-king at Los Vascos. We enjoyed breakfast outside and then decided to drive to Santa Cruz, the small town nearby. The city is very poor, with many old, run-down homes, shacks almost – there are horse drawn carts and farm animals in every yard. In the main city area, there are churches and small shops and restaurants. We walked around the Santa Cruz hotel area. Most tourist stores had jewelry made of Lapislazoulie, a regional stone that is dark sea blue. We bought some for all the ladies in our life. Upon return I went for a quick run through the vineyards, which was amazing. Sometimes running is the best way to get to know an area or appreciate the beauty and peacefulness of where you are. We then enjoyed lunch with Alfredo & his wife, followed by a nice siesta. The afternoon was spent with the row boat on the small lake, until Alfredo and his wife came to tell us that they were leaving, but that we would enjoy dinner that night with the Mexican group visiting. Oh dear, we thought. Dinner with strangers and we speak, no Spanish! We were a bit nervous, but showered and relaxed on our patio, waiting for dinner. At dinner, we met the group of wholesalers and representatives from Mexico and Urugray. At least 3 of them spoke English very well and they turned out to be some of the funniest and enjoyable people we’d met! The evening went on for a while, then Mike and I excused ourselves due to an early morning appointment. It was sad to know we were to leave the incredible Los Vascos home, but we knew the day to follow, our last day, would be amazing as well.

Day 9: Saturday, Santiago / Los Vascos

Time to leave Santiago and the lovely San Cristobal hotel. It was a tight schedule so we were up and ready for breakfast on time. When we returned to our room, room service came with a bottle of bubbly and cake to celebrate Mike’s birthday – these hotel folks are on top of things! So after our second breakfast containing sugar and alcohol, we decided to see some of Santiago before we headed down to Los Vascos. I was quite determined, particularly after our fiasco in Valpariso, to see the San Cristobal. Shockingly, we were able to find the entrance to the funicular on our own. The funicular, which is like a multi-level cable car, drags you slowly up the hill to the top, where you can see the enormous statue of the Virgin Mary and overlook the entire city of Santiago. Sadly, this was the only touristy thing we did in Santiago – the rest of our time was spent on wine tours or driving to wine tours. But this was definitely the perfect way to end out time in the city. The view was fantastic although the city quite smoggy. Finally we’re on our way down to Los Vascos, at least an hour and a half late. This increased to 2 hours trying to get out of the city again. The interesting thing about Chile, all highways are privately owned, so there is no rhyme or reason to the numbers or the signs to get on or off of a highway. We stop at Pronto, the only fast food restaurant we can find – also doubles as a gas station. Finally, we arrive at the Los Vascos home. The home is nestled near the small town of Santa Cruz in the Rapel Valley of Chile. It is an enormous home, built young but decorated to look old. Baron Eric Rothschild, owner of the winery, sends new decorations as he finds them to go in particular places in the house. He does a good job - the decorations are spectacular and the views breathtaking. Upon arrival, even after running two hours late, we were asked by our hosts if we would like to rest or freshen up. After being two hours late we found that to be bad form, so we jumped in the car to go taste. We first went to the Los Vascos winery tasting room, which was very French in it’s stark white walls. The wines were delicious, with a particular note on the 2001 wines being quite different from those before it – the ’01 vintage was the first to be made by Marcello, the new winemaker. Marcello also took us around the vineyards, which were beautiful and extensive. The weather was spectacular. Warm, sunny and just perfect. We went to our rooms to freshen up and then went to sit on the porch and wait for dinner. There we watched the sunset over the hills and the lake while sipping rose and eating fresh garden tomatoes with mozzarella. Sigh… Marcello & Alfredo joined us, and to our delight, brought their wives, both of whom are pregnant. One was 5 months along, the other 6 months. We had most delicious dinner that was French based but with the freshest Chilean ingredients. It was light, but not too much food or too much wine, which was a relief. It was Michael’s birthday so Alfredo arranged a cake and singing, which was so lovely. We then retired to the living room for more singing and playing. Alfredo’s wife is a classical pianist so took to the keyboard, while Marcello and Alfredo took turns with the guitar. Soon the Chilean winemaker was playing Bon Jovi and Poinson on the guitar while I tried to sing. It was time for bed shortly after. Obviously.

Day 8: Friday, Santiago

By Gwendolyn

We woke early to drive to De Martinio Winery just one hour south of Santiago. Another winery with some money behind it. The De Martino family of Italy bought the land and winery, but as the winemaker happily notes, they stay out of all wine decisions. Like Ventisquero and Veramonte, there was a guard at a gate. I wonder if the winemakers or anyone tells the guards of our appointments. They all eye us as though we are some crazy Americans, trying to visit their winery uninvited. And yet, most of these wineries seem to want to be open to the public. Then the guard explains to us in Spanish where to go, we nod and say Gracias although we have no idea what he is saying. Just doing their jobs, but it is quite different from the wineries of the US.

At De Martino we were greeted by the winemaker and marketing director. Both took us out in the truck to tour the vineyards, giving us a hat to wear, explaining, “you are very white.”Unlike Ventisquero, the vines were all in straight lines. Everything was well manicured and trained. We saw the usual: Carmenere, Sauvignon Blanc, Cabernet Sauvignon, Malbec. One thing we did learn, that we’d seen while driving to Ventisquero, is vines that are trained very tall and in a canopy style, where the grapes hang down, with leaves canopied over them. You can walk under them and look up and the grapes are hanging down over you, like a fort made of vines. We learned that these are for table grapes. You can taste the difference between table and wine grapes by eating them side by side. De Martinio also had an organico section for their organic wines.

We went to the greeting room to taste through their line up. My favorite was the Chardonnay - quite possibly the best Chardonnay I’ve had from the area. The grapes come from Limari, a valley far north that is not yet used by many wineries or for many grapes, but I’m sure it will be, as more discover its potential. They are exported through Global Vineyard Imports. The tasting and tour was short and sweet. We left and, as we had thought ahead on directions getting back to the hotel, arrived as quickly as we ever had. We wondered why the concierge did not give us the directions that we discovered for ourselves. We’re thinking of making a pamphlet for hotel guests driving to wineries, saving other tourists from our same fate of arguing and getting lost. Although most tourists probably don’t need it as they are all on buses! There are so many buses and cruise ship groups. They dock possibly at Valpariso or another port, then bus in all the people for a few days, I’m sure the bus takes them to the sights. It was amazing how many Americans, Australians & British were around us. No Chileans at all.

That afternoon we ate lunch by the pool, goat cheese salad. Again, the goat cheese is very different here. Not as pungent as the French kind, and very hard and crumbly, reminding me of sheep’s cheese. It was so nice to eat light. We sat by the pool, our last day at the hotel, and enjoyed the weather. We left by 4 as we had to meet Alfredo downstairs at 5pm. From the hotel, Alfredo (and his driver) took us to Cousino Macul, a winery in the city of Santiago although it feels like its own little oasis. Again, a Chilean winery started by foreigners with money. In this case, old money. First we saw the main office, which had round desks made (or at least shaped like they were made) from large old barrels, botte type barrels. Attractive design. We did not tour any of the vineyards, just the old winery. We got a good history of the winery touring through the wood & barrels that are, thankfully, no longer used. They have an amazing library there with wines that date back to the 1940’s. We tasted through the wines down in their basement/wine library. Then the wine manager took us to see their ‘park’, which is in fact an enormous tree garden. They must have every type of tree there. Magnolias, weeping willows, redwoods, odd trees you think you’d only see in Australia, it was amazing. They have 10 full-time gardeners to tend this garden/park. Every thing is so well maintained, and they have a little rock fortress in the back with chairs engraved with each son’s name and statues of Poseidon and Venus. Streams and babbling brooks and iron gates showing the deception of Eve. It was truly amazing. We drove back to the hotel to ready ourselves for dinner. As Alfredo & Mike had a cigar in the bar, I got ready. I met them downstairs and we enjoyed a Cousino Macul red blend. Alfredo then took us to dinner. Unfortunately (or fortunately) he took us to dinner at the exact same restaurant we had gone to on Wednesday. But since the restaurant was excellent and we knew not many were open, we said nothing and only hoped that staff would not recognize us!

It was delicious again. Alfredo and I had the waiter bring a Birthday Eve cake for Mike.