Wine Columns for the Week of January 17, 2007

After the devastation suffered by Californian orange and lemon farmers this winter, it's ironic how many of this week's food columns are citrus-centered. Unfortunately for editors, the gods have very little sympathy for lead times. It's much harder to pin down a theme for the wine columns. (Maybe glibness of prose?) There are just as many European features (ausleses and first-growth Bordeaux) as ones set in the new world (Australian cabs and New Zealand pinot noir). And for every raving write-up of a "lush, fruity red", there's another devoted to "bracing, zippy" whites.

Paul Gregutt might have picked up on a trend with his compelling case for lower-alcohol vintages. But as it so happens, his pick of the week (a Gruner Veltliner) was roundly dismissed as so "5 minutes ago" by wine experts polled in the SF Chronicle. Cyrus wine director Jim Rollston's haughty put-down: "Gruner Veltliner is still a great wine, but it's had its moment." Ouch.

Wine Columns for the Week of January 10, 2007

Red is the color of this (or rather, last) week's wine columns, with only one or two bucking the season by talking about whites. Of the latter, Dorothy Gaiter and John Brecher's vilification of cheap Chardonnays is the most notable. Something about merlot still captivates many of the wine writers, but Fred Tasker wins the prize for this week's most entertaining wine column by imagining Jerry Springer asking of syrah, "Who's your daddy?" Wines from lesser known regions are also getting press. The Washington Post profiles Liechtensteinian wines, while Matt Kramer in the Oregonian highlights a couple of interesting Portuguese and Sardinian reds. The Chronicle also gets in the regional act by introducing a new series of articles focusing on notable wine regions around the world. Looks quite good.

Finally, Rachel might find a particular poignancy in Paul Gregutt's piece on the 2004 frost which hit Walla Walla...

Wine Columns for the Week of December 26, 2006 and January 3, 2007

With the end of the year come end-of-the-year lists. Not too much to say about lists, except that there are lots of them. A couple of brave writers also attempt to defy the spirit of the New Year by not writing about champagne. Sadly, they're slapped down by their editors and have to recount the same cliches about sparkles and bubbles and popping corks. Lists and not-quite-effervescent prose aside, recent weeks have found writers in a nostalgic and troubled mood. Patrick Comiskey pines for the cabernets of yesteryear, lamenting how many are now as "challenging as a kitten or a chocolate-covered cherry." Similarly, still languishing with a 500 word limit in the Houston Chronicle, Michael Lonsford takes out his frustrations on overripe and unbalanced reds. Meanwhile, over in France, Eric Asimov finds solace in a bottle of 160-year old Meursault Charmes...

Wine Columns for the Week of December 13th, 2006

This week (or I should say last week), while one poor wine writer seems to have had his word count slashed to less than 400, another squanders a terrific story idea (narrative as a fundamental aspect of the best wines) by recounting a string of fatuous vineyard tales. Elsewhere, Eric Asimov considers the Sideways effect on Merlots and finds hope. There are also some more gift-giving stories for last-minute gift-buyers. (Not that it's really the last minute yet!)

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.

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...