Bonta Italian Restaurant & Bar
207 River Valley Road, 238275
#01-61 UE Square River Wing
Tel: +65 6333 8875
The recent price inflations in the Singapore dining scene can roughly be divided into three phases – what I like to call the French wave, the Japanese wave and the casino wave. The first wave probably started about 10 or so years ago, wrought by the classical haute cuisine places like Le Saint Julien and Saint Pierre and characterized by a marketing gimmick called the degustation menu. At the time you were looking at paying $150 - $180++ for these fancy meals. Then about 5 years ago the top Japanese places started muscling in on the high-end market, with their kaiseki and omakase dining, and the magical 200-dollar psychological barrier was broken. Suddenly, thanks to places like Akashi, Shiraishi and Goto, the price point for fine dining got pushed up to $200 - $250++, and in the boom years of ’06 and ‘07 $300++ was not an uncommon sight. Finally, last year, the casinos opened, and brought with them the high-end celebrity chef restaurants. That just blew the church doors wide open and today, a meal at Kunio Tokuoka will set you back $750++.
Now of course you have to adjust all these for natural inflation, but even then the upward tick in fine dining prices is significant enough to cause the average foodie some worry. I may exaggerate a little by only listing the prices of the top-end places, but the reality of the situation is that many of the second-tier or middle-of-the-road restaurants follow the lead of these places. It used to be that your average middle-income earners could still look forward to a fancy dinner for two on birthdays and anniversaries, but the way things are going, fewer and fewer folks are going to be able to afford that luxury.
I bring all this up because of my recent meal at Bonta Italian Restaurant. Bonta, of course, is the restaurant that generated much controversy when they started doing a white Alba truffle promotion during the fall months. Now, Bonta is otherwise probably considered an above-average Italian eatery, with prices slightly on the expensive side but nowhere near those of the places mentioned above. But September through December of 2009 they offered what they called the Ultimate Indulgence Menu – a six course feast incorporating sinful amounts of white truffle and Beluga caviar – which they priced at $1000++. Yes, that is the per-person cost, before wine and taxes. It was, naturally, immensely popular and has since become an annual affair, but also caused much consternation among foodies for breaking new ground price-wise.
In any case, I finally visited Bonta for the first time when we took several business associates visiting from Japan there. It is a charming space, if rather narrow, with deceptively high ceilings and dark, lustrous velvet curtains beside a ruby red wall motif. We were seated in the smaller private room, which was cut off from the main dining area and as a result, quiet throughout dinner; or should I say, only as noisy as we were ourselves.
One of the must-tries at Bonta is their famous goat cheese soufflé bread. This is an incredibly light roll that comes in a cup, but which has risen to twice the height of the cup. The goat cheese adds a decent flavour, but the true quality of this bread lies in its impressive crumb structure and texture. Large pockets of air, wispy grain, and pillow-soft to the bite – it was all I could do to stop at one.
(Note: the secret to creating such bread lies in a few factors. Yeast is very important. In Singapore, you cannot get fresh yeast, so the handling of your dry yeast must be spot-on to achieve light, voluminous bread. Yeast is most effective between 30-35 degrees Celsius, and must be given time to grow, so where and how long you proof your bread is key. Then you have to be very careful with the water you use. Hard water inhibits yeast growth, which results in dense bread; but if the water is too soft it prevents the formation of flour gluten, which you need for a crumbly texture and good bite. Finally, you have to mould your dough cross-grain, in order to create that wispy effect. There is clearly a skilled baker at work in the Bonta kitchen.)
We had deep fried zucchini flowers filled with mushroom ragout to start, served over rocket (arugula to some of you) and I was silently glad. Despite the little I had heard about Bonta I was half expecting another one of those frou-frou places that uses its food to make a statement – whether about the chef’s cooking philosophy or some other exalted ideal. What I found at Bonta was simple, uncomplicated, yet very refined Italian cooking – the kind that I associate more with New York City than Italy, really, but the kind that I absolutely adore.
Our second course was angel hair shrimp scampi, to which the chef recommended adding sliced chili padi. An unusual twist, but not so unusual once you find out that Chef Luca, prior to coming to Singapore, spent five years in Jakarta (and can speak Bahasa Indonesia), and loves spicy food. The pasta itself I thought could have been done a little better, but the addition of chili padi gave it an interesting kick which elevated the dish. It was, however, a twist not recommended for persons with palates unused to spice, as our Japanese associates quickly bore testimony to.
The main course was bistecca alla fiorentina, and Chef Luca had prepared a huge haunch of meat. He explained that the beef he used came from Chianina cattle, a large and muscular breed of cattle prized for its high quality. Again, the beef was simply done – olive oil, lemon, balsamic – and I could not complain. We also had a side of goose leg confit, which I thought particularly well done. Traditional confit calls for curing the meat with salt before cooking, a step which some actually omit. Salting it preserves it for longer and adds flavour, but dries out the meat, so you have to be quite careful with this step. Chef Luca had done a wonderful job.
To accompany dinner we drank a Tignanello (vintage unknown) that we had brought – the drinking of which by any sane measure should constitute an occasion. But later in the night we moved on to a 1999 Tua Rita Redigaffi, which was so sensational that nobody could go back to the Tignanello. Redigaffi is 100% Merlot, which makes it an anomaly amongst the Super Tuscans, but I felt it married the brio of Tuscan terroir with the stateliness of Merlot wonderfully. It had an intoxicating bouquet and was a huge wine, rich and velvety and very sensual.
So at the end of the night the food bill came to around $1000 for the seven of us, which was rather reasonable I suppose. The other reason why fine dining is so expensive in Singapore, which I failed to mention before, is because everything has to be imported, and Bonta – like many other places which emphasise quality and authenticity – is very guilty of taking this to its natural extreme. All the key ingredients, the cheeses, the balsamic vinegar, even the beef – are imported from Italy. Not only do you pay for transportation, but – especially for the fresh ingredients – you also pay a premium for processing and proper storage of the ingredients so that they remain fresh and suitable for use.
Bonta aside, at the end of the day, are such prices worth it? And even if they aren’t, what can the consumer do about it? Precious little, I’m afraid. Sooner or later these price increases will trickle down to the casual eateries and the mom-and-pops. I only hope that by then, my wages will have seen a corresponding increase!
Showing posts with label wine tasting notes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wine tasting notes. Show all posts
Monday, January 31, 2011
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The good life
By now, it should be pretty standard practice for credit card companies to offer the power of "analytics" along with their online portals. You've seen them - the tools that show you how much of your expenditure per month go to travel, food and other categories of expenses. I cringe each time I use them, since such a large portion of my spending goes towards food and beverage - way too much, in fact. And what kind of category is food and beverage, anyway? It's too broad. Now, if my credit card company could break that down further, that would be really useful. Chinese, French, Italian, Japanese. Wine, hard liquor, beer. Well, maybe it wouldn't be useful, but at the very least if I broke it down into smaller pieces I wouldn't be confronted by such a large histogram each time.
In any case, I spent more money on wine this month, thanks to the World Gourmet Summit hitting town. The good folks over at Sassicaia kindly agreed to do a vertical tasting and there was no way I was going to miss out on that. Here are my tasting notes, in the order of tasting.
2006 Barrua - A sister wine to Sassicaia and one of two "primer" wines. Tannins unfortunately overpowered the fruit (perhaps it was still young), so all I got was prunes.
2008 Guidalberto - The other "primer" wine. Though younger than the Barrua this was less tannic and more similar to Sassicaia in that it had the kind of forest glade nose that you expect from Sassicaia.
2006 Sassicaia - An absolute blockbuster. Someone at the tasting ventured that this had "muscular tannins", which I thought was an apt description. One of those wines with a perfect blend of tannins, acid and fruit. This will keep for ages.
2005 Sassicaia - By contrast, a lot more muted. Hit all the notes that you would expect a Sassicaia to hit, but unlike some of the better vintages, does not linger on your tongue or in your memory.
2004 Sassicaia - My favourite of all the wines I tasted that night. I had had this before with RK in DC, but only now do I appreciate it as my favourite of the recent Sassicaia vintages. Elegant, elegant wine. Again, the forest glade feel, hints of espresso. Great structure. By far the vintage with the creamiest mouthfeel, which I loved. It's like eating a piece of bread with too much butter spread on it. Good, French butter. Absolutely divine.
2003 Sassicaia - I should mention that the organiser of the tasting had advised us to taste the vintages in pairs: 06/05, 04/03, and 02/01, and I later saw why. Each of the pairs contained a so-called stellar vintage ('06, '04 and '01), and you could better appreciate their excellence by comparing them to what I hesitate to call a lesser wine. The '03 Sassicaia is a great wine in its own right, but it was far from the star of the night.
2002 Sassicaia - A bad year for Tuscan wines, but as the organiser explained to us: what holds for Tuscany doesn't necessarily hold for Bolgheri. This was not as full as the other vintages, but definitely a very tasty wine indeed.
2001 Sassicaia - Drinking very well now. The tannins have started to fall away, leaving the fruit flavour more exposed, and you can really taste the sophistication. There is just so much going on here - currants, cherries, nuts, chocolate. Delicious.
If all accounts are to be believed, the 2007 Sassicaia promises to be another stellar offering. At the tasting I could see people slyly tapping at their Blackberries, and at first I just thought this was rude. Later when I overheard a conversation I realised that many of these people were frantically on their phones and Blackberries with their wine brokers or distributors, urging them to "Don't think! Just buy!" (verbatim quote). I suppose, then, they could be forgiven.
In any case, I spent more money on wine this month, thanks to the World Gourmet Summit hitting town. The good folks over at Sassicaia kindly agreed to do a vertical tasting and there was no way I was going to miss out on that. Here are my tasting notes, in the order of tasting.
2006 Barrua - A sister wine to Sassicaia and one of two "primer" wines. Tannins unfortunately overpowered the fruit (perhaps it was still young), so all I got was prunes.
2008 Guidalberto - The other "primer" wine. Though younger than the Barrua this was less tannic and more similar to Sassicaia in that it had the kind of forest glade nose that you expect from Sassicaia.
2006 Sassicaia - An absolute blockbuster. Someone at the tasting ventured that this had "muscular tannins", which I thought was an apt description. One of those wines with a perfect blend of tannins, acid and fruit. This will keep for ages.
2005 Sassicaia - By contrast, a lot more muted. Hit all the notes that you would expect a Sassicaia to hit, but unlike some of the better vintages, does not linger on your tongue or in your memory.
2004 Sassicaia - My favourite of all the wines I tasted that night. I had had this before with RK in DC, but only now do I appreciate it as my favourite of the recent Sassicaia vintages. Elegant, elegant wine. Again, the forest glade feel, hints of espresso. Great structure. By far the vintage with the creamiest mouthfeel, which I loved. It's like eating a piece of bread with too much butter spread on it. Good, French butter. Absolutely divine.
2003 Sassicaia - I should mention that the organiser of the tasting had advised us to taste the vintages in pairs: 06/05, 04/03, and 02/01, and I later saw why. Each of the pairs contained a so-called stellar vintage ('06, '04 and '01), and you could better appreciate their excellence by comparing them to what I hesitate to call a lesser wine. The '03 Sassicaia is a great wine in its own right, but it was far from the star of the night.
2002 Sassicaia - A bad year for Tuscan wines, but as the organiser explained to us: what holds for Tuscany doesn't necessarily hold for Bolgheri. This was not as full as the other vintages, but definitely a very tasty wine indeed.
2001 Sassicaia - Drinking very well now. The tannins have started to fall away, leaving the fruit flavour more exposed, and you can really taste the sophistication. There is just so much going on here - currants, cherries, nuts, chocolate. Delicious.
If all accounts are to be believed, the 2007 Sassicaia promises to be another stellar offering. At the tasting I could see people slyly tapping at their Blackberries, and at first I just thought this was rude. Later when I overheard a conversation I realised that many of these people were frantically on their phones and Blackberries with their wine brokers or distributors, urging them to "Don't think! Just buy!" (verbatim quote). I suppose, then, they could be forgiven.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
A crime against seasonality
As I have written before in these pages, I grew up in Singapore – a country with little to no natural resources – and much if not all of what we ate on a day to day basis was grown elsewhere and imported. Agriculture has always been, and will continue to be, an insignificant part of our economy. One of the unwritten effects of this dependence on global food and commodity markets is that the average Singaporean has absolutely no concept of the seasonality of food. Supermarkets carry the same cornucopia of mass-grown produce and industrial farm-raised meats week in, week out. Because we are so tied to the industrialized and mechanized world of global food production and what Joanna Blythman calls the “permanent global summertime”, we have become accustomed to the year-round availability and the physical perfection of produce. We cannot conceive of not having access to strawberries, much less access to misshapen ones.
It is, of course, hard to judge us, I feel: because of the lack of options available to us. Yet nothing excuses the blissful ignorance that is perpetrated by the access to what we want, when we want. Singaporeans will never be “locavores” – we will never be able to “eat locally”. We will always have to make trade-offs. But not being aware that food is grown (and tastes better) in seasons, not being aware that eating seasonally is not only better for the environment, but also for our bodies – that, I think, is inexcusable.
Yet awareness can only go so far, and environmentalism is only so noble. I mentioned how Singaporeans faced a lack of options but increasing swathes of the developed world are beginning to face this lack of options too. Not everybody has easy access to local organic small farms, or co-ops, or farmers’ markets. Industrialized food production has permeated the way we think about feeding ourselves, and it has become harder and harder, in more parts of the world, to extricate ourselves from this increasingly global system. And with the world’s population growing at historically unprecedented rates, placing a tremendous strain on the earth’s resources – who is to say that the method that can feed the most people, for the cheapest price, is not the optimal solution?
A dilemma indeed, on all fronts – moral, environmental, political, social, economic but also gastronomic. Increasingly I find that every meal I eat is an opportunity for a statement of some kind. I am not going to lie and say that I really do give all that much thought to everything I put in my mouth – where it came from, if it is in season, what techniques were used in growing it. More often than not I am guilty of giving in to my whims and desires, and hiding behind the easy excuse of convenience – as the following story will prove. But the first step is knowing, I think, and the second step is caring. On those fronts I think I have made significant progress.
I never really had any exposure to the seasonality of food until I started cooking with Morgan. He would dismiss my suggestions in an offhanded way, with the simple observation that something was “not in season”. To him, it was natural, the be all and end all. We could not have tomatoes in January, of course not. To me, it was an alien concept. As I began to discover more about the various bounties of spring, summer, fall and winter – not to mention the cooking techniques peculiar to each one, I began to appreciate just how different food tasted when eaten at the right time.
So imagine my surprise when, strolling through the Dupont Farmers’ Market this past Sunday, I noticed a middle-aged couple selling soft-shell crab, among other seafood. The woman, who I spoke to, had the stoutness of farm-folk, a ruddy complexion and a ready smile. She spoke in a manner that did not waste words, sometimes at the expense of syntax, and I imagined many dark and wind-swept mornings on the bay tending to her catch with her husband, with no need of conversation. She did not seem capable of artifice.
Now, for my part, I absolutely adore soft-shell crab. Even in Singapore this is not something you can get year-round, and perhaps that contributes to its allure. Any time I see it on the menu, it is an automatic choice. Nothing trumps soft-shell crab, except perhaps duck confit, and even then I’m not so sure.
I had to get it. What else was there to do? It was hopelessly out of season but I could not pass it up.
After dropping it off in the refrigerator I had a busy day that day and it was close to 9.30 when I next stepped back into the house. Still I took care to be very deliberate in the prep because I did not want to ruin this. I seasoned it with Old Bay and breaded it with panko before frying it in a pan.
I also got some clams from the old woman with the ready smile and I made these in white wine with tomatoes and okra.
It was a good meal, and I had a glass of the white wine I had used (Pouilly Fuisse, Domaine Corsin, 2006: very floral, significant fruit – green apple and pear, but no oak, and very little depth. Cool medium finish.) At the risk of sounding selfish, now was not the time to think about the problems of the world. Now was the time to pour another glass of the wine, curl up on the couch with the New Yorker and read the fiction section.
It is, of course, hard to judge us, I feel: because of the lack of options available to us. Yet nothing excuses the blissful ignorance that is perpetrated by the access to what we want, when we want. Singaporeans will never be “locavores” – we will never be able to “eat locally”. We will always have to make trade-offs. But not being aware that food is grown (and tastes better) in seasons, not being aware that eating seasonally is not only better for the environment, but also for our bodies – that, I think, is inexcusable.
Yet awareness can only go so far, and environmentalism is only so noble. I mentioned how Singaporeans faced a lack of options but increasing swathes of the developed world are beginning to face this lack of options too. Not everybody has easy access to local organic small farms, or co-ops, or farmers’ markets. Industrialized food production has permeated the way we think about feeding ourselves, and it has become harder and harder, in more parts of the world, to extricate ourselves from this increasingly global system. And with the world’s population growing at historically unprecedented rates, placing a tremendous strain on the earth’s resources – who is to say that the method that can feed the most people, for the cheapest price, is not the optimal solution?
A dilemma indeed, on all fronts – moral, environmental, political, social, economic but also gastronomic. Increasingly I find that every meal I eat is an opportunity for a statement of some kind. I am not going to lie and say that I really do give all that much thought to everything I put in my mouth – where it came from, if it is in season, what techniques were used in growing it. More often than not I am guilty of giving in to my whims and desires, and hiding behind the easy excuse of convenience – as the following story will prove. But the first step is knowing, I think, and the second step is caring. On those fronts I think I have made significant progress.
I never really had any exposure to the seasonality of food until I started cooking with Morgan. He would dismiss my suggestions in an offhanded way, with the simple observation that something was “not in season”. To him, it was natural, the be all and end all. We could not have tomatoes in January, of course not. To me, it was an alien concept. As I began to discover more about the various bounties of spring, summer, fall and winter – not to mention the cooking techniques peculiar to each one, I began to appreciate just how different food tasted when eaten at the right time.
So imagine my surprise when, strolling through the Dupont Farmers’ Market this past Sunday, I noticed a middle-aged couple selling soft-shell crab, among other seafood. The woman, who I spoke to, had the stoutness of farm-folk, a ruddy complexion and a ready smile. She spoke in a manner that did not waste words, sometimes at the expense of syntax, and I imagined many dark and wind-swept mornings on the bay tending to her catch with her husband, with no need of conversation. She did not seem capable of artifice.
Now, for my part, I absolutely adore soft-shell crab. Even in Singapore this is not something you can get year-round, and perhaps that contributes to its allure. Any time I see it on the menu, it is an automatic choice. Nothing trumps soft-shell crab, except perhaps duck confit, and even then I’m not so sure.
I had to get it. What else was there to do? It was hopelessly out of season but I could not pass it up.
After dropping it off in the refrigerator I had a busy day that day and it was close to 9.30 when I next stepped back into the house. Still I took care to be very deliberate in the prep because I did not want to ruin this. I seasoned it with Old Bay and breaded it with panko before frying it in a pan.
I also got some clams from the old woman with the ready smile and I made these in white wine with tomatoes and okra.
It was a good meal, and I had a glass of the white wine I had used (Pouilly Fuisse, Domaine Corsin, 2006: very floral, significant fruit – green apple and pear, but no oak, and very little depth. Cool medium finish.) At the risk of sounding selfish, now was not the time to think about the problems of the world. Now was the time to pour another glass of the wine, curl up on the couch with the New Yorker and read the fiction section.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
The one-way street
I recall having a conversation once, a while back, with Michael about the pleasures of fine wine, as we were in a taxi on our way to Logan airport. He always has a ready smile and is quick to laughter, but that day was a little different; he said little, and it fell to me to keep up the banter. Yet when I mentioned that I'd had a good bottle of wine recently, his eyes perked up and his mood lightened. We have pretty similar tastes in wine, and soon we were exchanging recommendations and telling stories of all the great bottles in our past, and the ones that got away. Michael had come to fine wine later in life than I had, and like any other convert could no longer go back to the commercial swill that passes for wine these days.
I have been spoilt beyond my wildest imaginations in that between drinking and eating with Michael, RK and a few others, I have been fortunate enough to be inducted into the world of delicious but oh-so-expensive wines. I have been ruined for table wine, ruined for the mass-bottled stuff with gaudy labels and dubious origins. I try my best not to be snobby about it, but once you have had your palate challenged by the structure and intensity of a first growth Bordeaux, or by the depth and complexity of a Brunello di Montalcino, then it is pretty fucking hard to go back to drinking Trader Joe's wine, or Charles Shaw. As Michael put it so eloquently, fine wine is a one-way street.
The other night RK led a couple of us on one of the most decadent adventures I have ever been on. Apart from having apertivi at I Ricchi (well executed, but not spectacular), followed by dinner at Marcel's (mind-blowingly good and deserving of its own blog post, which is soon to follow) - we had six bottles of what we can only modestly refer to as "the good stuff".
Fuligni, Brunello di Montalcino, Italy, 2001
RK brought this wine to I Ricchi for a "'taste-test" - he wanted my opinion on it as he was considering serving it at a dinner we were going to host later this year. It opened weakly, I thought, without the traditionally arresting nose that I have come to expect of the Brunello grape. It went on to fill out a little but never developed into a big, strong wine. Sweet fruits - apricots and dates, very jammy, very little tannins or acid to speak of. RK and I agreed, this wine was, well, drinkable.
(*Easily the most backhanded compliment one can make about any wine.)
(**How spoilt are we, that we label a Brunello merely "drinkable".)
Sassicaia, Tenuta San Guido, Bolgheri, Italy 2004
After that disappointment we were determined not to repeat our mistake, and chose as a followup one of the best wines I have ever had the fortune to drink. Along with Ornellaia, this wine occupies the highest echelons of the Super Tuscans, and can be considered Italian wine nobility. It was a deep ruby red and had an intoxicating bouquet of forest flowers along with a little smoke. It drank smoothly upon opening, but after being given 15 minutes really began to open up, and presented flavours of lavender, violet, and a little chocolate. It had a buttery mouth feel, very mineral and almost chalky - and was very fresh, lively and danced around your tongue. We had this with first a mushroom appetiser and then some bizteca, and in accompaniment with the food it kept morphing into something different with each taste. Every sip was an adventure in itself - and all conversation fell away as we rolled the wine around our tongues, each time searching for an added dimension, searching for another facet of this wonderful wine. It never disappointed. RK put it best when he leaned back in his seat and said simply, "Luxuriating."
Valdicava, Madonna del Piano, Brunello di Montalcino, Italy, 2001
At this time Brody joined us, and not wanting him to miss out, we ordered another bottle of the Sassicaia, meanwhile pondering what could we possibly move on to that would not represent a step down. Onward and upward indeed. We settled on this Brunello - it had a pretty label, very simple and sleek. Once I smelt it I knew I had fallen. This was the kind of Brunello that made me such a fool for the grape - dark, rich, velvety, complex. Perfect balance of tannins and acid, flavours of crushed berries with a deep earthy musk. The oak was strong but not dominant, and the finish lingered tantalizingly, long after the last sip was gone. Excellent, excellent wine, and while choosing between this and the Sassicaia made for some interesting debate, I say we were being silly, and should have just thanked our lucky stars to be able to drink two such fine wines.
Chateau Lafite Rothschild, Pauillac, Bordeaux, France, 1996
We then moved the party to Marcel's, where Ty met us for dinner. In the taxi ride over RK was already plotting, hatching plans and considering options for our next bottle. When you have reached perfection, where do you go? What would we drink next? The answer must have jumped out at him, for he made his decision within seconds of browsing the winelist. And what a selection it was.
The '96 has been acclaimed as the best wine that Lafite Rothschild has produced in recent years, and received a 100 point score from Robert Parker. As much as it was possible, my first sip and swallow made me completely and utterly forget the wines we had had earlier. The intensity almost knocked me out. Who knew wine could be this big, this powerful, and at the same time this complex, this delicate? The 96 Lafite was still in its infancy, and one could sense that it would develop into a beautiful, beautiful wine in 20 or 30 years time. But our time was now, and I did not complain.
Beautiful legs, strong terroir in the nose. Licorice, cream, cassis and a touch of mint. It was like drinking a decadent dessert, but with earth and minerals and acid and tannins and all the other flavours that make red wine so good. Huge, huge wine.
Hermitage, "La Sizeranne", M. Chapoutier, France, 1947
There was only one thing that could complement youth and technical precision, and that was age and grace. The present day M. Chapoutier has gotten on the capitalist gravy train and now makes a wide variety of wines, and has even expanded beyond French soil. The Mondavi of France, if you will. Still "La Sizeranne" remains one of their prestige labels, and while it is no first growth today - a bottle of the 1947 vintage promised much, especially after the Lafite.
As the maitre d' tenderly presented the bottle, we could see the label slowly peeling off. This was a wine that was made as the world reverberated and rebuilt itself after the dropping of the atom bomb and Hitler's surrender. The Marshall Plan was established, offering American aid to devastated European nations and presaging the United States' ascent to global superpower status. While all this was happening, somewhere in the Rhone Valley a master craftsman made this wine - without the technological advances we now take for granted, with minimal science and even less capital at his disposal.
It was astounding. Clearly the wine could have kept for another 10 or 15 years. It had lost much of its colour but still presented strongly, with a heavy taste of cedar and pencil shavings. As it continued to breathe, it became stronger and stronger, accompanying our meats perfectly while being absolutely enjoyable in its own right. It was truly, and pardon the cheesiness, a wine for the ages.
As we polished the bottle off we each marveled at the sediment that was left in this bottle - this bottle that was older than any of us at the table. Older, even, than Brody and myself put together. It was sobering to think that it was conceivable that Winston Churchill, one of my heroes, might have had this same bottle of wine. Entirely possible. That was enough to put a wistful smile on my face.
To say that it was quite a memorable night would probably not do it justice. It is not every night - and a school night, even - that one gets to try a bottle of wine that retails for more than a thousand dollars, and a bottle of wine that is from the World War 2 era. Oh, and let's not forget the others we had before that. As I walked home I despaired, for I knew I was going further and further down that one-way street Michael had talked about.
I have been spoilt beyond my wildest imaginations in that between drinking and eating with Michael, RK and a few others, I have been fortunate enough to be inducted into the world of delicious but oh-so-expensive wines. I have been ruined for table wine, ruined for the mass-bottled stuff with gaudy labels and dubious origins. I try my best not to be snobby about it, but once you have had your palate challenged by the structure and intensity of a first growth Bordeaux, or by the depth and complexity of a Brunello di Montalcino, then it is pretty fucking hard to go back to drinking Trader Joe's wine, or Charles Shaw. As Michael put it so eloquently, fine wine is a one-way street.
The other night RK led a couple of us on one of the most decadent adventures I have ever been on. Apart from having apertivi at I Ricchi (well executed, but not spectacular), followed by dinner at Marcel's (mind-blowingly good and deserving of its own blog post, which is soon to follow) - we had six bottles of what we can only modestly refer to as "the good stuff".
Fuligni, Brunello di Montalcino, Italy, 2001
RK brought this wine to I Ricchi for a "'taste-test" - he wanted my opinion on it as he was considering serving it at a dinner we were going to host later this year. It opened weakly, I thought, without the traditionally arresting nose that I have come to expect of the Brunello grape. It went on to fill out a little but never developed into a big, strong wine. Sweet fruits - apricots and dates, very jammy, very little tannins or acid to speak of. RK and I agreed, this wine was, well, drinkable.
(*Easily the most backhanded compliment one can make about any wine.)
(**How spoilt are we, that we label a Brunello merely "drinkable".)
Sassicaia, Tenuta San Guido, Bolgheri, Italy 2004
After that disappointment we were determined not to repeat our mistake, and chose as a followup one of the best wines I have ever had the fortune to drink. Along with Ornellaia, this wine occupies the highest echelons of the Super Tuscans, and can be considered Italian wine nobility. It was a deep ruby red and had an intoxicating bouquet of forest flowers along with a little smoke. It drank smoothly upon opening, but after being given 15 minutes really began to open up, and presented flavours of lavender, violet, and a little chocolate. It had a buttery mouth feel, very mineral and almost chalky - and was very fresh, lively and danced around your tongue. We had this with first a mushroom appetiser and then some bizteca, and in accompaniment with the food it kept morphing into something different with each taste. Every sip was an adventure in itself - and all conversation fell away as we rolled the wine around our tongues, each time searching for an added dimension, searching for another facet of this wonderful wine. It never disappointed. RK put it best when he leaned back in his seat and said simply, "Luxuriating."
Valdicava, Madonna del Piano, Brunello di Montalcino, Italy, 2001
At this time Brody joined us, and not wanting him to miss out, we ordered another bottle of the Sassicaia, meanwhile pondering what could we possibly move on to that would not represent a step down. Onward and upward indeed. We settled on this Brunello - it had a pretty label, very simple and sleek. Once I smelt it I knew I had fallen. This was the kind of Brunello that made me such a fool for the grape - dark, rich, velvety, complex. Perfect balance of tannins and acid, flavours of crushed berries with a deep earthy musk. The oak was strong but not dominant, and the finish lingered tantalizingly, long after the last sip was gone. Excellent, excellent wine, and while choosing between this and the Sassicaia made for some interesting debate, I say we were being silly, and should have just thanked our lucky stars to be able to drink two such fine wines.
Chateau Lafite Rothschild, Pauillac, Bordeaux, France, 1996
We then moved the party to Marcel's, where Ty met us for dinner. In the taxi ride over RK was already plotting, hatching plans and considering options for our next bottle. When you have reached perfection, where do you go? What would we drink next? The answer must have jumped out at him, for he made his decision within seconds of browsing the winelist. And what a selection it was.
The '96 has been acclaimed as the best wine that Lafite Rothschild has produced in recent years, and received a 100 point score from Robert Parker. As much as it was possible, my first sip and swallow made me completely and utterly forget the wines we had had earlier. The intensity almost knocked me out. Who knew wine could be this big, this powerful, and at the same time this complex, this delicate? The 96 Lafite was still in its infancy, and one could sense that it would develop into a beautiful, beautiful wine in 20 or 30 years time. But our time was now, and I did not complain.
Beautiful legs, strong terroir in the nose. Licorice, cream, cassis and a touch of mint. It was like drinking a decadent dessert, but with earth and minerals and acid and tannins and all the other flavours that make red wine so good. Huge, huge wine.
Hermitage, "La Sizeranne", M. Chapoutier, France, 1947
There was only one thing that could complement youth and technical precision, and that was age and grace. The present day M. Chapoutier has gotten on the capitalist gravy train and now makes a wide variety of wines, and has even expanded beyond French soil. The Mondavi of France, if you will. Still "La Sizeranne" remains one of their prestige labels, and while it is no first growth today - a bottle of the 1947 vintage promised much, especially after the Lafite.
As the maitre d' tenderly presented the bottle, we could see the label slowly peeling off. This was a wine that was made as the world reverberated and rebuilt itself after the dropping of the atom bomb and Hitler's surrender. The Marshall Plan was established, offering American aid to devastated European nations and presaging the United States' ascent to global superpower status. While all this was happening, somewhere in the Rhone Valley a master craftsman made this wine - without the technological advances we now take for granted, with minimal science and even less capital at his disposal.
It was astounding. Clearly the wine could have kept for another 10 or 15 years. It had lost much of its colour but still presented strongly, with a heavy taste of cedar and pencil shavings. As it continued to breathe, it became stronger and stronger, accompanying our meats perfectly while being absolutely enjoyable in its own right. It was truly, and pardon the cheesiness, a wine for the ages.
As we polished the bottle off we each marveled at the sediment that was left in this bottle - this bottle that was older than any of us at the table. Older, even, than Brody and myself put together. It was sobering to think that it was conceivable that Winston Churchill, one of my heroes, might have had this same bottle of wine. Entirely possible. That was enough to put a wistful smile on my face.
To say that it was quite a memorable night would probably not do it justice. It is not every night - and a school night, even - that one gets to try a bottle of wine that retails for more than a thousand dollars, and a bottle of wine that is from the World War 2 era. Oh, and let's not forget the others we had before that. As I walked home I despaired, for I knew I was going further and further down that one-way street Michael had talked about.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Tasting Notes 8/26/2008
Verbena, Brunello di Montalcino, Italy, 2001
That same weekend that Morgan and Meg were here, we went to the Blue Duck Tavern - one of my favourite DC restaurants - for what was quite, really, the perfect meal. Which is to say we ate well, drank well, and finished it off sitting outside sipping coffee and smoking cigars. We opened this bottle first and by common consensus this was the favoured of the two wines we had that night. Took a while to open but had good structure, aromas of earth, fruit and spices - with anise, raspberries and plums standing out. Very smooth drinking if lacking the power of a traditional Brunello.
Fontevecchia, Brunello di Montalcino, Italy, 1997
This was a bottle that Michael had given to me, and I had been saving it for a special occasion because I knew our tastes were similar and I would enjoy this. This was more aesthetically pleasing than the Verbena, with beautiful legs and a ruby-red colour. It was a little more subtle, with nice, rounded tannins and tasted of dark cherry and vanilla. If I had known what I do now, I would have swapped the order of the two - the earth and heft of the Verbena would have complemented the game and meats we were eating as entrees a little better. But this was still a fabulous wine in its own right, and will keep drinking for a long while to come.
Miner Family Vineyards, Chardonnay, USA, vintage unknown
I rarely ever drink white wines because most of the times my dining companions prefer red, and I know I do. Even in the summer I am perfectly happy drinking a Beaujolais or a CdP, or one of those fruit-forward wines from Spain or Italy. Drinking a white really does not occur to me. Yet there are times when you have to make compromises, and this lovely discovery was the byproduct of one such concession. I have the utmost respect for Miner Family Vineyards, I think they make great products, for reasonably affordable prices. This was another example, a clean, crisp oaky white with strong hints of apple and a long, tangy finish.
Tocai Friuliano, Ronco dei Tassi, Italy, 2005
Another beautiful discovery courtesy of yielding to popular opinion and getting a white wine. We had this wine at Centovini in New York, the first of three, and it seemed only appropriate to start with a white. Besides, there were three women at the table and there would have been many a disapproving look if I had not complied with their wishes. This wine was dramatic in colour and expression - the light made it apple-golden to the eye, and it had a strong, tangy taste of almonds and butterscotch.
Pelaverga Piccolo, "Basadone", Castello di Verduno, Italy, 2006
The second of the wines at Centovini - I was looking for a light red to transition towards the bigger, stronger wines I really wanted to be drinking. This served that purpose but was unfortunately not much to write home about. Balanced, fresh, semi-sweet, with berries and black pepper. Would probably have been good for sipping al fresco.
Aglianico del Vulture, "Valle del Noce", D'Angelo, Italy, 2003
The pick of the night, in my opinion but sadly not Shanaz's. Morgan had joined us by this time and he seemed pretty taken with the wine as well. I knew it was good when the person who showed up to present and open the bottle was not our regular waiter but instead the sommelier. He gave me that insider's smile and assured me that I had made a great choice. Robust, leathery red with strong acidity and hints of cloves and chocolate. Morgan tasted peppermint, which I thought was spot-on, and also quite a playful touch. I have not had much experience with Aglianico, but I think I will start paying more attention to it now.
That same weekend that Morgan and Meg were here, we went to the Blue Duck Tavern - one of my favourite DC restaurants - for what was quite, really, the perfect meal. Which is to say we ate well, drank well, and finished it off sitting outside sipping coffee and smoking cigars. We opened this bottle first and by common consensus this was the favoured of the two wines we had that night. Took a while to open but had good structure, aromas of earth, fruit and spices - with anise, raspberries and plums standing out. Very smooth drinking if lacking the power of a traditional Brunello.
Fontevecchia, Brunello di Montalcino, Italy, 1997
This was a bottle that Michael had given to me, and I had been saving it for a special occasion because I knew our tastes were similar and I would enjoy this. This was more aesthetically pleasing than the Verbena, with beautiful legs and a ruby-red colour. It was a little more subtle, with nice, rounded tannins and tasted of dark cherry and vanilla. If I had known what I do now, I would have swapped the order of the two - the earth and heft of the Verbena would have complemented the game and meats we were eating as entrees a little better. But this was still a fabulous wine in its own right, and will keep drinking for a long while to come.
Miner Family Vineyards, Chardonnay, USA, vintage unknown
I rarely ever drink white wines because most of the times my dining companions prefer red, and I know I do. Even in the summer I am perfectly happy drinking a Beaujolais or a CdP, or one of those fruit-forward wines from Spain or Italy. Drinking a white really does not occur to me. Yet there are times when you have to make compromises, and this lovely discovery was the byproduct of one such concession. I have the utmost respect for Miner Family Vineyards, I think they make great products, for reasonably affordable prices. This was another example, a clean, crisp oaky white with strong hints of apple and a long, tangy finish.
Tocai Friuliano, Ronco dei Tassi, Italy, 2005
Another beautiful discovery courtesy of yielding to popular opinion and getting a white wine. We had this wine at Centovini in New York, the first of three, and it seemed only appropriate to start with a white. Besides, there were three women at the table and there would have been many a disapproving look if I had not complied with their wishes. This wine was dramatic in colour and expression - the light made it apple-golden to the eye, and it had a strong, tangy taste of almonds and butterscotch.
Pelaverga Piccolo, "Basadone", Castello di Verduno, Italy, 2006
The second of the wines at Centovini - I was looking for a light red to transition towards the bigger, stronger wines I really wanted to be drinking. This served that purpose but was unfortunately not much to write home about. Balanced, fresh, semi-sweet, with berries and black pepper. Would probably have been good for sipping al fresco.
Aglianico del Vulture, "Valle del Noce", D'Angelo, Italy, 2003
The pick of the night, in my opinion but sadly not Shanaz's. Morgan had joined us by this time and he seemed pretty taken with the wine as well. I knew it was good when the person who showed up to present and open the bottle was not our regular waiter but instead the sommelier. He gave me that insider's smile and assured me that I had made a great choice. Robust, leathery red with strong acidity and hints of cloves and chocolate. Morgan tasted peppermint, which I thought was spot-on, and also quite a playful touch. I have not had much experience with Aglianico, but I think I will start paying more attention to it now.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Rhapsody in Blue
Blue Hill
75 Washington Place (at Sixth Ave)
New York, NY 10011
212-539-1776
I first heard of Dan Barber when I read this article in this New York Times (“Chaos Theory”, NYT August 7 2005), where he describes first-hand the idiosyncrasies of Daniel Bouley and a subsequent lesson in respecting food and its preparation. I was sold, and went on to read more about Mr Barber and his flagship Blue Hill at Stone Barns, its sister restaurant in Manhattan, and all the work he has done to promote awareness of issues such as sustainability and nutrition in the way we eat. Coming from a country with such a scarcity of natural resources that it grows little to none of the food it consumes, the idea of eating locally and responsibly resonates with me. It made perfect sense that I would one day make the pilgrimage to Blue Hill, that bastion of farm-fresh flavour – and I finally made the trip this past weekend.
Kellyn and Brian had decided a long while ago that they would visit the Big Apple this past weekend, and for weeks had pestered Hunter and myself to tag along. I made the pretense of holding out – I had been travelling for work quite a bit and wanted to spend the weekends at home – but in reality I had a free roundtrip Amtrak ticket and had been meaning to go up for a while. Some of my favourite people in the world live in New York, and Reed’s latest move to the city meant that one more had joined the ranks. I finally caved, took the train up on Friday and arranged for dinner with Morgan, Reed and Camille. We all enjoy a good meal, and upon consultation with Camille, I decided that this was where we would have it.
Named after the Barbers’ family farm in the Berkshires, Blue Hill at Stone Barns and its Manhattan counterpart both practice the art of showcasing what is primary about the ingredients – its original flavours and colours – and letting them speak for themselves. Barber and his team take care not to drown their food in sauce, and show amazing restraint in seasoning and dressing their dishes. This is nowhere better exemplified in the amuse-geule that was laid out for us – cherry tomatoes, almost naked in their simplicity. Morgan poked at them to see if anything had been done to them – a sprinkle of sea salt, maybe, a drizzle of olive oil – but if it had, we were none the wiser.
Reed had called dibs on the “This Morning’s Farm Egg” appetiser long before we had even set foot in the restaurant and it worked out well that there was something else for everyone. I ordered a half portion of the creamy farro, which came in an intensely sweet tomato sauce and topped with braised belly and crispy jowl. It seemed a little incongruous that one of the healthiest of grains should be paired with one of the fattiest of proteins, but that was the last thing on my mind as I slurped it all down. Camille had what was probably the standout of the appetizers, a chilled corn soup that was almost overpowering in its taste and freshness.
(Wine tasting notes – Jean Foillard, Cote du Py, Gamay, Morgon, Burgundy, France 2006: An earthy Beaujolais, not too overpowering. Sweet, spicy black cherries. A nice middle-to-heavyweight wine with tremendous versatility in pairing with food.)
Before I had made up my mind on the entrees, Camille had picked the pork and Morgan the lamb and I was left with no other meats. Both the fish dishes looked intriguing, and I finally settled on the wolf fish. The wolf fish, as I learned, was an eel-like white fish similar to a catfish and just as ugly – but it had a strong texture and would stand up better to the reds that we were drinking. It was paired with spring vegetables and toasted spices, which made the wine taste more complex.
(Wine tasting notes – Frecciarossa, “Giorgio Odero”, Pinot Nero, Oltrepo’ Pavese, Italy 2005: Excellent garnet colour and legs that went on forever. Hints of balsamic, dark fruits – plums, blackberries. Absolutely delicious.)
It was sobering to think that most of the ingredients that went into our meal had come from a farm just 30 miles north of where we sat, and some – like the egg that Reed ate – might even have just been harvested that day. The freshness of the ingredients was certainly evident, and it was an exciting challenge in itself to pick out all the individual flavours of the ingredients. For a palate that is not particularly cultured, like mine, it was tough because my tongue kept searching for that added flavouring, that extra pat of butter or bouillon, or – horrors – MSG. What it found in the end was ten times better, a natural intensity of flavour that is often masked through too much manipulation on the part of the chef. Like I said during the meal, a tomato in August is a beautiful thing.
75 Washington Place (at Sixth Ave)
New York, NY 10011
212-539-1776
I first heard of Dan Barber when I read this article in this New York Times (“Chaos Theory”, NYT August 7 2005), where he describes first-hand the idiosyncrasies of Daniel Bouley and a subsequent lesson in respecting food and its preparation. I was sold, and went on to read more about Mr Barber and his flagship Blue Hill at Stone Barns, its sister restaurant in Manhattan, and all the work he has done to promote awareness of issues such as sustainability and nutrition in the way we eat. Coming from a country with such a scarcity of natural resources that it grows little to none of the food it consumes, the idea of eating locally and responsibly resonates with me. It made perfect sense that I would one day make the pilgrimage to Blue Hill, that bastion of farm-fresh flavour – and I finally made the trip this past weekend.
Kellyn and Brian had decided a long while ago that they would visit the Big Apple this past weekend, and for weeks had pestered Hunter and myself to tag along. I made the pretense of holding out – I had been travelling for work quite a bit and wanted to spend the weekends at home – but in reality I had a free roundtrip Amtrak ticket and had been meaning to go up for a while. Some of my favourite people in the world live in New York, and Reed’s latest move to the city meant that one more had joined the ranks. I finally caved, took the train up on Friday and arranged for dinner with Morgan, Reed and Camille. We all enjoy a good meal, and upon consultation with Camille, I decided that this was where we would have it.
Named after the Barbers’ family farm in the Berkshires, Blue Hill at Stone Barns and its Manhattan counterpart both practice the art of showcasing what is primary about the ingredients – its original flavours and colours – and letting them speak for themselves. Barber and his team take care not to drown their food in sauce, and show amazing restraint in seasoning and dressing their dishes. This is nowhere better exemplified in the amuse-geule that was laid out for us – cherry tomatoes, almost naked in their simplicity. Morgan poked at them to see if anything had been done to them – a sprinkle of sea salt, maybe, a drizzle of olive oil – but if it had, we were none the wiser.
Reed had called dibs on the “This Morning’s Farm Egg” appetiser long before we had even set foot in the restaurant and it worked out well that there was something else for everyone. I ordered a half portion of the creamy farro, which came in an intensely sweet tomato sauce and topped with braised belly and crispy jowl. It seemed a little incongruous that one of the healthiest of grains should be paired with one of the fattiest of proteins, but that was the last thing on my mind as I slurped it all down. Camille had what was probably the standout of the appetizers, a chilled corn soup that was almost overpowering in its taste and freshness.
(Wine tasting notes – Jean Foillard, Cote du Py, Gamay, Morgon, Burgundy, France 2006: An earthy Beaujolais, not too overpowering. Sweet, spicy black cherries. A nice middle-to-heavyweight wine with tremendous versatility in pairing with food.)
Before I had made up my mind on the entrees, Camille had picked the pork and Morgan the lamb and I was left with no other meats. Both the fish dishes looked intriguing, and I finally settled on the wolf fish. The wolf fish, as I learned, was an eel-like white fish similar to a catfish and just as ugly – but it had a strong texture and would stand up better to the reds that we were drinking. It was paired with spring vegetables and toasted spices, which made the wine taste more complex.
(Wine tasting notes – Frecciarossa, “Giorgio Odero”, Pinot Nero, Oltrepo’ Pavese, Italy 2005: Excellent garnet colour and legs that went on forever. Hints of balsamic, dark fruits – plums, blackberries. Absolutely delicious.)
It was sobering to think that most of the ingredients that went into our meal had come from a farm just 30 miles north of where we sat, and some – like the egg that Reed ate – might even have just been harvested that day. The freshness of the ingredients was certainly evident, and it was an exciting challenge in itself to pick out all the individual flavours of the ingredients. For a palate that is not particularly cultured, like mine, it was tough because my tongue kept searching for that added flavouring, that extra pat of butter or bouillon, or – horrors – MSG. What it found in the end was ten times better, a natural intensity of flavour that is often masked through too much manipulation on the part of the chef. Like I said during the meal, a tomato in August is a beautiful thing.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Viva Espana
Taberna del Alabardero
1776 I St NW
Washington DC 20006
202-429-2200
With the football team’s Euro victory, Nadal’s successes at Roland Garros and SW17, and more recently Castre’s triumph in the Tour de France, this has undoubtedly been a great year for Spain. It is recognition that has come somewhat belatedly in all other arenas but cooking. In cooking, Spain has been leading the way for quite some time now – names like Ferran Adria, Santi Santamaria and Jose Andres are almost requisite knowledge for any gastronome. I love Spanish food for its big, bold flavours; I love the bitter tang that olives impart, I love the defiant orange hue that saffron brings to a dish. And so it was with high expectations that I ventured to an establishment that the Spanish government calls “the best Spanish restaurant outside of Spain” – a restaurant right here in little old Washington DC. I had heard many good things about Taberna del Alabardero, not least from RK who has certainly eaten at enough good restaurants to know the real deal when he sees it. I expected great things.
The consultants in my company got together recently for a training course in DC, and I selfishly anointed myself the “One Who Gets To Pick The Restaurant”. We all enjoy a good meal out (I honestly believe that is the only reason they hired me) and fighting off the sly self-serving suggestions of others in order to fulfill my own self-serving wants was trickier than I thought. But in the end not too many people were disappointed when I picked this place – Ty had been there before and had only good things to say about it.
The Taberna is in an odd location, right in that no man’s land between downtown and the West End on 18th St, one of the busier throughfares in the District. Tall office buildings soar around it and with its Rioja red awning and distinctive lettering – it looks rather out of place. I arrived early and immediately ordered myself a tinto de verano. Hunter had recommended this, and it turned out to be exactly what I needed.
Tinto de verano, translated as “summer red”’, is a refreshing seasonal drink much like sangria, but made by mixing equal parts of red wine and soda - typically La Casera, which is similar to Sprite. It is one of the secrets that the Spanish do not market abroad extensively. I much prefer it to sangria, which can be rather sweet and stick to the roof of your mouth sometimes. Also, with sangria there are more combinations and possibilities for people to absolutely screw it up, whereas any bartender with half a brain can pour a tinto de verano.
There is a bar of tapas right outside the main dining room, where you can take your pick of cold and warm appetizers. But what caught my attention was the leg of Jamon iberico just chilling on a table, in plain sight, illuminated by the dim glow of the heat lamp, half carved and tantalizingly appetizing. Sheer marketing genius – just like bars that serve peanuts because they make you thirsty – but I fell hook, line and sinker for it anyway. I was already hungry, and now I was ravenous.
I could hardly wait for everyone to arrive, and when we were finally seated I paused to take in the surroundings. The walls were painted a deep red, with just the right amount of trim and flourish adorning the hallways and furnishings – it was just shy of kitsch and oozed a certain Old World charm. We started off with a heavy-hitting wine, a 2003 Bodegas Mauro Vino de la Tierra – which while enjoyable was a little too concentrated to open our palates with. It had wonderful accents of vanilla and tobacco but was very dark and not very fruit forward, which I thought rather atypical of Tempranillos, and of Spanish wine in general.
I always find it amusing when people are unsure whether or not to order a personal appetizer, and as a result suggest one, or several “communal” appetizers for the table. Nobody wants to be the one who decides on what to order, and it takes a special breed of friends to agree exactly on what those choices are. I always keep my mouth shut in instances like these, for I know there is never the right thing to say. For every person in this world there is a palate and a preference, and – particularly when there are more people at the table – it is often hard to reach a consensus. Somebody is inevitably disappointed, and it is never polite to say so when you are.
So when Ty hesitantly suggested getting the bacalao, I was pleasantly surprised. Not many people know what bacalao is, let alone like it. Ty was very gracious about the whole issue, and immediately qualified his suggestion with a non-committal “But we don’t have to get it if you guys don’t want to.” I did want to, and immediately threw my backing behind him. Sadly it did not turn out to be very good, and neither were the other appetizers that we picked. Democracy, as history will no doubt prove, does not always yield the optimum result.
I was convinced I had found my gastronomical soul-mate when Ty beat me to suggesting that we should also get paella for the table, and squid ink paella at that. Now there are very few things I love more than seafood, and being a nice Chinese boy I am partial to rice. A rice dish made with assorted seafood, to me, is heaven on a plate. I also like squid ink very, very much. The dish that arrived was lovingly spooned onto our plates by the waiter, with the final drizzle of a squid ink sauce the coup de grace. It was beautiful presentation, and I am glad to report that the paella lived up to the hype. The squid ink and fresh seafood added a mariner’s tang to the gummy, starchy goodness of the rice, and I tasted the sweet accents of saffron and paprika, judiciously used. I did not have to pepper the dish, and in my world that is very high praise indeed.
I had the pork loin for an entrée, and it was good without being spectacular. It clearly bore the hand of a skilled cook, for it showcased the big, bold flavours and spices of Spanish cuisine, sauced classically – which is to say heavily – but not once was it overbearing, and the flavours melded together as if by some strange force.
What did stand out was the wine that the sommelier picked for us – a 2002 JC Conde “Neo”, Ribera del Duero. This was a Spanish wine to end all Spanish wines and for me typified what Spanish wine was. It was bright and full-bodied, very fruity and sensual, with rich, opulent aromas of espresso, crème de cassis and white chocolate. If ever there was a wine that made you feel like dancing, this was it.
The Taberna was a good experience, but when the bill finally came I had a little sticker shock. It is funny how much the price of an item casts a relative judgment on its quality. I found myself thinking, “Well my pork loin was good, but was it thirty-six-dollar-good?” One of the main reasons why the Taberna is so expensive (and probably also the main reason it is so authentic) is that it sources many of its ingredients directly from Spain. I signed the check and sighed inwardly, and as I did so I started thinking of the explaining I would have to do.
1776 I St NW
Washington DC 20006
202-429-2200
With the football team’s Euro victory, Nadal’s successes at Roland Garros and SW17, and more recently Castre’s triumph in the Tour de France, this has undoubtedly been a great year for Spain. It is recognition that has come somewhat belatedly in all other arenas but cooking. In cooking, Spain has been leading the way for quite some time now – names like Ferran Adria, Santi Santamaria and Jose Andres are almost requisite knowledge for any gastronome. I love Spanish food for its big, bold flavours; I love the bitter tang that olives impart, I love the defiant orange hue that saffron brings to a dish. And so it was with high expectations that I ventured to an establishment that the Spanish government calls “the best Spanish restaurant outside of Spain” – a restaurant right here in little old Washington DC. I had heard many good things about Taberna del Alabardero, not least from RK who has certainly eaten at enough good restaurants to know the real deal when he sees it. I expected great things.
The consultants in my company got together recently for a training course in DC, and I selfishly anointed myself the “One Who Gets To Pick The Restaurant”. We all enjoy a good meal out (I honestly believe that is the only reason they hired me) and fighting off the sly self-serving suggestions of others in order to fulfill my own self-serving wants was trickier than I thought. But in the end not too many people were disappointed when I picked this place – Ty had been there before and had only good things to say about it.
The Taberna is in an odd location, right in that no man’s land between downtown and the West End on 18th St, one of the busier throughfares in the District. Tall office buildings soar around it and with its Rioja red awning and distinctive lettering – it looks rather out of place. I arrived early and immediately ordered myself a tinto de verano. Hunter had recommended this, and it turned out to be exactly what I needed.
Tinto de verano, translated as “summer red”’, is a refreshing seasonal drink much like sangria, but made by mixing equal parts of red wine and soda - typically La Casera, which is similar to Sprite. It is one of the secrets that the Spanish do not market abroad extensively. I much prefer it to sangria, which can be rather sweet and stick to the roof of your mouth sometimes. Also, with sangria there are more combinations and possibilities for people to absolutely screw it up, whereas any bartender with half a brain can pour a tinto de verano.
There is a bar of tapas right outside the main dining room, where you can take your pick of cold and warm appetizers. But what caught my attention was the leg of Jamon iberico just chilling on a table, in plain sight, illuminated by the dim glow of the heat lamp, half carved and tantalizingly appetizing. Sheer marketing genius – just like bars that serve peanuts because they make you thirsty – but I fell hook, line and sinker for it anyway. I was already hungry, and now I was ravenous.
I could hardly wait for everyone to arrive, and when we were finally seated I paused to take in the surroundings. The walls were painted a deep red, with just the right amount of trim and flourish adorning the hallways and furnishings – it was just shy of kitsch and oozed a certain Old World charm. We started off with a heavy-hitting wine, a 2003 Bodegas Mauro Vino de la Tierra – which while enjoyable was a little too concentrated to open our palates with. It had wonderful accents of vanilla and tobacco but was very dark and not very fruit forward, which I thought rather atypical of Tempranillos, and of Spanish wine in general.
I always find it amusing when people are unsure whether or not to order a personal appetizer, and as a result suggest one, or several “communal” appetizers for the table. Nobody wants to be the one who decides on what to order, and it takes a special breed of friends to agree exactly on what those choices are. I always keep my mouth shut in instances like these, for I know there is never the right thing to say. For every person in this world there is a palate and a preference, and – particularly when there are more people at the table – it is often hard to reach a consensus. Somebody is inevitably disappointed, and it is never polite to say so when you are.
So when Ty hesitantly suggested getting the bacalao, I was pleasantly surprised. Not many people know what bacalao is, let alone like it. Ty was very gracious about the whole issue, and immediately qualified his suggestion with a non-committal “But we don’t have to get it if you guys don’t want to.” I did want to, and immediately threw my backing behind him. Sadly it did not turn out to be very good, and neither were the other appetizers that we picked. Democracy, as history will no doubt prove, does not always yield the optimum result.
I was convinced I had found my gastronomical soul-mate when Ty beat me to suggesting that we should also get paella for the table, and squid ink paella at that. Now there are very few things I love more than seafood, and being a nice Chinese boy I am partial to rice. A rice dish made with assorted seafood, to me, is heaven on a plate. I also like squid ink very, very much. The dish that arrived was lovingly spooned onto our plates by the waiter, with the final drizzle of a squid ink sauce the coup de grace. It was beautiful presentation, and I am glad to report that the paella lived up to the hype. The squid ink and fresh seafood added a mariner’s tang to the gummy, starchy goodness of the rice, and I tasted the sweet accents of saffron and paprika, judiciously used. I did not have to pepper the dish, and in my world that is very high praise indeed.
I had the pork loin for an entrée, and it was good without being spectacular. It clearly bore the hand of a skilled cook, for it showcased the big, bold flavours and spices of Spanish cuisine, sauced classically – which is to say heavily – but not once was it overbearing, and the flavours melded together as if by some strange force.
What did stand out was the wine that the sommelier picked for us – a 2002 JC Conde “Neo”, Ribera del Duero. This was a Spanish wine to end all Spanish wines and for me typified what Spanish wine was. It was bright and full-bodied, very fruity and sensual, with rich, opulent aromas of espresso, crème de cassis and white chocolate. If ever there was a wine that made you feel like dancing, this was it.
The Taberna was a good experience, but when the bill finally came I had a little sticker shock. It is funny how much the price of an item casts a relative judgment on its quality. I found myself thinking, “Well my pork loin was good, but was it thirty-six-dollar-good?” One of the main reasons why the Taberna is so expensive (and probably also the main reason it is so authentic) is that it sources many of its ingredients directly from Spain. I signed the check and sighed inwardly, and as I did so I started thinking of the explaining I would have to do.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Tasting Notes, week ending 4/20/2008
Maybe I should turn this into a wine blog. I felt like I had to write this down somewhere because I had the fortune of tasting two stellar wines this week.
Miner Family Vineyards, “The Oracle”, 2005
Another great find at a reasonable price at Anthony’s in Plattsburgh, NY. The markups at this restaurant are unbelievable. I doubt there is anything that is priced more than 200% of retail. We had this beautiful Bordeaux-style Cab blend and it was quite simply, exquisite. Dark cherries and spices, a nice leathery taste, and a lush, cool finish. Deep, intense flavours without being hostile – opened up very nicely and once it started breathing, was an absolute delight to drink.
Masseto, Tenuta dell’Ornellaia, Bolgheri IGT, 1998
People hate on Merlot so much more now after “Sideways”, and I must confess I am not a particularly big fan of the grape. But I had a lovely dinner with Reed at 1789 the other day and picked – with the waiter’s assistance – an incredibly reasonably priced bottle of a 100% Merlot from the producers of Ornellaia. It was a shame that I picked my wine before I had decided on my food because I wound up picking all seafood dishes, but even if the Masseto had not been overwhelmingly complementary, it was still unequivocally spectacular. It had the earthy tones of most Italian wines and drank like dark velvet. Plums, tobacco and cedar. A nose for the ages and a finish for miles. Beautiful. Just beautiful.
Miner Family Vineyards, “The Oracle”, 2005
Another great find at a reasonable price at Anthony’s in Plattsburgh, NY. The markups at this restaurant are unbelievable. I doubt there is anything that is priced more than 200% of retail. We had this beautiful Bordeaux-style Cab blend and it was quite simply, exquisite. Dark cherries and spices, a nice leathery taste, and a lush, cool finish. Deep, intense flavours without being hostile – opened up very nicely and once it started breathing, was an absolute delight to drink.
Masseto, Tenuta dell’Ornellaia, Bolgheri IGT, 1998
People hate on Merlot so much more now after “Sideways”, and I must confess I am not a particularly big fan of the grape. But I had a lovely dinner with Reed at 1789 the other day and picked – with the waiter’s assistance – an incredibly reasonably priced bottle of a 100% Merlot from the producers of Ornellaia. It was a shame that I picked my wine before I had decided on my food because I wound up picking all seafood dishes, but even if the Masseto had not been overwhelmingly complementary, it was still unequivocally spectacular. It had the earthy tones of most Italian wines and drank like dark velvet. Plums, tobacco and cedar. A nose for the ages and a finish for miles. Beautiful. Just beautiful.
Tasting Notes, week ending 4/6/2008
Sometimes, I love my job because I get to drink lots and lots of really good wine. This was all consumed over the course of a week-long engagement in upstate NY.
Silver Oak, Alexander Valley, Cabernet Sauvignon, 2003
Always reliable. I like this Californian cab very much. Dark ruby-red, rich, good acidity and sweet fruit – peach, perhaps? Drinks very well. It was on the wine list for $90+ when it retails for $65 a bottle. With a markup like that, it practically picked itself.
Brunello di Montalcino Riserva, Il Poggione, 1995
Old-style Brunello, great structure, balance and elegance. Intense bouquet of dried fruit, dances over your taste buds towards a cool, enduring finish. A wonderful experience. I like Brunello because it challenges more of your senses – sight, smell, taste – than other wines. At least this did for me.
Chateau Talbot St Julien, 1995
I think Bordeaux is often not for everyone because some can be harsh, austere and take a long while to open up. This one, though, is very palatable and friendly even to the novice Bordeaux drinker. Creamy, well rounded with enough oak to satisfy the old school die-hards but not too much to put anyone off. Good tannins, not overpowering, and very delectable fruit – cranberries. Smoky notes give this wine a character and complexity that I enjoyed very much.
Brunello di Montalcino Riserva, Camigliano “Gualto”, 2001
We started off hitting hard with this modern-style Brunello, acclaimed as the best-ever from this producer and described as having “muscular legs”, which is good for a laugh no matter how old you are. Weak nose but turned out to be full, rich and velvety with a touch of musk, which I appreciated. Chocolate, raisins, and berries. I liked this, it was a subtly different take on Brunello and a hell of a way to start the night.
Colli di Salerno, Montevetrano, 2001
Silky-sweet from start to finish, very nice fruit and spice – plums, cinnamon and nutmeg, very minerally. Less tannic than the Gualto so I felt we were taking a step down, but still strong enough to pair with red meat and a very, very delicious wine on its own. Grew into its own after an hour open.
Ornellaia, Tenuta dell’Ornellaia, Bolgheri IGT, 2004
I have never had this before but have only heard good things about it. They are all true. I almost felt like this took the best of the previous two wines and combined them – it had the structure and the tannins of the Gualto, and the rich sweetness of the Montevetrano. Currants and dried fruit in a very crisp, very tart balance of acid and sugar and tannins and all the things that make red wine so delicious. The thing about this wine was that everything was so “put together” and in its right place – not a single note out of step. Intense aroma and long, long finish make this wine a wonderful trip from start to finish.
Silver Oak, Alexander Valley, Cabernet Sauvignon, 2003
Always reliable. I like this Californian cab very much. Dark ruby-red, rich, good acidity and sweet fruit – peach, perhaps? Drinks very well. It was on the wine list for $90+ when it retails for $65 a bottle. With a markup like that, it practically picked itself.
Brunello di Montalcino Riserva, Il Poggione, 1995
Old-style Brunello, great structure, balance and elegance. Intense bouquet of dried fruit, dances over your taste buds towards a cool, enduring finish. A wonderful experience. I like Brunello because it challenges more of your senses – sight, smell, taste – than other wines. At least this did for me.
Chateau Talbot St Julien, 1995
I think Bordeaux is often not for everyone because some can be harsh, austere and take a long while to open up. This one, though, is very palatable and friendly even to the novice Bordeaux drinker. Creamy, well rounded with enough oak to satisfy the old school die-hards but not too much to put anyone off. Good tannins, not overpowering, and very delectable fruit – cranberries. Smoky notes give this wine a character and complexity that I enjoyed very much.
Brunello di Montalcino Riserva, Camigliano “Gualto”, 2001
We started off hitting hard with this modern-style Brunello, acclaimed as the best-ever from this producer and described as having “muscular legs”, which is good for a laugh no matter how old you are. Weak nose but turned out to be full, rich and velvety with a touch of musk, which I appreciated. Chocolate, raisins, and berries. I liked this, it was a subtly different take on Brunello and a hell of a way to start the night.
Colli di Salerno, Montevetrano, 2001
Silky-sweet from start to finish, very nice fruit and spice – plums, cinnamon and nutmeg, very minerally. Less tannic than the Gualto so I felt we were taking a step down, but still strong enough to pair with red meat and a very, very delicious wine on its own. Grew into its own after an hour open.
Ornellaia, Tenuta dell’Ornellaia, Bolgheri IGT, 2004
I have never had this before but have only heard good things about it. They are all true. I almost felt like this took the best of the previous two wines and combined them – it had the structure and the tannins of the Gualto, and the rich sweetness of the Montevetrano. Currants and dried fruit in a very crisp, very tart balance of acid and sugar and tannins and all the things that make red wine so delicious. The thing about this wine was that everything was so “put together” and in its right place – not a single note out of step. Intense aroma and long, long finish make this wine a wonderful trip from start to finish.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
New York, New York
Eleven Madison Park
11 Madison Ave (at 24th St)
New York, NY 10010
212-889-0905
A couple of months ago, at dinner with my team from work, we happened upon the conversation topic of restaurants in New York. None of us lived there, and at an hour’s drive Michael was probably the closest, but the common consensus was – for fear of stating the obvious – that New York offered dining options that were far superior to our respective cities. I love DC, but in my opinion it just cannot compare. The sheer quantity and quality of fine dining in a city where everyone is a gourmand is something worth celebrating. So we decided that since we would find ourselves in the city in two weeks, we would throw caution to the wind, and go out for a nice meal.
I was charged with the task of picking a place, and to be honest I probably spent more time thinking about it than necessary. It was kind of like picking your fantasy baseball team, or your March Madness bracket. You check your watch and suddenly it’s four o’clock and you are nowhere near a decision. The occasion – and, more importantly, our budget – did not warrant a trip to one of the “holy quartet”: Per Se, Le Bernardin, Alain Ducasse or Daniel, but everything else was on the table, pardon the pun.
The list was long and distinguished, and I could fill pages upon pages just writing about my decision process, but that wouldn’t be very exciting, would it? Suffice to say that we wound up going to Eleven Madison Park. I had heard good things about it especially after the arrival of Daniel Humm as head chef, and the space was supposed to be excellent. It had not been my first choice but life is full of compromises. You do what you can and you do what you must, and you try not to lose too much of yourself along the way. In this case I hardly lost much by making this compromise.
I arrived on time, which as I have said many times before and will no doubt do so many times again, is early by my company standards. Very early, in fact. I had time for a pre-dinner glass of wine and opted for a glass of the house Châteauneuf du Pape. I don’t remember what it was but I remember not being impressed. I was impressed though, by the dining room. To enter, you walk through revolving doors into a vestibule that gives you no clue and in no way prepares you for the opulence of the dining room. I remember walking in and doing a double-take, pausing to take it all in. It was American Art Deco with a soaring ceiling and 35-foot windows, and was adorned with floral arrangements that belied that often-understated virtue that is so critical to class and taste – restraint. I thought to myself that this space had found its calling (or vice versa), for I could not think of many other things I wanted to do in that room other than eat, and eat well.
Morgan had trailed for a day in the kitchen at Eleven Madison, and remarked to me that Chef Humm ran a tight ship in the kitchen, and was very precise. That precision translated into the rest of the restaurant, with shiny flatware arranged just so on crisp white tablecloths and not a hair out of place. But where the precision shone through the most was the food. Clean lines and cubic shapes dominated the presentation and plates were sauced with care and meticulous exactitude. In a bizarre way it made you want to play with your food, just to mess things up, which I must confess made the meal more enjoyable.
The amuse-bouches threatened to dampen the evening, for out of a bite-sized selection of tuna tartare, sweetbread, and foie gras only the latter took my breath away. But the appetizers and entrées more than made up for the misstep. The beets in the beet salad came cubed (a cute touch), and the gnocchi came with just the right amount of sauce – another nod to the precision of the kitchen. I had never had gnocchi paired with seafood before (it came with shrimp and calamari in a Meyer lemon-based sauce), and the acidity of the sauce and seafood complemented the earthiness of the pasta perfectly.
I had the rabbit for an entrée, but I do not remember much of it because I was hit with the biggest pang of food envy ever known to mankind. Tom and Brody had ordered the Muscovy duck for two, glazed with lavender honey, and after I tried a slice the rest of my meal suddenly became bland and unpalatable. People have remarked that I close my eyes when I enjoy my food but as I ate the duck my eyes were wide open and remained that way for a long while as I muttered, “Wow.” over and over to myself, silently.
I have often wondered if other people’s food only tastes better because you only get one bite of it, but whatever the case I was extremely jealous and mildly bitter. The only reason that I had passed over the duck was because I’d had duck only two nights before (at an establishment not anywhere near the quality of Eleven Madison, unfortunately). But all is not lost. There is fortunately, in my experience, only one cure for this dreaded condition – to come back to the restaurant.
Next time I’m definitely getting the duck.
Wine Tasting Notes:
Gros Frere et Sœur, Clos Vougeot Musigni, 2005 (Jason’s choice)
I’d had this wine before at another similarly opulent dinner at Le Paradou in DC, and had been very impressed, so when I saw it on the wine list it almost picked itself. When he brought it over the sommelier remarked that this was one of his favourites, to which I scoffed, “You must tell that to everyone.” Thankfully he did not take offense at my spot of glibness, but went on to rather earnestly convince me that he really did like the wine. By the end of the conversation I was ready to buy insurance from him. The wine itself was medium to full-bodied, with a great nose and a long smooth finish. It had notes of the dark fruit that I am such a fan of – plums, cherries, blackberries – and also musk and oak. It was a little young, but showed signs of opening into a very lovely, very typically French wine.
Domaine du Vieux Télégraphe, Châteauneuf du Pape, 2000 (Michael’s choice)
I was introduced to Châteauneuf du Pape by Saskia, and have been a fan ever since. In keeping with the French theme Michael picked out this bottle. It was a small step down from the body and structure of the Burgundy that we’d had earlier but still entirely enjoyable. It had the same dark fruit but was sweeter, more fruit-forward and less tannic than the previous wine.
Domaine de la Grange des Peres, 2003 (Brody’s choice)
This was surprisingly very, very good. I don’t know why I had expected so little from it, but I was very, very surprised. In a good way. For the price (it was the cheapest of the three), it was an excellent bottle. Very well rounded and hit every part of your tongue and taste buds with a harmonious balance of sweetness, acidity and tannins. Some wines are good to taste, some wines are good to savour, and some wines are good for just drinking. This one was all three.
11 Madison Ave (at 24th St)
New York, NY 10010
212-889-0905
A couple of months ago, at dinner with my team from work, we happened upon the conversation topic of restaurants in New York. None of us lived there, and at an hour’s drive Michael was probably the closest, but the common consensus was – for fear of stating the obvious – that New York offered dining options that were far superior to our respective cities. I love DC, but in my opinion it just cannot compare. The sheer quantity and quality of fine dining in a city where everyone is a gourmand is something worth celebrating. So we decided that since we would find ourselves in the city in two weeks, we would throw caution to the wind, and go out for a nice meal.
I was charged with the task of picking a place, and to be honest I probably spent more time thinking about it than necessary. It was kind of like picking your fantasy baseball team, or your March Madness bracket. You check your watch and suddenly it’s four o’clock and you are nowhere near a decision. The occasion – and, more importantly, our budget – did not warrant a trip to one of the “holy quartet”: Per Se, Le Bernardin, Alain Ducasse or Daniel, but everything else was on the table, pardon the pun.
The list was long and distinguished, and I could fill pages upon pages just writing about my decision process, but that wouldn’t be very exciting, would it? Suffice to say that we wound up going to Eleven Madison Park. I had heard good things about it especially after the arrival of Daniel Humm as head chef, and the space was supposed to be excellent. It had not been my first choice but life is full of compromises. You do what you can and you do what you must, and you try not to lose too much of yourself along the way. In this case I hardly lost much by making this compromise.
I arrived on time, which as I have said many times before and will no doubt do so many times again, is early by my company standards. Very early, in fact. I had time for a pre-dinner glass of wine and opted for a glass of the house Châteauneuf du Pape. I don’t remember what it was but I remember not being impressed. I was impressed though, by the dining room. To enter, you walk through revolving doors into a vestibule that gives you no clue and in no way prepares you for the opulence of the dining room. I remember walking in and doing a double-take, pausing to take it all in. It was American Art Deco with a soaring ceiling and 35-foot windows, and was adorned with floral arrangements that belied that often-understated virtue that is so critical to class and taste – restraint. I thought to myself that this space had found its calling (or vice versa), for I could not think of many other things I wanted to do in that room other than eat, and eat well.
Morgan had trailed for a day in the kitchen at Eleven Madison, and remarked to me that Chef Humm ran a tight ship in the kitchen, and was very precise. That precision translated into the rest of the restaurant, with shiny flatware arranged just so on crisp white tablecloths and not a hair out of place. But where the precision shone through the most was the food. Clean lines and cubic shapes dominated the presentation and plates were sauced with care and meticulous exactitude. In a bizarre way it made you want to play with your food, just to mess things up, which I must confess made the meal more enjoyable.
The amuse-bouches threatened to dampen the evening, for out of a bite-sized selection of tuna tartare, sweetbread, and foie gras only the latter took my breath away. But the appetizers and entrées more than made up for the misstep. The beets in the beet salad came cubed (a cute touch), and the gnocchi came with just the right amount of sauce – another nod to the precision of the kitchen. I had never had gnocchi paired with seafood before (it came with shrimp and calamari in a Meyer lemon-based sauce), and the acidity of the sauce and seafood complemented the earthiness of the pasta perfectly.
I had the rabbit for an entrée, but I do not remember much of it because I was hit with the biggest pang of food envy ever known to mankind. Tom and Brody had ordered the Muscovy duck for two, glazed with lavender honey, and after I tried a slice the rest of my meal suddenly became bland and unpalatable. People have remarked that I close my eyes when I enjoy my food but as I ate the duck my eyes were wide open and remained that way for a long while as I muttered, “Wow.” over and over to myself, silently.
I have often wondered if other people’s food only tastes better because you only get one bite of it, but whatever the case I was extremely jealous and mildly bitter. The only reason that I had passed over the duck was because I’d had duck only two nights before (at an establishment not anywhere near the quality of Eleven Madison, unfortunately). But all is not lost. There is fortunately, in my experience, only one cure for this dreaded condition – to come back to the restaurant.
Next time I’m definitely getting the duck.
Wine Tasting Notes:
Gros Frere et Sœur, Clos Vougeot Musigni, 2005 (Jason’s choice)
I’d had this wine before at another similarly opulent dinner at Le Paradou in DC, and had been very impressed, so when I saw it on the wine list it almost picked itself. When he brought it over the sommelier remarked that this was one of his favourites, to which I scoffed, “You must tell that to everyone.” Thankfully he did not take offense at my spot of glibness, but went on to rather earnestly convince me that he really did like the wine. By the end of the conversation I was ready to buy insurance from him. The wine itself was medium to full-bodied, with a great nose and a long smooth finish. It had notes of the dark fruit that I am such a fan of – plums, cherries, blackberries – and also musk and oak. It was a little young, but showed signs of opening into a very lovely, very typically French wine.
Domaine du Vieux Télégraphe, Châteauneuf du Pape, 2000 (Michael’s choice)
I was introduced to Châteauneuf du Pape by Saskia, and have been a fan ever since. In keeping with the French theme Michael picked out this bottle. It was a small step down from the body and structure of the Burgundy that we’d had earlier but still entirely enjoyable. It had the same dark fruit but was sweeter, more fruit-forward and less tannic than the previous wine.
Domaine de la Grange des Peres, 2003 (Brody’s choice)
This was surprisingly very, very good. I don’t know why I had expected so little from it, but I was very, very surprised. In a good way. For the price (it was the cheapest of the three), it was an excellent bottle. Very well rounded and hit every part of your tongue and taste buds with a harmonious balance of sweetness, acidity and tannins. Some wines are good to taste, some wines are good to savour, and some wines are good for just drinking. This one was all three.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Tasting Notes 3/22/2008
I have never been one to believe in Zodiac signs and how people born under certain signs get along better with people of certain other signs; but when the birthdays of all your dearest friends seem to cluster together, it does appear to lend credence to that theory, doesn’t it? I find that everyone I know seems to have been born in March, May or October (I myself was born in October). Morgan came down this past weekend to visit and I took the opportunity to throw a dinner party in celebration of his birthday as well as Brian’s and Jenna’s, which are also upcoming.
Beer-braised Mussels with Chicken Sausage:
Morgan and I picked up a 2 lb bag of mussels from Whole Foods and were thoroughly outraged as we picked through them. More than half of them were bad and we wound up with so few to work with that we had to add sausage to the recipe to make a substantial dish. The ones that we did wind up cooking tasted a little flat and had none of the natural sweetness of fresh mussels. The one saving grace was that they were rather large and fleshy but in our minds it was the sort of travesty that class action suits were made of.
Venica & Venica Sauvignon, Ronco delle mele, 2006:
Cool, crisp and not overly sugary, with strong grapefruit and melon accents. Sometimes you have a good wine and it is such an intense experience that you really cannot drink too much of it too quickly, as if every sip took something out of you. The absolute opposite is true of this wine – I just want to gulp it down. It is that enjoyable. My first experience with this wine came last year at Babbo in New York. I remember being secretly delighted that Elisabeth, who was also at the table, did not drink – for that meant more for the rest of us. I am an evil person, I know.
Gaja, Ca’Marcanda Promis, 2005:
My boss told me a story one time of how he was in a dusty town somewhere in Italy, found himself in a winebar in the early afternoon, and asked if the proprietor had any Gaja. The proprietor told him to wait right there and left him and his wife alone in the store, to run the several blocks home to his own cellars. He returned not only with a bottle of Gaja, but with two friends, for the only reason that opening a good bottle of wine is worth it, is if you have good people to drink it with. Apparently they had been waiting for just the occasion to open the bottle together, and my boss’ random question had somehow convinced the proprietor that that was the day it was going to happen. The story then goes, that when asked for his opinion on the wine, my boss had, in a characteristic fit of pomp and circumstance, declared, “E come latte di mamma (It’s like mother’s milk).” The proprietor, taken aback at the verity and eloquence of this statement, finally managed a smile and closed the discussion with equal gravitas – “Signore, cosa dici è molto forte, ma vero (Sir, what you say is very strong – but true).”
Now, Gaja wines are very expensive, especially the ones from the original Gaja estate in Piedmont, and I have no business even thinking about buying them, but fortunately in 1996 Angelo Gaja bought a second vineyard in Tuscany where he now makes three wines – Promis, Magari and the one that carries the estate’s name, Ca’Marcanda – in that order of price and quality. I have not had the Magari, but I remember the Ca’Marcanda to be spicy, complex and very playful. The other day I saw the Promis selling in my neighbourhood liquor store – the probability of which I had previously thought akin to me making out with Nicole Kidman, which is to say on the seventh of never. I decided, on a whim, to purchase several bottles. We opened a bottle of it between dinner courses, and it was perhaps a little too young, but with definite character. I tasted both fruits and nuts – specifically cherries, a hint of pistachios – but it was not as full bodied as I like my red wines. I suppose it is wrong to expect anybody or any thing to be something that they aren’t or it isn’t, so I tried my hardest to appreciate it for what it was.
Duck Leg Confit and Pan-Seared Duck Breast in a Juniper Berry and Honey Sauce, with Roasted Beets and Caramelised Onions:
I love duck. I’d tried a taste of an absolutely phenomenal duck dish at Eleven Madison Park in New York recently, spiced with herbs en Provence and lavender honey, and wanted to recreate it. Unfortunately Whole Foods (those bastards really ruined my meal) did not carry any lavender so we bought some dried juniper berries instead. I’d cured the duck legs in salt, thyme and bay leaves for two days before the meal, and roasted them in rendered duck fat and many, many cloves of garlic. They turned out really, really salty (I might cure them for less time the next time) but crispy and delicious all the same. Morgan timed the duck breasts to perfection and they were remarkably tender. He also did the beets, which were excellent, so that was two for two on his part. Well done Morgan.
Ciacci Piccolomini, Brunello di Montalcino, 2002
2002 was widely acknowledged to be a disastrous year for Brunellos, so I was able to pick up several bottles of my favourite Brunello for under 30 dollars a bottle. I figured that even if it were crap, it was still a Brunello, which should count for something. Now I have had the ‘97s, ‘98s, ‘99s and ‘01s (and have been remarkably lucky in that regard) and there is no doubt that this is by far the worst of the lot, but it is still pretty good. Like the other vintages, this had dark fruit and spice, but nowhere near the levels of body and depth of the others. It was kind of like taking a piece of paper, photocopying it, running the copy through the copier again, and then repeating that step twenty times. The 2002 was a pale shadow of the best Ciacci Brunellos, muted and not as complex, but still entirely enjoyable, especially if you are three bottles into the night.
Beer-braised Mussels with Chicken Sausage:
Morgan and I picked up a 2 lb bag of mussels from Whole Foods and were thoroughly outraged as we picked through them. More than half of them were bad and we wound up with so few to work with that we had to add sausage to the recipe to make a substantial dish. The ones that we did wind up cooking tasted a little flat and had none of the natural sweetness of fresh mussels. The one saving grace was that they were rather large and fleshy but in our minds it was the sort of travesty that class action suits were made of.
Venica & Venica Sauvignon, Ronco delle mele, 2006:
Cool, crisp and not overly sugary, with strong grapefruit and melon accents. Sometimes you have a good wine and it is such an intense experience that you really cannot drink too much of it too quickly, as if every sip took something out of you. The absolute opposite is true of this wine – I just want to gulp it down. It is that enjoyable. My first experience with this wine came last year at Babbo in New York. I remember being secretly delighted that Elisabeth, who was also at the table, did not drink – for that meant more for the rest of us. I am an evil person, I know.
Gaja, Ca’Marcanda Promis, 2005:
My boss told me a story one time of how he was in a dusty town somewhere in Italy, found himself in a winebar in the early afternoon, and asked if the proprietor had any Gaja. The proprietor told him to wait right there and left him and his wife alone in the store, to run the several blocks home to his own cellars. He returned not only with a bottle of Gaja, but with two friends, for the only reason that opening a good bottle of wine is worth it, is if you have good people to drink it with. Apparently they had been waiting for just the occasion to open the bottle together, and my boss’ random question had somehow convinced the proprietor that that was the day it was going to happen. The story then goes, that when asked for his opinion on the wine, my boss had, in a characteristic fit of pomp and circumstance, declared, “E come latte di mamma (It’s like mother’s milk).” The proprietor, taken aback at the verity and eloquence of this statement, finally managed a smile and closed the discussion with equal gravitas – “Signore, cosa dici è molto forte, ma vero (Sir, what you say is very strong – but true).”
Now, Gaja wines are very expensive, especially the ones from the original Gaja estate in Piedmont, and I have no business even thinking about buying them, but fortunately in 1996 Angelo Gaja bought a second vineyard in Tuscany where he now makes three wines – Promis, Magari and the one that carries the estate’s name, Ca’Marcanda – in that order of price and quality. I have not had the Magari, but I remember the Ca’Marcanda to be spicy, complex and very playful. The other day I saw the Promis selling in my neighbourhood liquor store – the probability of which I had previously thought akin to me making out with Nicole Kidman, which is to say on the seventh of never. I decided, on a whim, to purchase several bottles. We opened a bottle of it between dinner courses, and it was perhaps a little too young, but with definite character. I tasted both fruits and nuts – specifically cherries, a hint of pistachios – but it was not as full bodied as I like my red wines. I suppose it is wrong to expect anybody or any thing to be something that they aren’t or it isn’t, so I tried my hardest to appreciate it for what it was.
Duck Leg Confit and Pan-Seared Duck Breast in a Juniper Berry and Honey Sauce, with Roasted Beets and Caramelised Onions:
I love duck. I’d tried a taste of an absolutely phenomenal duck dish at Eleven Madison Park in New York recently, spiced with herbs en Provence and lavender honey, and wanted to recreate it. Unfortunately Whole Foods (those bastards really ruined my meal) did not carry any lavender so we bought some dried juniper berries instead. I’d cured the duck legs in salt, thyme and bay leaves for two days before the meal, and roasted them in rendered duck fat and many, many cloves of garlic. They turned out really, really salty (I might cure them for less time the next time) but crispy and delicious all the same. Morgan timed the duck breasts to perfection and they were remarkably tender. He also did the beets, which were excellent, so that was two for two on his part. Well done Morgan.
Ciacci Piccolomini, Brunello di Montalcino, 2002
2002 was widely acknowledged to be a disastrous year for Brunellos, so I was able to pick up several bottles of my favourite Brunello for under 30 dollars a bottle. I figured that even if it were crap, it was still a Brunello, which should count for something. Now I have had the ‘97s, ‘98s, ‘99s and ‘01s (and have been remarkably lucky in that regard) and there is no doubt that this is by far the worst of the lot, but it is still pretty good. Like the other vintages, this had dark fruit and spice, but nowhere near the levels of body and depth of the others. It was kind of like taking a piece of paper, photocopying it, running the copy through the copier again, and then repeating that step twenty times. The 2002 was a pale shadow of the best Ciacci Brunellos, muted and not as complex, but still entirely enjoyable, especially if you are three bottles into the night.
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