Czech, Please! or Black Friday (and That’s Just the Teeth)

My old buddy Tommy Kubinek was appearing this past weekend at UC Berkeley as part of their Cal Performances series. Czechoslovakia-born Tomάš Kubίnek, “Certified Lunatic and Master of the Impossible,” was making his first Bay Area appearance after decades of selling out concert halls all across North America, Europe and Japan with his nouveau-Vaudevillian brand of clowning, acrobatics, magic and nightclub audience riffing.

A quarter-century, and four lives ago for me, Tommy and I used to cross paths performing occasionally on the same bill at comedy clubs in Toronto, and sundry one-nighter dates around Ontario, Canada. I hadn’t seen “Tommy the K” in over a decade, since a few of his dates in Washington state. He’d set aside a pair of ducats for me and Kath to check out his perf on the evening of Black Friday.

Kathy and I had already decided that we were going to eschew the post-Thanksgiving madness that is “On your mark, get set, SHOP!” Friday. And as entertaining as it may be to read about someone getting jacked in the Best Buy parking lot, relieved of their 95-inch big screen TV and four sets of 3-D glasses at 2 a.m.; or about some broad pepper-spraying, in front of her kids, those ahead of her in line for the $2 waffle iron, I have to wonder: What if the media just ignored the Black Friday phenomenon entirely? Better yet, what if Congress passed a bill mandating Thanksgiving as a holiday in, GASP! October. Canada does it, and Jack Lord knows, the U.S. could use a real October day off for the real people, not just guv employees.

Why shouldn’t a new generation of American children be just as puzzled as I was as a Canuck watching “Miracle on 34th Street,” in which Santa Claus appeared at the end of the Thanksgiving Day parade?

This just in: “Holiday Black Friday sales up 14% over last year; Door-buster fatalities up a mere 8%.”

So, our plan for this past Friday was to visit the city of Alameda, the scene of the crime almost a year ago, when we took BART to San Francisco, ate oysters, visited Rosenblum at the ferry dock, walked way too much to Hangar One, then had to hike back to the ferry dock for the return to SF and a BART/drive jaunt home.

This time, we ix-nayed the SF ferry ride for oysters (I can’t believe it either), and drove to the old decommissioned military base in Alameda, which provides perfect cavernous homes conducive to fermentation, distillation, cellaring, ageing and storage of small-lot wines and spirits.

Our first stop was old fave Rosenblum. Although we drove this time, we always appreciated, from our SF residence circa 1998 sans auto, that they were walking distance from the ferry dock. The Sunday San Francisco Chronicle featured a coupon for 2-fer reserve tastings, as well as 25% off all bottles. Kathy hooked us up with a CoCo quartet: Petite Sirah, Mourvèdre and Zinfandel from the Pato and Planchon vineyards in our Oakley ‘hood, as well as a “Heritage” bend featuring some old-vine stuff from our neck of the woods. Rosenblum sources fruit from all over the state; Kath shopped local on this Black Friday.

A short jaunt (via Lisa Marie this time, as opposed to hoofing it) got us to an anniversary visit to an oh-so-civilized Hangar One. Known for an abundance of super-premium distilled spirits, especially their crazily infused Vodkas (Kaffir lime, Buddha’s Hand) available at a theatre near you, parent St. George spirits never fails to surprise with yet another addition to the portfolio. On Black Friday, Vodka was not on the menu; their three new formulations of Gin were.

I am a Gin drinker. Kick it London Dry-style if y’all can. And don’t be afraid of the juniper: That’s what makes it Gin. Boodles with a twist: heaven.

That said, I approach Bombay Sapphire with trepidation. The label’s particular list of botanicals and respective sources would likely have Charles Darwin duking it out with Henry Kissinger: “Cubeb Berries” and “Indochina”?

Um, I’ll take regular Bombay, thanks. And I’ll actually request some Vermouth, and not from an atomizer, thank youse very much. Up, with a twist: that OK?

But I digress.

St. George has introduced three very different Gins, and the “Terroir” brand is outrageous. The laundry list of botanicals in the still is so local, that we could see Mount Tamalpais, the source of these ingredients, from the tasting room. Doug fir, fennel, bay leaves, sage and the ever-elusive juniper (Funny how the few folks who like Gin hate juniper): nice to see the commitment. And, if you check out Kath’s photo above, you’ll see part of the apparati that they need to make this fine elixir.

AREA 51: The copper contraption and a crate of apples. OK, we saw them, but no one in the tasting room could confirm or deny the next St George project. Mars Needs … Calvados? Hmmmmm, the thick plottens.

After our tasting, and purchases, at Hangar One, Kath and I made our first foray to the Rock Wall Wine Company tasting room. In addition to showcasing Shauna Rosenblum’s Rock Wall label, the co-op serves as an incubator/front-of-house for another half-dozen small producers whom might otherwise not be able to take the tasting stage.

We struck up a long conversation with our pourer, David, a burgeoning winemaker in his own right, with family connections to Oakley, of all places. The Rock Wall tasting experience was great, and we walked out the door with a trio of Shauna’s wines, the grapes for which were sourced from Oakley sites.

The Rock Wall 2009 Madruga Vineyard Zinfandel Dessert Wine belies its 16% alcohol with a translucent look and nose of bright cherry. There are more than mere hints of strawberry jam and dried fruits, with an invigorating brandy “burn” on the long finish.

Unlike Tomάš Kubίnek, whose stay was much too short.

Bravo, all.

Artisan,oh,yeah!

Saturday was the date for the Artisano Grand Tasting up at the Vintners Inn up in Santa Rosa; this was the event to which Kathy won tix when she slightly overbid on a Navarro wine lot featured on a Marin PBS station’s annual televised fundraising auction.

Now, up a bit farther north, in Healdsburg (home to the Dry Creek and Russian River AVAs), we’d previously stayed at the “Dry Creek Inn.” It’s a Best Western.

The Vintners Inn is a resort, and their separate, onsite event center comprising multiple rooms (and connecting tents) was host to what I liken to an epicurean version of the board game Clue: One wanders from room to room, in absolute wonder at the array of over 60 small-lot wine producers, regional restaurants, chef demos, visual artists and specialty food producers showcasing their wares. “I suspect ‘Aldrich Browne winery, with the Salt Side Down Chocolates, in the Silent Auction room.’”

Kathy and I had never attended a food/wine tasting event like Artisano, which kept a big crowd plied with gourmet food and artisanal drink in an intimately low-ceilinged, convivial atmosphere. The amazing thing about the wines being poured was that we had never heard of most of them. They were all super-small producers, some of whom had been growers for years but only just recently made the hoop-jump to bonded winery status. In fact, many of the folks we talked to had shut down winery operation for the day because the “staff” was in front of us, pouring at this event. We collected a lot of memorable swirls and tastes, and more than a few business cards.

One of the tents featured several sit-down tables, and a few standup high-table locations, all the better to nosh and discreetly slurp while enjoying music from the Susan Comstock Swingtet. Check out Kath’s photo above, of the lead vocalist working among the wine, food and art. Her versatility encompassed everything from Piaf (sung in French) to Count Basie’s “Flat Foot Floogie” (sung in [?]. I mean, what’s a “floy floy” or even a “floy doy”?). Oh, and then she’d pick up her electric violin to further bend the set list. Artisano: a bit of Sangiovese, salsify soup, and song; what’s not to dig?

Kath had made a reservation to stay that night at a motel up north in Cloverdale, where we’d stayed before, and which turned out to be an inexpensive, if northernmost to our wine touring, HQ, with a groovy breakfast joint across the parking lot, and almost immediate access to Highway 101 South.

Next morning, 10 minutes and two quick right turns later, we were at Geyser Peak. As members of their wine club, we were debating as to whether we should even stop in, in favor of exploring a few new places (contrary to popular belief, we have not exhausted all the complimentary tasting sites on the VISA Signature card promo map).

Glad we did stop in.

First, our wine club shipment was ready for pickup, obviating another trip (we’re “will call” members, instead of having it shipped): We left with our tasty selections, without having to buy more or put more miles on the Lisa Marie. And of course, if we DID drive up to Geyser Peak, we’d make a day of it, $pending $o much more at $upplemental winerie$.

Second, our wonderfully outgoing Geyser Peak host was able to hip us to the fact that three of our wine destinations for that morning were closed. Permanently. The economy, location, undercapitalization: a trifecta that we, not to mention these particular proprietors, had not anticipated.

Third, our host brandished a pair of tasting passes for a couple of tasting rooms in downtown Geyserville, an old-skool Wild, Wild West California town. We’d been here many times before, when the two-point-five block main drag started sprouting a nice range of tasting rooms (one occupying the town’s first bank building), restaurants and galleries. This mix of Gold Rush and I Don’t Listen to Rush is a great sensory puzzle: The only thing that seemed to be missing was a wooden sidewalk, to protect a tattooed woman, clutching her parasol in one hand and her Alexander Valley Meritage in the other, from getting her hoopskirt splashed with mud from a parallel-parking Prius.

So the first calling card we redeem on Geyserville Avenue is at gorgeously appointed “Mercury,” a 1,900-case Fun House of vinous experimentation: everything from an obscure clone of Sauvignon Blanc to a Late Harvest Pinot Blanc, of all things. Delicious Bordeaux-style blends and Pinot Noir, too. And Grady could not have been a better host: high energy, enthusiastic knowledge of the product and, it must be said that his bro, Brad Beard, makes some verrrrrry tasty juice. Front of house, back of house: nice combo.

We moseyed (surprised that that didn’t show up on Spell-Check) a couple of doors over to our second Geyser Peak certificate locale, a co-op tasting room featuring other small producers, and named, fittingly, “Locals.”

We had been to Locals a couple of years ago, but we could not have been prepared for the ultimate tasting tour guide that was Sami. Locals features about a dozen small guys in a communal tasting room vibe. The varietals are arranged together, so the idea is to start with a wine type, then, and here was what Kathy really dug, tell Sami what your preferences are stylistically for that grouping.

Sami was spot on. We started with the Pinot Noir menu; Kath and I both like Pinots that fall into the earthy or smoky categories; even “burnt rubber” gives us ‘Nam flashbacks that we love. Bingo: three glasses, no waiting.

We came full circle this past weekend. We came up for the Artisano event, and then planned to stay overnight to sample some of our VISA Signature strays that we’d missed. Who’da thunk that Acorn winery would hit all the food groups? Acorn, Betsy and Bill Nachbaur’s Alegria Vineyards baby, is graciously VISA Sig, but officially “appointment only.” But Betsy was pouring for us the day before, at the Vintners Inn event, and graciously invited us to call them the next day. We finished our day at Acorn, sampling their very tasty juice amid great conversation with the proprietors and another couple, he of which being an architect whose firm worked with Frank Gehry on Seattle’s Experience Music Project (shut up: Kath and I both love its design) and the Guggenheim Bilbao museum.

Swoopy surfaces? Angular eccentricities? Sure.

But I was talking about wine.

When Things Get Hairy, You Can Always Bail With a … Port

We’ve had a lot of fun with our WA state winetasting pals Susan and Derek.

Years ago, we adopted a sort of creed as we stopped in to any of the proliferate Woodinville wineries. Preaching to the choir, but it used to be that one could turn into the drive of any W-ville industrial park (sic) and taste through the card, and then stumble to the next sandwich board’s invitation. And then, the “Napa Tasting Fee Creep” crept in.

A few years ago, Kathy, Susan, Derek and I adopted our own little wine algorithm: At any tasting room serving reds and whites, the whites will probably be less expensive (OK, cheaper) than the reds.

Ergo: You may not like the wines, but not wanting to look like a tourist-slash-bridesmaid, you buy something. Something relatively inexpensive (OK, cheap). Usually, a white wine: their cheapest Sauvignon Blanc, an experimental unoaked Chardonnay, a rare patch of Chenin Blanc recently rediscovered, or a wine made from some obscure old country grape planted a century ago. Cool, maybe, but our little algorithm still holds when it comes to tasting rooms:

“When things get hairy, you can always bail with a white.”©™

OK, so Kath hooks up with a cool Groupon certificate for Tamas. It’s a second arm of Wente vineyards, south of us, in Livermore. Wente is the oldest continuously owned family winery in the USA. Five generations later, Karl Wente is still checking the tanks.

We’ve written before about our Port run to Livermore, but an Internet deal to taste, and including a bottle of the Tamas Barbera, just sweetened the deal: Brix not factoring in.

But it could not stop Kathy from running a Port marathon of her own: She stopped at Rios-Lovell, a place we’d visited months ago, at which was obtained a 50/50 Barbera/Mourvedre Reserve Port-style wine. I noticed a hard, just-about-to-ripe color. Kath nailed a big fruit nose of vinous blueberry and cane strawberry. Loooong finish: cedar?

We thought that we had some exotic cheeses in the fridge; turns out that we had nothing left. As the (now) old saying goes: “When things get hairy, you can always bail with a white.”

Or a Port. Or a Dessert wine. Or a Red. Or a TV program. Or NPR. Cheers, whatever you may choose to toast.

Table Hopping at the Club

So, it was once again time for the semi-annual wine tasting event at the Discovery Bay Country Club, located a bit southeast of us here in Oakley. It’s always a cool event, if a bit of a gangbang, with upwards of a-dozen-and-a-half tables manned by distributor professionals pouring multiple selections from their respective portfolii.

Again, Kathy and I employed our “establish a beachhead” strategy, though this past weekend, unlike last year’s sunny and balmy November, saw us commandeer a table indoors in an alcove dining room set aside off from Table Nine (but more about this prime locale in a minute).

With wristbands and wine glasses affixed to our hot little mitts, we did the quick perusal circuit, before grabbing a table to scan the inventory catalogue.

This was our fourth time at this clambake, with Club staff being unfailingly nice (despite our not being CC members). In fact, manager Anne recognized us from our attendance over 6 months ago; not sure if it was my hump back, limp, ivory crutches, dental plate with teeth parallel to my upper gum, or the forehead wart where my widow’s peak used to be that gave me away as Kath’s previous plus-one.

Whatever, guys: From the initial club phone calls reminding us about the upcoming event (as previous attendees, we’re on the courtesy list, not that, as readers of our weekly “Oakley Press,” we don’t have acute Spidey Sense for this event already) to the reminder call a few days before (unnecessary, but thank you!), it’s been a true seasonal highlight for us.

And after our second appearance at the Disco Bay CC Wine Tasting, as written before, we adopted a great strategy of scoring a location, then one of us scores food and two glasses of wine, while the other holds down the proverbial fort (coats, purses, messenger bags, etc.) After getting the hang of this strategy, even indoors this season, we went to the next step: a theme in two glasses.

Which should naturally bring us to the pros at Table Nine. But first:

If you have read any sporadic posts on this blog, you know that we (well, I, though we both rant orally vehemently on this together in the Lisa Marie driving between tasting rooms) can not fathom the obliviousness of people at a tasting bar. Preaching to the choir, I know, but you get your taste (engage the pourer maybe, ask a few questions about the varietal OK. But, just as you would not tolerate the Safeway shopping cart behind you blamming into your ankles in the checkout, why should I have to hold my glass aloft and beg your forgiveness to move along?)

A Theme in Two Glasses: a nice idea that Kath adopted for the tasting. Now, not every distributor adopts every wine from the first’s region. So it was really cool to scan the catalogue, and find two tables that could pour something in the same realm: either as varietal, vineyard, region or county. We had some great fun.

Kathy was at a table at which a trio of imbibers, tastes in hand, would not make way for anyone else, even after making eye contact with Kath. We’d been to 3 previous DBCC tastings, witnessed the imperviousness to tasting etiquette and processed the possibility/probability (?) that this event was just ignorance. This was something else: Kath politely tried to get a pour, instructing the ladies that it would be proper if, once they got their taste, they’d make room for others.

You would have thought that someone was trying to cold-cock Miss Manners. The “F-bombs” dropped from she, whom, who it should be noted, is a member of Das Club; her posse joined into the “witty’ response. Class.

Shaken, Kathy, ever the champ, brandished two glasses of red wine back at our beachhead. She’d taken an inappropriate verbal beatdown from a few CC members, refused to let it escalate into a scene (though it should have, but who wants to be the first cop on the scene of blood-drenched Big Bertha and Tommy Bahama?) and still managed to kick it “Theme Style.”

Here it was, from the aforementioned Table Nine: “A Taste of Oakley.” These classy Diageo ambassadors, Robert Kolf and Jonathon Harris, dapper in neckties and dark suits, displayed a knowledge of, and a commitment to, the fermented juice made with some of our local grapes: Jade Mountain “La Provencale”: a Rhone blend of Syrah, Mourvèdre and more than a little bit of Grenache sourced from our neighboring Evangelho vineyard, for example. As Diageo reps, they say that commitment to Oakley vineyard fruit is intrinsic to the Rosenblum label: Planchon and Pato fruit continue to be vineyard designated wines.

So that was one of Kathy’s two-fisted themes: Table Nine, and featuring a taste of Oakley. Ish. We sipped “La Provencale” featuring Frank’s Antioch fruit, harvested beside the driving range, in the mix. Then a glass of Zinfandel, from Carla’s: you know, the vineyard beside the Kmart.

Wherever you go, there you are.