Enthused, Infused and Embittered

Another low-key ex mass at the Oakley ranch, chillin’ at the proverbial (i.e. nativity) crib.

It was just Kath, me and our two new kitties, Fritter and Baklava, spending their first Christmas with us. Kath got the girls catnip sushi toys (complete with a wasabi/ginger plush) and catnip sardines including fabric saltines! Beginning of the month, I took them to our local veterinarian for photos with Santa. We sure miss Otis and Taz, yet these two sillies are demonstrating their own personalities, especially as the seasons change. Fritter does not want to be petted in the morning, but then talks in weird bursts, and tries to eat the newspaper one is reading, tapping you with one paw to get your undivided attention. Baklava is Kathy’s kitty, smushing her feline carcass against K while we watch television, then rushing downstairs to nuzzle Kath when we go to bed.

As I probably noted last year, Christmas gifts around our Oakley acreage is pretty chill. But Kathy outdid herself with her frequent ‘theme’ vibe to gifts. It was nuts: a maxin’ and relaxin’ compendium of flannel pajamas with a ‘Let Sleeping Dogs Lie’ motif, a copy of “Mad Men Unbuttoned: a Romp Through 1960s America,” by Natasha Vargas-Cooper. And, check it: a “Tea forté” cocktail mixology set, and a sampler of six dropper bottles of handcrafted bitters!

Natch, she had downloaded a trove of recipes to augment those that came with these respective kemistry kits. The Tea forté kit contains a trio of concentrated ‘tea bags’ which are dipped into various spirits for varied amounts of time, then shaken-slash-stirred with mixers/syrups to create outrageous cocktails. Infuse one of the Chai pyramids in Vodka for 5 minutes; shake the result with a couple of ounces of peach nectar, then top with a bissel seltzer: Your Peach Chai Crush is delicious!

The bitters are crazy! Check out Kathy’s photo above: The bottles include Cherry Bark Vanilla, Orange, Blackstrap, and two Jamaican flavor profiles. I’ve talked to mixologists (and even a few bartenders) who consider bitters to be the great underdog in cocktails. After Kathy built a few drinks over this Christmas weekend, I can only concur.

Sometimes it takes something extraordinary to let you appreciate what had become the ordinary. My tired palate gets so fatigued forcing me to writing about ‘plum,’ ‘garnet,’ and ‘cranberry” when talking about wine. OK, in my defense, I will never write about currant (red v. black). Who the hell has even tasted a currant?

But a Champagne Cocktail, including a sugar cube studded with 15 drops of Bittercube’s ‘Bolivar’ bitters is enough to inspire a revolution of your own.

Talk to you next year.

It’s Christmas at the Playhouse…

As fittingly the Pee-Wee’s Playhouse Christmas Special begins. Christmas in Oakley means that it is time to harvest citrus — namely our first Meyer Lemons. Days are chilly and we have even had to turn on the heat (Tony’s family in Canada and my sister in Michigan have probably had theirs on for months by now). In what a strange place we live.

Tony has the day off from writing the blog as it is his birthday week. Thank God we celebrated early. I have been working a lot and had a dental emergency that caused me to take my first sick day in years.

But back to Oakley. When I found that I was being transferred back to the Bay Area, after being away for 10 years, we knew that we did not want to live in San Francisco. Transit doesn’t work there, rents are exorbitantly high and there is no greenery to be found. We had no desire to EVER live in SF again. I was originally thinking that we would buy a cool loft in Oakland — close to transit and walking distance to all things urban. I knew that we wouldn’t get much for our money, but it had been a long time since we lived in the city.

And then I started doing research and came across the little town of Oakley. Oakley has approximately 30,000 residents and had been an agricultural hub. Years ago it was known for its groves of almond trees. East Contra Costa County had been hit hard by the housing bust, and the Oakley/Brentwood/Antioch area saw housing prices fall dramatically and foreclosures rise.

The day after we arrived in the Bay Area we met with our realtor, Kevin, to look at houses. We saw 14 houses in one day, amazed at what we could get for slightly more than what we sold our tiny place for in Seattle. We made an offer on a house that was different than any other house we’d seen … master bedroom on the first floor, huge loft on the second and it was actually being painted by the bank. Kevin laughed and said, “Knowing the two of you, the first offer you make will be accepted.” And it was. I never thought I would have a house like this in my life. It only could have happened in Oakley.

We love this little town. Everything we need is here, and where else could we see a wild turkey (!) perching on our back fence, or hear the old school neighbors’ roosters in the morning. Where could we see the giant pomegranate tree down the street or the Cooper’s hawk flying above? We hear trains in the distance and can drive on top of levee roads that protect the areas at sea level. It is the perfect blend of agriculture and urbanism. And it is great to hear that our new e-mail friend, Kevin Romick, has just been made mayor. Congratulations, Sir!

So, this weekend we stayed close to home. No adventures to Napa or Sonoma. No road trips to Livermore or Lodi. No oysters or whiskey or wine. Just lentil soup in the crockpot and sourdough bread rising on the counter. Oh, and a Tandoori marinated turkey in the oven, but that is another story (who could pass up 79 cents a pound?).

Days like today are perfect for Web sites like Lot 18. Months ago we were sent an invite through the site Snooth.com — a site I had used extensively in my Oakley-wine-connection research. The invite included a substantial $$ off with the first purchase. I kept my eyes open for interesting wines and jumped at the chance to order on one of their free-shipping Fridays.

Like many of the ‘flash’ sites, Lot 18 will offer specials on wine for a day or so. Quantities are limited and can sell out. Membership is by invitation only (you can join at my invite using this link: https://www.lot18.com/i/Kathleen251098 ). So far we have purchased Rieslings and Red from Washington State, Syrah made by our friends at Mutt Lynch, Petite Syrah and Cabs from producers in Sonoma, Cremant from France and a Pinot whose producers give back 50% of the profits to charities. The wines I have purchased are good values and priced less than any dealer I can find online. Even if you don’t find wines to purchase you can learn a great deal about wine on their blog: http://blog.lot18.com/ .

So, find a nice warm blanket, a kitty to nestle in your lap and a Pinot to sip. It’s good to be home.

Bottle Schtick

We had a blast this past weekend up in the city of Napa, well south of that famed Valley that is home to cult Cabernets and exorbitant tasting fees.

Napa proper has been enjoying a major renaissance the last few years. While it’s true that Robert Mondavi’s ill-fated Copia food/wine center shuttered a while back, the town has caught the attention of restaurateurs (Iron Chef Morimoto being one) and winemakers seeking a semi-urban outpost for tastings and small bites.

Our first December in Oakley, Kathy and I ventured up to Napa on a “Taste” punch card promotion allowing one to visit the town’s myriad tasting rooms, receiving a stamp for each participating tasting room encountered. Unfortunately, the day of our December 2009 sojourn was the day of a massive power outage in Napa. Anticipated tasting rooms sported handwritten cardboard “Closed” signs, others that braved the situation wanted cash only due to computer inactivity; a classy few were pouring the white wine freely because they couldn’t keep a chill.

Flash forward two years later, and Kath is hooked up with Internet coupons that allow us to return to the scene of the crime.

Downtown Napa’s Oxbow Market is a cool one-stop shop of gourmet fare, including grass-fed beef, bulk spices (Kathy’s outrageous Thanksgiving Tandoori Turkey recipe this year called for Ajwain Seeds. Kath had to skip them because we’d neither seen them nor heard of them before. Oxbow had ‘em; we bought some.), wine, cupcakes and other esoteric specialties. The building also houses an outpost of Hog Island Oyster Company, and since the calendar had us smack-dab in the middle of K’s semiannual oyster jones, three dozen bivalves on the half, and a bottle of Muscadet scratched that mother-of-pearl-effing itch.

OK, now to our two Web coupons: one each from Groupon and livingsocial. There’s a co-op tasting room across the street, Taste at Oxbow, that serves as a clearinghouse for some small area producers. One of our Internet printouts entitled us to monster wine flights, a cheese and charcuterie plate and a bottle of wine. Super-civilized: we opted for the family table versus the wine bar, and beckoned a later-arriving Groupon-clutching couple to join us at our capacious plank. Table service at Taste at Oxbow was fabu, and in addition to our complimentary bottle, K purchased a 375 ml of Waterstone Late Harvest Sauvignon Blanc Napa Valley.

Sweetie loves the sweeties.

Now, check this out: Web coupon #2. I admit that I am loving the wine movies (Surprise!). I dig “Sideways.” (“No f@#$%ng Merlot!” And then he drinks his prize bottle in a fast-food joint: Cheval-Blanc, a Merlot-based Bordeaux. Awesome!)

I’m not afraid to admit that I cry watching “Bottle Shock,” a completely elasticized version of one European wine merchant (played by Alan Rickman) whose self-aggrandizing staging of a Napa vs. France tasting to determine international vinous superiority. The ultimate feel-good takeaway of the film is that Napa’s 1973 Chateau Montelena Chardonnay did the beatdown on the best o’Burgundy in 1976. (The flick doesn’t concern itself that a 1973 Stag’s Leap S.L.V. Cabernet also pimp-slapped Bordeaux at the same spit-fest, but when any film has Snape driving an AMC Gremlin, this dude abides.)

“Bottle Shock” plays fast and loose with facts, but it’s an engrossing Valentine to the vine. And here’s the do: Actor Freddy Rodriguez plays Gustavo Brambila, a wine QA employee hired later than depicted in the film, by Montelena winemaker Mike Grgich (portrayed oh-so-briefly by an actor sporting Mr. Mike’s trademark beret in a quick scene with Bill Pullman). Mr. Mike, still sporting his beret, poured for us at his Grgich Hills winery (named not because there are any geographical Grgich Hills in the Napa Valley, but because his biz partner was an heir to the Hills Brothers coffee fortune; hyphens today are sooooo nouveau riche) 13 years ago when we drove up from San Francisco.

In downtown Napa, winemaker Gustavo, after stints at some of the Valley’s most prestigious joints, has his own label and tasting room, partnered with marketing doyenne Thrace Bromberger. It may have been a long time since those halcyon 1976 days, but, meteorologically speaking, lightning does not need a quarter-century to strike twice in a bottle.

An Internet deal for downtown Napa winery Gustavo Thrace’s tasting room offered a full flight, an autographed bottle of vino, and even a signed copy of “Bottle Shock.”

Nice to have your name on my bottle, sir. Even better not to see you relegated to that of a secondary player in the production of my bottle.

History and mystery; vine and wine: What is there to hate?

Who You Calling a Ho Ho Ho Ho?

What are you going to do? It’s December in Northern California’s city of Oakley, and, with 60-degree temps and clear blue skies, the Sunday choices seem to come down to a couple of rounds of Meyer Lemondrops on the front-porch Adirondack chairs at the house, or putting the Lisa Marie in gear for a trip south to the annual “Holidays in the Vineyards” fest in Livermore, home to our heretofore documented “Port Runs.”

Livermore won out, yet again (third year running, since we arrived in 2009).

Lots of changes in 2011 for Kathy and for me: Our two forever kitties, Otis and Taz, succumbed to the ravages of old age and their attendant medical probs; two new feline sisters, adopted from Tony LaRussa’s no-kill shelter, have made themselves at home by burrowing into the cushy blankets by Kath’s side as we watch “Once Upon a Time.”

Twenty-two years on the West Coast, and I’m still unsure as to how to celebrate Christmas (aka Das Holidays). I grew up in snow-laden Ottawa, Ontario, Canada, before moving to no-less-laden Toronto. New Year’s Day of 2008, I hopped a Scare Canada jet to Los Angeles to replicate the semi-quasi-sorta-kinda successful career as a comic-slash actor that I had up in the Great White North.

Didn’t exactly work out as the brochure promised.

And yet, Kathy, based in Seattle, and I met. In Orlando, FL. She was one of 40 actors hired, after a cross-USA search, to inaugurate a Disney theme park expansion. I, based in Los Angeles, was hired as writer-in-residence to provide audition, and subsequently, onsite material for this new company. Two months later, after opening day, my writer gig was done; the actors were on 12-month contracts. So many of these 40 relocated families and bought houses, only to find that 12 months hence, their contracts were not to be renewed.

Kathy’s contract was renewed for another year, but she declined, in favor of joining me in Beverly Hills (a guest house in the back, y’all, a guest house in the back).

Flashbacks, in random order: My first Christmas in L.A. County was to return to Ottawa with “Christmas in Beverly Hills” thematic stuff; the Tiffany bag for the purse pen or the Gumps postage stamp holder in its iconic sack was to be the wrapping. I remember that it was cloudy that morning in BH, and I decadently ducked into “The Ginger Man,” the erstwhile pub owned by the late greats Carroll O’Connor and Patrick O’Neal, for a “Blueberry Tea,” which incidentally contains neither blueberry nor tea.

Kathy and I do not own a car in Los Angeles, so we walk or take the bus everywhere. We get a Christmas tree on the outskirts of Beverly Hills, at an abandoned lot the other side of Doheny, and walk it back home toward Roxbury along Santa Monica Boulevard, past the Menorah. We are wearing shorts and bowling shirts.

This week, we bought a fake tree. The dilemma now: We now have a car, and we own no bowling shirts. Kath made up for the ordeal by getting some super-cool new ornaments, in order to make up for the reality that even cheapy firs are spendy; no matter how good your tree stand is, those three tree screws will drive you bugs, and you still have to add value to the tree in order for the Boy Scouts to pick it up curbside.

OK, I know that it is so wrong: My parents have had a fakey for as long as I can remember. I also grew up with no shoes in the house, and the front door was for company only. Slippers and garage, now.

And so we motor down south to Livermore, not necessarily on the “Port Run” that we’ve documented in previous posts. It’s their “Holiday” fest and all the usual “fee refundable with purchase” bets are off.

Turns out that we DID come back with more Port-style stuff. It was our third December down, but nothing to put into the time capsule this time. Except for Wood Family, open only a couple of times per year. Check out Kath's Zinfandel station.

First, there’s an old Woody Station Wagon parked pavement-side. And then, all the staff at the wine stations sport nametags with prefixes that would end in “wood”: “Pine,” “Chuck,” and “Home.” I nearly choked at the Syrah station manned by “Early.”

We bought the Merlot; could not believe it, since Washington state was the cradle of this stuff. When we lived in SF, we craved a fruit-forward glass when wandering around a cloudy Hayes Valley ‘hood.

We got the same vibe with the Wood Family “One Oak Vineyard” Livermore Valley Merlot. Nice fruit, nothing harsh. Some cedar and coffee that could permit this stuff to chill awhile.

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.

Trick or Treat (or: Home Shopping Network of a Different Kind)

Happy Halloween, guys! Kathy and I carved our Jack O’ Lanterns yesterday afternoon in anticipation of the onslaught of kids tonight. I think I posted previously that, in our little house in Seattle situated on a dead-end street, we had maybe a total of eight kids come for candy over eight years. This will be our third Halloween in Oakley, and we ran out of candy the two years previous. Kath stocked up extra supplies for this year, but since trick or treating falls on a Monday this year (our first two years in the house here saw Halloween fall on a Saturday and Sunday night, respectively), we’ll see how it goes when I have to hold down the fort before K gets home from work.

It’s a balmy, high-70s day here in East CoCo County this October 31, and it behooves us to sit on the front porch Adirondack chairs with a bucket of candy for the kids, cocktail or glass of wine in hand (us, not the kids). As one mom said to us our first year, eyeing our Gin/grapefruit/Triple Sec and Grenadine “Pink Cay Flash”-laden Martini glasses as we deposited candy into her daughter’s pillow case, “Now that’s how I want to spend Halloween!”

Now, a couple of weeks ago, Kathy was flipping through the cable TV guide and stumbled across a station listing for “Wine & Epicurean Auction.” It was a fundraiser for KRCB, a PBS station located northwest of us in Rohnert Park, just south of Santa Rosa, in Marin County. It’s hadn’t been one of the PBS affiliates in our local listings or on our personal radar, but it seems that a recent boost in signal strength got them listed on the Comcast remote guide, and that’s how we became addicted to two weekends, 7 p.m. to 11 p.m. of wine lots up for bid.

Primetime evenings, for two weekends straight, Kath and I went full-metal QVC: calling in bids, seeing our bids erased for another one higher, rejecting outright most lots, frantically writing down lot numbers of ones of which we got only fleeting glimpses, and trying to mentally calculate the real cost of any wines with which we were familiar. We eschewed the many lots comprising “Tastings for 4” or “12” (never mind the fact that I don’t know even 2 other people; and by now you know how I feel about paying for tastings), and went for real bottled juice. We watched as certain lot boards closed, then waited for the phone call telling us that we won the bid(s). We cracked up when one such call came at 11:30 p.m. on a Saturday, after the night’s auction had ceased and we decided to stay up for some local news.

By the time the auction dust had cleared a couple of weekends later, we were the successful bidders on three lots. And then I got a call the middle of last week, days after the auction was over, saying that the high bidder on a mixed case of Navarro had declined, and with our bid being next in line, did we want it?

OK, make that now four lots. And, because our reserve bid for the Navarro was slightly higher than the minimum, we ended up awarded, gratis, two $65 admission tix to the Grand Tasting at the Artisano Wine, Food & Art fest in Santa Rosa mid-November.

Kathy had to work last Saturday, and with KRCB open that day for auction pick-up, I drove the Lisa Marie up to Marin to fill the hatch with our own Halloween treats, a couple of which are featured in Kathy’s photo above: a signed magnum of Rockwall Napa Cab from our winemaker pal Shauna Rosenblum; and one of the high-end Pinot Noir selections from a fave Mendocino producer, Navarro, both flanking Kath’s haunted mansion pumpkin carving. Also picked up a nice two-bottle lot of Washington state Bordeaux-style reds, as well as an inexpensive case of Moscato sparkling, perfect as a Sunday sipper for those pesky 78-degree November Sunday afternoons here in Oakley. Not to rub your face in it, or anything.

Hey, it occurred to us that we haven’t done a tasting note in a while. So, Kath and I pulled the cork on a 375-ml half of 2007 Navarro Anderson Valley Mendocino Pinot Noir “Méthode a l’Ancienne,” part of our mixed auction case from this NoCal fog bank region whose second-biggest cash crop is wine grapes. (Cough, cough, ahem.)

The half-bottle poured a youthfully transparent berry color with hints of plum-to-be. Lots of tart cranberry and bright acidic fruit on the nose, with hints (to me, at least) of smoky sweetness on a lengthy finish.

PS: Have ya’ll stumbled across a PBS show called “Vine Talk”? Hosted by Stanley Tucci, it features a few of his Hollywood and Broadway pals, and culinary guests doing a regional blind tasting while swapping stories. We caught one episode by accident (on our new best friend, KRCB) and we can’t wait for the next, with Nathan Lane as one of the guests.

The Year (OK, Week) of Living Social(ly)

Hey guys, last time we posted about Kath’s propensity and proficiency for/at navigating Internet deals, especially when it comes to winery tasting coupons.

Her chops were the only thing that could coax us back to Napa.

I know that I’m singing the same verse to the same chorus here, but, man, the tasting fees in the cities of Napa, Yountville, Oakville, Rutherford, St. Helena and Calistoga (the holy trinity-times-two of the Napa Valley) can have one trembling before one crosses the winery’s threshold. And that’s where a couple of nicely guaranteed online pricing coupons laid out the breadcrumbs for us to head back over the Mayacamas Mountain rainbow.

When Kathy found a livingsocial deal for Eagles Trace in Napa, she knew that it was time to revisit the Valley. It was an appointment deal for this small Napa winery (production: 1800 cases), and the joint is farther east of the Silverado Trail (Robert Louis Stevenson, please report to the fourth floor) than we had ever ventured, even when we used to live in San Francisco. Ascending up narrow roads that would never be built now, across ancient bridges that, by law I’m guessing, must display “Narrow Bridge” signage (I think that the sign cost more than the bridge), we confirmed with the vineyard manager, who just happened to be there, that we were indeed at the right place, and that parking where we stopped the Lisa Marie was fine.

Now you can talk about marching to the beat of your own drummer: Gus and Phyllis Anderson of Eagles Trace know the American drumline and are not afraid to trek a little bit afield. Yet, back again: Gus’ and Phyllis’ plantings are to Cab Sauv, Merlot and Franc; the Petit Verdot vines are still young, but will eventually see a swim in the blend.

But here’s the cool bit: His current releases are routinely a half-decade old. Every winery seems to want to convert inventory into cash ASAP; not 81-year-old Gus. A UC Davis student at 51 years of age, iconoclast (goes without saying), and former orthodontist, he’ll admit, that at his price-point, the juice he makes is “Special Occasion Wine.” Gus Anderson goes on to say, and I quote, “If you don’t have at least one special occasion a week, you don’t need wine; you need to get a life.”

Schooled in Left Bank, Right Bank, and not beholden to any bank, Eagle Trace’s style is built for comfort, not for speed. We sat outside with our hosts and with fellow tasters/livingsocial clients Ben and Rebecca, reveling in the history, stories and lore of this winery predicated on more than a few things French. Elegance in the wine, but most importantly, conviviality drinking it with folks outside the cave: C’était bon, ça.

Beforehand, we were early for our Eagles Trace tasting up the hill, and Napa Valley Olive Oil was always a fave. The jugs of oil are completely old skool, and an article that Kathy read years ago talked about the staff throwing cash or a check into the rolltop desk to seal the deal. OK, encore une fois, we bought a half-gallon of their great oil, and a big tin of salt-cured anchovies. The mom is getting several telephone calls, and she’s responding in Italian. It’s one of those touchstone places: I think that we read about it when we lived in SF over a decade ago. Their oil is fragrantly green; we just have to find a way to, now, justify Napa fees to make a Napa trip worthwhile. One can’t just pull up to a winery in the Napa Valley anymore, confident that fees will be reasonable or nonexistent.

Oh, and I doubled over when Mama literally, and I mean, “literally,” threw that check into the rolltop desk: I was watching to see if this was still the deal; it was! Kath writes a check, Mama opens the shade, throws it in and SLAMS! the rolltop shut. What, I ask, what, is not to love about the Napa Valley Olive Oil Manufactory? It’s a little slice of the Old Country in the land that Cult Cabernet built.

OK, so Napa is nuts. Making a left turn onto the Highway 29 main drag is an exercise in complete frustration: Nobody lets you turn left. As one winery employee told us, “If someone lets you in, they’re local.” Amen, Mah Bruthah. And yet, we venture into the little pocket downtown that is Yountville.

Kathy had a Groupon for Cornerstone Cellars downtown, a mere amûse bouche’s toss from touted restaurants Bouchon, Bistro Jeanty and The French Laundry (Motto “You cleanse your palate and clean your plate. We’ll clean out your wallet” KIDDING!).

OK, the Cornerstone experience could not have been better orchestrated by our host. Kerry Hourigan (seriously folks, search her) hooked us up with the Groupon promo of tasty Cornerstone wine, cheese (best Jarlsberg tasted heretofore), plus a few extra pours that were not on the menu. Kerry was a veritable fount of Yountville knowledge. Biggest crime downtown? Theft of the tip jar across the street. Caught on video. Again I ask, what is not to love?

Yaknow how we always said that the tasting room experience always came down to the person behind the bar? It’s true. Cornerstone is a custom-crush client, with no vineyards or winery facility of their own. They purchase grapes from all over, and make their stuff at other wineries, but the tasting room is sooooooooo civilized: airy windows looking out onto the main drag; tasting seating at the bar, center room tables, or comfy overstuffed couches (our choice). The amenities are nice, but when you get a pistol of a staff member, the winery becomes “our winery.” Kerry? Well, she’s one of those firecrackers who made Cornerstone “ours.”

Did I mention that both these livingsocial and Groupon certificates include complimentary bottles of wine to take home from the respective wineries?

Internet sites: Don’t visit Napa Valley without ‘em.

For Assistance at our Tasting Room, Just YELP!

Kathy is the absolute queen when it comes to looking for Internet bargains, no more so than when searching for complimentary tastings at Cali wineries. And she doesn’t just limit herself to a Google search for tasting room coupons, no ma’am. Between e-mail-blast sites such as Groupon and livingsocial, her blindingly fast typing fingers have yielded some truly stellar half-price deals.

Well, now Yelp has entered the Internet discount deal fray, and Kath discovered a “$25 for $50” worth of wine at Keating Wines, one of our favorite boutique producers in Sonoma. The Yelp Deals certificate is valid for a full year from date of online purchase; you just print the sucker out at home, and present it at the venue.

Now, it just so happened that Cline Cellars, down the road from Keating, was releasing its new wine club selections. And Gloria Ferrer, directly across said road from Keating, was offering a twofer via an online coupon from WineCountry.com. So with Cline and sister winery Jacuzzi across the street from each other, and Keating and Gloria Ferrer staring across the road at themselves, and the former pair separated from the latter pair by a mere mile or so, Kathy and I decided to make quick, civilized jaunt up north for a little one-stop slurping.

We stopped first at Cline, where club membership truly does have its privileges, and walked out with our wine selections: Bonus! The two reds were a Zin and a Carignane, both made from our ancient Oakley grapes.

Next, we hit the Jacuzzi. There were two full tour buses in the lot, and as expected, we had to jostle ourselves into position at the tasting bar. It’s always fun at Jacuzzi, and their focus on Italian varietals, some extremely obscure, but still finding small acreage in California, is a great way to get a New World spin on the Old World. Our pourer even pulled out extra bottles for us. Class act.

OK, from there it was off to the Cornerstone plaza up the road. Cornerstone is home to the “big blue Adirondack chair,” a giant whimsical sculpture (see Kathy’s photo) in the center of this outdoor mini-complex comprising winetasting, food, a market and other sundry merch. It’s also the home to Keating, a sleek, elegant winery tasting room with a small card, but everything on it is a gem. We left with two vineyard-designated Sonoma Zinfandels, and by the time Kath’s Yelp Deals certificate was factored in, she had to top up the purchase with an additional six bucks. Most of that being tax.

And the Big Blue Adirondack House is also home to another one of our fave small tasting rooms: Meadowcroft Wines, located mere feet and one of my bad bocce (court nearby) tosses. Maybe that’s why my Cambridge professor bro calls me a “tosser.” Hmm, in the UK, It doesn’t mean the same thing.

At Meadowcroft, we have always had a superb experience. We’ve visited several times, and the last time, several months ago, cool dude Patrick just hooked us up with wine selections most memorably.

This day, pourer Darby was an absolute highlight of the day, though we still had a bubbly coupon to redeem across the street. We spent a lot of time chatting with her, and a sympathetic blend of wine knowledge, personality and BS-detector emerged right away. Kathy and I started talking, as we are prone to do, about the Three Circles of Tasting Room Hell (for them both in front and behind the rail). There are the folks who taste everything available, ask for what the trade calls a “revisit,” then do not buy a thing, not even a postcard if the room has a merch shop.

But, as you may already know if you’ve read this thang before, our big beefs are reserved for tasting bar hogs (you know, the couple that has their pour in a crowded room, but is resolved to stay, legs akimbo, shoulder to shoulder as if they are determined to hang on to that estate foreclosure). We tell the story of, over a decade ago when we lived in San Francisco, of the manager of a well-known-winery’s tasting room bellowing for people at the bar to “move down, we have people who want to taste!”

And then there’s the “bachelorette party.” We’ve talked before about the busload of 20 drunk chicks, one wearing a tiara and a sash, each clutching a plastic cup previously holding a Cosmo, then walking (being generous here) into a tasting room.

Discussing this with Darby, a 2011 Meadowcroft tasting room manager, schooled me. Call me Gramps, man. She recounted how Patrick, one of the coolest winery ambassador cats available, had to pour for a bachelorette party: They complained about everything, apparently the party was taking photos of each other’s breasts, and they were more than half in the bag already. Patrick diplomatically worked the wine and cheesiness to a diplomatic conclusion. Or so he thought.

Next day (or however long it actually took her to “recover”), someone from the Duchess’ party posted a scathing review of the winery on Yelp. Patrick was devastated for the winery’s reputation.

Darby hipped me to the reality that this “Age of Yelp” means that anyone can knee-jerk a post and it’s readable worldwide forever. That great, hardcore Napa tasting room manager I mentioned earlier, telling folks to respect newcomers, wouldn’t see two more weeks of employment these days. One, maybe two indignant tasters would have conspired to bring her down. Hey, as Darby says, it’s the Age of Yelp.

I’ve always hated that old saw that “everyone’s entitled to their own opinion.” Dude, that is crap: You are entitled to your own opinion if you can articulate why.” And don’t go all Wiki, Wiki, Wiki on me. I’d sure love to see what would happen if someone decided to change the spelling of “Wikipedia.”

The Internet can get you some great deals at 50% off. Sometimes half off the real story isn’t one of them.

Gawd, I need a glass of wine.

Boggled for Bogle

Bridge Out. Follow Detour Arrows.

Uh-oh.

So, Matt and Erin Cline are hosting their annual Duck Paella Party in celebration of their fall release of a Chardonnay and a Carignane (“Kerrigan,” as some of the Oakley growers call it) from a Lucchesi property in our neck of the ‘hoods. It was one year ago that, Erin, having spent much time on the phone with me for our blog, hooked me up with her husband so that I could get the lowdown on the Cline family connection to our local ag. Erin then invited Kathy and me to their clambake in Clarksburg, where we joined their wine club, and have been toasting Matt’s family roots and enduring commitment to Oakley’s remaining rootstock eversince.

Oh, man, but something happened last Saturday. Now, it had actually gotten to the fact that I no longer needed directions to get to the Old Sugar Mill, the home to several artisan wineries, including 3. You pay your $5 toll to cross a bridge near Oakley, drive along levees that everyone thinks are about to explode, bypass Isleton (unless you absolutely MUST stop for crawdads), then take one of the drawbridges across the Sacramento River in order to take two more bridges along the highway, past Bogle Winery, then 3 at the Mill.

Bridge Out. Follow Detour Arrows.

I was completely flummoxed. Crossing this first of two bridges was the only way I knew how to get to 3, and Bogle, which we always visited down the road before our jaunt chez Erin and Matt.

OK, I misread the detour instructions: I turned left, leading us on a pavement loop that had me hyperventilating every time that I could not see a bridge that needed to get us across the river, heading in the opposite direction, where we needed to be. I am not good at Kathy calls “adventures.”

We drive a Prius on our wine “adventures,” and it was apparent that my “detour” had severely depleted the tank.

My left turn detour brought us right back, 25 minutes later, finally finding a river-crossing bridge, to the original closure. Ouch.

Tony Tuned Out. Follow Arrows Shooting out of Kathy’s Eyes.

It wasn’t until Kath insisted that we needed petrol that we found our way to Clarksburg, on the other side of the river. I, a dude, actually asked for directions to Clarksburg; good thing, too, because the second bridge was closed, as well. Only the third would get us where we needed to go.

But then we missed it.

Oh sure, we got to 3wine company. Erin and Matt and Kelly were in fine form; the duck paella was nummers; digging the Chard and Kerrigan. Proud to be club members; can’t wait for what is next.

And, somehow, don’t know why ---- might be approaching them from the opposite direction; signage one way, not the other? ---- we missed Bogle. Now here is a high-volume winery that never fails to amaze us with bottlings that you will never find sharing supermarket shelf real estate.

And, if you don’t visit, you will never see the kitties.
Check out K’s photo; one of the cats had her paw mangled, but is now a beloved (especially by us) winery kitty. FYI wineries: If you don’t have one, you need to.

Ours will spill on a bathmat, beg to be swirled, curl up on a curved surface and stain a beautiful piece of loved furniture.
Wine? Kitty?
You tell me.

Groupon Therapy

Just got back last week from a 7-day jaunt up to join my two older bros for a visit with my parents up in Ottawa, Canada. A long trip, but it was nice to see the fam together again after all these years.

I got back last Tuesday night, and by Saturday Kathy and I were ready to hit the road to Livermore, just south of us in Oakley. Kath had availed herself of an online Groupon deal, paying $15 for $30 worth of food and drink at the well-appointed little café at Garré Vineyard and Winery. We’d had lunch there previously, but this was an added treat: al fresco dining under the sun on the first day of October. The Groupon promotion virtually paid for the bottle of their crisp, chilled house Sauvignon Blanc to accompany our pasta and sandwich dishes. And the deal came with two complimentary wine tastings in the main facility.

The last time we’d visited Garré, there was a hardcore bocce party filling up both of the pitches; today the courts were deserted (see photo above). All the better to get a table outside at the café, I guess.

In Livermore, we’d long been intrigued by the Steven Kent winery. I admit that our nose got a bit out of joint the very first time we visited Livermore as new Oakley transplants during the December open house celebration event in 2009. While every other winery in the area seemed to be pouring the juice freely, Steven Kent was charging a double-digit tasting fee; it just seemed wrong to us, especially so near to Christmas, on a celebratory event weekend, no less.

So, Kathy and I let our nose jut out at a weird angle for a year-and-a-half, until last week, when Kath printed out an online twofer tasting coupon for Stevie. The wonderful tasting experience quickly realigned our nasal passages, all the better to experience the wines of Steven Kent and its ultrapremium offshoot, La Rochelle.

The tasting experience is one of those cool “please wait to be escorted to your tasting station” deals, obviating the hassle of trying to educate a bachelorette party, or a pair of tasters for that matter, who will not relinquish any part of the tasting bar real estate after they’ve been served. At Steven Kent’s barrel room tasting facility, half of the $10 fee is refundable with purchase, and it was worth the fiver to chill in a civilized environment, swirling the Riedel on granite ovals set atop oak barrels.

We had the additional good fortune to have, as our pourers, two of the staffers responsible for the winning red blend making up the 2009 “Sorellanza” cuvee. Translating to “Sisterhood," this blend of 50% Barbera, 30 Sangio and 20 Malbec represents a line, some proceeds of which go to research organizations, most notably those fighting breast cancer. We had all three members of the blending team, victors in a blind tasting, sign our bottle.

Now, if you will excuse me from this post, Fritter the kitty is on my lap trying to chew the tasting notes.

Talk at you soon. Cheers.

Tony is in Canada, so I am the guest blogger this week.

Last year, when finances required us to cut back, we canceled all of our wine club memberships. The one we were most sad to lose was Geyser Peak. Not only did they send us the coolest wines (Tannat, anyone?), but we were always treated so well in their tasting room. We recently joined their club once again and were pleased to receive an invitation to their September Wine Club Release Party. Pack up the Prius…we’re heading to Healdsburg.

As you may remember from a previous posting, we spent the 4th of July weekend in Healdsburg hitting the list of Visa Signature wineries for complimentary tastings. This trip we planned to visit any wineries we’d missed. We even decided to (gasp) make a reservation at Mutt Lynch Winery, which is open by appointment only.

Mutt Lynch Winery has the motto, “Apply Dog Logic to Life: Eat Well, Be Loved, Get Petted, Sleep A lot, Dream of a Leash-Free World.” With a Muttitage (their version of a Meritage) red blend and an Unleashed Chardonnay, the dog theme runs through their product list. They’ll even host a Bark Mitzvah for your puppy!

Our next stop was Vizlay Winery (T-Bone, the black lab pictured above, gave us a tour) to taste some Prosecco. John Vizlay has a row of Prosecco (or Glera) grapes in the vineyard and makes a version that is less sweet than many of the Proseccos you’ll find in a local store. Too bad that he’ll have to start labeling his Brut to avoid hearing from the Prosecco Police. (Champagne? Better make that Sparkling Wine.)

The previous evening was spent at Geyser Peak with two new friends, Bert and Yvonne. Bert retired from the real estate business in San Francisco and now lives in Healdsburg full time. He and Yvonne met when he represented her in a transaction. Yvonne was a woman of mystery, having lived in a million places. She kept whispering to Tony and me, “You should move to Healdsburg,” which later became, “You should buy my house,” and then, “You should buy my dump.” We parted company only when we realized that the Release Party had ended 30 minutes prior, and the oh-so-gracious Geyser Peak staff was starting to clean up the joint.

The best part of the entire trip, though, was Diavola Pizzeria and Salumeria. Oh. My. I do think that we found where everyone in Geyserville goes on a Saturday night. The line was almost out the door and yet we were seated within ten minutes. A nice carafe of local wine, a Cha Cha Cha pizza (mmmm, pork belly) and we were set. We slept well that night, let me tell you.

The Trip to Bounty-Full

We actually had a decent crop of produce this year, with our newly oriented garden and raised beds all relocated to the backyard.

We had so many small Juliet tomatoes (the gift that keeps on giving), that even now, they keep Kathy sprinting. The programmable coffee maker comes on, the kitties rally for food, and Kath opens the sliding door for another harvest of “les tomates.”

Words that I would never have thought would be uttered by Kathy? “I wish these tomato plants would just die.”

And …. Scene.

So why the hell did Kath approach me last Sunday while I was adding the half-and-half to the coffee to ask, “So when do you want to leave for the U-pick?”

There is laundry list to do, an overdue blog post to proof, an abundance of tomato in our own backyard (finally!), and K wants to go U-pick! I’m thinking that this broad is nuts. And it’s not like Sunday is a picnic for her: She makes lunches, plans dinners for the week, and buys groceries for same. But she always likes to plan an adventure for her 2 days off. (More on that stuff next time; so wrong.)

We head to the agricultural wild fringes of the City of Brentwood, and Enos Family Farms. We, of course, being successful tomato farmers (this year), did not need any more produce. Yeah, right. Here’s the hook-up:

We got lots of Heirlooms, but it was so sad to see the orphan tomatoes on the ground.

So, Kathy and I walked away with lots of tomatoes and last-o-the-season strawberries. The take-away? When you have beautiful stuff, do not mess with it. For us, here, a bit of nice olive oil and herbs from the garden does the trick. And even over-ripe strawberries can get the flavor-party started.

The cool thing was that Kathy remembered a recipe from 20 years ago, during which one would set the oven to 350 degrees, and roast the tomato halves until caramelized.

For the last week’s regular menu, we have had slow-roasted tomatoes on the side of the featured dish, sprinkled with fresh herbs from our garden. And while sipping strawberry Daiquiris, made from, yes, our U-pick bounty, Kathy whipped up a bunch of soup utilizing our tomatoes, herbs, and garlic and onion. In any other part of the world, this would be “end of season.” It seems that in California, even Northern Cali, a “season” is relative.

No mutiny on this bounty; I go back to visit my folks in Canada next week, and still do not know what to pack. Yep, I am spoiled.

Aw, Shucks!

Yep, it happened again.

A few times every year, Kathy gets a jones for fresh oysters on the half shell. The other weekend, when we were strolling past a bistro on the downtown Sonoma Plaza, K skidded to a stop in front of the posted menu. It featured raw oysters, and she was almost prepared to drop over 30 clams to share a dozen with me.

Figuring that that sum would buy another bottle of wine for the cellar, she wisely decided that that may not have been the most prudent use of funds. As last week’s post noted, we moved on to another tasting room. Or two.

But the next week, Kath was jonesin’, man, and the ‘Nam flashback of Seattle-area seafood was, well, not “seared” into, because that’s not how we like our bivalves, but certainly on-the-half shell-shocking our brains.

Not sure if you remember, but here in CoCo County, far East Bay, any retail seafood available is “previously frozen for quality.” We’re not in the Pacific Northwest anymore.

Last Christmas, when Kathy and I needed to scratch our mollusk itch, we drove the 16 miles from Oakley to the eastern end of our BART rail line to arrive, an hour later, into San Fran for a bacchanalian feed of raw oysters from, among other West Coast beds, California’s Tomales Bay. Expensive, but a perfect week-before-Christmas sojourn. Get thee behind me, Heat Miser!

And then, the week before Labor Day, Kath suggests that, for oysters, we go to the source. She hits Google Maps and the next thing I know, we’re on the road to Tomales Bay Oyster Company on California Highway 1.

Tomales Bay is very much like Puget Sound in WA state: People think that they’re at the Pacific Ocean, but there’s an entire western land mass jutting out to protect you from, oh, I don’t know: sneaker waves, tsunamis, salmon attacks?

Very reminiscent of the two-lane highway, twisty-turny roads that Kathy and I have encountered on WA’s Olympic Peninsula, Napa-to-Sonoma’s Oakville Grade or Highway 128, and yes, the route to oysters.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am here to tell you that Tomales Bay Oyster Co. was the coolest joint. I can not begin to describe the oyster experience, but that will not stop me from trying.

OK, first, cash only. Kathy and I made sure to arm ourselves with five 20s from the Oakley ATM. We left the house at 9 a.m., expecting a 2-hour drive west toward Bodega Bay because the facility opens at 11 a.m. I guess not on holidays. We arrived at 11:02, were able to get a picnic table, and watched as folks arriving 30 minutes later were asking if we’d be leaving soon, and, if so, would we let them know.

Look, I know that the last paragraph sounds pathetic, but you have to know how we, as first-timers, dug this. Frankly, I have never seen Kathy so happy. She kept repeating how cool everybody was. Almost every picnic table was positioned in front of a BBQ grill. The head of a family of eight came over to tell us that they were done with it, and that we could use it. The guys beside us had a case of Ashanti beer and one bottle of Chablis, but they forget the corkscrew. It was not until I remarked, “Wow, you guys have the right idea,” that he said that he saw that we had an opener. He was not even going to ask to borrow our corkscrew, until we actually offered.

Check it: K, upon arrival, does recon: find one table, hold, find one better. And that’s what happened, and that’s why other folks wanted our table. Now, you all can see the photo and check the bayside vibe at Tomales Bay Oyster Co. I can not explain it, but can this be a Labor Day tradition?

Just gotta say, Kathy had the sense to get me to pack the picnic basket with a couple of plates and wine tumblers, oyster shucking knives and gloves. To dine, and I say “dine” because that is what Kathy and I did this midday, is one of the coolest things that we have ever done together. She packed a separate insulated bag with cubbies for a couple of bottles of crisp Muscadet Sur Lie, and we made short order of them and a mesh bag of 50 Tomales Bay bivalves. The whole scene was very busy, packed and high energy, but the whole crowd was very civilized and friendly. Oysters, wine and a well-behaved crowd: Heaven.

Another highlight of the day occurred on the highway. That section of Highway 1 in Marin zigs and zags pretty severely, with only one lane in each direction. Some bozo in the car behind is riding our tail. Although we were obeying the speed limit, we, and the several cars ahead of us, obviously was making him impatient. We watched in shock as this doorknob proceeds to cross the double-yellow lines to pass every vehicle, one by one. Kathy and I were aghast, and uncharitably wished that we’d see him in the ditch up ahead.

We needn’t have wished for an injury: The only cop we saw on our road trip that day had already pulled Passing Pete over, about a mile up the road.

Champenoise and a Checkered Flag

So, last Sunday was our little exercise in vinous multitasking. Cline was hosting a club members’ party to pick up the latest selections, but since it didn’t start until 2 p.m., Kathy and I thought that we’d, to paraphrase Frank’s rendition of “Nice and Easy,” make a few stops along the way.

We thought that it would be oh-so-civilized to begin the day just past Cline to sip a flute of sparkling wine at Sonoma’s Gloria Ferrer; they’re a participant in the VISA Signature complimentary promo, but the last time we pulled up, they were hosting a special event and the tasting room was closed. This last weekend was magical chez Gloria.

But first, we had to run the Highway 12 cones at Infineon Raceway, this weekend the home to the Indy Grand Prix of Sonoma.

Now, Kath and I used to live in San Fran 13 years ago, and we’ve made this trek many times. Hell, in the 2 years we’ve lived in Oakley, we’ve made this trip, from the opposite direction, as many times. But this is the first time that we’ve hit the highway on race day.

California Highway Patrol is directing traffic into the various gates, as everyone, whether attending or passing through, is backed up on the drag; all traffic signals are set to flashing red. Actually, we’ve endured more frustration on our local Highway 4 than this semi-ordeal. And, hey, Helio Castroneves was competing. Today, as a driver, not on “Dancing With the Stars.”

So, Kath and I eventually get to Gloria Ferrer and its majestic facility. And the experience was both wonderful and hilarious. It’s a different experience, in that it’s more of a wine bar than a tasting room. One can get a teaser taste or two, but it’s primarily a joint at which to order a flute, sojourn to the patio and chill.

The patio overlooks the sloping vines, and on this gorgeously sunny ayem (see photo), we sipped our bubbles as the pitter-patter of INDY GRAND PRIX wafted over us! Kathy and I just had to crack up. Table service on the terrace didn’t hurt, either.

Our next stop, for the first time, was the downtown Sonoma Plaza, a quaint place that we’d tried to visit previously. It’s home to lots of tasting rooms, but the free diagonal parking disappears by morning, so every time K and I have tried to drop in, we’ve ended up circling the square, then abandoning the search in favor of continuing up 12 (the same main drag, BTW) toward Glen Ellen or Kenwood for other wineries up the Valley.

This time, we got here earlier, got parking, and got to experience many of the tasting rooms that have opened outposts downtown. Kinda liked we talked about a few weeks ago about the Walla Walla Woodinville tasting rooms. As usual, some places were more welcoming than others; again, the staff sells the show. Does not hurt when the winemaker is on site. Such was the case in the Plaza chez Westwood, our last stop downtown before hitting the Cline clambake.

Now, Cline has the wildest wine club. They have multiple tiers: reds, whites or mixed. But one can substitute anything on their roster for anything else. And one gets the same 25% discount. And that’s what happened when we showed up for our first party.

Great time: lots of wine, servers with silver trays and tons of people who want to share your table. Seriously, very cool.

Our Dinner at Tess’

A few weeks ago, Kathy and I were shopping for produce at the Saturday Farmers Market in neighboring Brentwood, and after Kath had her ration of pickling cukes, herbs and vegetables for the coming week’s recipes and culinary projects, she asked me if it would be wrong to go into the Co. Co. County Wine Company for an adult beverage. They open in the morning on Saturdays, specifically for the Farmers Market crowd.

Hey, as far as I’m concerned, it’s 5 a.m. somewhere.

Winemaker Becky Bloomfield of Bloomfield Vineyards owns the joint, and this particular ayem she was behind the stick making Mimosi and Bellino to order. Becky chatted us up a bit about a fundraising event that was upcoming, and to which she was donating some wine.

Before finishing our bevies, we took an event flier; later that afternoon Kathy had us take a flyer on the upcoming event: the Second Annual Fundraiser for Tess’ Community Farm Kitchen. Online reservations were made; soon, tax-deductible 501(C) 3 tickets were received by mail.

A decade ago, Brentwood business attorney (still practicing) Barbara Frantz purchased a 10-acre parcel of agricultural land near Discovery Bay (BTW: Kath recently brought home word of the dates for the next semi-annual Disco Bay Country Club wine event, which we’ve written about before.), with an idea to nurture the land, educate folks to the value of fresh produce, and to serve as a resource to local farmers, many of whom can lose a literal ton of fruit to the ground if the big boys (supermarkets) aren’t in the mood to buy this year.

[Sidebar, Your Honor: Several months ago, I overheard one very successful local farmer admit a fact that, in theoretical reality, made perfect sense, but that, in my touchy-feely-buy from-the-source-and-pay-a-premium-sometimes reality, kinda stung. It seems that super-high-end markets, such as Whole Foods and the like, want only unblemished, perfect-looking fruit. Agricultural acne of any kind will not be tolerated. Any produce exhibiting a minor blemish (and I emphasize “minor”; it’s not like these farmers distribute rotten fruit) is the stuff that goes to CSA subscribers and B-to-C walk-ins, at least in the case of this operation.]

It’s almost reminiscent of the wine biz: In what other world would the price be higher at its source (the winery) than off-site (the supermarket)?

But back to business: A big part of Barbara’s mission is to show how growers don’t have to lose that valuable fruit to the worms; culled fruit can be made into jams, sauces, vinaigrettes, pastries and other goodies that, as she notes, “last on a shelf a lot longer than on a tree.”

The Tess’ Community Farm Kitchen event definitely put the ‘fun” in “fundraiser.” Named for Barbara’s mom, the locale (and similarly named organization) served as a wonderful backdrop for the mission, as local farmers, vintners, retailers and restaurants donated goods and services to make for a very civilized late afternoon/evening of al fresco dining in the orchard. Didn’t hurt that all of our tablemates were a hoot, but when one of them is a beekeeper, that’s all I need to listen enrapt over one more cup of Chardonnay.

I talked for a long time with John Papini Sr, honcho of Papini Farms, a place Kathy and I have visited for the last two springtimes in order to get the jump on their U-Pick fruit. This man is the real deal, articulating the vagaries and the challenges of keeping the generational farm operating in the face of today’s business machinations, but at the same time he’s garrulous, hilarious and all kinds of good “ous”es one would find only in the dictionary. Check out our photo of John’s mobile grillmobile, at which he tended the corn, the chicken and the ribs, all donated from local farms and restaurants.

And what a menu! Multiple courses featuring heirloom tomatoes, organic figs, sweet potato dumplings with local honey, grilled zucchini, mixed greens with a white Balsamic, lemon cupcakes with lavender frosting, and the opportunity to grab a paper bag and scissors to snip off bunches of grapes in the vineyard to take home!

Our carte came with a list of donors, and it read like an Oakley, Brentwood, Disco Bay, Antioch and Byron “Who’s Who?”: Olive oil from our pals Dawn and David at Brentwood Olive Oil and Spices; peaches from Frog Hollow Farms; wines from Becky’s concern and Hannah Nicole Winery, beer from Schooner’s, a cool brewpub out west by the Vold-Mort (sorry, Wal-Mart). And gotta love that a couple of local Safeways and a Starbucks gave the love.

Which sort of seems to be the point of Tess’ Community Farm Kitchen.

Counselor Barbara A. Frantz, may I have you ask for a continuance, at least until next year?

Charles R Us

Sorry if I get all “stream of consciousness” on y’all, this week was actually pretty funny.

Kathy and I get lots of e-mails from lots of wineries, and one in the in-box indicated that one joint in Livermore, just south of us in Oakley, had space for their “August Moon” dinner. And like Lon Chaney Jr. in the iconic Wolfman pix, Kath bit. Arroooooo!

Now, for us to eschew Snappy Hour at the house on a valuable weekend in order to do the do south in Livermore, well that’s a commitment from this couple. Glad we did.

Couple of things about Charles R Winery: they very recently lost a family member/winemaker. The fam closed down for a bit, but then regrouped in the original spot to let the beat go on. We first discovered them December of 2009 during the holiday fest; we were knocked out by their unoaked Chardonnay. They’ve since become a go-to destination for the varietal, and when a special event appeared on their calendar, we took the proverbial plunge.

Guys, our “August Moon” dinner could not have had better tablemates. Kath and I chatted with Terri and Mike in the salon, commenting (favorably) on the unoaked Chardonnay. They shared table space with us, as did Darren and Gina.

Where else does one find a half-dozen people sharing a table; memories and menus a la carte? K and I had a very nice time at the dinner; the centerpiece was the flank steak marinated in a Zin reduction, but a lot of laughs au gratin. Chef Jim Thurman from Smokey’s Kitchen apparently is in great demand catering Livermore wine events, and it’s easy to see why: His easy hand on the ingredients, and his ease at articulating the structure of each course before it was served was a very nice touch.

And a full moon, visible at dusk as we finished our main course al fresco, tied it all up with literal lunacy. Perfect!

Oh, and check this out: I have never won a raffle in my life. Three filled-out tix were to be drawn, and since my tablemate Mike one the first prize, I thought that was that. My name was called next! And even though someone at a distant table immediately cried, “He’s not here!,” I actually scored a bottle of wine, just before they were going to pull another ticket, believing that mofo.

I finally got the loot, and, dude, it was tastay. The Charles R 2006 Livermore Valley Cabernet Sauvignon had a nice deep purple-black look. Lots of nice plum on the nose, and a spicy bit on the medium finish.

Whiskey-A-Goo-Goo

Hey, y’all.

OK, that’s what happens when the National Public radio signal quits out on the rental car, and one finds out, pleasantly enough, that the vehicle just happens to be equipped with Sirius/XM. Not quite the commercial-free radio deal promised a decade ago, but listening to “Blue Collar Comedy,” even with the interstitial ads for adult toys and DVDs, was a saving grace for the dozen total hours we drove on our Washington state adventure.

Uh, I drove. No cruise control on the rental. Weeks later, my right foot still cramps up.

We had a surprisingly great time at K’s 30-year reunion BBQ (actually a wonderfully catered event on alumnus Kevin’s acreage). Lots of laughs, lots of memories.

When we left the BBQ, early, there was a dodgey group of dudes drinking from a Cuervo bottle. And not the Anjejo, We always read in the newspaper about some folks infiltrating a house party, and trouble ensuing. We split, and set the alarm for 5:30 a.m. to be on the road the next morning by 7:00.

It was several hours later when we met our good friends and wine-tasting pals Susan and Derek in Woodinville, the suburb just north of Seattle where every winery seems now to have an outpost. Ya can’t grow vinifera on this urban side of the Cascade mountain range, but the truth of the matter is that if you want to sell your stuff made from grapes grown on the other side, you often need to truck the tonnage over the hill and hook up a tasting room where the market is. The market is Seattle, and we could not believe what we saw in Woodinville, two years after selling our little White Center/West Seattle house.

First off, virtually every Walla Walla tasting room in the far east of WA state has opened a tasting room outpost in Woodinville. My increasingly not-so-funny joke was that they all rented a moving van to come over together. The story that we heard, at more than one new tasting room, was that a lot of their wine club members didn’t want to pay for shipping. So, to paraphrase the old expression, Mohammed came over the mountain.

We saw lots of tasting fees, too, though (for now) refundable with purchase. Apex Cellars has a nice wine lounge, with board games on the center table. I’d be Sorry! if they, and others, went to nonrefundable fees, though I’m already seeing some evidence of this happening around Woodinville.

OK, enough about Susan and Derek; let’s talk about Derek and Susan. These cats are the coolest, most game/up-for-anything folks we know; totally everything I am not! One of the coolest messages we ever received when we lived in Seattle was “Wine Tasting This Weekend?” in the subject line of an e-mail from Susan.

So, here we are, two years after seeing our pals, at the same Park&Ride at which we’d meet them, and 750 days just melted away. Oh sure, we tasted and we toured, but S&D hipped us to the new WA state vibe: distilleries. Dry Fly in Spokane was the first one in WA since Prohibition to get papers (As a Canuck, I still scratch my head at this “Great Experiment.”); in Woodinville, Susan and Derek hooked us up with at least two more new, completely legal distilleries in our wine-tasting burg of Woodinville. Welcome to the ‘90s” Washington state, even if it is the 1890s.

So, Susan and Derek present to us, upon our arrival, a fave 2009 Efeste Feral Sauv Blanc, fermented solely with wild yeast. Then, they hit us with a bottle of Single Silo Vodka from the new Project V Distillery. We visited Project V that afternoon and purchased another bottle of Vodka that comes with an aromatic spice packet and a Mason jar, in order to craft a wildly infused Chai-like Vodka spirit. After steeping for a mere two-and-a-half days back home here in CoCo, the spicy amber concoction is ready for sipping!

Oh, and then D is working on his latest project: He purchased a whiskey kit from another new area distillery, the Woodinville Whiskey Co., pictured above. The kit consists of two whiskey-tasting glasses, a bottle of colorless blond whiskey and a small oak barrel to age it in, all packaged attractively in a box. The idea is that Derek becomes his own whiskey cellar master, making his own decisions as to how long to let the booze age in barrel, imparting color and wood flavors as he sees fit. Oh, so civilized. Derek promises us whiskey ageing reports from his “barrel room” as the project progresses.

And what of our spicy Chai Vodka project? Well, this tasty little shot exhibits an unfiltered amber color with hues of burnt orange. On the tongue it’s all spice box: cardamom, cinnamon, peppermint and clove; it’s like those Christmas “Storybook” assortments of rolls of LifeSavers candy. There’s a slightly sweet edge to the spiciness, and no alcohol burn on the long finish.

BTW, we came back home with all three of our empty Styrofoam wine shippers filled with almost three-dozen bottles. We cracked up when we claimed our checked boxes at baggage claim in Oakland: Two of our shippers had been resealed with packing tape bearing the Department of Homeland Security seal of the Transportation Security Administration. Inside was a friendly preprinted card from TSA appreciating our “understanding and cooperation” in their physical search of our stuff for prohibited items.

All Vodka and Viognier was present and accounted for. Cheers, federal agents.