Outlet Malls & Oenophilia

Oh gang, craziness!

Man, the biggest thing to hit Livermore was the grand opening, almost 2 years in the making, of the Paragon Outlets mall just west of Livermore wine country.

Dude, this joint is going to do nothing to alleviate any traffic on 580, an artery to Kali Klown Kar Kulture.

Prada, Armani, Kate Spade, Brooks Brothers, Saks 5-O, plus a host of the usual factory suspects ensured that this proverbial ribbon-cutting was the biggest thing to hit this burg since Interstate 580 was paved with Petite Sirah must (I’m kidding, Merv, I’m kidding).

So, Kath has Thursday, which just happens to coincide with the grand opening, off, and she heads off for some shopping. Apparently it was crazy, but she knows how to work the crowds, so it was relatively painless for her: parking and lines.

Now, on Saturday, not so much for me. The turnout for this super-premium retail joint made sure that mall officials had to find extramural parking for everybody. Man, this parking sitch, with overflow stationing relegated to unpaved environs surrounding the mall, was some ungawdly combo of Children of the Corn IV and Brentwood’s annual festival celebrating das cob. It had me wondering if I was banished to Billy Mumy’s “Twilight Zone” territory.

See, we were meeting for a Livermore Valley Winegrowers Association-sponsored event winetasting event, “Sunset Sip & Shop,” chez mall. Ten bucks, get your glass, visit the myriad barrels on the outside mall manned by Livermore vintner staff, and then make sure not to spill a Merlot on that sweet ETRO jacket lining.

Guys, it was coolo. Outdoor sipping at multiple stations of the cross, featuring many of our Livermore faves: Occasio, Nottingham, Longevity, to name only a literal few.

As mentioned, K had to work previously, and I had the heavy lifting of visiting, solo this time, Livermore’s Steven Kent/La Rochelle winery compound on a release day to taste and pick up our Pinot Noir allotment.

A mellow mood quickly turned to road rage when it was apparent that the mall exit ramp extemporaneously extended miles down the “free”way. Eventually parked amid Anthony’s cornfield scarecrows, and brushing the hay from mein togs, I promptly got lost as to Kathy’s and mine rendezvous spot.

Whether “in” Brooks Brothers or “at” Brooks Brothers (what we got heeeeeeah is a failyah tuh communicate), we did meet up in time for the sold-out wine event to provide our ID’ed wristbands in order to taste with abandon.

Almost every winery was pouring a red and a white/sparkling; Kath was on a red jones; me on a clear for some reason (downright thirst, ya think?).

Gotta tell youse guys that, despite all the parking access/egress stuff, this dusk sip and shop was really fun. Half the merch that Kathy bought on Thursday was gone by Saturday; and the wine event allowed us to be smug to see a line, a hundred souls long at Kate Spade, with nary a stem in hand to ease the anxiety.

‘Twas nice to see the local wine folk kickin’ it, though I wonder if the next Livermore Valley Winegrowers Association event will be a car wash & straw-detailing down the way at Charles R.

Because one never wants that bad mix of hay and spilled Touriga onto factory-installed leather. I hear that it messes up that new-car smell.

Sometimes for the better. So I hear.

Dungeons & Draconis

Our little youngster, the contradictorily named Old Sugar Mill, is really enjoying a growth spurt.

I truly get the fact that no one wants to be the pioneer in a ‘hood “on the cusp of gentrification.”

But Sugar, Sugar, ahh Honey, Honey.

Winemaker Matt Cline and biz-savvy wife Erin Cline were some of the first folks in, turning potential into kinetic energy with 3 Wine Company:

 http://www.threewinecompany.com/

Matt works the juice. He sources some sites near, dear and clear to our particular hearts: Contra Costa County grape-er-age smack dab in Oakley.

The Cline fam has its rootstock here. This blog began as an experiment to try to figure out where these magnificent grapes went, and into whose bottles. Heaven forbid that Oakley would see a vineyard designate parcel on a wine label: Live Oak, Big Break, Bridgehead. These are all Oakley roads surrounded by 120-year-old vines.

Actually, Heaven forbade the forbidden: Cline Cellars, with its intensive holdings in the ‘hood, and hardcore brand recognition, stepped up the integrity. Highly sought-after vineyard Zins display character that I thought could only come from a Wine Spectator editor ransacking a thesaurus.

OK, so Matt at 3, after a decade, and an affinity for Oakley fruit, comes back to take a whack at Live Oak.

The charming and oh-so-knowledgeable Kelly at 3 poured Kathy and me a side-by-side of Matt’s Zinfandel from Live Oak and his Evangelho.

Folks, I wouldn’t know finesse if it punched me. Joke, that.

Matt, you must get more of that Live Oak; your take on it is stellar. Nicely done, doctor.

Wasn’t so long ago that that the Mill, trying to lure small tasting rooms into the fold, was hit or miss. Several pioneering tasting rooms, a couple of “coming soon” teasers, and a few empty storefronts. Today, there’s no room at the inn: winery outlets line the main indoor drag, and the development of phase II is actually proceeding.

Which brings us to Draconis, a new tenant just outside the building and becoming the vanguard of said second phase of Sugar Mill reno. That the wine is outrageously tasty is a bonus. Like Todd Taylor’s juice elsewhere in the building, Matt Powell’s Draconis bottlings eschew blending, opting for a 100% expression of varietal fruit. Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, back at the 3 Company ranch, Matt’s 2010 Live Oak Zinfandel is an elegant counterpart to even his Evangelho Vineyard Zinfandel from up the street. Unlike his bro’s Cline Cellars bottling from the same site, this stuff demonstrates the winemaker’s touch: his take on extraction, oak treatment and ripeness are all evident. No need to take your jacket to the cleaners: nothing shakes your lapels limp on this wine.

Thirsty Thursday

Guys, I had the funkiest experience last week.

Sorry for yet another Naked Wines pimp-out, just like my VISA Signature schmoozefest last year, but this particular event rocked the Riedel.

OK, first, full disclosure: Tonight is Halloween, and, suburban as we are, we are getting the hell out of Dodge. Unlike in our former digs in the Seattle ‘burb of White Center (as the local sign shop printed, “Not So Center, Not So White”), we have run out of candy 3 years running.

But when the 12-year-old punk demanded, last year, that I put more swag into his pillowcase, I was done.

Dude, I lived in Beverly Hills on more than a couple of Halloweens, where it seemed that parents would bus their kids in, thinking that the residents were handing out Faberge Eggs or insured jewelry.

So, tonight, I’m turning the lights off. I hope that FedEx makes the scheduled delivery before dusk so that the now-13-year-old punk will not find our house as his gateway from theobromine to extortion.

But, I digress. Now, that funky-fresh thang I mentioned at the top of the page.

So, we’re doing a virtual-time tasting with the winemaker.

Matt Iaconis has spent time all around the globe, on his quest to make his own juice from the sources that presented themselves to his singular vision.

A Moscato from Lodi; Chard from Napa; and a Cab from Paso Robles: East, North and South. With Instant Messaging remarks from all over the country.

There’s video with our Naked Wines host, Adam, audio from same and Matt, and IM questions read onscreen by videographer extraordinaire Vanessa.

Great questions, and great wine.

Kath and I can’t decide which is better: hunched over a QWERTY or a quaff.

Naked Wines & Virgin Product

I know that we’ve posted about www.nakedwines.com, the vintner incubator that utilizes monthly subscribers’ premiums to financially back passionate winemakers who want to focus on the dream of winemaking, without having to spend most of their work week schmoozing distributors and bankers.

Roget does not have enough superlatives in his tome to describe how much fun Kathy and I are having as “Angels,” the name that Naked affixes to their $40/month devotees, who receive discounts in the 40-to-50% range off the already deep-discounted prices for the bottles.

And at this low price point, Kath and I have never had much past luck with French or South American bottlings; Naked put the boots to that. We’ve received multiple diverse cases from them, and have yet to taste a dog in the bunch. Old World, New World, with global winemakers from the U.K. to Ukiah, CA: This is an ever-changing roster of vinous talent that has made juice for the big boys and/or spent apprenticeships on the Continent, and now have the freedom to make varietal wine to their own specs.

It’s custom crush, but we’re the ones smitten.

So how cool is it that the universe unfolds as it should, with a Sonoma PBS station holding their annual on-air wine auction (featuring gift certificates to Naked Wine), and Naked’s official launch party in the Sonoma County of Kenwood to inaugurate their new tasting room and winery facility, all on the same weekend?

Kathy and I had dropped by the Naked winery a few weeks ago, on a “soft opening” weekend and were as impressed by the facility as we were the vino.

But by the time the dust cleared the other day, K and I had been successful PBS bidders on more than one Naked Wines gift cert, padding our Angel account, for a fraction of the list price, to quadruple digits! We may need a new wine cabinet.

The launch party last Saturday was a blast. We didn’t walk three steps before a generous pour of Spanish Rosé was splashing around our glass. Wending our way to the back patio, past the live band, we immediately caught the gaze of Rowan Gormley, founder and all-round honcho, who greeted us like old friends.

We got a chance to meet many of the winemakers who call Naked their new winemaking home; nice to put faces to the myriad bottles in the portfolio. It was especially cool to taste what Kath called “baby wine,” that still-unraveled blend of juice and yeast working its way toward vinous cohesion; several newbie winemakers were pouring what, when fully knitted, will eventually become Naked retail selections. It’s all stuff that’s almost as heady as the biz model.

And with our freshly minted gift certificates, Kathy couldn’t wait to put together an order. Thirty bottles later, she hit all the food groups: Chablis, Sancerre, Cali Chardonnay, Viognier, Cabernet, Zinfandel, with a soupçon of Shiraz, Pinot Noir and Rhône-style blends fixed into the mix.

Toss in free overnight shipping and a 40% discount, and we’ll be drinking pretty well, sampling small-production wines from the Languedoc to Lodi, and all without leaving the house. Clothing optional.

Geez, What Month is This?

It definitely will not last long, but, with the price spike in gasoline around here in California, Kathy and I decided to be good to our wallets and forego any wine jaunts this past weekend. Sonoma, Napa, Livermore, Lodi, Clarksburg: Y’all are just going to have to wait.

At least until this coming Saturday.

But with an e-mail coming in to us last week from Brentwood’s Enos Family Farms announcing that strawberries and heirloom tomatoes were both still on the vine for U-Pick, the timing couldn’t have better for us to stay a bit closer chez nous.

Enos Family has a regular retail booth at the Brentwood Farmers Market every Saturday morning, but the actual farm and farm stand isn’t very far from the market’s downtown location. Enos is an organic concern smack in the middle of what I refer to as “growers’ gulch,” an expansive array of like farm acreage offering seasonal U-Pick and/or harvested fare from the fields.

So, here we are, on a sunny Sunday in the middle of October; it’s 80 degrees at 10:30 a.m. If it weren’t for every other farm sporting signs exclaiming “Pumpkin Patch Now Open!,” Kath and I wouldn’t have a clue that we were a mere two-and-a-half weeks from Halloween.

At the Enos stand, we were directed to the farm rows housing the three Food Groups of produce that we wanted to pick, and we set off, a trio of buckets in hand.

First up was the strawberry patch. Now, check out Kathy’s photo of these mofos. In October! Crazy, Daddy-o. We’ve been enjoying these sweethearts all week, with a bissel Balsamic glaze on top, for dessert.

Next on our proverbial cook’s tour was a trek to the back forty and the tomato plots. It was heartbreaking to see so many gorgeous, albeit extremely mushy or split, specimens on the ground. But we were ultimately able to eke out a nice harvest of assorted ripe varietal organic heirlooms off the vines. We’ve been enjoying them sliced, with a little grey sea salt and a good oil from a particular Livermore olive grove, and in sandwiches. Most notably, Kathy slow-roasted a bunch of them quartered with entire cloves of unpeeled garlic and olive oil for over three hours, in preparation for a soup adapted from Gwyneth Paltrow’s book, “My Father’s Daughter.”

This is also the time of year when, wherever we’ve lived — Seattle, Portland, Cali — and no matter how extended or truncated the growing season, K gets a hankerin’ to go all Laura Ingalls Wilder and put up a batch of pickles.

That’s what the third bucket was for: pickling cukes for refrigerator dills. There were plenty of pickles-to-be for the picking at Enos Family Farms and, after a quick detour to the market for fresh dill weed, Kathy was back in our kitchen working a new recipe for refrigerator dill slices. Ready in just 24 hours, these bad boys are outrageous, bay-bee. The recipe comprises, among other ingredients, cider vinegar, canning salt, pickling spice, garlic, onion and dried, crumbled chipotle peppers!

If this isn’t really October in CoCo County, with strawberries and cucumbers and ripe heirloom tomatoes all overlapping seasonal readiness, then what month is this?

Go ahead, U-Pick one. We-Did.

Appointments With Destiny/Luxury

So, we’re digging it deep into October, again with nary a cloud in the Oakley sky, but the clock is ticking on our Internet tasting cards that expire at year’s end.

Kathy and I have a deal that became our welcome mat back to Napa, home of the outrageous tasting room fees. The card comped the fees, but the prob is that many of these participating joints are not open on weekends. Unfortunately for Kath, but fortunately for me, K had to work a Saturday, meaning that she could take the previous day off: Appointments on weekdays, here we come!

We hadn’t been to Mayacamas, up Mount Veeder, since we lived in San Francisco two dog lives ago. Host Beth Mattos was wonderful, hooking us up with the history of the winery’s 1889 founding with Mr. Fisher, the San Fran pickle king who, alas, lost his legacy in the 1906 earthquake. Many sales later, the current iconoclastic winemaking concern frankly, doesn’t give a shi-ite. You won’t find a white wine with less than three years on the label; five for the reds. And at a mere 4K cases of juice, the fact that they’ll still hold back stuff for the library is crazy. One buys a 6-year-old Chardonnay, no big deal; but, apparently to drink the 2010 Sauvignon Blanc before 2017 is anathema.

Down the hill to Hess to pick up our club shipment: a small allotment of Malbec, a Petite and an estate Sauvignon. I had no time to visit my favorite burning typewriter before our next appointment with Desti/Lux.

Reynolds Family was OK, but we never got the sense that we were expected. It seemed a catch-all at a tasting bar. $20 plus tax. I’m just sayin’. Thank you Lot 18 Tasting Card for nixing that charge. Fun Fact: Kathy and I finished our tasting, bought a bottle of their Pinot, then chilled outside on the terrace with our packaged lunch made in Oakley. Our tasting room hostess passed us repeatedly to pour for an eight-top.

Did they buy? I don’t know. But, as K noted, how bad would it have been for our host to see us forking lunch on the couches, and ask if we wanted a “splish” with our meal? It’s painless, and the goodwill is endless. As it is: Seeya.

And then we get to more class acts.

We have a 3 p.m. with Kristen at Oakville Ranch. We used to be club members but it has obviously undergone some changes since a weird split from Miner Family. Gotta love the family dynamic. Pick one: family or your nose.

Guys, we are tasting the most opulent wines, in a greenhouse atop Silverado Trail. Lush, plush, and even deluxe. The Cabernet Franc hit us bigtime. Props to Oakville for hitting it hard on the varietal bottling. Nice.

And then we met up with Jessica Loesch from Couloir and Straight Line wineries. It could not have been more civilized, y’all.

The joint is so small that they do tastings off-site: Winemaker Jon Grant holds no real estate, but knows the sites he wants up and down the state. His Couloir (hey, my Canuck upbringing made the French translation to “hallway” or “corridor”) label is a nod to his extreme skiing vibe (the “chute”), giving the love to single vineyard Pinot Noir sites from Marin to Mendocino.

With Jessica hosting us at Calistoga’s Solage resort, al fresco no less, Kath and I tasted through a quartet of label selections, each wine a wonderful expression of pleasure and place.

No surprise that we bought all four selections offered from the portfolio, but, because we tasted off-site, Jessica picked up our bottles and hand-delivered our wine to us at Mumm Napa, where we were winding down our day with a flute o’ bubbles. Again, thanks Lot 18.

It can’t last forever; I know that. But as long as the deals are valid, we’ll keep stocking the cellar.

Sebastopol Saturday

We had the jones to hit a few Sonoma County places west of Santa Rosa, an area comprising the burgs of Sebastopol and Forestville, among others, that specialize in cooler-climate varietal Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and even some Sauvignon Blanc and Riesling varietal bottlings.

Being that much closer to the Sonoma Coast and Russian River AVAs, the towns and wineries we toured last Saturday provided plenty to satisfy said jones (didn’t Said Jones used to be on “The View”?).

Our first stop, at the crack of 9:30 a.m., was Merry Edwards, and a civilized tasting held in what we dubbed “The Board Room,” a sliding-door alcove off the main entrance. Meredith Edwards, nicknamed “Merry” in college, has been a driving force in Cali winemaking for decades.

From fighting the “males only” vintners’ club back in the day when a female with an enology degree from UC Davis might land a gig as lab assistant, to a singular passion, fostered during a sojourn in France, to espouse a Burgundian sensibility, Merry Edwards has built a reputation that puts her in the illustrious company of your Heidi Barretts, Helen Turleys and your Zelma Longs.

Off to Lynmar Estate, and the gorgeous grounds surrounded by the estate Quail Hill Vineyard, with the winery facility up the hill. It also happened to be one of our VISA Signature comp-tasting participants. Nice juice; a sentiment echoed by an adjacent industry distributor hosting a pair of wine pros from South America.

Kathy and I kept Sebastopolicing the vicinity, stopping in at Red Car Wine Co., and Dutton Estate.

Red Car, named for the erstwhile vehicles that used to ply the erstwhile extensive Los Angeles trolley system, was founded by an erstwhile ‘80s film producer specializing in, then, straight-to-VHS product. Ah, I remember it well: ‘twas the time of action star Jeff Speakman’s visage staring out at you from the Blockbuster shelf (to paraphrase comic Kevin Pollack, “You have a Jew as an action star; Jeff Speakman screams, ‘STOP WITH THE KICKING!’ ”).

The all-caps denotes the name of one of Pollack’s ‘90s comedy specials. And, yes, K and I rented it, years ago, from a local Hollywood Video. Erstwhile, VHS and BTW. RIP.

With John, tasting host at Red Car when Kath and I stopped in, it’s a good bet that the winery and its Sonoma Coast-sourced product will, to use a totally inappropriate metaphor for an LA streetcar system, ensure that the rubber meets the road. Wonderful stuff in the glass.

But, damn you, J! He busted me on being Canadian. Of course, he used to play ice hockey avec beaucoup Quebecois, so he caught a hint of my accent that I have been trying, I thought successfully, to suppress for decades.

I mean, it’s not like I said that the Pee-Knot-Nwarrrr would go great with a Montreal Smoked Meat, eh. Though, it just might.

Jacques, je te dis: Maudit! But I do agree with you about Don Cherry: Encore une fois, je Dis: Maudit!

Hey, so on to Dutton Estate and their high-scoring, great-tasting stuffing. Apparently, there’s Dutton Estate and there’s Dutton-Goldfield: two separate joints, two bros who decided to pursue different projects after years of working together, one with a partner.

Dutton Estate is pretty hassle-free: a chill room that was signing up wine club members as we got our first pour. The facility is more than a little bit country, but the juice rocked.

A jaunt up to Forestville (no passport stamp required) treated us to the varietal bottlings up at Joseph Swan, where crush was in full swing, and the berries were coming in big time. Ironically, it was the only Zinfandel we picked up this trip, and sourced from the Sonoma Valley (the home of Naked Wines’ new tasting facility, Mayo, Ledson et al). Kathy and I got a glimpse of the glamorous world of winemaking as we watched bin after bin of grapes awaiting hand punch-down, by a true “cellar rat” assistant, working to add color to the vino from the skins.

We hit Taft Street back across the “papers, please, Mein Herr” border to Sebastopol, where ginger winery kitty Finnegan somehow led us to purchase a winery exclusive: A 2009 Russian River Riesling.

And then on to our Pinot ‘ppointment at Freeman, complete with a visit to the caves and an apres tasting. An awe-inspiring visit: gorgeous cellars and a welcoming, knowledgeable vibe from this quintessential Pinot and Chard house.

Our final stop was NPA (Natural Process Alliance), a loose amalgam of like-minded winemakers embracing a sustainable, green vibe on the Coast. Kath and were lucky to taste with Kevin, and the Salinia Sonoma Coast Chardonnay he poured was outrageous in its flavor profile.

Presidential debates time: “W” didn’t drink no more, although he “choked on a pretzel” while watching football on television; Milt Rooney is Mormon.

We can go home to Oakley, but whaddya serve at table to Bidzina Ivanishvili? Georgia on my mind. Sebastopol on my map.