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.