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When I was thirteen I thought I was going to grow up to be a photographer. I spent endless hours in the darkroom and carrying my cameras everywhere I went. Being shy, it was the perfect date for me at a youth dance. I could take pictures of the action and go into the darkroom later that night to print them. Often folks would come into the darkroom (it was at the same place the dance was, usually) and see what I was doing. Photography was a social magnet.
A few years later, in college and during the Vietnam War era, photography opened up the greater world to me. I met different folk than the ones in the small resort town where I had grown up. I even met a famous one from time to time.
A word about fame, something I know a little about. I grew up in a town filled with famous people (Palm Springs, CA) and learned very early not to make a fuss over folks who have been afflicted with it. Leave ?em be, talk to them normal, change the subject away from them. Some of them might even make the grade to friendship. But, I ramble.
I am a walker. Love to walk the streets of a town. Rome, Paris, New York, San Francisco, Palermo, Naples, Chicago, Dallas. I once walked the route on Elm Street in Dallas where JFK was shot (grassy knoll) to the shop on the same street where John Hinckley bought the gun that he shot Ronald Reagan with. On a hot July day I took my trusty Canon VIT rangefinder and a new Canon AE1 and did my own shooting. The Dallas of that day has altered greatly.
New York? Since 1975, I have trudged the streets of that city camera and wine bag in tow. My childhood friend and photography co-conspirator Bruce took a fabulous street shot, worthy of a Weegee. Bruce went on to become a movie mogul and one of the greatest collectors of photography in the world. And still a friend and drinking buddy.
I spent time in the NY scene with Diane Arbus? teacher, Lisette Model. Not much time, but enough to remember one cold afternoon in January in her apartment. I had already been to Arbus boot camp. It started in California and concluded in a bar in Milwaukee, a bar right out of the collective mind of Kubrick, Serling and Lovejoy. I had walked onto the set of a world that someone like Diane Arbus lived daily. And it scared the holy crap out of me.
I had my time with the world of reportage and photojournalism. One photographer from Magnum, to remane unnamed, asked my help in getting him and his art director through Tijuana for a photo shoot. An ad campaign for Pentax. I thought it odd that the photographer almost exclusively used his Leica M3 for the assignment. When I asked him, his answer seemed cynical at the time. Now, I think he was like a sushi chef, just using the best knife he had to cut the Toro.
And the old masters, so many of them I was lucky to encounter, sit awhile and soak up their greatness. They were called the f64 group. My entry was through Imogen Cunningham and Ansel Adams. In the darkroom with Ansel was a breakthrough, I still remember the warmth of that little room, and not in a creepy way. How often is it you can stand in the dark and be dazzled with brilliance?
Imogen, she reminds me a lot of my friend Alice. Petite, but never diminutive, cantankerous, strong willed and boy crazy. But a vision and a determination to walk her trail without fear. Imogen was a wonderful mentor to me in life.
On the fringe of the f64 group was Wynn Bullock. Wynn was the one who taught me about the vision thing. He schooled me in the philosophy of perception. Thanks to Wynn, some of the best photography I have ever taken was without a camera. I remember how supportive he was when I came back from NY, explaining to me that he also had to take NY in measures, not in giant doses. Like him, I needed the horizon.
My dad was a photographer and a film maker. I still have hours of 16mm reels of film he shot, some of it family, some Italy, and also Old California footage. He always thought I should take more sunset pictures.
Being a black and white kind of guy, I could never understand why he wanted to thwart my path. But fathers do that to their son?s even when they aren?t conscious of it. I love to watch sunsets (like sunrises better) but not to shoot.
My college teacher, Philip Welch, introduced me to many of the West Coast school. He was a student of Frank Lloyd Wright and had given me the entrée to that world. He told me about famous people. He said, ?Call them up, knock and their door. If they are truly great they will talk to you, if not, they are only famous. You want to meet greatness, not fame.?
I?ve had a few friends through the years who made it to fame, but not quite to greatness. I have also had more than my share of friends who bypassed fame and went straight to greatness. I have photographed them, opened bottles of wine with them, danced with them, laughed with them, cried with them and walked through pools of Jell-O with them.
All along the way there has often been a camera nearby, my consigliere of consciousness.
I tried writing this post with a catchy title, woven with news and personal observations. But it just wasn?t quite right. Too many ingredients on my plate. So let?s try again.
The Italian wine trail has taken me to the Hill Country of Texas this week, from Temple to San Antonio, to New Braunfels to Driftwood to Austin. I?m ready to be back home in my own kitchen, in my own town.
After some days in California, where the best food I had was sushi, I found myself in Italian restaurants this week. One was for a dinner meeting with Andrew and Maureen Weissmann, who are opening an Italian place next year in San Antonio. They get it.
Unfortunately the restaurant we were at, the folks in the kitchen were trying to impress him. So they sent out plates that were jammed with too much information. Gnocchi with tomato sauce and fava beans and cheese and, and, and. Like the chef at the table said, ?Just keep it fresh, simple and sourced from a quality place.?
And it is that simple. If only folks in the kitchen would get out once in a while and see what the rest of the world is doing.
Italy is constantly being caricaturized, whether it be our food, our wine, our song, our legends. And the Italians who came to America starting 100 years ago, wanting to please their new parent country, bowed and bent and danced their little jig until now what they are presenting as Italian is barely noticeable. We had quite the conversation over a bowl of ragu this week, in the home of a recent-return from living in Italy, one of the best meals I?ve had this month. But our discourse took us over the laundry list of excuses restaurateurs use to explain why they can?t cook like mama did at home.
?Our customers want more food on the plate.? ?They ask for more garlic, we don?t want to use that much.? ?We have to give them a side of spaghetti; they?ve come to expect it over the years.?
And on and on.
Odd, when I talked to chef Weissman ( at the place with the swollen plates), he simply said ? I will do it as I feel it needs to be done. I know I can?t go wrong if I stick to the truth.?
This week we had lunch at a pizzeria napolitana, the owner sat down with us. But before he did we ate. I ordered a pizza with prosciutto and arugula, one of my favorites. As the pie was being set before me I picked up a scent of truffle. From an early experience with white truffles in the 1980?s ( I basically OD?d on the smell of truffles from driving them around in my car for two days, selling them) I have an aversion to them. Or rather, I have a loathing for truffle oil that doesn?t use good quality truffles or oil. And then some kitchen cheerleader bathes a dish in the stuff, making it stink like a Virginia City whore.
My dining partner saw this look on my face. I know he was just a little bit worried. Here we are in an important account, and I'm showing phenolic pain on my face. But then a waft, the angels tail, floats up and whispers in my ear, ?give it a try, make sure.? Two wonderful things happened. It was real oil, real truffles, and it was applied with a deft touch. Perfetto.
After, we?re sitting around the table tasting and talking with the owner, Doug Horn. His place, Dough, came out as need for him to deliver a product that in Italy is basic, wonderful and a necessity. And yes, I?m sure from time to time he gets folks coming in looking for a double cheese pizza with extra pepperoni. But then he gets the wandering pilgrims who just want to dip their hand in the holy water, genuflect and get a moment away from the endless missionary work.
His list is 100% Italian wines. He gets it too.
So San Antonio has hope. Austin, in this moment, under the uber-microscope of authentic Italian-ness, let?s say we need a dose of Speranza's to rouse them from their deep freeze. But that was then and times have changed.
Exactly! Times have changed. So why the big plates and the 5 times mark-up on wine and too much garlic and overcooked pasta with too much going on in the bowl? Why are we still settling for salmon and short ribs as something quintessentially Italian?
Let me say this, to anyone who have scanned down this far on the post: If you are in the wine and food business, tear out a page from Andrew Weissman?s play book, ?just keep it fresh, simple and sourced from a quality place.? You can?t go wrong if you stick to the truth.
"Ohh, there must be some easier way for me to get my wings."
Leave it to a baby boomer to latch onto this millennial wine label concept. Forgive me; the label goes with the new table we just bought from Pier 1 Imports, that place where the millennial generation now shops. The proverbial "we" refers to the writer, namely me, and my civil union partner of nearly 20 years, or whatever is allowed to be said given we do not fall into the category of "one man and one woman".
Geode is a wine concept. It is a design. It is targeted marketing. This is its first vintage. It over-delivers. That's a good thing. Quick, before they sell it off to a larger company keen on watering it down and milking the label as a cash cow, buy it and drink up.
If they are going to wing these concepts out at us, then we need to know when to buy and when to pass. We need to be as fickle about our preferences as they are about their focus group results. My experience is this type of concept is best when it starts out. They can evolve into something even better, but rarely. Again I say, buy now and drink up. Just don't get married to it. Play the field. Be gay with California wine - don't get married.
White Rocket Wine Company has done a great job with Geode Santa Barbara Chardonnay 2006. Chardonnay is the proverbial "dead horse" in many ways these days, so it takes a strong concept, product and price to make hay. True to form as a Santa Barbara County Chardonnay, this newbie takes on hints of Puligny-Montrachet, a remarkable feat for a sub-$15 wine, Geode is packed with oodles of honeyed botrytis overtones and delicious tropical fruit flavors. The honey is in the head space and the pineapple, mango and lemon-lime grace the palate in a sophisticated way. The performance is very well rounded, creamy on the palate, yet the finish is crisp dry.
Veteran wine maker Melissa Bates is credited with this stellar value laden effort. She reportedly gave this wine an average of 8 months in oak, 3/4 French, 1/4 new.
Price: $14 (Nashville). Closure: real cork. Alcohol content: 13.5%.
They maybe should start calling Napa Chardonnay simply, "a glass of white Napa". Chardonnay seems so generic, especially in the days of now, when "mom-and-pop" wineries are a romantic thing of the almost-past. Last year William Hill Estate changed hands, leaving the portfolio of Jim Beam's peeps and joining the ranks of E&J Gallo's decendents' peeps. But this is Napa juice, so I say, call it "a glass of white Napa". It sounds more distinguished than, say, a glass of Gallo's William Hill Napa Chardonnay.
By the way, do you know how to tell right away if that winery you're researching is owned by one of the large "wine umbrella portfolio management groups", without googling it? Here's a hint: If they ask you when you're born, before you check out their homepage, tell them you're born on January 1st 1901. And rest assured, you're under a big umbrella.
Okay, now that we've established that Gallo bought a Napa property with lots of history and genuine character, let's give them credit for injecting the house with efficiency without sacrificing quality. Under Gallo's umbrella, William Hill can compete better in the reality known as wine 2.0, the modern wine marketing landscape. As part of an entire "aisle" of offerings, this label can wield more muscle than it could stand-alone. We get better deals as a result. When they don't water it down, we stand to benefit by such an arrangement.
Reportedly, the fruit for William Hill Napa Chardonnay 2005 is from Carneros and Atlas Peak. Malolactic fermentation and oak aging inject the wine with richness, layered atop the lean acidic structure begotten from the cool climate vineyards. The oak influence is noticeable, reinforcing the tropical mango and perfumed lemon aromas and flavors. Here is a successful baby Chassagne-Montrachet, if you dare call it that. I call it a darn good glass of "white Napa".
Price: $13 (Nashville, on sale). Closure: Real cork. Alcohol content: 13.9%.
Beautifully conceptual these wines, both of them. This is what Chardonnay is all about, and it's amazing how affordable they are.
They said it couldn?t be done. Yet it is being done. California is emerging from the excesses of the previous decades (who isn?t) and presenting a leaner, meaner attitude in their wines. By lean and mean I mean acidity and a glorious lack of residual sugar. Perhaps Pilates is good for all types of fat.
Just today I had two crisp, mineraly and very dry white wines from California and they were as good examples of the genre as you?ll find anywhere.
Facing down a half dozen pristine oysters the 2006 Brander Sauvignon Blanc Natural from Santa Ynez was master of its domaine. It was clean and fresh as you could want, yet the Brander was not that simple cat pee punch produced in New Zealand as on top of that zest was a lovely touch of honeydew melon and ripe pears. Brander Natural is a rare example of a new world sauvignon blanc that can actually challenge Sancerre or Pouilly Fume for both guts and glory.
More difficult to find, but well worth the search is the 2007 Pey- Marin, The Shell Mound, Riesling from chilly Marin County. Here?s a high strung dry riesling that is not a bad copy of Alsace, but an interesting wine in its own right. Like the Brander, on top of all the structure and bite is a deliciously ripe fruitiness that belongs only to California. At only 11.8% alcohol it hits some of those high notes you thought only German riesling could hit.
There used to be a line that could not be crossed in California without wines being branded as thin. Thankfully those days seem to be gone as producers like Pey Marin and Brander produce lean, mean fighting machines such as these.
Don Ziraldo is the founder of Inniskillin Winery in Canada and is credited with bringing ice wine to the forefront. If you?ve never had it, you should try it. It?s expensive ($100 for a half bottle) but OMG it is divine. I had the Cab Franc Icewine and it tasted like a liquid strawberry shortcake. Anywho, Ziraldo got married this past week to Anna Netter. But here?s the good part. The couple did a press release and here are just a few snipits from their article. The 58-year-old Mr. Ziraldo met his bride on the ski slopes of Whistler, but they lived apart for some time, "each continuing to travel and learn from other cultures. Gradually, thanks to their mutual interest in Buddhism, both learned that "there is no fear, only love." At the 2004 Olympic Games in Greece the couple exchanged eternity rings. Remember that kids ?there is no fear, only love?. WTF? I love it, they exchanged ?eternity rings?. Is that just basically what millionaires call a wedding band? And OMG, that hat and those shoes do not scream millionaire. I do like her dress though.
More details on the wedding: It took place at the jet-set Hotel Traube-Tonbach (Traube means grape in German), which "prides itself on its strictly enforced peace and quiet, and the glamour of its very upscale clientele." The wines were Inniskillin -- natch -- and the dinner menu featured venison and pike. The couple is honeymooning in the Bahamas with friends.
Does it strike anyone else as odd that they took ?friends? on their honeymoon?
Fact #1 JD Wetherspoon?s is a chain of pubs in England. There are 650 in operation.
Fact #2 Constellation Brands is a wine GIANT. They sell more than 80 million cases a year. They own Alice White, Almaden, Arbor Mist, Cook's, Covey Run, Inglenook, Vendange, Dunnewood, Farallon, Great Western, J. Roget, Marcus James, Paul Masson table wines, Taylor California Cellars, Viña Santa Carolina, Banrock Station, Hardys, Leasingham, Barossa Valley Estate, Chateau Reynella, and Nobilo just to name a few. Seriously, they own hundreds of wineries.
Fact #3 Constellation often does ?private labels?. This means that they take one of their wines, let?s say Alice White for example, and they put it in a bottle with a different label on it. So, if you were a mega retail store *cough Total Wine cough* you could take that Alice White and call it Blue Flame *cough ass in a glass cough* and when people want more, they can only get it at your store b/c the consumer doesn?t know it?s Alice White?.for example.
Fact #4 JD Wetherspoon?s let several different companies compete for their house wine. Whatever wine was the most popular for the trial period would win an exclusive with all of the pubs for a contract valued at nearly 150 million dollars.
Okay, now that we know the facts, let?s look at what really happened. It seems that an email was leaked from the Boss of Matthew Clarks Brands (a division of Constellation Brands) to all of their employees (around 300 people).
Wine distributor Matthew Clark emailed staff asking them to buy up to eight bottles of wine each at JD Wetherspoon's pubs in Bristol - and then claim it back on expenses. Employees were told to buy Nottage Hill Chardonnay and Shiraz, and Echo Falls - all of which are produced by Matthew Clark parent company Constellation Europe. If each of the firm's 300 employees had "done their bit" and splashed out on eight bottles of wine, it would have increased sales by 2,400 bottles in the city's pubs - potentially tipping the balance in its favour. The plan to artificially enhance the wine's popularity was devised as Constellation battled with rival firms for the exclusive rights to supply wine to JD Wetherspoon's 650 pubs.
Nice. I?d love to buy wine and expense it back to my boss. Somehow I don?t think he?d go for it. I have to say though, this doesn?t shock me so much. I wouldn?t put anything past Constellation Brands. So I guess my point here is know your brands, and know what you are buying. http://news.independent.co.uk/uk/this_britain/article1200200.ece
When pigs fly?I mean drink beer
So, in Tasmania (off of the coast of Australia) there is a local tourist attraction that has been getting a lot of flack lately. If you go to the ?Pub in the Paddock? you will find Prescilla and PB and they chug beers. But get this, Prescilla and PB are pigs. Yep, people can pay to ? and I quote ? ?pour bottles of beer down the willing throats of resident pigs?.
Dude, I would totally pay to see that. But PETA would like to go on the record and state that they are not down with it and they want to have the pigs rescued.
"Whilst it is a difficult pill to swallow ... it's certainly not cruelty, unfortunately," RSPCA state chief executive Rick Butler told PETA.
Pub owner Anne Free said Wednesday she was outraged that the tourist attraction had been attacked as cruel in the latest edition of a magazine published by animal welfare group Choose Cruelty Free. "When it's very, very quiet, I often actually have to go over and give them a couple of drinks because, yeah, they do look forward to it," Free told Australian Broadcasting Corp. radio. Note to self: If you ever go to Tasmania, you must go see the beer swilling pigs! http://msnbc.msn.com/id/14035561/
Boozehounds
Heartland Brewery has just begun marketing their new beer called Slobber Lager. This non-alcoholic beef flavored beer is made specifically for dogs.
"It's damn good," said Jon Bloostein, owner of Heartland Brewery, after taking a sip. Polo, a Bichon Frise, took a sniff and slurped down the whole bowl in a few seconds. Simba, a Shih Tzu, was more hesitant. After several whiffs and plenty of encouragement, he took a few gulps. But Diva, a Rottweiler, couldn't get enough. She finished one bowl and moved on to the next. Still thirsty, she sipped from a pint glass, then drank straight from the tap. "She's a beer drinker!" said Allison Cardona of the ASPCA, who helped bring the dogs, all available for adoption, to the tavern for the taste test.
Um, I am sure the dogs love it but why is the brewer drinking it? Ew! Beef flavored beer? Count me out. My dog is fat enough as it is so he?s definitely not getting any.
Schramsberg has just come out with a new sparkling wine meant to compete with the likes of Krug, Dom P., and Cristal. It is called J. Schram Rose 1988 and there were only 800 cases produced. Rarely will you ever see an American Sparkler go for more than $75 but this one??$120. "It appears in a world where Dom Pérignon Rosé is $200, and Cristal is probably $350. The Krug Rosé is certainly in that range as well," said Shramsberg head winemaker Hugh Davies. "This wine competes with those in terms of flavor, finesse and character.
Yeah, but it?s still Schramsberg and I doubt it competes with Krug. Strike that ? There is NO WAY it competes with Krug. If anybody out there can get a hold of some, I wanna know what it?s like. Ooooh I would love to have it in a blind tasting. http://www.winespectator.com/Wine/Features/0,1197,3361,00.html
Last night was our anniversary so Kipp and I got a babysitter and hit the town. First we went to Milner's in Winston Salem and I had a glass of Renard Rose. It was just kinda meh... From there we proceeded to go to several different bars and I actually ran into an old sorority sister at Foothills. Anyway we came home at 8:30 (I know, were wild right?) and I fixed Steak with a mushroom and Humboldt Fog (bleu cheese) sauce. We had an '01 Spotteswoode with it. That review will come tomorrow. But for now read my review of Martinelli Pinot that I had at an impromptu wine dinner with Jon and Sam at my house on Sunday.
Martinelli '02 Moonshine Ranch Pinot Noir The nose was earthy and powdery all at the same time. It also had a lot of blackberry with some hints of white pepper. The palate was all cherry cola and sweet black cherries. There was some hidden acidity on the mid-palate with a very sweet, very lush blackberry jam finish. Yeah, it was over extracted but damn, it was GOOD. I have one more bottle and I think I'll let that one sit for about 3 more years.
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Tecnorati
When I was thirteen I thought I was going to grow up to be a photographer. I spent endless hours in the darkroom and carrying my cameras everywhere I went. Being shy, it was the perfect date for me at a youth dance. I could take pictures of the action and go into the darkroom later that night to print them. Often folks would come into the darkroom (it was at the same place the dance was, usually) and see what I was doing. Photography was a social magnet.
A word about fame, something I know a little about. I grew up in a town filled with famous people (Palm Springs, CA) and learned very early not to make a fuss over folks who have been afflicted with it. Leave ?em be, talk to them normal, change the subject away from them. Some of them might even make the grade to friendship. But, I ramble.
I am a walker. Love to walk the streets of a town. Rome, Paris, New York, San Francisco, Palermo, Naples, Chicago, Dallas. I once walked the route on Elm Street in Dallas where JFK was shot (grassy knoll) to the shop on the same street where John Hinckley bought the gun that he shot Ronald Reagan with. On a hot July day I took my trusty Canon VIT rangefinder and a new Canon AE1 and did my own shooting. The Dallas of that day has altered greatly.
New York? Since 1975, I have trudged the streets of that city camera and wine bag in tow. My childhood friend and photography co-conspirator Bruce took a fabulous street shot, worthy of a 
I spent time in the NY scene with 
I had my time with the world of reportage and photojournalism. One photographer from 
And the old masters, so many of them I was lucky to encounter, sit awhile and soak up their greatness. They were called the 
Imogen, she reminds me a lot of my friend 
On the fringe of the f64 group was 
My dad was a photographer and a film maker. I still have hours of 16mm reels of film he shot, some of it family, some Italy, and also Old California footage. He always thought I should take more sunset pictures.
Being a black and white kind of guy, I could never understand why he wanted to thwart my path. But fathers do that to their son?s even when they aren?t conscious of it. I love to watch sunsets (like sunrises better) but not to shoot.
My college teacher, Philip Welch, introduced me to many of the West Coast school. He was a student of Frank Lloyd Wright and had given me the entrée to that world. He told me about famous people. He said, ?Call them up, knock and their door. If they are truly great they will talk to you, if not, they are only famous. You want to meet greatness, not fame.?
I?ve had a few friends through the years who made it to fame, but not quite to greatness. I have also had more than my share of friends who bypassed fame and went straight to greatness. I have photographed them, opened bottles of wine with them, danced with them, laughed with them, cried with them and walked through pools of Jell-O with them.
Unfortunately the restaurant we were at, the folks in the kitchen were trying to impress him. So they sent out plates that were jammed with too much information. Gnocchi with tomato sauce and fava beans and cheese and, and, and. Like the chef at the table said, ?Just keep it fresh, simple and sourced from a quality place.?
Italy is constantly being caricaturized, whether it be our food, our wine, our song, our legends. And the Italians who came to America starting 100 years ago, wanting to please their new parent country, bowed and bent and danced their little jig until now what they are presenting as Italian is barely noticeable. We had quite the conversation over a bowl of ragu this week, in the home of a recent-return from living in Italy, one of the best meals I?ve had this month. But our discourse took us over the laundry list of excuses restaurateurs use to explain why they can?t cook like mama did at home.
Odd, when I talked to chef Weissman ( at the place with the swollen plates), he simply said ? I will do it as I feel it needs to be done. I know I can?t go wrong if I stick to the truth.?
My dining partner saw this look on my face. I know he was just a little bit worried. Here we are in an important account, and I'm showing phenolic pain on my face. But then a waft, the angels tail, floats up and whispers in my ear, ?give it a try, make sure.? Two wonderful things happened. It was real oil, real truffles, and it was applied with a deft touch. Perfetto.
So San Antonio has hope. Austin, in this moment, under the uber-microscope of authentic Italian-ness, let?s say we need a dose of 
