One night while preparing to slave over a book proposal (if you look down the right side of the page, you’ll see a new link to a different kind of book club), I decided to pour a glass of 2007 7 Deadly Zins. I had also recently sunk my teeth into the 2007 St. Francis Old Vines Zinfandel and felt like having some of that jammy, luscious goodness at a slightly lower price point. Most of my Trader Joe’s wine was gone and my palate enjoyed recovering with some big and structured, not weak and nondescript. So more Zin. Well, as I plopped down on my ergonomic enhancement brightly colored Ikea cushion, an errant hand flew into the globe and most of the Zin drowned the keyboard, and poured like an inky waterfall under the monitor, across the glass desktop (easy to clean), down the white wall into the white landlord carpet. Wads of paper towels later, the writing mood had evaporated and the room smelled like a boot. I drank a full glass of the 7 Deadly well away from the keyboard, and felt a little crabby (Sis is improving and Mom is now receiving hospice care which may explain explain some of the crabby). Some extra cash had arrived thanks to the Princeton Record Exchange people’s love of my small collection of 45s and flexidiscs I had sold them. I took the wounded keyboard — it had dried out but was spewing at least four characters for each keystroke like it was still drunk – to a local computer wizard. The Wizard was blunt. Keyboards do not get resuscitated. You buy new ones, he said, and sent me off to Micro Center. I am typing this on a lovely, responsive keyboard in Raiders’ colors (I am doomed to love that football team for life). I also raised up my monitor and finished cleaning up the wine so the office no longer smells like boots. I have been working away like a fiend on the proposal and hope to share some of the writing here on a separate page. In the meantime, I’ll be headed to New Orleans next week for the Association of Food Journalists conference. I’ll post more once I recover from what the city has to offer.
Archive for September, 2009
Wine Blogging Wednesday #61: 2007 Paumanok Chenin Blanc
September 16, 2009When I lived in New Jersey, I visited the vineyards on the North Fork of Long Island as often as time and cash would permit. My visits to New Jersey wineries were deeply unsatisfactory. My recent move to Maryland hasn’t left me enough time to explore the local vintners, but I will get to Black Ankle soonest. Anyway, this month’s WBW assignment was to drink a wine at the winery with the winemaker thanks to Lenn Thompson over at Lenndevours. If you’ve read the preceding post, you can easily see why this month the Negress couldn’t make this happen.
However, on one of her last visits to the North Fork last year, she went to a barrel tasting hosted by Charles Massoud of Paumonok Vineyards. We were in the barrel room surrounded by a tasty array of cheese and charcuterie as Massoud used a wine thief to dribble samples of their Cabernet Sauvignon and other reds into our waiting glasses. The atmosphere was so agreeable that my friend, who normally avoids red wines as a migraine trigger, actually tried some of these. Massoud also talked about some wines in the works, including one of the first attempts at Chenin Blanc on the North Fork. The 2007 was still in the tank, but would be released in March 2008. Well, I seized the opportunity and invoked the name of Lauren Bernadini, who had consulted for Paumonok and co-taught a class the Negress took with Andre Immer Robinson. In very little time at all, I had charmed my way into the tank room where Massoud drew off some of the unfinished Chenin Blanc for me to try. The grey liquid was cloudy and yeasty, but the bones of what it would become were evident. Massoud mentioned that maybe the release should be accompanied by an oyster shucking. I nodded. It was a memorable moment for me because it was the first time I was aware of my palate’s ability to project from an unfinished must how the wine would turn out. A few months later when the wine arrived at my home after taking a circuitous journey through NYC to get to New Jersey (I could insert another screed about wine shipping laws but that’s an old irritation), it was peachy, honeyed with a touch of minerality. I can’t eat oysters but could see this wine with scallops and other seafood. It could also be quaffed quite well on its own.
The visit to Paumonok crystallized some things about winery visits for me. One, a lot of winemakers are all hat and no cattle when it comes to making their wines “readable.” Massoud didn’t talk at all about growing practices or sustainability or any other hot button locabore topics. He let the wine speak for itself and the enthusiasm of the barrel tasters was all he needed to know how to proceed. Lastly, whenever I buy any wine, either from a honking conglomerate or a small producer, the Negress tries to remember that the winemaker’s intent was to do good, not harm, to palates everywhere.
It seemed fine until I drank the Chalk Moon wine
September 14, 2009The drinking, living, selling of distant homes and family matters prevented more timely updates here in Negressville. But, more or less in order, here’s how it’s been of late:
About two and a half weeks ago, myself, my cousin and her fiance Chef Charley headed to the Trader Joe’s in Falls Church or somewhere so we could stock up on value wine. The Negress mostly agrees with her pal Tim Lemke over at Cheap Wine Ratings that most of the value wines at Trader Joe’s are an exercise in futility, but we did like the Chalk Moon Viognier and Gewurztraminer well enough but not enough to drive back to Virginia (Do not get the Negress started on the Maryland wine laws). I did like a 2008 Black Mountain Sauvignon Blanc, which was pushing $8 a bottle (just about everything I got was either an 07 or an 08). There was also a fruity Alsace Gewurztraminer (2008 Laugel Cuvee Michel Leon) that wasn’t terrible either. I had stocked up on wine during my last visit to New Jersey (comparison 2007 Can Blau is $13.99 in NJ, $18.99 when you can find it in Maryland) so all set there.
However, two days after that run, I get a call on my cell phone from my sister, who lives with clinical depression, informing me she had been evicted for not paying her rent (it usually works that way, no?) I drive across DC to help her salvage what we can fit in the car. Her telecom had been turned off for nonpayment in June (it could have been earlier; the silence on each end can be deafening) but I had been e-mailing her assuming a Brandeis graduate would go to the library to check that. Never assume logic with crazy people. She seemed surprised I was in DC. I tried to restrain the urge to kill her, but we headed for dinner at Chef Charley’s and cousin so she could store some of the bigger stuff she saved in their garage. She has entered the maze of social services and emerged with food stamps, a Medicaid application (I sent her a paper one back in March but she’s phobic about mail) and is on lists for housing. I teeter between rage and pity but also know I am not a parent.
While I am processing all this, the buyers send a list from their lawyer with about 20 things they turned up on their inspection that are typical for a 140-year old house. I get this information after spending several days in a Jersey City Marriott (no girl TV so I catch up on Design Star — yeah Antonio! — and other such stuff when I return). I go to the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame Nominating Committee meeting and a good time is had, followed by drinks and dinner with some of the participants. I spend Thursday morning with my realtor going over our response to the screed from the buyers. Then I head to Princeton, sell $120 worth of CDs and leave some 45s behind for appraisal for sale.
Adding some background radiation to this backdrop was a phone call at 2:30 a.m. Monday informing me that my mother (diagnosed with dementia about five years ago) was hospitalized for dehydration and gastric bleeding. Interleaved with everything else I have mentioned are phone calls giving consents for various endoscopies, anesthesias, ultrasounds and what have you. She’s on her way back to the nursing home, and the Negress has successfully avoided putting her on a feeding tube.
So it’s no surprise that on Saturday night I inadvertently finished an entire bottle of Smoking Loon 2008 Viognier while watching as much mindless TV as I can stand. Meanwhile my sister reads cat mysteries and Flashman books, oblivious to how unsettled she is making me. Meanwhile, I am also still looking for work.
