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Mirth smirks and Catena Malbec and a sublime Nebbiolo

March 30, 2009

The Negress pretty much has the feet and the knees working in tandem so she’s been out gamboling. She’s also in the hands of a personal trainer who doesn’t nkow a thing about nutrition but is superb with imbalanced and deconditioned muscles. Sore but happy, we celebrated by navigating the subway for the first time in ages. We’re back in French (zut alors!) as of April 6, and after that we listened to a band in Central Park playing  jazz. Kids were dancing to  “A Kiss to Build a Dream On.” This is what everyone in New York puts up with all the crap for — spring, dancing kids, impromptu outbursts of music, people smiling. So off the Negress went to the Museum of Modern Art to check out a pair of new exhibits, one of various photographers’ images of the American West, the other a Martin Kippenberger retrospective. The exhibits were splendid except for a large blister growing on my right foot from old socks and new sneakers. So  I adjourned to the bar at the Modern. They ran out of Booker’s mid-pour so my first small-batch bourbon was on them. I followed up with Baker’s and then headed to dinner at LaVagna with the members of the Jeopardy! cabal. I broke my Lenten fast  with some open-face ravioli and duck, but felt strangely forgiven. We shared a stunning Nebbiolo and I forgot to write it down but there was a red wiener dog on the label named Tom. At home, I’m almost done with a bottle of grippy 2006 Catena Malbec. It opens up in the glass pretty well, but it’s more a rustic than uptown Malbec.

Spring in New York in Central Park

Spring in New York in Central Park

I also drank some house Champagne with Chambord at a lengthy brunch I went to on Saturday. Blisters have been treated, and the gym beckons tomorrow.

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Alright, Dad, now what?

March 24, 2009

Today is the 15th anniversary of the Negress’ dad’s death. Maybe he was the Dadess. Anyway, after a series of strokes that deformed his brain, he passed away about 10 days after his feeding tube was removed. It was our mother’s decision and it was a good one. I was wandering the countryside in Rock Goddess mode, but came home to send him home.

In every two-kid, two-parent household, each kid gets a parent. The Dadess was my parent. He took me to every conceivable basketball event under the sun, and I suspect he would be proud that American University has made the NCAA tournament two years running ( He got a master’s there). I also traded attendance at basketball events for hockey outings, which before the Caps came to DC were scarce indeed. He told about seeing Josh Gibson hit a ball out dead center at Griffith Stadium when he was a kid. I love baseball in spite of everything. Thanks to Dad, I saw Roberto Clemente and Willie Mays. Mays was well past his prime, but Clemente was in his last season before his death, which hit hard.

Anyway, it seemed like a good idea to salute my Dadess. I will probably drink some more of the 2007 Corey Creek rose this evening. Other wines that have found their way onto the Negress’ coffee table are the 2006 Casa Lapostolle Cabernet Sauvignon (great little wine for the money, which is around $10), and a 2005 Las Rocas Garnacha. I opened the rose to summon spring, which began here with snowfall and wind-chills in the teens. Perhaps it will warm up enough for me to salvage the yard.

Speaking of spring training, the Astros have brought no joy to this house, so the Negress is clinging feverishly to her beloved New Jersey Devils, who sit atop a relentlessly mediocre division. The team has played like crap of late, and are not likely to make it past the second round of the playoffs if they even get out of the first. It’s nice that Marty Brodeur is back and breaking records for victories, but this team is too old and too inconsistent to win the Cup this year. I hate to say it, but it’s true.

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House whine at the Metropolitan Opera

March 24, 2009

The Negress is down to her last opera next week, but decided to celebrate a little at her penultimate opera, a new production of “La Sonnambula,” staged by Mary Zimmerman. Natalie Dessay and Juan Diego Florez were in the lead roles and Zimmerman set the whole thing in a rehearsal for the production. I had one glass of the house white and two glasses of the house champagnes. Champagne makes parting sorrows all the sweeter. A lot of people, including Anthony Tomasini of the New York Times, lambasted this production for straining believability. Ok, let’s get this straight. The story of a sleepwalking maiden in a Swiss village who finds her drowsy way into the bed of a msyterious Count (nothing happens of course) and then is unceremoniously dumped by her lover. All is well when the maiden sleepwalks in front of her ex. The production moves in and out of the rehearsal trope, which seems to have troubled Tomasini, among others. This is a classic case of  “What difference does it make?” It’s an opera plot (unlike most operas of its 1830s era, there is no body count at all). You’re worried about verisimilitude? At the Opera? Ye Gods! Anyway, it was lovely night for the Negress, who is not pleased that she is going to have to give this up.

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How to be unproductive during a recession

March 7, 2009

For those of us who are in the transition from mere unemployment to what seems like a lengthy period of enforced idleness, the Negress has some tips for ways to increase your burn rate for time on your hands. First of all, keep applying for jobs on-line, an activity which is a bit like shouting your career accomplishments into a hole in the backyard. Apparently human resources people don’t always read the media gossip sites which says their companies are laying off people and packing positions in cryogenic storage. They are not hiring. Now you can spend your time relentlessly pursuing  jobs that don’t exist. Talk to your friends, even when they bring you such happy news that all of the financial professionals who graduated from (insert name of well-regarded school here) are begging for work. Try not to grimace when they note that even lawyers are trolling for gigs. With all the business liquidations and bankruptcies looming, you would figure lawyers would be busy. This is not a good sign. Also, make sure you have added lots of word game applications on your home on Facebook. (For example, you can get “grates,”  “greats” and “greets” out of the word “steerage,” which could be a description of any future travel plans). Coming up with anagrams and getting your but kicked by venal Scrabble masters is another excellent way to murder time while you wait to hear back from all those companies who have posted frozen jobs on-line. If you still have health insurance, make sure you get every body part that is eligible for a tuneup oiled, shined, ultrasounded and tightened. Be somewhat envious of colleagues who are too busy to listen to your latest tales of fear and loathing. After all, you won four straight Solitaire games this afternoon so you are a golden god. They’re writing, running CSAs, raising children, maximizing publicity strategies, getting married and quitting smoking and all that other stuff. Also, in case you are sleeping too well of late, make sure you get news that opens up all sorts of possibilities about your future and where it may play out just a few hours before bedtime. Put the wine away. Drinking and sleeping don’t mix unless you are Dorothy Kilgallen. Make sure you play out every single potential outcome in your mind while playing endless games of Solitaire. Stop playing Solitaire long enough to update your spyware protection. Write a blog post, another topnotch way to become anxious and chatty with tens of people you have never met. Realize you are hitting the tape when it comes to self-imposed word limit.  Before quitting, wonder why movie critics use words like “revanchist.” Stop.

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Ian MacLagan and the Bump Band and wine like cough syrup

March 5, 2009

The Negress shed her rock ‘n’ roll skin some years back like a lizard moving on to the next habitat. But a summons from an old friend had her out in the frigid climes to head to B.B. King’s Blues Club to hear Ian McLagan and the Bump Band. McLagan, a Face and Stone at some point, is on the road with his magic organ and a band of crack Austinites including drummer Don Harvey and guitarist “Scrappy” Jud Newcomb. They sounded good, almost as good as the old Faces (can we pray hard for a reunion and pry Rod away from Sam Cook and the American Songbook?). The Negress drank lightly confining her blues club minimum to one glass of Coppola Rosso Classico, which had a finish like Vicks 44 and a seriously indifferent Oxford Landing Australian Shiraz. As is usually the case, the evening was not about the wine but the company. Mac is lovely and drinker of pints as you would expect. The show did a lot to lift my spirits as I have been dealing with Medicaid and Mom and a somewhat erratic sister. I needed to rock with the old folks, the ones who know when to stop and play with fire and passion and dignity. It’s still a little weird to be integrating a blues club after all these years (I was the only Negro there who wasn’t in uniform), but Mac and some of my old friends made the trip out in the chilly night worthwhile. There was a lowkey afterparty at Manitoba’s, a bar run by Handsome Dick Manitoba of Dictators fame. The walls are covered with rock shooter photos and the booze is agreeable and cheap. I felt alive and comfortable in a way I hadn’t in a while and was delighted to see my old friend Jo Rae Di Menno of Hard Pressed Publicity. She’s working with Mac, and reminded me of how I had helped move an ex’s things out of their shared apartment. She’s friends with the ex now and has a 14 year old. Oh time, we love some of what you do to us, but sometimes I’d like to hold back the torrent long enough to let it all sink in. I was home at 3, like the old days but more satisfied with the night and less hungover. Go see Mac and the guys if they’re anywhere near you. Tell them the Negress asked about the organ. Buy the records and get happy. I did and it was utterly worth it.

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Symposium for Professional Wine Writers and Premier Napa Valley auction

February 28, 2009

All right. The Negress has been busy. She has drunk wine, done a partially sighted tasting, and had her options and ambitions confirmed. She is beginning to realize she isn’t like everyone else here beyond the Negritude. The Best Wine Ever For Now is out there, waiting to be tasted. I like my journey better where the wine comes with people, food and circumstances.

You need examples? Well, there was a partially sighted tasting at the Rudd Center for Wine Studies at CIA Greystone Wednesday afternoon. We all knew that the wines were either predominantly Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot and all were of the same vintage.  We made mistakes and picked a favorite, but the best part of this tasting was the cheeky chat and bold declarations. One woman,  a veteran restaurant owner in Seattle, said she would never serve any of the wines poured in her restaurant, praising  French wines in general as a better value.  Another person brought up the increasing “Frankenwine” tendencies of Napa vintners (to this mind, Napa isn’t the only criminal in this jail). One sommelier noted that some of the wines were bretty, which was helpful since I now have a clear idea of what brett tastes like.

I didn’t speak up at  the time, but I’m beginning to love blends. Blends are not Frankenwine, but a kind of alchemy that can enhance a varietal’s identity. My favorite of the wines was the 2005 Cliff Lede Cabernet Sauvignon, Stag’s Leap District, which was 14.8 percent alcohol by volume and 85 percent Cabernet Sauvignon, 13 percent Merlot, 1 percent Malbec and 1 percent Petit Verdot. Cabernet Sauvignon can be satiny but little vegetal. Merlot is like flannel by comparison. The worst of them drink like chewing on an old blanket. Call this one slubbed silk. This wine was smooth, well-integrated and had none of the Bigfoot-kicks-you-in-the-head tendencies of some of the flashier Cali Cabs we’ve tried. As the rest of the conference went on, we got good writing and reading advice, drank a lot more wine and generally frolicked in Napa with the exception of a overlong winery dinner at Trinchero Family Vineyards. Wines thrive at 55 degrees. Human placed in these conditions with long waits between courses, not so much. The Negress likened the event to the Bataan Death March on Twitter and is sure it did have better food. The Negress did some writing for Mutineer magazine about the symposium. Best comment of the Symposium: “I’m gonna go home and drink Scotch.” Most frightening potential future wine-related malady: crappy tooth enamel. As for the auction, it was preceded a vertical tasting of 04, 05 and 06 vintages of some Napa wines. I tasted about half the wines, but didn’t find the setting conducive to detailed observations. For some wines, I have notes like “furry; immature; odd,” which may have made perfect sense at the time. Now my guess would be that flannel-in-the-mouth effect I get from Merlot would account for the fur, which might lead to soft tannins that were all over the place. Since my palate is not your palate, you really had to be there.

One thing that was different about this year’s proceedings was seeing at least two Hispanic wine writers. Tony Lawrence and myself have played the flies-in-the-buttermilk role at the symposium for the past two years. Chef Tony went it alone for three years before I arrived. You cannot tell me there are no people of color interested in writing about wine. The Symposium organizers should probably reach out to others, but it’s nice to see a little progress on this front.

Annual photo of the sheep working at Spring Mountain Winery

Annual photo of the sheep working at Spring Mountain Winery

Thanks to being in Napa and San Francisco for 11 days, I missed this month’s edition of Wine Blogging Wednesday. Perhaps I’ll explore the Piedmont later. Onward.

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Wine Writers Symposium pre-conference

February 17, 2009

Although that sounds very official, it’s more of the way of the Negress codifying how she immerses herself in the pleasures of Meadowood before the symposium starts. First of all, it’s best to take Meadowood up on its wine program so I headed down to the Grill from my treetop aerie above the spa for dinner at the Grill. Rainy Monday nights are a good time to eat at Meadowood since it’s not busy and the staff have time to talk. All of the specials sounded fabulous so I ordered them. First up, tuna tartare with avocado, serrano chili, lime, taro chips and wasabi oil. This was all about heat and contrasting  textures. Paired with it was 2005 Schramsberg Blanc de Noirs sparkling wine. Initially, the wine seemed a bit innocuous with little yeast and a bland affect. Unlike some men I have known, first impressions can be deceiving. The Schramsberg blossomed against the tart tuna with light floral notes. Next up was roast lamb chops with carrot puree, crisp baby artichokes and sweet potato syrah reduction sauce. Here’s where it gets tricky. The wine listed to pair with the chops was a 2004 Saxon Brown “Parmelee Hill Vineyard” Syrah, but the waiter gave me the Zinfandel. Saxon Brown didn’t produce a Syrah in 2004 so I guess the menu was incorrect. Whatever it was, the candied cherry on the palate reminded me of Jolly Ranchers candy. It made the lamb sing a joyful song whatever it was.  Anyway, the meal closed with  Rozes 10 year old Tawny  port and red velvet cake with strawberry anglaise and Valhrona chocolate sauce. At its best, red velvet cake almost makes you wish the South won the Civil War. This one was rich and gave the port a nice kick. After a discussion on Malbecs, the waiter gave a me a taste of a Malbec that was intriguingly smooth and rustic simultaneously. I hate to leave readers hanging, but I’ll post the name as soon as I can track it down.

In-room wines at Meadowood

In-room wines at Meadowood

Anyway, the writers are arriving  even as we speak so I’m off to explore the place some more.

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Cadus Malbec, donated Xanax, 5 puttonyo Tokaji and the 14 White Russians lady

February 14, 2009

The Negress experienced quite a panoply of human experience while being at the Newark Airport for 6 hours or so waiting on an extremely delayed flight to San Francisco. I hid out in the President’s Club since drinking is an excellent way to kill time when you are waiting. I had one quartino of Cadus Malbec (vintage not stated) with an English guy who was a huge Tottenham Spurs fan, taught figure skating and was a delighted to meet a Yank with extensive knowledge of soccer. His plane left. I was then joined by three Disney employees who were enchanted and on their way to Orlando. I drank my second quartino of Cadus, gave them some of my Xanax (wouldn’t you?) and made wine recommendations for the California Grill in  Mouse land. Their plane left. Between these encounters I had been chatting with a lightly pierced woman from Newfoundland whose flight had been canceled. She was in the midst of flying back from a month in India. As her drinking escalated (I stopped counting the White Russians at about 14), I found out about how her alcoholic boyfriend lured her back from India a month early saying he couldn’t function without her (I see more than one alcoholic in this picture but I leave you to judge that for yourself). She cut short trip with the usual domestic flight mayhem once experiences in the developing world. However, before her laptop and phone got stolen (which may have been before or after she made out and got drunk with some English guy who not surprisingly went flaccid on her), she found out via Facebook that Alkie boyfriend had been seen in the hangout bar in Newfoundland fondling someone else. Her response? Buy cheap clothes, including a pair of high heel sneakers in Lakers colors and an odd piece of lingerie best described as a combination thong/bustier/onesie. She planned to wear some of the cheap clothes to the hangout to kick Alkie boyfriend in the balls. I know about the odd lingerie because she pulled it out a bag in the President’s Club and showed it to me, along with the tattered, smelly shoes she had worn all through India. Around this time she said, “I’m not drunk. Am I acting drunk?” I could not answer the question. Luckily I left to lounge to board my flight, leaving at 10 p.m. instead of 6 p.m. Arrived at SFO at 2 a.m., picked up rental car and made my way to the Palace hotel, which is gorgeous especially at four a.m. or so. After much needed sleep, I went out Friday night with my dear friend Phillip and had a stunning Viognier and the 5 Puttonyos Tokaji at a groovy seafood place, Anchor and Hope. More Bayside adventures await.

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Devils 4, Penguins 3, and wines from Spain and the Languedoc

January 31, 2009

For a variety of reasons to tedious to list, the Negress had not been to the Prudential Center to see her beloved New Jersey Devils at all this season. I had screamed on the couch, cursed to the heavens and wept copiously when all-Universe goalie Martin Brodeur tore a biceps tendon. But something is happening and we do know what it is, Mr. Clemmensen (apologies to all Bob Dylan fans). The Devils are winning. They are winning improbably. They are beating teams that are better than they are. They are doing it through some combination of alchemy, skill, timing and the poetic grace that emerges in hockey only when all the planets are aligned. The most recent games are an excellent example of how it’s been going. The Devils go to Boston on Jan. 30, put up up two goals, start to loosen their usual trapping style. Boston banged back to go up 3-2. With 1:45 left in the third period, Patrik Elias (who paid cash for his apartment in Hoboken where he goes unnoticed since Eli Manning is a neighbor) tied it up. The Negress screeched at home and finished off some Castello di Borghese 2002 Cabernet Franc. The wine was pretty much past its prime, but got the job done. With 1:11 gone in overtime, Devils captain Jamie Langenbrunner scored for a 4-3 victory. He is our Master and Commander of late.  That was his fourth goal in two games.

Hockey’s dailiness is not like baseball, and as I hiked through the Gateway complex on my way to the Rock, the Negress was worried. Pittsburgh had beaten the crap out of the Rangers a couple of days is back, and they have Sidney Crosby, who seems to be on his way to becoming the most hated superstar in recent memory. The Penguins goalie Marc-Andre Fleury had also been solid between the pipes. However, when it was 2-1 at the end of the first period, the Negress felt good. Early in the third, the Pens went up 3-1 thanks to Crosby’s fellow sniper Evgeni Malkin. If an entire arena could sag, you could feel it at the Rock. But 40-year old Brendan Shanahan and Oh Captain Our Captain tied it up. Langenbrunner’s goal came with 31 seconds left in regulation. A minute into OT, Langenbrunner beat Fleury and it was 4-3, eighth consecutive win and jubilation all around. The Devils play Washington with another young superstar Alexander Ovechkin on Tuesday night. It’s on Versus. Even if you know nothing about hockey tune in and feel the magic or whatever.

Celebration was in order so I stopped at a boite two blocks from home for some celebratory wine. Marco and Pepe is a great place and has a nice selection of wines by the glass that cost about $7. First up was 2007 Vina Borgia Garnacha, a lush, slightly sweet wine with smooth tannins and some charm. Moving up geographically, my second glass was a 2006 Lorval Pinot Noir from Languedoc-Roussillon. A tasty, well-resolved pinot from a French region whose quality improves exponentially with each vintage. I walked home feeling good.

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Antarctica: the end

January 17, 2009

We are all in wind down mode with a few heading to bed early last night anticipating a rough night. It wasn’t too bad but I was glad I had taken medication. The call came over the ship’s PA to remind us there was a half hour left for breakfast. We found out more things about sea ice and the differences between the Poles (take home message: North is sea surrounded by continents; South is continent surrounded by sea). Brownyn, our Tasmanian geologist, showed us some interesting characteristics of sea ice from her honors research at the Australian Antarctica station. Damien talked about the mass slaughter of whales and seals during the peak years of economic exploitation of the continent.

Andy, ozzie passenger, Kate and Bronwyn relaxing

Andy, ozzie passenger, Kate and Bronwyn relaxing

For me, it’s as though I know I have to wake up and get away from this dream and back to the life I am starting to know. Without being too bloody literary, this trip marks an end and a beginning. After 28 years in daily print journalism, something new is about to happen.

I brought along some musical favorites this trip. The first items to be deleted were three volumes of Phil Collins era Genesis. No great loss. I also managed to download Sufjan Stevens’ “Seven Swans” twice. Ooops. Favorite good night albums, “Raising Sand” with Alison Krauss and Robert Plant and “Release the Stars” by Rufus Wainwright. Lyric of the day: “I’m so tired of America” from “Going to A Town” by Rufus Wainwright. Perhaps there’s a new America waiting when I get back.