Friday, July 14, 2017

Smells Like Summer Sweat






Thought of these things while driving to work this morning...Summer smells. All the sights, the textures and wafting aromatics behaving like a memorial slideshow that rattle me from the monotony of grownupedness. The ones that spread my nostrils, expand my rib cage and tug hard at the forgotten bits of absolute submissiveness




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1) Warm white bread, clear sun-cooked mayonnaise that looked more like Vaseline than food, thick planks of store brand Jack Cheese secreting waxy flavorless puddles that seemed to beckon, like a damn magnet, each grain of sand on the beach where I'd enjoy and devour my handmade, sand encrusted, sweaty sandwich with the smell of Coppertone 12  a preferred aromatic pairing to the scalding fruit punch, swollen and exploding from the plastic containers offered by the bus that brought us there, at discounted prices to help our hard working single parents save on child care.  






2) Bonnie Bell Roller Ball Lip Gloss in bubble gum or cherry. The gritty and lard-like feeling against my teeth from chewing at the top of the tube, teeth and tongue plunging and tugging to pry the roller ball apart from the thick plastic encasement. This action creating a river of fucked up, fake as hell, lustrous lip gloss to spill out over my then young and plump lips, tongue and teeth. An effort to exploit my awkward and slippery. Losing and enticing my fear of my own pulsating sexuality. Make them look at me....but don't let them see me scoop droplets of sickly sweet smelling lip oil from my bottom lip, and hope they don't notice me scratching the industrial, fuzzy barrier on my grill being created by this hellish lip junk. Pray they don't recognize how badly I want them to see it all and somehow crave touching, smelling and kissing me while at the same time wishing I could walk silent and unnoticed, alone and content to be that way...






3) The shivering, pinching, aching and undeniably captivating fascination as I  witnessed my taught white fingers roll and sweep, delve into the deep valley of dark brown skin that ran down his back. Our 12 year old fumbling. Our well beyond our years and left alone courage. Discovery. Recovery and the beginning of my figuring out where to strap on the hard armor and where to leave pockets of craveable exposure, The way his young frame would shiver...the way my teeth would nearly pierce my lip. His ache and want the kind of sweet pestilence that would eventually leave deep textural scars, both motivating and hauntingly regretful. 






4) Re-fried beans all smutty with lard and charred thick corn tortillas. 5 years old, alone on a pungently scented beach. Running from the rotting aromatics of two old people I didn't know drinking themselves to death in a country not of their origin. The blistering hot silver metal tube of utter surrender with the rickety door that never closed all the way. Me counting the blinks of their inebriation, "five-four-three" the burst of head spinning aromatics as I broke out in my cut off shorts and obnoxiously ruffled shirt my mom purchased at the border crossing. Hoping her toe headed gringo daughter would blend a little better in Mexico. Dropped off there to visit her dying father's numbing parents. 






5) The sweetly sweaty smell of my tiny son. His puffy, thick and tightly curly hair like a cap that held all his daily events down hard against his skull. The late nights when I would slither in behind him sleeping on the couch. His plump cheeks looking like the most luxurious material I could ever imagine. The stillness of his resting eyes, the kind of sleep that to this day I am not sure I have ever experienced. The way his tiny frame sensed me, bent into me, would wiggle deep into the perfectly made for him folds of my body. My illusion of authority and his collusion making me earn it. To this day I can still smell the sweet, feral, hard earned gravy of my skin mixed with my son's. It's why I crave those kisses he so readily gives me on my forehead. I smell Us when our heads are that close and that particular aromatic of summer, simply the most precious and powerful I know. (Happy 28th my gorgeously hearted son. I love you like...well like only you know)






6) The bubble gum, banana and eventual peachy, mineral rich, mouthwatering crunch and refreshment that is summer rose. Starting too damn early each year now but once I get past the weird and unfinished aromatics on far-too-young wine I start the check list in my head. From the lonely beaches of Mexico to the bustle of crowds clamoring for the newest vintage of Rose from France, Spain, Italy, Greece, California and Portugal, aromas have been my partner and drive for as long as I can remember. Ushering in each season, teeth stinging from weighing through the 400 samples of world rose to find just the right symphony of aromatic and palate pitch to keep our brilliantly savvy customers curious and coming back for that next pleasure promising sip. Digging through way too young pink wine with an eye, and nose for the months ahead feeling like warm perfumed hands upon my cheeks and pulling me deeper into each glass, coaxing and asking, "Do you know someone that needs this wine"....






Silly lonely girl that has forever lived and loved in the breathing in of every tiny bit of every situation. The soul, sting and coating of pleasure that some of us find living and reliving through deep breaths and palate lashings.

Grateful for you all....


And the way you get Us.

Friday, June 16, 2017

Can I Have This Dance?



“Reasons Why Your High School BFF Will Be Your Friend For Life”





Some linked post I saw over on Facebook a while back. I was off, bored, lonely and trying to seek some relief from the hollows of my head and thickness of my heart that have plagued me for a bit now. Some from the dissolution of a relationship I was firmly and adamantly sure would last long past the cracks and chips the years had put upon it. Some from deeply crevassed lack of communication that has made it nearly impossible for me to be the me that makes me feel like I’m worthy of the somewhat, and oft over given praise and adoration that has befallen me. Some aching for the small farmers I just recently visited in France. The ones full of hope and optimism that 2017 was going to be the year that their fruit wouldn't be decimated by weather…a year they wouldn't wonder how they are going to pay their bills let alone be able to see any kind of fiscal growth. The ones that are now looking at losses of up to 90% for the vintage, frost biting the dainty heads off their newly flowering vines like some long-toothed monster. Some just from the shit that comes with being a 46 year old woman, leaking seals, longer aches, less emotional fortitude and such. Some from changes about to take place that will weigh heavy on my body, patience and mostly, the big dumb thing that rattles around inside my chest.    So click I did…


                                                       

Clicked through the reasons I didn’t understand and spent way too much fucking time reading the cheese filled comments that followed. Eyes pouring over the highlighted tagging of high school buddies, the “LOL” s and the semi wistful clouds of prom remembrance people left like a scrawled, “Have a great summer” and “Keep in touch” in a yearbook that might be cracked open once or twice before it’s packed away in dusty boxes that will act like totem poles, standing guard over the attic or garage. 




I didn’t go to prom. Fuck, I barely went to high school. I entered the tenth grade but was asked to leave for my lack of compliance. I was a dick, plain and simple. Of course they didn’t want me back at Poly High and even the “continuation high school” I flirted with tossed me for not bothering to show up, “Even though when you do you turn in the most compelling papers I’ve ever read”….now there’s a person from high school I wish I’d stayed in touch with, that one pained face of a teacher that tried to reach me. No, I faked sick, offered to do the laundry and cook dinner, any little thing I could do to not be forced into a desk that highlighted how much I didn’t, fit.  Big tits, boy’s clothes, a full mouth that oozed foul words and carried numerous threats. Everything from ripping them a new asshole to making them crave me. Green eyes with thick bands of black eyeliner, always pointed down to my papers, my desk, my shoes or the pavement they slapped upon as I ran the fuck away from anything that might help me and right into the arms of the things that would eventually form me. 




My prom, as it were, was spent on a bus. I was 18 years old, dropping my fifty-five cents into the clanking change counter, doors heaving and huffing stifling air across my back as they slammed shut and the bus driver told me to, “move beyond the yellow line”. The shot I’d been given to stop my lactating had punctured a nerve making each step feel like another needle was being slammed into my spine.  Concurring those steps at the hospital to visit my tiny son, his eyes tapped shut to protect his vision from the oxygen being pumped into his incubator, his bitty warm fingers and astoundingly strong heart that pounded away even though he was born two months early. But nothing was as painful as walking back down those steps, hauling myself back on a bus, without being able to hold him, without being able to take him with me. A million miles away from puffy dresses, rented cars and the fumblings of first time touching. I’d been touched and sunk my teeth into the touching back. There were no hands shaking as they tried to pin a corsage to my strap, no parents taking pictures and laying out rules or curfews. I made my own rules, as self-destructive as they seemed. That full mouth devouring the fringe that lived outside the bindings of yearbooks, proms and high school BFF’s. Never the most beautiful. Never the most desirable. Never the smartest or most accomplished but like my tiny strong hearted son, I was never one to give up. 





“I’m kinda floored at how many of you are here” my words lilting past my goofy grin as I lean across the tasting table and splash a puddle of Alpine wine, Bourgueil or Alsatian Pinot Noir into a waiting and wanting glass. The crowd not only present, they are damn enthusiastic and all sponge like, there to listen, taste and learn about wines from cooky or less known little corners of France. I always stand there shaking my head, feeling each wonderfully earnest utterance of “I didn’t know” and “Wow, these are so different than anything I’ve ever had before” marveling in their trust and willingness to let me teach….let me, teach them. Always a bit shaken as I watch them clamor over the last bottle of this or that. I confess that I get off on showing them what cool, fresh, not expected wines you can find if you don’t write off entire regions for not quite fitting in.




“You know, it’s really easy to walk in a room and figure out who’s the best looking, not as easy to figure out who’s the most interesting”…As the words drip off my lips I get to see the eyes widening and the “Holy shit, I get it” bulbs go off, as people let the sometimes awkward but still brilliantly persuasive wines pull them, just, a, little, closer. The last time I used that phrase to describe a wine I looked to the register at the front of the store and saw my prom date for the past 27 years. His mouth full like mine, smile without question one we share, his strong little heart the one that stopped me from running and taught me a new way to use my…me-ness in a way that helped us. Much like the wines I often pour, we don’t always fit but, there is more to the story for those that are willing to listen. 


 


So to the wines that let me speak their praise



The people that hunger to listen



The palates that find sexy in quirk…



May I have the next dance?



To the young man I am so very proud to call my son, my prom date, while it will be lonely for me to look across the store and not see your, our face, I am so very excited for this next adventure in your life. I am always here, always watching.

 When you need me, meet me on the dance floor.

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Birds-N-Bubbles






Well once again I am very thrilled to report, that even the day after Thanksgiving, a day where we stuff ourselves with poultry and all the fixings, many of us imbibing a little extra by way of wine either to celebrate or stave off any desire to talk politics around the holiday table, that even after all that our Champagne and Fried Chicken night not only sold out, it was a massive success.



Although we’ve been doing this event for over ten years we still get raised eyebrows and deeply concerned tones when we mention pairing the frothy and rich nobility of Champagne with fried yard bird. I guess we sort of get it. I mean when many think of Champagne they envision celebratory meals and royal parties, likely dotted with platters of cold seafood and decadent delights, which is precisely why we started putting our chicken where our mouths are as it were, and started doing these events once or twice a year. 






I’ve forever railed against regulating Champagne to a twice or thrice a year, special occasional drink, that is the equivalent of putting Baby in the corner if you ask me. No, don’t do it, let it hit center stage and show what it can do. On one level I do understand, I’ve tasted the wines that people shill as good, or name brand Champagne and doesn’t take more than a couple sips for one to find them utterly forgettable. Fizzy, festive in bubbles and not much else. That is true of the Moets and Veuve Clicquots of the world but the small grower, handmade, artisan Champagnes we have been stocking for the past 15 years? No, these are wines well beyond bubbly stuff and they merit a place at the dinner table. Plus I’m sorry, despite its humble beginnings, fried chicken is all sorts of decadent! Crunchy seasoned breading shattering between your teeth just before they sink into moist and salty flesh, to wash that down with a curvy wine, full of baked fruit, citrus, melted butter and caramel notes, the tiny froth vibrating along the sides of your palate, refreshing you, enticing you, for one more sip and one, more, bite? Well in the world of food and wine pairings it simply doesn’t get much better. 

  
The Friday after Thanksgiving, the 125 pieces of fried chicken being piled onto plates, the 40 bottles of selected Champagne chilled, checked for correctness and waiting, an eager crowd filing through the front door, checking in, finding their places at the tables, settling in and ready to get their bird and bubbles groove on, always a magical feeling.



The crowd was effusive and engaging, the wines all so different and full of character that there wasn’t one that didn’t find a home that night. Always cool to see the lines at the register but it’s also so very gratifying to see how many people are getting it and discovering just how amazing these wines, that happen to have bubbles in them, are. 


 N.V. Suenen Grand Cru Blanc de Blancs 
Always a treat for me personally to open a bottle of this gorgeous Chardonnay based Champagne. I was lucky enough to be with the importer in Champagne when she, well I was going to say “discovered” him but the truth of the matter was, we were both over the moon after tasting and listening to young Aurelien Suenen, it was more like I was with her as she tried to convince him to let her import his wines to California. Been following along ever since and these wines just keep getting better and better. This young man is at the very beginning of his winemaking career and trust me, pay attention, now before his wines catch on here as they have in Champagne and other markets. 


The precision and focus here is rather remarkable. The aromatics are sewed together nearly seamlessly. Floral notes, anise, cold white stones and lemon curd. Just an elegantly balanced and aromatically regal wine to be sure. The average vine age here is about 45 years and you can feel that power on the palate, the length is tremendous. You taste white peach and quince with more lemon and just the faintest nuttiness. Bit of a heart-stopper and one of our most treasured finds. Less than 1,700 cases produced. 



N.V. Vazart Coquart Grand Cru Blanc de Blancs 
I love pulling the wines from Vazart Coquart for events where we feature food, simply because the wines from this Domaine are designed to enhance the food on the table and they make a range of wines that compliment everything from raw foods to foie gras. Decadent in its palate coating texture but full of freshness and nerve. Tart green apple skin on the nose that folds into a rich doughy notes and then lifted to preserved lemons. Plenty of weight but not mucked up by heavy yeast notes that can, and do often, come off clunky with food. There is a brilliance in the crystalline clarity and snappy bite of this delicious wine. 


N.V. Robert Moncuit Grand Cru Blanc de Blancs 
All the fruit for this creamy but serious Blanc de Blancs is sustainably farmed with careful dedication the making sure the soils are clean, vibrant and offering the healthiest fruit possible. Loads of baked apples on the nose with a countering mineral and citrus flesh note. Nice tension and weight on the palate with a super friendly creaminess that reminds you of a citrus tart with warm custard. Astounding quality for this price. 



N.V. Le Mesnil Grand Cru Blanc de Blancs 
Now something for the toasty loving bunch. Produced from grapes grown in one of the greatest of Grand Cru Chardonnay villages, this wine is full of rich and sultry fruit as well as that pie crust and rising bread note. Fairly full on the palate this wine had the texture to hold up to a wide array of foods but that lovely yeasty toasty note make it a divine choice for simply sipping too. Huge value here folks. 



2005 Maurice Vesselle Grand Cru Les Hauts Chemins Blanc de Noirs 
This is a truly rare treat to be sure. I fell in love with the wines from this Domaine when I tasted their wines at a trade event in Champagne. There was something so fleshy, powerful, concentrated and elegant about them that I sort of nudged an importer friend to consider them for import to California. Luckily for all of us she and I were on the same page and in late 2014 the wines of Maurice Vesselle made their debut not just in California but in the United States! We are not only very proud that we were involved, we fall deeper for these wines each and every time we taste them.


This 2005 was tasted on a more recent visit to the Vesselle Domaine and I was literally rendered speechless when I tasted it. I kept hovering my pen over my tasting notes but the wine, this wine, it was too incomparable for me to find the proper words in that moment. It was too perfect to try and break apart. I dropped my pen and asked that 3 cases be imported for us.




Made from 100% Grand Cru Pinot Noir this wine is the epitome of nobility for its texture and length. A lower dosage has you truly tasting the purity and exemplary quality of fruit that made this base wine. Simply put, one of the best wines I tasted in 2016. Only 800 bottles produced.  

  

N.V. Pierre Gerbais Extra Brut Rose 
A new acquisition for us this year the wines from Pierre Gerbais, and one we are very excited about! Young Aurelien Gerbais at 24 years old is the 8th generation at the helm of the Gerbais domaine and is creating quite the buzz, both in Champagne and in savvy Champagne markets around the globe. Sustainable farming, lower dosage added and a somewhat unusual blend of Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and Pinot Blanc this Rose is quite dry and very finessed. Tart red fruits with some pretty floral notes. Fresh, vibrant and utterly brilliant with food. 



N.V. Hugues Godme Grand Cru Brut Rose
Hugues Godme is considered, within Champagne, one of the most passionate and respected growers in the business. His wines are certified biodynamic and only natural yeasts are used. I find the wines from this estate to have a certain regality to them and this super dry Rose is no exception. Deeply aromatic but more floral than fruity. On the palate there is just the tiniest of bubbles that dance across tongue leaving in their wake a shimmer of fresh apple skin and pie crust. Loves dark meat poultry, salmon and shines with salty and briny foods.  



N.V. Marc Hebrart 1er Cru Brut 
Made from mostly Pinot Noir with a little Chardonnay which adds a great amount of lift. Pretty expressive and with plenty of bready notes on the nose. Solid core of stone fruit with a touch of yeasty flavor. Nicely weighted in the mouth but with super fine bubbles so it doesn’t feel, or come off, too heavy. Reminds me of Taittinger in the good old days. 



2009 Camille Saves Grand Cru Brut 
The Champagnes from Camille Saves have been some of our most beloved and bestselling Champagnes, across the range of wines, for quite a few years now. I always call the wines from this domaine, “Game Changers” as they have converted more wine lovers to diehard Champagne lovers than any other we have. They are some of the most luscious and generous as we’ve ever had.

2009 is one of the best vintages in the 2000s and this offering from Saves is comprised of 80% Pinot Noir and 20%Chardonnay, all from Grand Cru vineyards, so as good as it gets in Champagne for quality. Deeply saturated and bursting at the seams with baked apple, browned butter, salted caramel and brioche. Mouth coating, powerful, dominate and all the sexy that implies. 


2009 H. Billiot Grand Cru Brut
Laetitia Billiot recently took the reins at the Billiot domaine in I can say, in all honesty, they’ve never been better in all the 15 years we’ve been stocking them. She is getting tremendous extraction from her vines and it shows in the nearly chewy density of her thrilling wines. Been truly exiting t watch the elevation of this winery for so many years but the real thrill comes from popping bottles like this meaty, palate staining 2009 vintage. Wow. 

Caramelized pears, roasted cashews, salted butter, lemon oil and cream filled pie dough come screaming across the palate with flavors so intense and lavish that they leave an indelible stain. If you are looking for coy and lean this is NOT your wine. This is giving it all up, right up front and seductively unashamed.