Bob’s Winings
                                                                           former
                   Tasting Notes from a ^ Beer Drinker

This page contains Winings from the 3^rd Quarter of the year 2003.

To contact WinoBob, click here

September 28, 2003

I do believe I left out something of relevance in the George Plimpton eulogy.  As he headed out the door in the only seersucker suit I have been up close and personal with, he picked up a straw hat and placed it squarely on his head and walked out into the summer’s wind.  I managed to see a small logo on the band, the hat was made by the world famous Susquehanna Hat Company.  Slowly, I turned, step-by-step, inch by inch…  Sorry; I just can’t get that Lou Costello thing out of my head.

With thunderstorms running through NJ again, I took the time to flop in front of the TV and stumbled on the HBO showing of a movie called The Rat Pack.  It was billed as a docudrama, which I guess means a mix of fact and fiction.  Afterwards, it occurred to me that Hoboken, NJ born, Frank Sinatra, has been spoken about and written about as having friendships and working relationships with Organized Crime members.  I have even heard a rumor that Sammy’s glass eye was the result of some “friends of Frank” sending Sammy a message regarding the women Sammy had his eye on, but I can’t really go into detail, if you know what I mean.  The irony I was left with is that the people writing letters about the Sopranos and movies like the Godfather having a negative impact on the world view of Italians are the same people driving around in their Cadillac’s listening to Frank’s greatest hits, or buying DVDs of Sinatra movies.  I guess it’s just me but next time the NJ crowd gets vocal at the beginning of the Soprano’s season, we should ask those same people how many Sinatra recordings they own.

This evening, Wino Rocker stopped by with the lovely Winette Rocker.  He had been in the studio with his newly formed band putting down some cool jazz with his dark glassed, vest wearing, hipster new gang.  He’s angling for the wino music market, something more appropriate then Red, Red Wine by UB40.  Somehow, I always had a craving for a blunt after that song.  No, this was more for the casual evening with a bottle of red and friends.  I’m getting the sense that Wino Ray and Wino Rocker are heading back for a reunion, though Mississippi Queen will no longer be the first song of the second set.  No, this could be the laid back sounds of the red wine and casual gatherings CD, tour and black light poster.  The Rockers now spend time visiting small wineries in Pennsylvania and Ohio when they weekend at their hunting grounds.  Last night they brought over a bottle of Cabernet Franc from a winery in Ohio called DeBonne Vineyards.  It was our warm up wine as one bottle is never enough.  It wasn’t bad, carrying a lot of earthiness on the nose and some dark cherry flavor.

2001 Meffre La Chasse du Pape Prestige Cotes-du Rhone Rouge $ (8.99)     They had the right idea, blending Syrah, Grenache, Cinsault and Mourvedre together and it could have been a beautiful thing.  But the balance was off, no bass line and very little depth

September 27, 2003

As a follow up to the origins of the Seersucker Suit, I was told that they name came from the fact that this fine garment was sold in the 1920 exclusively through the Sears and Roebuck catalog.  Mr. Sears laughed every time another Sucker bought one out these half cloth, half paper machete garments.  Unfortunately, that is not the correct explanation.  Below is information that came directly from a fashion editor at a high-class clothier.  The beauty of the explanation is that they use the words aplomb and rumpled in the same sentence, a literary feat I have yet to accomplish.

The Seersucker Suit
American seersucker is a cotton version of the silk seersucker worn in the nineteenth century by the British in India. The word itself seems to be a Hindi corruption of a Persian phrase, shir shakkar, which translates as "milk and sugar." This etymology refers to the alternating smooth and rough textures of the stripes, the distinctive feature of the cloth, which is achieved by what is called slack-tension weaving: alternating fibers are held under normal tension, while intervening ones are kept slack to create a pattern of puckered and flat stripes. Seersucker's most distinguishing characteristic is its greatest stylistic virtue as well: it flaunts its rumpled state with aplomb.

It became popular as the perfect cloth for hot, humid climes. In the South, men began to wear seersucker suits in the summer around the turn of the century as a more comfortable alternative to flannel and linen, but they were considered a rather cheap approach to dressing and had little fashion allure until university men began wearing them after the First World War. They were seen at tony country clubs in the '30s and '40s but didn't really catch on with businessmen in the North until the end of the Second World War, as witnessed in a newspaper column written by that great writer and dandy Damon Runyon in July 1945.

September 26, 2003-Addendum

Driving around today, I heard the sad news that author, sportsman, and genuine good guy, George Plimpton, passed away at the age of 76.  Why did George’s death and not the hip, rocker Robert Palmer’s death sadden me you ask?  First off, Robert Palmer had too many hot chicks so I never would identify with him. However, I had the occasion to meet Mr. Plimpton and speak with him.  About six or seven years ago, a friend of mine was working with a product in the tennis industry.  He had been invited to a cocktail party by the publisher of Tennis Weekly and asked if I wanted to tag along.  Now this was before my hip, black, NY attire closet, my entry into the literary world and wine drinking.  What?  No, really!  I am a member of the literary community.  Seriously! 

Well into my 5^th Gin and Tonic, I headed across the room, extended my hand and said something unintelligible to George, like “Mr. Plimpton, I’m a big admirer of your works.  You know, I’m a paper lion, too.”   I’m a paper lion, too?  What the F&%# does that mean?  I remember the look he gave me, like, "I’m a paper lion.  What the F*^% does that mean… ?"

What impressed me was his cordialness prior to spinning on his heels and heading in the opposite direction from me.  He was a stately looking man, tall and thin, not that there’s anything wrong with that.  He wore a seersucker suit, crisp white button-down oxford shirt and a tennis theme tie.  A chardonnay perched in his hand, he swept his distinguished gray hair across his forehead and said in his proper boarding school voice, “Thank you for reading my books.”

Sorry, I just can’t let this one go.  What the hell is a seersucker suit and why was it invented?  Does a well-dressed man need a white and light blue striped suit where the puckers of the blue stripe look like paper mache when bad?  And where in the hell did that name come from?  I would never be able to go to a store and ask the sales person to point me in the direction of your seersucker suits.  And did the guy who made the name up do it in earnest or was it a goof?  Maybe he had a great sense of humor  and laughed as country clubs around the US had cocktail parties where captains of industry where donning seersucker suits and getting the following comments, “Biff, that seersucker suit is you.”  “Cubby, you certainly look handsome in that seersucker suit”  “Really, Ashton, I get hot for a man in a seersucker suit.”  Then they all head out of the steam room, slap each other on the ass, and meet their wives for dinner.

I’m sorry, Mr. Plimpton, that was not appropriate in my tribute to you.  I was not a wine drinker at the time we met, but he was and had I been, I’m sure I would have had a better story since my wine knowledge would have had me invited to his swank Manhattan apartment for dinner with his high society friends.  I’m sure by now I would have been the wine reviewer for his magazine and we would have shared many a wild night in our white tennis shirts, cashmere sweaters draped across our shoulders, hitting the hot spots in NYC.   (Editor's note:  Correction.  You would have been out in your seersucker suit...)  Instead, I was tapped on Gin and Tonic and said a stupid non-sequeter that he couldn’t get away from fast enough. 

September 26, 2003

You know I have been looking for more data and a professional heavyweight to bolster my comments and bring intriguing information to our site. Well, I haven’t been able to do that yet, so I spend countless hours scanning high and low for research, data and things other then the crap that flows out of my mouth.  So here is one that I could have made up, but didn’t.  Its an actual article from a medical journal in Copenhagen. 

WOMEN who drink moderate quantities of wine become pregnant more easily than their teetotal or beer-supping sisters, a Danish medical review reported.

According to Dagens Medecin, a study of 30,000 women showed that those who chose a glass of wine over beer or spirits were most likely to conceive. The least likely to become pregnant were those who drank no alcohol at all.

The research was carried out by a team headed by Mette Juhl of the state serology institute, Statens Serum Institut. They could not explain the reasons for their findings.

"We know that wine-drinkers eat more healthily and are of a higher social status than beer drinkers. But ability to become pregnant does not vary according to social class," Juhl commented.

Is it rude to say to the research community in Copenhagen, "No- Duh"?  My misspent youth was research enough to tell me that I have no shot at sex with a woman that doesn’t drink.  C'mon, look at me.  No woman wants pipe-cleaner fingers running through her hair.  No alcohol, no sex.  Welcome to my life.  Now, I do not agree with the social status comment of beer drinkers and in fact it was beer that allowed the few women in my high school awkwardness to concede, or at least reduce their defensiveness to the point that I became a hunk through their Beer Goggles.  OK, so 'hunk' is too grandiose but I guess I was the last stick figure standing and it was better than her going home alone.  Hey, wait a minute.  I was used!  How dare they…

So in the file of 'fact being better than fiction', Copenhagen wine drinking woman breed like Mexicans.  Maybe it’s that their otherwise standoffish eggshells soften when soaked in wine and are more receptive to the Olympic swimmer stick figure baby batter.  Wino John, I smell road trip!  How do you say, “Good evening, women.  I am Wino Bob, and the bullets in my pea shooter are cocked and ready to fertilize your Eskimo eggs...” in Copenhagenese?  And to you tea-totaling bitches, loosen up!  Your eggs will be spoiled before you can use them.  Face it, I’m sure you are holding out for Brad Pitt, but the wine drinking Jennifer Anniston has him locked up. 

September 26, 2003

I know that Wino Wally has the corner on fine dining experiences and I am mostly limited to two places.  Several days ago I did find myself in a steakhouse in NJ that served up one of the largest Filet Mignons I have ever seen.  Assembly Steakhouse in Englewood Cliffs brought out a filet that was the size of a ground hog and my T-Bone was cooked to perfection.  Located on 9W North, its dining room boosts large Easterly looking windows that offer up a great view of NYC (once the foliage all dies and the twisted skeletons of the oaks and maples lining the Palisades' edge surrender their lifeless bodies to winter allowing the lights of the city to sporadically shine through.)  Bring your wallet, they charge for the view, and the wines by the glass, though the waiter was unfamiliar when I asked if they had a syrah.  The wine list is appropriately overpriced for the proximity to NYC but the high priced steak is worth the trip.

September 21, 2003

One night last week, as I recovered from a late night bender with Wino Ray, I flopped on the bed with the TV glowing in the dead of dark.  Fading between stages of sleep, the last thing that registered in my subconscious was the first thing I thought about in the early morning shower.  There was this slogan or public service announcement whose tag line was something like, “If you can read this, thank a teacher.”  Not thinking much about that throughout the day, that thought ran back into my head when I sat down checking emails.  Emails lead to net surfing, which brought me to a section on NJ wineries that connected to research being done at Rutgers University.  Rutgers page has a link to departments and staff.  Soon I was searching the facility to see if any of my old professors where still employed. 

As luck would have it, the one professor I most hoped was still there had her email address blazing off the monitor.  Now here I am twenty years removed, but I thought about that PSA.  So I sent off a quick note telling this professor how much I enjoyed the classes and projects I worked on with her and how greatly motivated I was in her classes.  This is a major professor tied into the Alcohol research group at Rutgers, of which I spent time and talent working my way to supporting my college costs.  Two days later, I received an email back and the professor asked how I was doing and what I was up to.  I proudly told her of the great web site I work on and how much fun I was having exploring the sides of wine not talked about by the pedantic, condescending snobs.  We exchanged several more emails and I proposed how great it would be to have the clout of a professor from Smithers Center for Alcohol Studies to be a guest essayist on our page.  She could jot a thought or two and seeing how she was into wine, she thought it would be fun.  Sending her our web site, I told her to read around to get a feel for our style and get back to me afterwards.  To finalize our new working relationship, I suggested we get together for lunch and we could discuss some topics that I’d love to get her perspective on….(insert sound of chirping crickets here) (Call out to an empty echoing cave) Hello-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-, anybody home-m-m-m-m-m-m-m?

So I guess her profession career is more important than a free paragraph on a web site that has yet to see emails from all our industry friends who have promised to write. Veronique, my friend who works at the tasting room for Sebastiani, Big Bob from Dreyfuss, the owners of 4 Sisters Winery…. Is it something I said?

Here’s a great purchase as my value of the month.

2001 Farnese Montepulciano D’Abruzzo DOGC $ (5.99)   Yes, winos and winettes, at under six dollars, buy this and drink it any night, with pizza or spaghetti and meatballs.  It does start out hot and needs time to settle down, but the wine that evolves is a fun, easy drinker.

September 20, 2003

Look at that date.  It has been far too long since I have sat in front of this keyboard and pounded out a non-sequeter.  But, I have a reason, and it is found in my new religious education.  Stop, I know what you are thinking, Wino Bob, you have decided to give up your wantonous, wretched lifestyle and become a member of the cloth.  No, though tempting as a new dating service, I remain the hedonist that I am.  But borrowing from Luke 15.11-24, which I have always thought was the story of the Prodicle Son, or Periodical Son, or Protocol Son, it turns out to be the Parable of the Prodigal Son.   But I digress. Yes this week there was a bit of the Prodigal Son story that unfolded at Chateau Wino Bob.

Last Saturday, my phone rang and the voice on the other end was my long lost older brother. “Hey, I’m at Newark Airport!  Can you pick me up and can I crash at your place?”  OK, so we exchange emails every few months and an occasional phone call, but it has been four years since he and I have been in each other’s company.  Upon his college graduation, he accepted a good job out west, planted roots and with life and work, has not been back in quiet a while.  So as the father in the story of the Prodigal Son, I threw open the doors to my home, slaughtered the fatted calf and feasted for several evenings as we openly spoke about life and change and world events.  Well, I don’t actually have a fatted calf, but there is a groundhog that tunnels around the neighborhood.  I set up the safe trap but was unsuccessful in capturing the little bastard.  Thus, I resorted to hopping in the truck and slaughtering the meat counter at Kings for some porterhouses. 

While at Kings, I too had a bit of a Prodigal Son moment and picked up a bottle of wine that would match one I brought up from the basement.  Yes, one of my wino neighbors had given me a Provence wine, which I intended to serve with the meal.  As I unfoiled it, the cork was wet and a tiny rust spot lay inside the capsule.  Concerned that it was shot, I selected (purchased) my first bottle of French wine since the war.  OK, I have left myself open to criticism and I will gladly accept.  I’m not saying I’ve given up the boycott.  Let’s just say I have become French and feel that going back on my word for a moment is a life choice.

Be that as it may, I inducted my older brother into the WinoStuff society.  You must remember that beer runs deeply through our gene structure and we made the rounds.  I trotted him to all the hot spots showing the bartenders and owners of several of my hangouts that I am not a complete loner and occasionally I can find someone to sit next to me and chat. He quickly identified each place with the names I have given them in my woggings.  Though the sign on the door of Bacchus made that easy, UnBacchus does not promote itself to the public in that fashion.  It has been a long time since we hit the town together and we laughed the night recalling the drunken benders in the bars by ASU.  I think at this point, I should make a revelation, or heartfelt statement about it being great to see family and how no matter of time and distance, there is always a certain bond, you know all that kind of bullshit.  It was touching to see Wino Rocker and now, Wino Ray greet each other and embrace, not in a gay way but more in a brotherhood way.  They haven’t seen each other in over 15 years and it was a great day we all spent together.  Genetically, we just don’t do that touchy feely hello-goodbye thing, therefore I found it hard to something other then, “Hey, it was a pisser, let me know next time you’re heading back East and we’ll grab dinner” and “See you in the Funny papers.” Now where did I leave that wine glass….

1994 Mas de Gourgonnier Les Baux de Provence Cuvee Rouge gift    This blend from a smaller Southern Rhone appellation carried a maturity and softness even with liquid sipping out the cork.  Fading in color but full on fruit with dark cherry and plum flavors.

2001 Mas de Gourgonnier Les Baux de Provence Cuvee Rouge $ (13.99)    The younger brother to the 94, this blend of Syrah, Grenache, Mourvedre, Carignan and Cinsault boasts a raspberry, cherry and tobacco nose with a bit of untamed tannin.  Sit this one down for two years and enjoy the change.

September 15, 2003

I’m not sure if all web site contributors get personal phone calls from unhappy friends bitching them out for comments in an entry, but never let it be said that Wino Bob turns a deaf ear to critics.  Yes, over the weekend I fielded a call from Mr. T-Rex himself.  It seems my “inhumanely cheap” comment did not sit well with him.  After all, Winette Alice does have hot and cold running water and indoor plumbing in their home and he manages to provide some very exquisite culinary fare.  As a matter of fact, he sent me this picture of the meal and wine he was planning to make for Winette Alice on Sunday.  This special dish was something he enjoyed on one of his swings through China just last month.  He told me that using the youngest, freshest ingredients is the key to this dish.

 You can see that the kitten recognizes that a meat cleaver in hand is not a good thing, I wonder if that is a bottle of Yellow Tail Shiraz he will be serving.

Secondly, Wino T-Rex wanted me to post the other picture that the owners of the winery took during their visit to Clover Hill.  As you can clearly see, I kid about Wino T-Rex being cheap.  In fact his money is hanging out of his pocket, albeit it’s his commune money he got 37 years ago and has yet to part with.

 It looks like he is just about to give Winette Alice a loving hug.

September 13, 2000

There is nothing better than opening an email with the two simple words “permission granted”.  The gracious Winette Alice (aka Mrs. T-Rex) had forwarded me the picture of her big day in the country.  She promised a new feature which I will call, Winette Alice’s Roving Report.  Below is a picture from her trip to Clover Hill Winery in Pennsylvania.

As you will notice, the bag is not filled with wine though Winette Alice will not admit it nor write about it.  She told me that Wino T-Rex sweet-talked the girl behind the counter at the winery to give him a bag and stuff it with napkins to make it look like he bought a lot of stuff.  Then he made Winette Alice pose for the picture with the beautiful vineyard in the background, after which he refolded the bag, gave it back to the winery people and sped off to Trader Joes in NJ for a case of Two Buck Chuck.  So I look forward to a review of the Two Buck Chuck.

Thank you for your new monthly feature and we look forward to your first review. (OK Winette Alice, the world awaits, you can’t back out now.)

September 12, 2003

Life is too short, so I must drink more wine.  Maybe life will be too short since I do drink all this wine.  Either way, I am committed to drinking wine from my racks so I can rotate the crops.  If I did learn one thing from Mrs. Fanaldi’s Third Grade social studies lesson, one must occasionally rotate their crops so you do not keep depleting the soil of the same nutrients.  Green beans this year, soybeans next year; Aussie Shiraz last night, Burgundy tonight.  Oh, did I say that out loud?  Well, as you know there are a few pre-war Frenchies in my rack, two of which I purchased after my love connection with Veronique Drouhin.  So I rotated my palate from the bigger reds to the more feminine and fleshy Pinot Noir produced by my favorite Winette. 

It was an evening with a simple beef stew in a red wine mushroom gravy so I decided to deduct one more French wine from the very limited holding I have in the rack.  Getting in touch with the sensitive side of my palate, I by-passed the cabs, syrah, shiraz, Malbec, fondled a few whites and then laid my sweaty little pipe cleaner fingers on a Gevrey-Chambertin.  I am not going to spend time with the jokes, nor say more than necessary, but Gevrey-Chambertin is a large wine-producing village in the northern part of Cote de Nuits residing in the Cote D’Or.  Now I don’t speak French so I’m not sure, but I think the place is pronounced Coat da Nuts.  So if you are into impressing your friends, the next time you want to sound like a real knowledgeable wine person, mention that you enjoy the Pinot Noirs from Coat da Nuts.  What would be most interesting is if the world famous French chemist, Gay Lussac, came from the Coat da Nuts section of town. 

1997 Joseph Drouhin Gevrey-Chambertin $$ (34.95)    Like glancing across the room and spotting a well dressed attractive woman, I hesitated to approach this wine but once you gather the courage and walk over to say hi, you find out she likes football.  There is a grace to the red and dark berry flavors and a finish that makes you turn your head as it walks out to the lounge.

September 11, 2003

Lost But Not Forgotten

September 10, 2003

Well it’s good to see that Wino John has fixed his keyboard and remembered that the term What’s New refers to something at least younger than the stains in my current pair of underwear.  President Bush checks into this site more frequently.  He once told me he enjoys our current support for his war efforts.  I had a nice picture sent to me by the lovely Winette Mrs. T-Rex (aka Solder Paste Boy’s wife), but need her permission before I can post it.  It seems that the inhumanely cheap, short-armed, long pocketed T-Rex was nice enough to aerate the Mrs. with a drive to the country.  OK, it was Pennsylvania but for us New Jerseyans, that is the country.

That reminds me of a story from the geek world side of my depressing existence.  Several years ago, a sales manager from one of the companies we work with, flew in to do the sales manager thing.  You know, get out from under the eyes of the boss, in the most inconvenient time to pretend he is busy while placing undue pressure and anxiety on a small, over worked under paid field sales guy.   This was a day in which he flew into Newark airport; we headed south on the NJ Turnpike to New Brunswick for a 'much ado about nothing' meeting.  Since most of the people in the room were more impressed with themselves and the sound of their own voice, what should have taken an hour bled into five.  What pissed me off the most was that we were going to enjoy a meal at a nice restaurant in White House, NJ as my treat for setting this hoedown up.  But no, I lost out again and at the conclusion on the meeting we headed back up the NJT on that late August afternoon towards the airport.  For those not familiar with that portion of the highway, there are many of the best oil refineries, urban areas, auto-theft area, power plants and waste management facilities in the world.  Say no more if you know what is good for you… Usually in the late afternoon, the flash towers sporadically flare off the belched up deadly flumes of the petroleum cracking process to convert them to unhealthy irritant hydrocarbons and greenhouse gases that haze the sky a glowing amber hue. 

As I adamantly informed my guest, that smell in our car was produced from the outside and not from my insides, he asked how I could live with this.  He, being born and bred on the wholesome lifestyle and crisp autumn air at the base of the White Mountains in NH, informed me he was glad to be heading home.  Then, to add insult to injury, he asked where we kept the brick and mortar seeds.  The what?  Yes, in his smug NH accent he amused himself with a comment that NJ has to update it's state motto, unless growing cement is now a gardening technique.  Listen, you cow-tipping, sheep humping, back woods a$$hole, NJ is the Garden State, still, really, no, I mean it.  Just look around.  OK, I got his point, so the entrepreneurs here decided to leave the farms and manure for the industrial revolution and we decided to use brick and mortar instead of oak and tarred rope.  But there are places here that most New Jerseyans themselves look at a map to see if they are still in the State.  As I have grown older and realized that Born to Run was not the answer to all my teenage turmoil, I started to appreciate this State in ways I never did before.   (Editor's note: "Governor Bob".  That has a certain ring to it...)

2001 Covey Run Syrah $ (10.99)     This Washingtonian Wine has a pleasant dark berry fruit and hint of chocolate but lacks the muscle this grape can possess.

September 5, 2003

Next time I am in the presence of Winette Tia, I need to figure out a way to see if she actually has a wooden leg without being slapped for inappropriate touching.  Last night, a quorum formed in the wine room at Chateau Bob and mass wine consumption broke out.  All I remember in the fog that were my fiery eyeballs this morning is that the bottle count out numbered the body count two to one.  I believe I did the French thing and raised my white flag around 2AM, but Wino Rocker and Winette Tia matched wits on TV trivia until 3:30.  If I could only figure out a way to make money while sipping wine and telling stories my life would be... well..., fun.  

As a public service announcement, the fall semester for the Windows on the World Wine School begins Sept. 29^th and will be held at the NY Marriott Marquis Hotel.

As you know, I owe my passion for wine to that course and if it weren’t for that legal thing with me not being able to say I am personal friends with Kevin Zraly and that 500 feet safe zone, I would be taking a class or two as an alumni.  I always say, one cannot drink enough of the wine Kevin provides for each class and to the pourer I gave a tongue lashing to for skimping on the fill; I am sorry.  Part of my education has been understanding the difference in fill level for a tasting versus a party night drunk.

Last night, or rather the hour prior to me waking up, as I sat in bed unwinding (well that’s what I call it), I panicked myself with the brilliance that befell me.  I have been trying to find a way to add pizzazz to my entries, I say a film on women who wear thongs and drink wine.  Phashizzle my nizzle; Wino Bob’s Girl’s Gone Wild.  I know Snoop won’t be using that title for a while since he will be spending time explaining to the man what happened at Spring Break.  But then you wake up the next day, shave your tongue and realize that some of these brilliant ideas look dull and gray when your head is pounding.

1993 Silver Oak Cabernet Sauvignon Napa $$$ (74.00)   I understand the fanatics for this dark ruby nectar.  There is a regal dress to this wine as it lays out a headiness of cassis, blackberries, chocolate, sandalwood and herbs. Luscious and full bodied, with a long slightly tannic hem.

1995 Whitehall Lane Cabernet Sauvignon Napa $$ (40.00)   A fav of Wino John due to the big bold fruit and weightiness of this wine.  There are blackberry, blueberry, coco and plum that hit you with this wine.  An impressive liquid. 

September 1, 2003

Happy Labor Day to all who labor their lives away trying to keep up with the stress and financial obligations called life in 2003.  I apologize, it has been longer than expected since I have sat in front of the computer but the end of summer caught me by surprise and I took several days of down time.  Yes, for the past three days, I went without computer, wine, and out-going cell calls to see if there are any coils left to be rewound before the crush of work kicks back in.  In the absence of wine and computers, I did manage to have one of those weird moments in time when the past slaps you in the back of a sunburned neck and you realize how good it feels once it stops hurting.  Dinner tonight was simple but fulfilling. 

Growing up as one of four kids to a night supervisor in Stanley tool, our vacations were limited to the two-week mandatory time off when the factory closed at the end of July.  The majority of time away from the home in Bloomfield was spent at my aunt’s bungalow just off route 37 enroute to Seaside Heights.  Who knew my aunt and uncle had such foresight to buy a $4700 beach house in a small town near the jersey shore town of Seaside, which now could be resold for the low six figures.  As I have written about before, when my father was not working, the only passion he had was to take us fishing.  Most of the time we were on my cousin’s 18 foot wooden skiff in the Barnegat bay near Good Luck Point trying to catch, net or hook what ever was still alive in that brown soup we used as a food and recreational swimming resource.  In the late sixties, blow fish, snappers and Jersey Blue claw crabs were abundant.  Time, tides and environmental influences changed all that until recently.  In the past few years, the bay seems to be making a minor comeback serving up a healthier populous of snappers and blue claws.

With my parents now retired and awaiting their house in the shore area to be completed, my father has sought refuge from the tiny temporary housing by spending most of the day on the pier with a rod in his hand.  Thank God, it is a rod with line and bait; we don’t need a family scandal. 

By time I reached home last night, at the end of my head-clearing time away from the dark hole called tech sales, I had a cooler containing the unopened wine bottle I started out with on Friday morning, ticket stubs from a sail around Baltimore harbor, six Jersey Blue claw crabs and 9 frozen snappers.  So tonight I dropped the snappers in the freezer, grilled a steak and spent the afternoon with a bottle of wine and a memory.  Yes, the memory of summers of my youth when a half-day on the bay brought us a peach basket filled with crabs. 

As I cleaned the crabs, I thought back to the summer of 1967 when we caught crabs by the basketfull each day and spent the evening boiling them in a large blackened pot my uncle kept just for the outside cooking.  He and my grandfather built a brick bar-b-q pit off the sun porch where we would burn scrub pine for hours to boil the water that would cook the crabs.  Then both families would line homemade picnic tables covered in newspaper, under the shade of large conifers to begin the eating fest.  For those not familiar with crab eating, there is a lot more shell and work than meat in a crab as one breaks the apron, removes the hard shell, clears the gills and digs for the tiny lump meat in a Jersey blue claw.  But fresh caught crab is sweet and succulent and makes a great appetizer when mixed with a Chablis mustard sauce. 

To make the day special, I dug out a new wine that my co-worker and friend wino JT (his name is John but no one can take Wino John so I will call him wino JT) brought me back from a trip to Germany.  I have been saving this wine for a special time and my reunion with Jersey blue claws was it.  Now my mentor, Kevin Zraly, told us that Germany only made good white wines, but this red was a great complement to the crab Dijon and the grilled shell steak.  I must admit I was not familiar with Schwartz Riesling, but it is most likely the mutation of pinot noir in Germany, also know as Meunier.  As with most things German, they managed to toughen up the otherwise fleshy Pinot Noir to a robust flavorful wine that drank well.  Maybe Springsteen sings about the tough times growing up in NJ but there are those of us who enjoyed our summers at the shore.  Maybe we didn’t know there was a better life out there, maybe we didn’t know there were better places to vacation, maybe we were just happy to be with family and friends, eating a simple dinner as the sun set across the bay and a swarm of jersey mosquitoes chewed one alive until large red welts covered ones body like the pox.  UH, uh Growin Up…

1999 Schlor Weingut Schwartz Riesling Spatlese   gift       As red wines go, this one delivers a nice mix of tobacco, dark fruit and a soft finish.  Somewhat sweet on the nose but dry on the palate and brawny enough to handle grilled shell steak.

August 26, 2003

Here’s a small portion of an email from my favorite author and Paterson historian, Flavia.  She has been spending time enjoying Sauvignon Blanc for the summer and recommends Mario’s super premium.  Visit www.andrettiwinery.com to get the story behind Mario’s move off the racing circuit and into the vineyard.

By the way, I've been trying a few whites and storing up stories about
them--if I weren't so busy lately you'd have seen something lyrical
from me by now.

Just bouncing off your PS, however, let me say that my husband and I
went to a benefit wine-tasting out at Settlers Inn in Hawley, PA (one
of our favorite getaway spots) and (1) avoided the blackout entirely,
and (2) enjoyed a great Sauvignon Blanc produced by none other than
Mario Andretti, who has retired from race-car driving into the
fast-lane of California wine production. I'm not sure what it sells
for, but it's a label to look out for. Just as a side note, his
Sangiovese is spectacular.

best,
Flavia

August 25, 2003

This is a simple entry as Wino John and I met for a quick lunch and a bottle of California cabernet to discuss business, catch up on the waning days of summer and see where things will be heading for the WinoStuff staff into the fall.  Chateau St. Jean was a good lunch wine for a causal sandwich.

Sunday was a simple dinner with the folks from Fulton Street Films.  Grilled porterhouses with a Rhone wine that has been sitting idle in my cellar for the past two years, this simple blend from Cotes du Ventoux in the Southern Rhone Region is a good example of why Grenache and Syrah work well together.  Both of these wines are fun, easy drinkers that fit casual food and conversation with good friends.

2000 Chateau St. Jean Cabernet Sauvignon Sonoma $ (24.00)    This wine boasts currant, cedar hints, plum and tobacco in a well-crafted wine, but lacks a powerful finish.  It is a great wine for the casual crowd.

1997 Chateau Pesquie La Quintessence du Chateau Pesquie Cotes du Ventoux  $ (15.99)    Find this one at a local shop and give it a try. This grenache and syrah blend is a full-bodied wine with beautiful Syrah aromas of dark, ripe blackberries and blueberries, as well as wonderful, complex floral and oak components.  A smooth long finish makes this a winner for value and quality.

August 22, 2003

Every once in a harvest moon, I need to provide readers with some factual information.  I have been reviewing the ability to acquire wine from wineries I have researched but as you know the shipping restrictions are a Rubik’s cube.  Please see the information provided by the Wine America Web site, the map below is convenient.

Where Can You Ship?

 Information provided by:

WineAmerica
1200 G Street, NW Suite 360
Washington, DC 20005

August 20, 2003

It's a good thing I have broad shoulders on this stick figure frame.  With Wino John caught up in bi-coastal work commitments, in addition to his bi-polar posting frequency, and Wino Wally caught up in such a top secret project that he is not allowed to disclose his whereabouts, the responsibilities of bringing new and exciting content rests on my shoulders like Atlas.  OK, maybe Wino Atlas and it’s not the world, it’s a magnum of red on my shoulder, but I did have to dust off my best black suit and stuff official Wino Bob business cards into my left breast pocket.  As in American psycho, they are printed on antique linen and I snap them out with my right thumb and index finger.  My good friend Big Bob of Dreyfus, Ashby & Co. extended a special invitation to the WinoStuff staff as official “press” to cover the newest releases of Nederburg Winery and celebrate the food and culture of South Africa’s best.

The event was held on The Jewel, a 100-foot yacht that is docked at Pier 81 on the Island of Manhattan.  This was the first time since sailing lessons that I was back on the Hudson and the weather could not have been better.  The river was calm and the temperature was offset by the gentle breeze that was channeled north through the palisades.  The personal boat traffic was bustling as the air and water restrictions have been eased and it was great to see kayakers, pleasure crafts and sailboats enjoying the unique view the water gives one of the city. 

We boarded the yacht, affixed our nametags and began the art of mingling, tasting and enjoying the discussion of wine as a two-piece band played traditional South African music in the cabin.  I was shocked to see how the sound of South Africa incorporated an accordion backing up the animal hide drum.  I didn’t realize my Polish drinking song background had m