Grüner and the Groovy Girl

In our house, I'm never quite sure what bed I'm going to end up in and who, if anyone, I'll be snoring next to. The other night I gave Mr. B the heave-ho because he wanted to read and I wanted to sleep. He ended up downstairs in the guest bed leaving the space next to me wide open. I didn't get to enjoy being a bed hog for long though because Miss Puff coughed herself awake and wanted to get in bed with me.

"Honey, are you sure you don't want to get in bed with Daddy?"

She didn't.

I tucked Miss Puff in close to my body and lay awake as she sleepily coughed in my face. It wasn't long before I could feel the army of germs marching up my pillow and into my nose. The Head-Germ-On-Duty then settled the troops in the moist breeding grounds at the back of my throat and shouted, "We attack the body at dawn!" As I lay there dreading the attack, I started to panic. Oh no! I can't smell wine with a cold, much less taste it...what am I going to do about my blog???

Not to worry. The assault was poorly planned and I woke with just a little sinus headache. Whew, I would still be able to smell wine, one of my favorite things to do.

I don't understand how some people can pour a glass of wine and starting drinking it without ever taking the time to stick their nose in it. Neglecting to appreciate the aroma of a wine is like having sex without foreplay. Smelling wine is what gets the juices flowing, it allows you to fantasize about what the wine is going to taste like. It's similar to having a boyfriend that's an okay kisser but makes up for it by knowing how to give-it-the-Wheaties in all, or most, of the other areas. Unfortunately, the opposite holds true as well. A wine can smell great and you can't wait to get naked with it, but then you taste it and leave in such a hurry you forget your underwear. So the bottom line here is, take the time to sniff out the wine--what you see isn't always what you get.

A perfect example of this is the 2007 Hirsch Grüner Veltliner from Austria. When I first smelled this wine, I thought I had her all figured out. But then I tasted the Grüner and was pleasantly proved wrong. The wine was way cooler than I expected.

The Hirsch Grüner Veltliner reminds me of my friend Baker from high school. Although we didn't spend a lot of time together I'd always thought Baker was a cool chick with a great sense of humor and really cute outfits. It wasn't until this year (a loooong time since high school), when I had the opportunity to ski with her, that I realized how much I liked her and kept wondering, why didn't I hang out with Baker more when we were in school? I actually thought about kicking myself.

Baker, like the Grüner, can be a bit of a loner and isn't easily recognized as someone you should get to know. Both are comfortably independent and prefer individual sports as opposed to being on a team. Baker and the Hirsch Grüner are also rather fearless and willing to take on a challenge. In the case of the Hirsch, this strong Austrian white is not afraid to take on artichokes, asparagus, or goat cheese--all foods that can be difficult to successfully pair with wine. Neither one, however, is bull-headed or out to prove something. The snappy acidity of the Grüner and the quick wit of Baker remind you that neither one takes itself too seriously, both like a good joke, especially if the joke's on them.

There is a natural tom-boyish character to each as well. While I would occasionally see Baker in a dress (her mother's obvious doing), she appeared more herself in Gortex and fleece. The same goes with the Grüner. This is not a girly wine that wears nail polish or cares about what secret Victoria is hiding. The hint of crunchy green peppers and subtle dash of white pepper give the Grüner an admirable earthy quality, assuring you that it is not trying to be something it's not.

You won't find a groovy Grüner Veltliner in just any wine shop. Remember, Grüners are not insecure and they don't mind being alone--you will never find them lumped together on the shelf next to the Yellow Tails of the world. That being said, I hope you take the time to find a good Grüner because they are surprisingly cool. If you don't, I think you should kick yourself.

xoxox,

VinoMama

Port and the Patriarch

This past week I’ve been thinking a lot about my Dad and not just because Father’s Day is right around the corner. It has more to do with the way he and his wife, Mrs. G, invited themselves to dinner last Saturday. After Miss Puff’s birthday party, I had arranged a small gathering at our house with LoJo’s family. This was really a party for Mr. B and me disguised as more birthday fun for Miss Puff. We learned the hard way that the after-party party for the parents is essential to the well being of the family.

My Dad was going to stop by to wish Miss Puff a happy birthday and stay for a glass of wine, but then I got the call.

“Hey, we’re inviting ourselves to dinner tomorrow night and we’re bringing steaks, potatoes, and a couple treasures from the cellar.”

Then, quickly remembering his manners, “Is that OK?”

Let me think for a nano-second here, Dad…hamburgers and cheap wine, or free-thinking, grass--fed, 2-inch thick, organic Rib Eyes and wine I can’t afford? Even if I were a brainless nitwit I’d know the final answer to that question. Frankly, if more families had the sense to self-invite to dinner in this manner, there would be no “dys” in functional.

As I was taking a much-needed breather between parties, I suddenly realized I didn’t have a single prepared snack to dip into. With rosé in hand, I started digging through the freezer hoping to find a long-forgotten box of mini quiches or egg rolls. As it turns out, my appetizer angst was for nothing. Not only did Dad and Mrs. G bring dinner, they brought a glorious tray piled high with salami, crackers, nuts, dried apricots, and an amazing selection of cheese that they handpicked and tested themselves. While I was happily over--eating, I thought about how lucky I am to have such a great Dad and wondered, what kind of wine is my great Dad?

Since my Dad drinks nothing but red wine, I’d always expected him to be a big, tannic Napa Cabernet. But, as a father to four girls, I knew I needed to find something a bit stronger, something more fortified, something that could handle PMS year round. It wasn’t until I had a wee glass of Niepoort Tawny Port that I realized what my Dad really is.

The Niepoort Tawny, like my father, smells like great cologne, the kind that lingers lovingly on your clothes after being wrapped up in a great big bear hug. It’s easy to find comfort in a young tawny port. They can be very soothing, reassuring, and heart warming. There’s no hidden agenda or game playing--the wine is simply genuine and sweet because that’s all it knows.

The most amazing thing about a tawny port and the Niepoort in particular is its generosity. Unlike your average Napa Cab, once a tawny has been opened it keeps on giving and giving and won’t go bad for several months. It’s there for you when you have a wounded heart one day, and a maxed--out Nordstrom card the next. If you just like having a tawny port around but don’t want to drink it just yet, feel free to hang onto a bottle for a few years; with the exception of a little hearing loss, they only get better with age.

There’s one thing my Dad told me that I will never forget, something a tawny port might say if it were a father. He said, “I’ll always be the best boyfriend you ever had.” He was right and that’s why I will always keep a bottle of tawny port handy.

Happy Father’s Day.

xoxoxVinoMama

Moscato and Miss Puff

Last Saturday upon returning home from doing my weekly penance (spin class), I saw that Mr. B and Miss Puff had been to the library. Miss Puff had just gotten her own card and she couldn't wait to use it. As I'm staring into the fridge looking for something buttery to replace all the calories I had just sweated out, Mr. B says, "I got you a treat."

I'm thinking, oh goodie, a well deserved glazed cinnamon twist.

Oddly enough his treat was twisted but not of the glazed variety. He was shuffling through some CD's he'd just checked out when I realized what the treat was. "The Carpenters?" I asked. With a queer little smile on his face, he holds up a CD baggie containing a 3-CD set of The Carpenters! Since Mr. B has successfully brainwashed me into thinking that The Carpenters are one of my all-time favorite singing duos, I frantically motioned to him to get the melodies playing ASAP.

"Hangin' around, nothin' to do but frown,

Rainy days and Mondays always get me down..."

I love that music has the power to flood your mind with memories of a specific time in your life, good or bad. In the case of The Carpenters, it was all good, mostly. Endless hours of playing Barbies with my sisters, bouncing around the back seat of our wood paneled station wagon while my parents chain smoked, picking strawberries, and 3rd grade Music class where we joyously learned the words to and sang, "Top of the World."My absolute favorite Karen and Richard song is the one about "sprinkling gold dust in your hair..." When I was a kid I thought this song was pure lyrical magic.

I spent the rest of last Saturday happily humming Carpenters tunes and wondering what songs will remind Miss Puff of her childhood. It was at that moment that I knew I desperately needed to download some of these hits onto my ipod. What could be better than playing with Miss Puff while listening to "Bless the Beasts and the Children." I know she'll thank me someday.

This Saturday is Miss Puff's birthday and in honor of this occasion I went searching for the quintessential "Miss Puff Wine." Since she's just turning seven, I couldn't go looking for anything too full-bodied (thank God), too racy, or too sweet. It would have to be playful, somewhat sweet, and irresistible. Preferably a wine from a small producer and a true labor of love.

I was searching through my wine memory bank, back where I store Carpenters lyrics, when I struck solid gold. The perfect "Miss Puff Wine" is a Moscato d'Asti, and in particular, the 2008 Cascina del Satuario Moscato d'Asti (Piedmont, Italy).

The first thing that captured my attention about the Moscato was the smell. It smelled just like Miss Puff does after she takes a bath, all soapy and clean, like fresh lavender. And, like the birthday girl, the Moscato is slightly sweet and bubbly, best enjoyed in it's youth, and won't get kicked out of bed. Moscato isn't a complicated, hot-headed wine sporting a bunch of attitude. At 5.5% alcohol, you can enjoy glass after glass and still be the boss. It's a playful wine that, if it could speak, might say, "Now, I'm the princess and you're the boy that finds me in the woods and wants to marry me."

I know for certain that Miss Puff won't always be a sweet, enjoyable Moscato. Someday she'll be that full-bodied red that I only want to use as cooking wine. When that time comes I know I'll be prepared. All I'll need is some Carpenters music and a glass of Moscato to remind me of what an angel she once was...

"On the day that you were born

The angels got together,

and decided to create a dream come true.

So they sprinkled gold dust in your hair,

and golden starlight in your eyes of blue..."

Happy Birthday, Miss Puff.

xoxox

your VinoMama

Pink Persuasion

Last year at this time the weather was so frightful in the Pacific Northwest that people started referring to June as "Junuary"--so much for global warming in this neck-of--the--woods. No one was celebrating the coming of summer. We were all still huddled indoors reaching for yet another glass of teeth staining Syrah to enjoy by the fire.


Well, this June, Mother Nature is fresh out of rehab, back at the helm and I can't chill the whites and roses fast enough. And quite honestly, I would rather drink whites and rosés no matter what time of year it is. I have come full circle in my wine drinking and am back to where I started with pink wine, sort of. This time, I'm a wine snob and will only consider drinking white zinfandel if I'm at a funeral and that's my only choice. Whoever said, "Friends don't let friends drink white zinfandel," was a true friend. It's because of white zin that people turn up their noses at rosés before even trying one. With the exception of color, the two wines have nothing in common. One is like an adult Kool-Aid on erectile dysfunction medication and the other one is pure splendor in the glass. Really, why subject yourself to a droopy four-hour hard-on, when you could have a satisfying rosé-gasm?


Early June is the perfect time to explore rosés and your hidden sexuality. This is the time of year when containers from France, Italy, and Spain are hitting our shores and unloading all kinds of liquid pink pleasures. If you don't have a fondness for imports, there are plenty of yummy rosés from Washington, Oregon, and California to choose from. I prefer the pinks from abroad but, in a pinch, will settle for something else (not less).


This past Monday it was so warm, I was driving around town acting like a dog with my head hanging out the window and thinking pink thoughts. That stinging secretion of saliva near the back of my tongue was signaling me that it's time--time to go home, pour a glass of rosé, and listen to "All Things Considered." With a few quiet moments to myself, I settled my sweaty body outside and enjoyed the sun-kissed flavors of a delightful local rosé, the 2008 Saviah Rosé from Walla, Walla, Washington.








It would be easy to assume, because all rosés are pinkish, that they are all women. This assumption, however, neglects those wonderful men in our lives that exhibit some feminine tendencies, those great listeners that you can really open up to about gardening, interior decorating, and entertaining. While I was listening to the objective views of NPR and savoring the Saviah Rosé, I was happily reminded of my friend "Teddy." Like Teddy, the Saviah Rosé is a little fruity, but not overtly so. There is a hint of masculinity that gives the wine excellent weight and balance.

I was very at ease in the company of the Saviah Rosé, just as I was with Teddy. Conversation came easy for Teddy and me because we were both passionate about food, wine, and complaining about my mother-in-law. Although Teddy was a good friend of my mother-in-law, he couldn't stop himself from a little lighthearted gossip about her every now and then. The two became friends when she owned an antique shop. I never had to worry about lack of conversation with Teddy.


With his well groomed hands gesticulating wildly, he would go on for hours about his family, especially "Mother." He never said "my Mother." It was always just Mother, like she was the mother of all mothers. The other thing Teddy loved to talk about was his sophisticated culinary talents. He was especially proud of one dish in particular...I call it "Teddy's No-Bake-Chicken", and it's so simple! I was attendance on the night Teddy prepared this dish for a Sunday dinner and he was kind enough to share his secret recipe with me. Just take some chicken boobs, pound the hell outta them, season with some expensive cheese and fresh herbs, roll 'em up, and, here's the most important step...underbake them. Yep. Just show the little suckers the oven and that's it! Baadaa bing.


Not one person at the dinner table had the heart to say, "Why is my chicken so gummy and raw. Did you forget to cook these?" We all sat in silence knowing that a long, complimentary sit on the throne was inevitable.

I no longer live within dinner-invite range of Teddy but I think of him everytime I bake chicken and I miss his wonderful stories, fabulous flower arrangements and his unsolicited decorating advice. Until I see him again, I guess I'll have to make do with a glass of Saviah Rosé and a not-so-steaming plateful of Teddy's Famous No-Bake-Chicken.

If you'd like the recipe, please feel free to leave a comment...I'm sure Teddy wouldn't mind.



xoxo,



VinoMama