Chris Coad
Chris Coad
Any excuse is a good one to open bottles, and this time we had two: legendary internet recluse Andrew Munro Scott and power-babe Jennifer Munro Clark are paying a rare visit to the big city, and Lisa has managed to survive four years of doctor school and been given a sheepskin and a funny hat to prove it. A third, more personal reason might be to celebrate the achievement of my longstanding ambition of becoming a trophy husband and gentleman of leisure, but I don't want to hog the limelight, so I downplay my own accomplishments at this time.
So we assemble in our *********** on America's Isle of Hospitality, with a carefully declared theme of Wines We'll Be Drinking to Celebrate Lisa's Graduation and the Country Mice Coming to the Big City. As usual, I'm on kitchen duty while Lisa charms the guests, so my notes are a little sketchier than usual. Be kind, I'm out of practice.
First blood is a Chteau Pierre-Bise Anjou le Haut de la Garde 1997. Medium burnished gold color. Damn, this is a dry wine that's a noseringer for a dessert wine, rich apricot-quincey aromatics, so ripe and rich-smelling that I really almost expect some big sugar when I take a sip. But no, it's a kind of Kane-torturing wine, broad and rich and a touch hot. Actually, I take that back because there does seem to be just a tiny cushion of not-entirely-dryness, just a softening around the edges. Big, broadshouldered and a bit bumptious, an oversized wine stuffed into a medium sized suit, a freak dry wine from a freak sweet wine year. I dig it.
While I'm slaving over the burners, someone passes me a bottle of Clos Roche Blanche Touraine Sauvignon Cuve Buster 1998. Ahh, it's been too long. Light burnished gold color. Unusual, beguiling aromatics--cream soda, honeydew and ginger with a hint of muscatty yellow applespice. It's starting to show a bit of advancement, traces of caramel, a slight flattening-out of the midpalate, but it's not close to fading. As always, it's a gentle, thoughtful wine, one that invites you to pause and consider. There's a hint of the chameleon here; sometimes it seems slightly off-dry, but only just, and then it doesn't. The flavors flicker in and out of my sensory perception, the impression changes from charming and pensive to almost regal, the flavors bloom, then evanesce. Lisa perks up when I pour her some: "This is the Anjou?" No, the Buster. Oh, she says. Huh, well it's good. I agree.
Here's a Francois Chidaine Montlouis les Tuffeaux 2005. Startlingly ripe and golden-hued--has Chidaine moved into the hipster crowd? Smells of quince jam and almond paste, very ripe and rich-smelling. Tastes luxurious and lightly sweet; there's acidity here but also a curious ponderousness through the middle. This is clumsy Montlouis, overeverythinged. I really want to like it more, but it's just too much. I dunno, time? Andrew is frowny, and makes eye contact with me. "This," he says, "Is shockingly ripe." I nod.
There was some kind of problem with the next three wines being shipped when the temperature outside was well over one hundred degrees, so Jay has brought them along to put them out of their misery before they can expire in his cellar. It looks like the two wineries are related, as the label design is very similar, but the 'produced and bottled by' credits paint a different picture, so I just transcribe what I see there.
First up is a Hook or by Crook Grenache Blanc (54%)/Vermentino (46%) El Dorado County 'Edmunds St. John Heart of Gold' 2007. Lightly lemonfloral, touch of some kind of whiteflower--gardenia? Along with a gentle lemon appliness. Pure and clean, crisp but relatively substantial, it's not the most complex wine, but it's smooth, fresh-tasting and eminently drinkable, with a sense of substance that gives it a real presence in my glass. Nice, and a good match with my poached softshells n'linguine.
Next a red, a Thirsty Pagans with Big Ideas Syrah San Luis Obispo County Bassetti Vineyard 'Edmunds St. John' 2005. Lots of iodine in the aromatics, peppery blackberry fruit and a subtle stoniness, smells pretty interesting. Tastes crisp and well-honed, actually kinda tight now, bright and rather hard, with a slighty medicinal iodiney finish and some lightly drying tannins. More intellectually pleasing than elsewise, but I'd guess it's just young and cranky now.
Finally, we've got a Thirsty Pagans with Big Ideas Syrah Sonoma Valley Parmalee-Hill Vineyard 'Edmunds St. John' 2005. Dark mineral accented peppery-blackberry aromatics, smells much like the Bassetti but without such a pronounced iodiney streak. Medium bodied wine, much friendlier than the Bassetti, looser, with a firm fleshiness that gives the wine a chewy texture. The acidity is firm and composed without seeming hard, the gently abrasive tannins are subsumed in lipsmacking blackfruit. Still a bit awkward, a few elbows and knuckles stick out here and there, but seriously yummy.
While we're sipping and parsing the California wines, the weather outside turns crazy--lightning and thunder flash and boom over the tidal strait, rain batters our windows. This is one time it's fun to be on the sixteenth floor. We dim the lights and stand in the *********** staring out at the pyrotechnics, which are furious but quickly spent.
Moving away from the California stuff, here's a Chteau Montrose St. Estphe 1999. Smells like Bordeaux, light pencil-shaving cedar and graphite, quiet cassis-blackcurrant notes, trite but foursquare. Kind of limp and expressionless (Like my ex-wife! *rimshot*) (no, I don't have an ex-wife), on the hollow side, with some glossy vanilla-candle oakiness. It's not bad, just very routine.
I relate the tale of the longest night of my life, the night before Lisa's MCAT scores were due to be posted on the web. I'd tossed and turned all night, visions of horror and disaster crowding into my dreams, and finally awakened sweaty and alone at 6 a.m. to hear Lisa logging onto the internet (yes, we still had a modem in those days). With each click of the mouse my dread increases. Click, click, dread, dread, click click, dread, dread. Then finally, silence. I'm thinking pleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease and curling up into a fetal ball. And then--a gasp. An audible gasp.
Every hair on my body stands on end: WHICH FUCKING WAY IS THIS GOING?!
Then, the sweetest word I can ever remember hearing: "Yesss!" hissed once, and again, more emphatically, "Yessssss!" The wave of relief and delight that sweeps over me is almost overwhelmingly physical, along the lines of what one might feel after a six-hour search for a restroom in downtown Singapore finally comes to a fruitful conclusion. I can feel the echoes of it six years later, just retelling the story. It feels... like victory.
A couple of oldsters now, starting with a Chteau Loville-Barton St. Julien 1966. Smells very tertiary--pipe tobacco and muted spicy cedar, ash and a light oregano leafiness. Tastes light and faded--leafy, earthy, cedary. Still there but clearly on the downslope. Pleasant, faded.
And here's an old friend, a Lopez de Heredia Rioja Gran Reserva Via Bosconia 1968. Sweet-smelling faded redfruit, balsa wood and yamskin. Spicy-smelling. This bottle is a bit more faded than some I've had, but it's still a charming wine, layered and prettily complex. Still, there's an inert quality to the middle, a sort of pressed-flower feeling, that keeps me at an arm's length from the wine. I appreciate it, but I'm not quick to pour more.
I don't think I've ever tasted the Paul Jaboulet Ain Hermitage la Chapelle 1979 before. Gently smoky-earthy-leafy-horsey aromatics, smells kind of faded but still there's interest here. Tastes silky and light, soft and expressive syrah with a general feeling of vagueness and diffusion. I suspect it's past its best years, but I do find myself going back for another pour. Its decrepitude is still kind of interesting and pleasant to parse in my mouth. A charming relic.
Straight from the winery, here's a Scott-Clark Cellars Cabernet Franc Finger Lakes 2007. Lightly tobacco-leaf-accented cran-cherry aromatics, smells juicy and just a bit dusty-talcy-minerally. Medium-lightbodied, firm and racy but also pleasantly juicy, with some assertive tannins on the finish. The consensus is that it's almost like real wine. "I didn't destem," confesses the winemaker. "You should've tasted it when it was new--it was sooooo tannic!"
As long as we're sampling cabernet franc, here's a Pierre-Jacques Druet Bourgueil Vaumoreau 1988. Pine needles, tobacco leaf and muddy-earthy cran-cherry aromas, light underlying smokiness that actually blends rather pleasantly with the muddy-dirtberry notes. Always a bit overfocused, there's some gentle unclenching going on here that I like; it seems to be relaxing at the edges, feathering out brown-herbishly from the still-hard core. Actually, it's pretty nice, if still on the austere side. This is the first time I've had this wine that it hasn't seemed cranky, or downright angry.
And one more, a Bernard Baudry Chinon Franc de Pied 2002. Translucent medium-ruby color. Smells lightly funky--hints of earth and pine resin, cranberry fruit, touch of mushroom. Medium-lightbodied Chinon, reeking of honesty. I guess they had to rip up these vines, which sucks.
So that's that for the reds. Now for a Roosevelt Island tradition....
Yquem is probably Lisa's single favorite celebratory wine in the world, so we always try to dig one out at especially auspicious occasions. We opened a bottle of the '88 when she was accepted to med school, a '90 for our tenth anniversary. A year or two back she actually managed to sneak an order of a case of mixed Sauternes through the door without me knowing; here's a Chteau d'Yquem Sauternes 1999 from that batch. We pour the viscous golden fluid and toast Lisa's fantastical odyssey from actress/model/waitress to office temp to jingle-house flunkie to hipster opera-management chick to budding pediatric neurologist. Salut!
Oh shit, it's corked. Can someone please jab a fork into my eye?
Happily, we have another, and it's mercifully clean, smelling of rich apricot-vanilla-orange rind-cream notes, not much botrytis to my nose, but plenty of other stuff going on. Tastes big and sweet and viscous, plenty of heft here, plenty of supporting acidity too, although the texture is rather thick and glyceriney. But it's well-honed for such a big boy, rich and puppyish in its youthful exuberance. It's not profound, but frankly I wouldn't kick even second- or third-tier Yquem out of bed for eating crackers.
Speaking of crackers, I've never noticed it before, but Yquem is a really great match with Nilla Vanilla Wafers. Seriously, try it, especially with a young, plump one that you're not likely to keep for ages, like the '99. Not so much with the second-rate Keebler knockoffs, though, avoid those like the plague.
After the Yquem the only thing to do is to head out into the warm New York City night. We meander up to the north end of the island to howl at the moon by the glow of the lighthouse. We have a local saying: it's just not a party on Roosevelt Island if you don't end the night drunk at the lighthouse, howling at the moon.
We call this 'small town values.'
So we assemble in our *********** on America's Isle of Hospitality, with a carefully declared theme of Wines We'll Be Drinking to Celebrate Lisa's Graduation and the Country Mice Coming to the Big City. As usual, I'm on kitchen duty while Lisa charms the guests, so my notes are a little sketchier than usual. Be kind, I'm out of practice.
First blood is a Chteau Pierre-Bise Anjou le Haut de la Garde 1997. Medium burnished gold color. Damn, this is a dry wine that's a noseringer for a dessert wine, rich apricot-quincey aromatics, so ripe and rich-smelling that I really almost expect some big sugar when I take a sip. But no, it's a kind of Kane-torturing wine, broad and rich and a touch hot. Actually, I take that back because there does seem to be just a tiny cushion of not-entirely-dryness, just a softening around the edges. Big, broadshouldered and a bit bumptious, an oversized wine stuffed into a medium sized suit, a freak dry wine from a freak sweet wine year. I dig it.
While I'm slaving over the burners, someone passes me a bottle of Clos Roche Blanche Touraine Sauvignon Cuve Buster 1998. Ahh, it's been too long. Light burnished gold color. Unusual, beguiling aromatics--cream soda, honeydew and ginger with a hint of muscatty yellow applespice. It's starting to show a bit of advancement, traces of caramel, a slight flattening-out of the midpalate, but it's not close to fading. As always, it's a gentle, thoughtful wine, one that invites you to pause and consider. There's a hint of the chameleon here; sometimes it seems slightly off-dry, but only just, and then it doesn't. The flavors flicker in and out of my sensory perception, the impression changes from charming and pensive to almost regal, the flavors bloom, then evanesce. Lisa perks up when I pour her some: "This is the Anjou?" No, the Buster. Oh, she says. Huh, well it's good. I agree.
Here's a Francois Chidaine Montlouis les Tuffeaux 2005. Startlingly ripe and golden-hued--has Chidaine moved into the hipster crowd? Smells of quince jam and almond paste, very ripe and rich-smelling. Tastes luxurious and lightly sweet; there's acidity here but also a curious ponderousness through the middle. This is clumsy Montlouis, overeverythinged. I really want to like it more, but it's just too much. I dunno, time? Andrew is frowny, and makes eye contact with me. "This," he says, "Is shockingly ripe." I nod.
There was some kind of problem with the next three wines being shipped when the temperature outside was well over one hundred degrees, so Jay has brought them along to put them out of their misery before they can expire in his cellar. It looks like the two wineries are related, as the label design is very similar, but the 'produced and bottled by' credits paint a different picture, so I just transcribe what I see there.
First up is a Hook or by Crook Grenache Blanc (54%)/Vermentino (46%) El Dorado County 'Edmunds St. John Heart of Gold' 2007. Lightly lemonfloral, touch of some kind of whiteflower--gardenia? Along with a gentle lemon appliness. Pure and clean, crisp but relatively substantial, it's not the most complex wine, but it's smooth, fresh-tasting and eminently drinkable, with a sense of substance that gives it a real presence in my glass. Nice, and a good match with my poached softshells n'linguine.
Next a red, a Thirsty Pagans with Big Ideas Syrah San Luis Obispo County Bassetti Vineyard 'Edmunds St. John' 2005. Lots of iodine in the aromatics, peppery blackberry fruit and a subtle stoniness, smells pretty interesting. Tastes crisp and well-honed, actually kinda tight now, bright and rather hard, with a slighty medicinal iodiney finish and some lightly drying tannins. More intellectually pleasing than elsewise, but I'd guess it's just young and cranky now.
Finally, we've got a Thirsty Pagans with Big Ideas Syrah Sonoma Valley Parmalee-Hill Vineyard 'Edmunds St. John' 2005. Dark mineral accented peppery-blackberry aromatics, smells much like the Bassetti but without such a pronounced iodiney streak. Medium bodied wine, much friendlier than the Bassetti, looser, with a firm fleshiness that gives the wine a chewy texture. The acidity is firm and composed without seeming hard, the gently abrasive tannins are subsumed in lipsmacking blackfruit. Still a bit awkward, a few elbows and knuckles stick out here and there, but seriously yummy.
While we're sipping and parsing the California wines, the weather outside turns crazy--lightning and thunder flash and boom over the tidal strait, rain batters our windows. This is one time it's fun to be on the sixteenth floor. We dim the lights and stand in the *********** staring out at the pyrotechnics, which are furious but quickly spent.
Moving away from the California stuff, here's a Chteau Montrose St. Estphe 1999. Smells like Bordeaux, light pencil-shaving cedar and graphite, quiet cassis-blackcurrant notes, trite but foursquare. Kind of limp and expressionless (Like my ex-wife! *rimshot*) (no, I don't have an ex-wife), on the hollow side, with some glossy vanilla-candle oakiness. It's not bad, just very routine.
I relate the tale of the longest night of my life, the night before Lisa's MCAT scores were due to be posted on the web. I'd tossed and turned all night, visions of horror and disaster crowding into my dreams, and finally awakened sweaty and alone at 6 a.m. to hear Lisa logging onto the internet (yes, we still had a modem in those days). With each click of the mouse my dread increases. Click, click, dread, dread, click click, dread, dread. Then finally, silence. I'm thinking pleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease and curling up into a fetal ball. And then--a gasp. An audible gasp.
Every hair on my body stands on end: WHICH FUCKING WAY IS THIS GOING?!
Then, the sweetest word I can ever remember hearing: "Yesss!" hissed once, and again, more emphatically, "Yessssss!" The wave of relief and delight that sweeps over me is almost overwhelmingly physical, along the lines of what one might feel after a six-hour search for a restroom in downtown Singapore finally comes to a fruitful conclusion. I can feel the echoes of it six years later, just retelling the story. It feels... like victory.
A couple of oldsters now, starting with a Chteau Loville-Barton St. Julien 1966. Smells very tertiary--pipe tobacco and muted spicy cedar, ash and a light oregano leafiness. Tastes light and faded--leafy, earthy, cedary. Still there but clearly on the downslope. Pleasant, faded.
And here's an old friend, a Lopez de Heredia Rioja Gran Reserva Via Bosconia 1968. Sweet-smelling faded redfruit, balsa wood and yamskin. Spicy-smelling. This bottle is a bit more faded than some I've had, but it's still a charming wine, layered and prettily complex. Still, there's an inert quality to the middle, a sort of pressed-flower feeling, that keeps me at an arm's length from the wine. I appreciate it, but I'm not quick to pour more.
I don't think I've ever tasted the Paul Jaboulet Ain Hermitage la Chapelle 1979 before. Gently smoky-earthy-leafy-horsey aromatics, smells kind of faded but still there's interest here. Tastes silky and light, soft and expressive syrah with a general feeling of vagueness and diffusion. I suspect it's past its best years, but I do find myself going back for another pour. Its decrepitude is still kind of interesting and pleasant to parse in my mouth. A charming relic.
Straight from the winery, here's a Scott-Clark Cellars Cabernet Franc Finger Lakes 2007. Lightly tobacco-leaf-accented cran-cherry aromatics, smells juicy and just a bit dusty-talcy-minerally. Medium-lightbodied, firm and racy but also pleasantly juicy, with some assertive tannins on the finish. The consensus is that it's almost like real wine. "I didn't destem," confesses the winemaker. "You should've tasted it when it was new--it was sooooo tannic!"
As long as we're sampling cabernet franc, here's a Pierre-Jacques Druet Bourgueil Vaumoreau 1988. Pine needles, tobacco leaf and muddy-earthy cran-cherry aromas, light underlying smokiness that actually blends rather pleasantly with the muddy-dirtberry notes. Always a bit overfocused, there's some gentle unclenching going on here that I like; it seems to be relaxing at the edges, feathering out brown-herbishly from the still-hard core. Actually, it's pretty nice, if still on the austere side. This is the first time I've had this wine that it hasn't seemed cranky, or downright angry.
And one more, a Bernard Baudry Chinon Franc de Pied 2002. Translucent medium-ruby color. Smells lightly funky--hints of earth and pine resin, cranberry fruit, touch of mushroom. Medium-lightbodied Chinon, reeking of honesty. I guess they had to rip up these vines, which sucks.
So that's that for the reds. Now for a Roosevelt Island tradition....
Yquem is probably Lisa's single favorite celebratory wine in the world, so we always try to dig one out at especially auspicious occasions. We opened a bottle of the '88 when she was accepted to med school, a '90 for our tenth anniversary. A year or two back she actually managed to sneak an order of a case of mixed Sauternes through the door without me knowing; here's a Chteau d'Yquem Sauternes 1999 from that batch. We pour the viscous golden fluid and toast Lisa's fantastical odyssey from actress/model/waitress to office temp to jingle-house flunkie to hipster opera-management chick to budding pediatric neurologist. Salut!
Oh shit, it's corked. Can someone please jab a fork into my eye?
Happily, we have another, and it's mercifully clean, smelling of rich apricot-vanilla-orange rind-cream notes, not much botrytis to my nose, but plenty of other stuff going on. Tastes big and sweet and viscous, plenty of heft here, plenty of supporting acidity too, although the texture is rather thick and glyceriney. But it's well-honed for such a big boy, rich and puppyish in its youthful exuberance. It's not profound, but frankly I wouldn't kick even second- or third-tier Yquem out of bed for eating crackers.
Speaking of crackers, I've never noticed it before, but Yquem is a really great match with Nilla Vanilla Wafers. Seriously, try it, especially with a young, plump one that you're not likely to keep for ages, like the '99. Not so much with the second-rate Keebler knockoffs, though, avoid those like the plague.
After the Yquem the only thing to do is to head out into the warm New York City night. We meander up to the north end of the island to howl at the moon by the glow of the lighthouse. We have a local saying: it's just not a party on Roosevelt Island if you don't end the night drunk at the lighthouse, howling at the moon.
We call this 'small town values.'