Brad Widelock
Brad Widelock
At certain points in life we all cross invisible lines. After which, there is no return. I remember when I realized my cinder block-milk crate-recycled board-for-bookshelves days were over. Next thing you know, for better or worse, I owned furniture. Some time in the early 1980s I started shopping at farmers markets. Now I buy almost all my familys produce there. The process wasnt a linear one. It was evolutionary, with moments of punctuated equilibrium. This pretty much sums up my experience with wine. My son is almost six, and he regularly shops with me. His idea of a good carrot is something that has a distinct aroma, vibrant color and slightly sweet flavor. He can taste the difference between a carrot from the grocery and one from the farmers market. This isnt because of any innate talent he has or anything I have done, other than to expose him to really distinct carrots. Watching my son, I realize how much my taste in wine has changed over the last three decades. At some point, I crossed a line that brought me to a place where Im willing to drive as far for an interesting wine as I am for heirloom Italian beans.
Anyway, Thursday afternoon I was at the Berkeley farmers market, a 21 mile drive from our house in Fairfax. A couple of the stand workers were sharing a meal, and one was describing to the other the ingredients she used in her dish, all but one of which came from the farm. The glaring exception was some version of Two-Buck. At this point, my inner wine evangelist emerged. I could feel myself mounting my high horse. I was standing among all of these beautiful, organic vegetables, grown by small family farmers and I felt the need to point out to the workers that there was something incongruous about using a wine in their meal that they probably wouldnt, nay couldnt, add to their organic compost pile, so, fool that I am, I proceeded to say so. When I asked why they used the wine, I was told it was because it was what was in the house. When I pointed out that they were cooking with a wine made from grapes that they probably wouldnt eat, they agreed. When I pointed out that, just like the produce they were selling, quality wines are more expensive to produce, they agreed. When I realized they were giving me that look that younger people use to humor older people who are babbling on about something inconsequential to them, I shut up. Finally I realized that these young people hadnt yet crossed that invisible line. Maybe they never will, which is just fine too. Next week though, I think Ill drop off a bottle of Bielsa for them. Maybe I can give them a nudge in what I think is a good direction.
Anyway, Thursday afternoon I was at the Berkeley farmers market, a 21 mile drive from our house in Fairfax. A couple of the stand workers were sharing a meal, and one was describing to the other the ingredients she used in her dish, all but one of which came from the farm. The glaring exception was some version of Two-Buck. At this point, my inner wine evangelist emerged. I could feel myself mounting my high horse. I was standing among all of these beautiful, organic vegetables, grown by small family farmers and I felt the need to point out to the workers that there was something incongruous about using a wine in their meal that they probably wouldnt, nay couldnt, add to their organic compost pile, so, fool that I am, I proceeded to say so. When I asked why they used the wine, I was told it was because it was what was in the house. When I pointed out that they were cooking with a wine made from grapes that they probably wouldnt eat, they agreed. When I pointed out that, just like the produce they were selling, quality wines are more expensive to produce, they agreed. When I realized they were giving me that look that younger people use to humor older people who are babbling on about something inconsequential to them, I shut up. Finally I realized that these young people hadnt yet crossed that invisible line. Maybe they never will, which is just fine too. Next week though, I think Ill drop off a bottle of Bielsa for them. Maybe I can give them a nudge in what I think is a good direction.