The glorious synchronicity of Merlot and csirkepaprikas

Syn•chro•nic•ity:  the experience of two or more events that are apparently causally unrelated or unlikely to occur together by chance and that are observed to occur together in a meaningful manner (see Carl Gustav Jung).

Despite what Miles, that fellow in Sideways, might have said about it, there are still many good reasons why you should drink ultra-premium California Merlot, which is the same reason why some of the state’s most prestigious winemakers – like Bruce Neyers and Selene’s Mia Klein – still specialize in the grape:  it makes wine that can enthrall the senses the way Keira Knightley eats up a camera.  Resistance is stupid.

Equally stupid is the combination of a good, drippy, juicy Merlot with a good, drippy, juicy red Hungarian csirkepaprikas, or chicken paprikas. 

Thomas Fogarty in Santa Cruz Mountains

But first, let us single out one contemporary classic:  the 2006 Thomas Fogarty Santa Cruz Mountains Merlot (about $32).  I know, I know – this is not one of the big boys (Duckhorn, Pahlmeyer, Blackbird, etc.).  But if you’re still stuck on labels, you’re in the wrong place, my friend.  Let the unconcious souls gleefully discover what the Fogarty Merlot is all about:  a unique, high altitude/low attitude, mountain estate grown style of Merlot that combines a fisted core of un-watered down fruit and tannin with all the outwardly soft, silky extravagance – plush black cherry laced with cinnamon, savory and allspice – of a classic Merlot.  Textbook.

“The ‘perfect marriage’ of food and wine,” said the late Roy Andries De Groot, “should allow for infidelity.”  While the standard choice for a good Merlot is red meat, my all-time favorite match for a full, lusciously fruited Merlot is something white (albeit, clothed in bright paprika-red):  classic, Hungarian chicken paprikas. 

Mr. De Groot, if you’re wondering, was the once widely read blind gastronome and Esquire’s Handbook for Hosts author; and in his heyday, the swinging sixties, he was also the first magazine critic to use a 100 point wine scoring system (not Robert Parker!).  It was De Groot who once proclaimed his recipe for paprikas – browned with goose fat, then braised with onions, garlic and, finally, a sauce pigmented by generous doses of the mildly spiced paprika chile before thickened in the end with sour cream – to be one of the most glorious dishes in the world; and for a matching wine, he prescribed a good Pomerol.

Rarely having a Pomerol on hand, most of the time during the past thirty years I have been substituting a good California Merlot for my csirkepaprikas; finding the combination equally glorious and, yes, synchronistic – needing no real causal connections to explain its sensory meaningfulness.  Is iustus est.

Over the years I have also taken some liberties with De Groot’s original recipe (I don’t, for instance, usually have the goose fat on hand); and of course, the variations come every time the bird hits the pot.  This is, however, a close, and proven, approximation:

1 whole 4-5 lb. chicken, disjointed (thighs and back necessary for flavor)
3 tbs. unsalted sweet butter
1 lemon
2 large sweet onions, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped
6 large white mushrooms, thinly sliced
4 thin slices pancetta (or two strips thick bacon), sliced in squares
½ cup white wine
¾ cup chicken stock
Half bunch Italian parsley, chopped
Hungarian sweet paprika
Olive oil
Ground peppercorns and salt to taste
1 pint sour cream
10-12 oz. wide egg noodles

Rub chicken pieces with salt and juice of halved lemon, and set aside.  In a large pot (preferably cast iron or Le Creuset), brown pancetta or bacon with drop of olive oil over medium heat. Add butter, and when melted sauté the onions and garlic until wilted.  Add paprika (2 to 3 tbsp.) and stir into onion mix until it attains a fiery red color. Immediately add chicken pieces two or three at a time, browning them until both sides are impregnated with the paprika.  Add sliced mushrooms, followed by white wine (burn off some alcohol), and then chicken stock. 

Lower temperature, cover pot with lid, and let it simmer for about 45-60 minutes, smelling the wafting perfume while enjoying your glass of Merlot and, for syncretic purposes, some sensuous vocals like Diana Krall or Madeleine Peyroux (the sensory build-up, a good reason for having at least two bottles on hand).

Remove chicken pieces, and stir in sour cream until the sauce reaches a creamy consistency, adjusting seasonings to taste.  Add back chicken pieces, stir in most of chopped parsley, and over low temperature let pot stew for final ten to fifteen minutes while egg noodles are boiled al dente.

When noodles are drained, place in large, wide bowl and coat with half of paprika cream sauce; lay chicken pieces over noodles and top with rest of sauce. Garnish with rest of chopped parsley, and serve.

Oh, and Miles... you don’t know squat.

The underappreciated joys of Zinfandel and cheese matching

Lodi's ZinFest Wine Festival last May 2011 was a good excuse to talk about one of my favorite subjects:  the underrated joys of Zinfandel and cheese matching.

The seminar was called Lodi Wine is Cheese Central Friendly, and it involved four different artisanal cheeses presented by Cindy Della Monica, proprietor of Downtown Lodi's spanking new specialty cheese shop, Cheese Central.

To get get everyone warmed for this organoleptic excercise, we began with a little chat on the sensory components that help us understand just how get the best possible wine and cheese matches.  Beginning with the fact that wine and cheese matching is always best understood when you are conscious of the five basic sensations found in all foods and wines -- the sensations of sweet, tart, salty, bitter, and umami (or "savory") -- plus the effects of what we perceive through smell as "flavor."

Downtown Lodi's Cheese Central

Some of the guidelines touched upon:

• There are probably more cheeses that taste better with white wine than with red, despite the old adage that red wines are best with cheese.

• Derived as they are from milk, cheeses give milky and acidic sensations, which explains why white wines wines varying from soft, creamy textures to sharper, acid edged qualities do well with softer, creamier, or slightly acidic/tart, young cheeses.

• But in the firmer, longer aged, deeper colored and richer flavored cheeses, elevated amino acids tend to come into play, which is why red wines do well with richer, deeper flavored aged cheeses (since unlike white wines, reds are fermented with their skins, automatically giving them deeper flavors, along with oak qualities from barrel aging that match easily with caramelized sensations in aged cheeses).

• The higher amounts of amino acids in cheeses are what gives them a strong taste of the sensation called umami (also re Deconstructing Umami), and the longer aged and deeper flavored the cheese, the stronger the taste of umami in the cheese. This is is why cheeses such as Parmigiano, Manchego and Cheddars are often grated onto foods like pasta: because high umami sensations accentuate food flavors, in the same way that red wines made from grapes like Zinfandel and Sangiovese do.

• By the same token, this is also why sweeter wines do best with cheeses aged with Penicillium molds that create the strong, salty tastes associated with blue cheeses: because salty sensations in foods are always balanced by contrasting sweet sensations in other foods or in wines.

• Earthy, organic, umami enhanced aromas and flavors in cheeses -- particularly those made from sheep or goat’s milk, or else most variations of raw milk cheeses -- find pleasing notes of similarity in wines of parallel qualities (re Wine & Food Matching - Science or Art?). This is why the herby/grassy flavor common to wines like Sauvignon Blanc and Cabernet Sauvignon, the flinty or fusel aromas found in Rieslings, the round stoniness of many Chardonnays, the mushroomy/foresty notes of Pinot Noirs, and the meaty, even gamy or leathery notes typifying many reds made from grapes like Tempranillo and Syrah, all do well with distinctly earthy sheep, goat, or raw milk cheeses.

• Once you get into the grand tradition of cheeses doctored up with additional flavors – like all the varieties of herb crusted Chèvres, peppercorn coated crèmes, cider washed rinds, stout soaked Cheddars, or even truffled Boschettos – the gloves come off, and all the varieties of red and white wines criss-cross in accordance to the dominant flavors that are added. For instance, it makes sense that cheeses coated in black pepper strike partnerships with peppery wines like California Zinfandel and Syrahs from around the world. Italianate herbs (i.e. rosemary, oregano, basil, etc.) will find matches with wines of Italian orientation (like those made from Sangiovese and Nebbiolo). High umami, truffled cheeses practically scream for high umami, earth toned reds like Pinot Noir, or certain types of Chardonnay (especially those from France's Burgundy region).

The relationship between wine and cheese is not just natural and historical, it is also sensory to the point of religion: you don’t have to fully understand it to believe it works.

So what are the best wine and cheese combinations? “Bests” do not exist, but there certainly are a lot of matches that simply make sense.  So speaking in terms of specifically Lodi grown Zinfandels, the matches Cindy and I presented at the 2011 ZinFest:

Mimolette with Uvaggio’s 2009 Primitivo
France’s rare Mimolette cheese, made from cow’s milk, comes in an orbular shape and tanned crust; and when you slice into it looks, for all the world, like a cantaloupe, with its vivid orange flesh tinted by annatto, with a lush, round yet moderately firm, faintly hazelnutty flavor somewhat like Edam, with a savoriness similar to a good Parmigiano. The traditional wine match for Mimolette is a soft, fruity white wine, like a Moscato or Chenin Blanc; but the aged quality of the cheese is deep enough to also embrace a red wine of some sturdiness, especially softer, gentler, fruit forward style of Zinfandel such as the Uvaggio Primitivo (the Primitivo grape being a clonal variation of Zinfandel, producing rounder, fruitier expressions of zinfulness).

Bermuda Triangle with m2’s 2008 Soucie Vineyard Zinfandel

The cutting-edge, triangular shaped Bermuda Triangle cheese is a (modern day) classic Chèvre, made from goat’s milk, and crafted by Cypress Grove in Arcata, California. As such, it is almost creamy soft, yet slightly sharp, tangy, and pungently earthy/grassy (as goat’s milk cheeses tend to be). It is also crusted and infused with silvery streaks of vegetable ash, which accentuate the earthy qualities, making them an accessible positive. The m2 made pretty much a “perfect” match because of its own, singularly defined qualities: it is one of the rounder, lusher styles of Zinfandels grown in Lodi – juicy and creamy in texture, plump in blackberry flavors – yet firmed up in the middle by modestly muscular tannin and a handsome oakiness. But what makes it especially unique is the pungently earthy, loamy, almost mushroomy aromas and flavors derived from the Soucie Vineyard grapes – virtually no other vineyard in Lodi produces a zin of such pronounced qualities – which rang striking notes of similarity with the earthiness of the Bermuda Triangle. 

Barely Buzzed with LangeTwins’ 2009 Lodi Zinfandel
Made by Beehive Cheese Co. in Uintah, Utah, Barely Buzzed is an amazingly original, Cheddar style cow’s milk cheese rubbed with intoxicatingly smoky, densifying Turkish grind coffee, adding eye opening volume to the crystallized butter/butterscotchy, caramelized taste of this intensely aged cheese. All well aged Cheddars fall squarely in the “best-with-red-wine” category (which is why wines like Cabernet Sauvignon and red Bordeaux are traditional Cheddar matches), but it was the ultra-rich, smoky/spicy (like strong black tea tinged with exotic jasmine/dried plum/allspice nuances), round yet voluminous qualities of this ‘09 zin that -- sourced primarily from the stately, thickly gnarled trunked 100 year old vines of Lodi's Lewis Vineyard -- that truly made the match.

Valdeon with Van Ruiten’s 2007 Late Harvest Zinfandel
Even if you’re not partial to blue veined cheese, it’s hard not to love Valdeon from Spain: made from a mix of cow’s and goat’s milk to produce a creamy, lusciously soft and silky style of blue that is extremely fine and subtle in the characteristically earthy/salty/sharp qualities of cheeses aged by Penicillium. But a blue cheese it is; and as such, it is best matched by wines with a pronounced degree of sweetness. The Van Ruiten Late Harvest zin fits that description, but its natural sweetness and body is only a third of what is found in, say, a traditional Port; and so it is a sweet red wine that barely falls into the category of “dessert wine.” But with the mild and elegant Valdeon, that parsimoniousness is just right: the subtle qualities of the cheese only emphasizing the natural, joyously juicy, wild berry qualities of the wine, and the wine adding just enough sweetness to balance the salty undertones of the cheese.

100+ year old Lewis Vineyard Zinfandel vine

Summer is for barbecues

Who doesn’t associate summer with barbecue? It’s an American thing, but you might also consider it a return to primitive instincts; reminding me of one of Woody Allen’s classic quips about food in general: “Why does man kill? He kills for food. And not only food: frequently there must be a beverage.”

In our case, preferably a good wine, ideally matched with…


Smoky baby back ribs or pulled pork with tomato based barbecued pork

Grill smoked pork with classic tomato based barbecue sauces – laced with vinegar, brown sugar onions, and often, chili spices and Worcestershire – cordially invite wines with equalizing doses of tannin and alcohol to absorb the pork fat, and picquant, almost sweet fruitiness to balance out the sweet, sour, hot sensations in the sauce. This is why I’ll never understand the criticism of warm climate red wines by wine geeks who obviously can’t relate to wines in terms of food contexts, because there’s nothing like, say, big, fat, juicy, jammy zinfandel with classic American barbecued pork. In fact, in my experience: the bigger, fatter and jammier the better!

Always having an oral fixation (as a baby, my drool was famous), my rib preferences have always been for the soft, chewy cartilage on the bone ends; custom grilled for fruit laden red zins, especially from Lodi (current fave-raves: Harney Lane, Abundance, Earthquake, Macchia, m2, and Klinker Brick), although the snappier Sonoma grown zins (like those of Acorn, Gamba, Bella Vetta, Mauritson, Davis Family, Quivira, Valdez, and Ridge Lytton Springs) always do just as well for me. Why? Lush, almost sweet berry jam fruitiness combined with snappy acidity, blackpepper/clove spices and thick, meaty bodies typical of classic zinfandel make the consumption of sweet/spicy/vinegary pork barbecues all the more luscious – one of the most natural wine and food combinations in the world.

Slabs of dry rubbed ribs

In Memphis where I once lived, each specialty barbecue house has its own “secret” rubs (variations of paprika, onion powder and cayenne, and taking it from there), and it’s in the roasting mediums that you get further distinctions. My favorite were the slabs by Central BBQ, which always come out of slow-cook ovens extremely earthy and caramelized: lessons in sensory overload (you can also order “wet” slabs in most barbecue joints, but sauces can blur the subtleties – yes, even jackhammer sensations have refinements – of dry rubs).

The best wine matches for dry rubbed slabs are thick and meaty, with enough tannin and chewy wood to absorb the fat and stinging red pepper spice. Sounds like a job for petite sirah, and it is. For starters: those of Earthquake, Rosenblum and Two Angels deliver the uncontained tannin and sweetness of fruit (like peppery blueberries) you expect in this grape; although my current favorites petites are those of Truett-Hurst in Dry Creek Valley, Carol Shelton’s Rockpile Reserve, Amador County’s C.G. di Arie, and Parducci’s True Grit from Mendocino, and from the Sierra Foothills, the killer petites of Cedarville, Miraflores and Lava Cap.

Pure syrahs, of course, often have enough cracked pepper qualities to dial in the red and black peppery spices of Memphis dry rubs.  The syrahs of Paul Lato, Jaffurs, MacPrice Meyers, and Skylark in California, and Quady North, Del Rio and Spangler in Southern Oregon are among the most peppery I have recently found (for an expanded rundown on top West Coast syrahs, see Syrahs, Syrahs, Syrahs). Then again, there are never enough excuses to reach for an actual petite sirah… so there!

Barbecue Chicken

In Hawai`i we call it huli huli chicken (usually halves marinated in mixtures of soy sauce, lime, ginger, Hawaiian sea salt, brown sugar or honey, and a touch of cayenne or sambal, before char-grilling). In Memphis, I found that the whole chickens were usually rubbed with mixtures of salt, pepper, paprika, cayenne, white or brown sugar, dry mustard, garlic and onion powder, but it was the slow roasting that really did the trick: the meat absolutely inundated with nostril penetrating smokiness, served with thick, phenomenally expressive sauces (spices touching all the taste buds – sweet, spicy, sour, bitter and umami).

The fruitiness of softer style zinfandels (like Jesse's Grove's Earth, Zin & Fire, Michael-David’s unbiquitous 7 Deadly Zins, or better yet, Laurel Glen's ZaZin) makes an the effortless match, but the more blatantly sweet oaked, smoky, sun ripened fruit forward qualities typical of Australian shiraz might be even better. I’m always partial to the syrahs of winemaker Sparky Marquis (co-originator of Marquis-Philips), who now makes an amazing South Australia shiraz under the Mollydooker label. Other top, value priced choices: Torbreck’s Woodcutter’s, d’Arenberg’s Footbolt, and Gemtree’s organically grown Tadpole.

But if the day is a 90° or 100°+ scorcher, don’t underestimate the power of good ol’ fashioned white zinfandel (the watermelony fresh, off-dry De Loach has always been my favorite) with smoky, spicy chicken. Another great summery choice: classic, off-dry riesling from Germany (look for Zilliken’s Butterfly or Pfeffingen’s Pfeffo), Down Under (like the Margaret River’s Leeuwin Estate or New Zealand’s Villa Maria), or the Pacific-Northwest (Chehalem in Willamette Valley and Pacific Rim in Columbia Valley make the finest).

Soy based Asian style barbecues

Japanese teriyaki, Mongolian and Korean style barbecues always start with marinades of soy sauce, garlic, ginger and sugar; and after that, the variations are endless (additions of beer, chili spices, sesame seeds, Worcestershire, hoisin, pineapple, saké, rice or white wine vinegars, mustards or wasabi, ponzu or yuzu, green onions or mint… you name it, it’s done), and usually involve either thinly sliced beef flank or sirloin, or (in the case of Korean kalbi) short ribs of beef.

Since soy sauce is basically a salty/umami sensation, the best balancing sensations in a wine are either residual sugar (i.e. slightly sweet whites, like that of rieslings) or unabashed fruitiness in red wines made from zinfandel, syrah or shiraz, or gamay noir – the latter, the grape of France’s Beaujolais region). When it comes to Beaujolais, virtually any brand or type will do; although I am partial to the more deeply aromatic and flavorful bottlings of Beaujolais’ grand crus, which you find labeled under village names such as Morgon, Moulin-à-Vent, Fleurie, Chénas, Chiroubles, Régnié, Juliénas, Saint-Amour, Brouilly or Côte de Brouilly.

My absolute favorite Beaujolais reds? Those of Kermit Lynch Wine Merchant: beginning with luscious, sprightly Domaine Dupeuble Beaujolais and the full, fleshy, grandiose Domaine Diochon Moulin-à-Vent, and ending with the earthy yet exuberantly fruited, unfiltered, unfined, unnothinged Morgons by Domaine Thévenet or Guy Breton.

Ah, summer… ah, barbecued meats and wines!

Sing while you enjoy your wine and food (favorite culinary songs)

What are your favorite eating and drinking songs? There must be a million of them; but then again, not. But these days the vast library in the internet sky allows you put your favorites all together in once place, making for one, big musical food, wine, beer, whiskey, and coffee fest.

Yet for all the eating and drinking songs in our own language, one of my favorites is actually French – La Danse de Limonade, performed by the Savoy-Doucet Cajun band – that starts:

Mon j'aime cousine, mon j'aime cousin
J'aime mieux la cuisiniere

(I like my girl cousin, I like my boy cousin
But I like the cook the best…)

… and then goes on to describe the typical Cajun dance party; where the girl, in her innocent voice, describes how she gets “drunk like a big pig,” begs her friends to force her to drink lemonade, but in the end needs to turn to Hadacol (a snake charmer’s medicinal, popular in the 1940s) to recover.

One of the oldest classics is Bessie Smith’s circa-1920s Gimme a Pigfoot (… and a bottle of beer… give the piano man a drink because he’s bringing me down), although I think Ferdinand "Jelly Roll” Morton’s Wining Boy Blues – composed and first performed in the New Orleans brothels that employed him – pre-dates Smith’s Pigfoot. The way Morton once told the story of how he came up with the bluesiest wine song ever written:

When the place (Hilma Burt’s on Basin Street) was closing down, it was my habit to pour these partly filled bottles of wine together and make up a new bottle from the mixture. That fine drink gave me a name and from that I made a tune that was very, very popular in those days…

I'm a wining boy, don't deny my name,
I'm a wining boy, don't deny my name…

Hate to say it, but it reminds me of exactly what we used to do when I first got into the restaurant business, mixing leftover wines and making coolers out of them (I’ve since acquired “good taste”… I think).

Otherwise, I wouldn’t exactly call most of the songs written about wine “great.” After a while, for example, the repetitive cycle of UB40’s Red Red Wine – penned, but evidently never performed, by Neil Diamond – starts to wear thin. Diamond’s Cracklin’ Rose (… you're a store bought woman), on the other hand, still sounds fresh today, more than thirty-five years after it hit the charts. However, Eric Burdon’s Spill the Wine now seems as dated as his Sky Pilot, as do Dean Martin’s and Mel Tillis’s renditions of Little Ole Wine Drinker Me. But if there was any song that plucks the heart strings of a wine lover, it would be Jesse Winchester’s little known, under-appreciated (hey, just like a French vin de pays!) Little Glass of Wine:

Little glass of wine, a good thing you are here
You're warm on my lips, warm as a tear
A comfort to the fool who's restless in his mind
The lover's trusty potion, little glass of wine

The most sing-able wine song ever written? For that honor, I nominate Jerry Jeff Walker’s Sangria Wine, which even contains a recipe for the best sangria and suggested sangria-friendly foods:

In Texas on a Saturday night
Everclear is added to the wine sometimes
Some nachos, burritos and tacos  
Who knows how it usually it goes…

It goes... I love that sangria wine
Just like I love old friends of mine
They tell the truth when they’re mixed with the wine
That’s why I blend in the lemons and limes

Is that poetry in a bottle or what? Well, maybe I think so because I love to sangria too much. Almost as elegiac as the names of the best she-done-left-me-and-drove-me-to-drink country songs; like George Jones’s If the Drinkin’ Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will) and Jerry Lee Lewis’s What Made Milwaukee Famous (Made a Loser Out of Me).

Eating and drinking songs are just like wines – it’s difficult to name your favorite. But I’ll give it a try, dividing them into four categories. Going by the names of my favorite performer(s) of each respective song:

Favorite Eating Songs

1. Diana Krall/Nat King Cole - Frim Fram Sauce
2. Leon Redbone - Mr. Jelly Roll Baker
3. Bessie Smith – Gimme a Pigfoot
4. The Andrews Sisters – Hold Tight, Hold Tight (Want Some Seafood Mama)
5. Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys/Asleep at the Wheel & Dixie Chicks – Roly Poly
6. Ry Cooder – Crow Black Chicken
7. Diana Krall – Peel Me a Grape
8. Michael Franks - Eggplant
9. Taj Mahal/Lovin' Spoonful – Fishing Blues
10. The Coasters/Loudon Wainwright III – Smokey Joe’s Café
11. The Kinks – Skin and Bones
12. Dizzy Gillespie – Salt Peanuts
13. Michael Hurley – You’ll Never Go to Heaven
14. Jimmy Rogers/Merle Haggard – Peach Pickin’ Time in Georgia
15. Hank Williams Sr. – Jambalaya
16. Jack Johnson – Banana Pancakes
17. Ka’au Crater Boys – He `Ono
18. Groucho Marx, Danny Kaye, Jane Wyman & Jimmy Durante – Black Strap Molasses
19. Booker T & the MGs – Green Onions
20. Dan Hicks & the Hot Licks – I Don’t Want Love
21. Dusty Springfield/Chrissie Hynde & UB40 – Breakfast In Bed
22. Average White Band – Cut the Cake
23. Presidents of the United States – Peaches
24. The Mamas & the Papas – Sing for Your Supper
25. Bob Dylan – Country Pie

Favorite Wine Songs

1. Jimmie Rogers/Jackson Browne & Bonnie Raitt – Kisses Sweeter Than Wine
2. Jerry Jeff Walker – Sangria Wine
3. Jesse Winchester – Little Glass of Wine
4. Jelly Roll Morton/Leon Redbone – Wining Boy Blues
5. The Band – Strawberry Wine
6. Neil Diamond – Cracklin’ Rose
7. Commander Cody & His Lost Planet Airmen – Wine Do Yer Stuff
8. Arlo Guthrie – Lightning Bar Blues
9. UB40- Red Red Wine
10. Eric Burdon & War – Spill the Wine
11. Marsha Thornton – A Bottle of Wine and Patsy Cline
12. Emmylou Harris – Two Bottles of Wine
13. Cerys Matthews – Chardonnay
14. The Fireballs – Bottle of Wine

Favorite Drinking Songs (Non-Country)

1. The Andrews Sisters – Rum and Coca Cola
2. Lil’ Bob & the Lollipops/Los Lobos – I Got Loaded
3. Leroy Carr – Hustler’s Blues
4. Savoy-Doucet Cajun Band – La Danse de Limonade
5. Flaco Jimenez – En El Cielo No Hay Cerveza
6. Billie Holiday – Riffin’ the Scotch
7. Mississippi John Hurt – Coffee Blues
8. The Kinks – Demon Alcohol
9. Damian Junior Gong Marley – One Cup of Coffee
10. Jimmy Gilmer & the Fireballs – Sugar Shack
11. Harry Nilsson – Coconut
12. Randy Newman/Bonnie Raitt – Guilty
13. John Prine – They Oughta Name a Drink After You
14. The Doors – Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)
15. Billie Holiday/Frank Sinatra/Dolly Parton – I Get a Kick Out of You
16. UB40 – Bring Me Your Cup
17. Adam Carroll – Of Milwaukee’s Best
18. John Lee Hooker & Bonnie Raitt – One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer
19. Nouvelle Vague – Too Drunk to Fuck
20. Loudon Wainwright III – Drinking song

Favorite Country-Western Drinking Songs

1. Merle Haggard/George Jones – Tonight the Bottle Let Me Down
2. Gram Parsons – Kiss the Children
3. Kris Kristofferson/Johnny Cash – Sunday Morning Coming Down
4. George Jones/The Byrds – You’re Still On My Mind
5. Hank Thompson/Merle Haggard – Wild Side of Life
6. Rhonda Vincent – Drivin’ Nails In My Coffin
7. The Flying Burrito Brothers - Juanita
8. Louvin Brothers/Johnny Cash – Kneeling Drunkard’s Plea
9. George Jones – If the Drinkin’ Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will)
10. Ernest Tubbs – Pass the Booze
11. Kitty Wells – Death at the Bar
12. Hank Williams Sr. – Honky Tonkin’
13. Tommy Alverson – Uno Mas Cerveza
14. Garth Brooks – Friends In Low Places
15. Leon Russell/Hank Thompson – A Six Pack to Go
16. Daryle Singletary/New Riders of the Purple Sage – Dim Lights, Thick Smoke (and Loud, Loud Music)
17. Jerry Lee Lewis – What Made Milwaukee Famous (Made a Loser Out of Me)
18. Louvin Brothers – The Drunkard’s Doom
19. Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys – Lone Star Beer
20. Hank Williams Sr. – There’s a Tear In My Beer
21. Commander Cody & His Lost Planet Airmen – Lost In the Ozone Again
22. Loretta Lynn – Honky Tonk Girl
23. George Strait/Poco – Honky Tonk Downstairs
24. Tanya Tucker – Somebody Buy This Cowgirl a Beer
25. Loretta Lynn – Don’t Come Home a’Drinkin’ (with Lovin’ on Your Mind)
26. Alan Jackson – It’s Five o’ Clock Somewhere
27. Tom T. Hall – I Only Think About You When I’m Drunk
28. Joe Nichols – She Only Smokes When She Drinks
29. Wanda Jackson – Tears Will Be the Chaser for Your Wine
30. Charlie Rich – Sittin’ and Thinkin’
31. George Jones – These Days (I Barely Get By)
32. Brooks & Dunn – You Can’t Take the Honky Tonk Out of the Girl

Throw the wine geeks out! (or, summer is for pink wines)

Real Men Drink Rosé is the the title of the latest post on Kermit Lynch Wine Merchant's Inspiring Thirst blog. Yes, indeed they do; especially the dry, minerally charged rosés (the opposite of tutti-fruity) imported by this iconic Berkeley importer.


Even us ragtag, everyday-is-a-bad-hair day winos can think pink without our bumhood being challenged. Blue skies and beating suns this time each year always make me think of a long departed, newspaper cartoonist friend of mine named Harry Lyons, who could always be counted on for an encouraging word; and not just during the countless hours we shared at a certain dark bar we frequented some years ago in Hawai`i.

Harry penned a series of articles called The Vagabond Gourmet for the same restaurant industry publication (long defunct) I wrote for; and my all-time favorite was one he called "Wine Bums" – about the scourge of the “Gallic dandies” who once dominated the sommelier profession in the sixties and seventies:

Not very long ago, a guy whose only felony was craving red wines with his fish course was made to feel like a buffoon and pariah. Wine stewards would turn in their keys before they’d serve the dreaded, bastard rosé wine. And to bring you wine “on the rocks?” It is to laugh. In short, diners whose tastes in wines and service requirements differed from the dreary norm were considered on the same social level as the bleary, bearded hobo with feet wrapped in newspaper and cigar stub on a toothpick, cooking his beans in a can over a fire while swilling Muscatel from a jug in a pager bag… bums!

And yes, the late, great Harry Lyons that I knew in the eighties brazenly drank all his wine on the rocks (Burgundy, Chablis or Vin Rosé, he never discriminated), which even I wouldn’t dare in those days. Despite his calling himself a “wine bum,” we both knew that in reality he was more of a connoisseur than so-called connoisseurs. Like a true connoisseur, he consumed his wine with knowing relish, rather than with self-conscious superficiality.

I like to think we’ve evolved far beyond those dark, old days of “fine dining” and “continental cuisine,” when sommeliers (like me) wore velvet bows, cummerbunds, chains and ashtrays over their frilly tuxedo shirts, and when much of what was called service entailed “teaching” customers the proper ways to enjoy food or wine (or as Harry often put it, “the hoary old matches that originated in Europe”), but oft-times I wonder... especially in this day and age of 100 point scores, and the obsessive prattle of wine geeks and collectors, unknowingly (or so it seems to me) fueled by lifestyle magazines and journalists determined to pigeonhole wine into neat, little quality categorizations suitable for Consumer Reports. Shut up and drink your wine!

Where have all the wine bums gone?

Harry Lyons was ahead of his time, but he probably wouldn’t have given a hoot about all this anyway. He'd just order up another round for all, asking for another side of rocks for his jug wine rosé!


A FEW OF MY FAVORITE ROSÉS (AND PINK WINE FOODS)

Summery pink wines taste great by themselves, and are even better with food – from hobo style weenies on toothpicks, to endless Babette-like feasts among babbling foodies. The following are my favorites, which I suggest with one caveat: never, never buy a bottle that is over two years old. For pink wines, dry or sweet, it’s always the-fresher-the-better…

SoloRosa (California) – Now here’s an idea whose time has come: a North Coast brand specializing in exactly one wine – a bone dry rosé. And no, it’s not a “Rhône Ranger” or anything gimmicky like that, but rather a serious winery, sourcing sangiovese, merlot and occasionally some syrah from the Russian River and Napa Valleys that are grown for the express purpose of producing the finest, juiciest pink wine possible. The good news is that it’s been a winner – avoiding the rough, burnt out, annoyingly overripe taste of many North Coast rosés of the past. Instead, SoloRosa is consistently rich and refined, neither light-weight nor heavy, with creamy, barrel fermented textures underlying usually an intense mélange of raspberry, cranberry and strawberry fruitiness, with just enough citrus-like crispness to keep things honest.

One of the easiest things in the world for good dry pink is salmon – cast iron or charcoal grill charred, simply brushed with butter, or lavished in ponzu marinades or even sweetened soy glazes. But despite its dryness, SoloRosa’s fruit qualities are luscious enough to balance almost any chili spiced meat, red or white, as well tearfully hot dishes like Jamaican jerks, Cajun blackened or chili specked Thai shrimp, or pork coated in Szechuan spices. This is one wine that can be put to work; which, of course, is what SoloRosa has been about since its noble inception.

Bokisch, Lodi Rosada (California) - Produced from garnacha (a.k.a. grenache), which tends to express more of a strawberry fruitiness; and Bokisch's is as fresh as they come. In the best Southern French and Spanish tradition, this a completely dry style of rosé, exuding a bell ringing varietal fruitiness with cranberry/pomegranate-like zip, its body full yet fluid on the palate. Naturally Hispanophile grower/vintners Markus and Liz Bokisch would suggest Spanish style tapas, although the wine is great sitting on patio table by its lonesome. I've enjoyed the Bokisch with marinated shrimp and fresh chopped chile spiced guacamole in one of those restaurants where they mix the avocado in an oversized stone mortar at the table for you. Given my Hawaiian island inclinations, I also think this would be dynamite with simple fried little fish (like anchovy and sardines) and rice seasoned with everything from Japanese furikake (chopped seaweed and sesame seed seasonings) to pickled ginger, umé (sweet-sour plum), soy, and sesame seeds.

Rosé di Regaleali (Sicily) - The world owes Italian wine importer Leonardo LoCascio a debt of gratitude for discovering this perennial winner and bringing it to America. Made from indigenous Sicilian grapes, this is always a completely dry rosy colored wine, and its juicy, fleshy, mouth-watering flavors allow it to cross all kinds of food barriers. Red barbecued chicken is a no-brainer; so is meatloaf in an herby, mushroomy or tomato-laced gravy, or anything pink like salmon or half-rare tuna

Robert Sinskey, Carneros Vin Gris of Pinot Noir (Napa Valley, California - Although very little of this precious fluid is made each year, I was pleased to discover (during a meeting with Rob Sinskey last year) that this full fledged Biodynamic© winery is determined to keep this wine in its portfolio. Especially since this is this is as refined as a pink wine gets, yet always more exuberant than the occasional sightings of Marsannay rosés (also made from pinot noir) coming out of Burgundy each year. Speaking of which, whenever you find a recent vintage of French rosé from Marsannay, Chinon (made from cabernet franc) or Cassis (primarily from grenache), praise the lord and buy the bottle; and I would spend more time talking about such delicacies if their supply in the U.S. were more consistent. Typically, the Sinskey vin gris is very pale in color, bone dry, lithe, delicate, and bursting with fragrant, red fruit with rose hip tea-like suggestions: not something you have to think twice about with summer pastas in fresh herbed marinara or cold shrimp with sweet-spicy cocktail sauces; and although it's not exactly everyday (unless you live in Plan du Castellet like Mr. Lynch), some duck confit, cornichons and olive oil drizzled rockette would be nice.

Charles Melton, Barossa Valley Rosé of Virginia (Australia) - My first taste of this seriously bone dry and full structured pink wine was in one of L.A. star chef Joachim Splichal’s restaurants – matched with foie gras with rhubarb and strawberries! With fireworks, drums, and entire symphonies going off in my head, the wine’s luscious, cherry-bright fruitiness made this powerful dish even richer and more decadent. How many rosés can do that? Every year Charles Melton’s grenache based Rosé of Virginia is as rich and full as a pink wine gets. Therefore I suspect that it could do just as well with grilled fish with chutney, squab with figs, duck with plum sauce, or any other dish that combines meats and natural fruits.

The iconic Kermit Lynch (Berkeley, 2009)

Château de Trinquevedel, Tavel Rosé (Rhône Valley, France) - Imported by Kermit Lynch, this is the richest French rosé I know; firmly dry, yet effusively fruity, giving deep, full, lip smacking flavors just hinting at wet stones and green leafy herbs. Wines like this easily handle grilled chicken, roast turkey, squab, pigeon, and any game bird, especially with generous sides of squash and root vegetables.

Domaine Tempier, Bandol Rosé (Provence, France) - Also associated with Kermit Lynch, and produced by the Peyraud family, who has inspired legions of American gastronomes like Richard Olney and Alice Waters. Yet this is pink wine, not the stuff of royalty. What you will always find in Domaine Tempier’s rosé is something remarkably fresh, flowing, bone dry yet forwardly fruity – the essence of miniature sweet strawberries rolling across the tongue – finishing with a soft, stony smoothness. If you think ”Provence” when you pop a Tempier – ravioli and ragout, salt cod (or brandade) and anchovy, pesto and aioli, ratatouille and bouillabaisse, chicken with 40 cloves of garlic, etc. – you really can’t go wrong. In a pinch, Château de Pibarnon also makes an excellent Bandol Rosé – even dryer and firmer than the Domaine Tempier’s, but no less soulful.

Culinary matching 101: wines for classic blackened tuna

In the mid-eighties Paul Prudhomme’s blackened redfish permanently entered the vocabulary of the average American restaurant-goer, but you can argue that all the variations of blackened tuna have become even more ubiquitous in restaurants and bars, and practiced by adventurous home cooks.


For over thirteen years I worked with one of America’s original Euro-Asian fusion (a.k.a. East-West or Pacific Rim) style chefs, Roy Yamaguchi, and during that period opened over two dozen restaurants for him, from Hawai`i to up and down the East Coast. One of the most popular dishes at the Roy’s restaurants, since day one, has been Yamaguchi’s blackened ‘ahi tuna (‘ahi being the Hawaiian name for the high quality, red fleshed tuna caught in the vicinity of the Islands) with a more Frenchified soy-mustard butter sauce (Yamaguchi is, after all, basically a French trained chef who applies fusion thought processes).

Yamaguchi’s blackened tuna also served as the most basic dish utilized for our wine/food matching staff training; part of our “wine & food 101,” which hundreds upon hundreds of servers as well as chefs experienced in this scenario: pen, paper, fork, knife, and usually five different wine glasses filled with five different wines.

As you will see in the recipe (snipped from Roy’s Feasts From Hawai`i) included at the end of this piece, there is a degree of difficulty (i.e. time required for multiple ingredients and steps) in Yamaguchi’s blackened tuna akin to what is considered "basic" in French cuisine, such as most of what you find in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art. So in that sense, it’s not really “101” in terms of preparation; but what makes it “101” is precisely the multiplicity of ingredients, giving it a variety of sensations resulting in “perfect” matches with not just one or two types of wines; but rather, with almost any number of different wines (in other words, “perfect” wine matches for any one specific dish don’t exist, except in the minds of irresponsible wine and/or culinary writers – hopefully, present company excepted).

Tasting wines with blackened tuna is “101” because it drives home this fundamental principle: that it is never so much a food type that determines “best” wine/food matches, but how the food type is prepared (i.e. the context in which food types are placed by their preparations). In this sense, looking at how wines are matched with blackened tuna gives you a good idea of how, or why, almost all wines and foods are matched.

How did we know this? Through repeated tastings, of course; hundreds and hundreds of them, involving hundreds of different people, each expressing preferences. Our typical selection of wines tasted with Yamaguchi’s tuna usually consisted of a typical, elegant, fruit driven pinot noir from California or Oregon; a classic, fruit driven California chardonnay; and a fairly dry sparkling wine from anywhere (France, California, Italy, Spain, etc.) – because usually these three basic wine types, would have the highest percentage chance of matching this particular version of blackened tuna, despite their contrasting characteristics.


Then we would add at least a couple of other wines to the mix: a crisp, medium bodied sauvignon blanc or pinot gris; a soft, fruity riesling or pink wine; a moderately weighted, fruit forward California zinfandel or Australian syrah/shiraz; sometimes, even a big, rambunctious cabernet sauvignon or viognier. It never hurt to find out what “happens” when boy or girl – and white, red, pink, still or sparkling wines – meets blackened tuna.

The major components of Yamaguchi’s tuna, effecting the consistently varied results regarding “best” wine/food matches:

• The fleshy, oily, saline taste of good quality tuna
• Palate stinging spices in the blackening spices as well as the hot mustard
• Saltiness from soy sauce
• Fatty, oily butter and cream in the French butter sauce
• Mild tartness from use of vinegar and lemon, as well as in pickled ginger garnishes
• Slightly bitter sensations in the blackening spices as well as garnishes like Japanese spice sprouts
• Slight sweetness or natural fruitiness in garnishes like pickled ginger and chopped cucumber
• When utilized (often in Hawai`i, but rarely outside the Islands), the salty ocean taste of fresh seaweeds
• Last but not least, umami-related sensations in blackening spices, soy, mustard, seaweeds, as well as the tuna itself (re my Deconstructing umami for more detailed treatment)

In our tastings, we would ask our staff to take a bite of tuna before a deliberate sip of each and every wine, and simply decide what they liked best. Then together, we would puzzle out exactly what it is about each wine that we like so much with the tuna. Our usual findings:


Chardonnay: On paper, the idea of blackening, or spicing up, filets of tuna seems like an unfortunate match with full bodied chardonnays; especially since the high alcohols as well as oak tannins (i.e. bitter sensations) associated with typical chardonnays theoretically makes the sensation of hot spices taste even hotter or more bitter – unpleasant. Where a chef like Yamaguchi turns the theory upside down is in the fact that this is not simply a spicy dish, but a spicy dish balanced by fatty sensations in the addition of beurre blanc style butter sauce as well as in the fatty flesh of high quality tuna itself. When talking about such sensory interaction, we’re talking about similarities of sensations; something many wine and food lovers may not prefer, but which many people actually like (this is why we drizzle sweet chocolate over vanilla ice cream rather than ketchup – the average person likes sweet on sweet, or combining similar sensations). And besides, there is plenty in Yamaguchi’s tuna that offers up contrasting sensations to typical full bodied, oaky chardonnay; such as the sweet/sour taste of pickled ginger, the salty taste of soy or seaweed. Combine that with the natural penchant of the aromatically fruity chardonnay grape to interact positively the earthy taste of mustard, it was never surprising to find that out of groups of a dozen people, there were always three, four, or even five individuals who really enjoyed the taste of blackened tuna with chardonnay.

Sparkling wines: Individuals expressing preferences for good, yeasty, fairly dry sparklers with blackened tuna would always cite a different reasoning from those who liked chardonnays: the refreshing contrast of sensations like effervescence, tart acidity, fairly light alcohol, yeasty and fruit perfumes, and (depending upon the degree) the residual sugars in typical sparklers when tasted with the spicy heat of the blackening spices and hot mustards in Yamaguchi’s tuna, as well as the salty/earthy taste of soy sauce and the fatty qualities in the tuna and butter sauce. The refreshing contrasting works well with the lightest, simplest sparklers, like Italy’s Prosecco, but is even more elevated when the sparkler is choice (like French tête de cuvée); which is why the match has always worked gone over in a big way in our restaurants.

Pinot noir: This third most popular match works for still a third different reason, all related to the so-called “fifth” sensation: umami. Without going into detail, umami is essentially the pleasing sensation the palate feels when interacting with foods containing elevated amounts of amino acids; which is why Parmigiano is sprinkled on pasta, mushrooms and truffles enhance meats, stock based sauces enhance dishes, or in Hawai`i, why ogo (chopped fresh red seaweed) “completes” tuna poke. Pinot noirs are, by nature of being red wines (i.e. fermented on skins), deep and complex in flavor. Yet among reds, pinots are also fairly soft, balanced, smoothly textured, buoyant and inundated with natural spice: qualities that give wines made from this grape the highest percentage chance of perhaps any other wines (white, red, pink or sparkling) of tasting delicious with dishes (any dishes, from white to red meats) prepared with high umami ingredients. In Yamaguchi’s blackened tuna: the fish itself, and especially the mustard, soy sauce, and blackening spices. Although it is not so much similar or contrasting sensations as umami that makes pinot noirs taste so good with blackened tuna, the fact that pinot noir is a softer (i.e. less bitter) type of red wine also helps with this fatty, fleshy fish, since high tannin reds (like those made from cabernet sauvignon and other “Bordeaux” grapes) are not good fits with the high iodine content of most fish. Finally, the slightly bitter taste of the peppers and sandalwood in blackening spices, hot mustard as well as spice sprouts do add a degree of balance to the slight bitterness of grape tannin and French oak sensations found in typical pinot noir.


Riesling: This white wine grape makes a huge range of wines: from bone dry to slightly sweet and very sweet; from extremely light (i.e. 7%-8% alcohol wines from Germany’s Mosel-Saar-Ruwer) to as full as any chardonnay (13%-14% alcohol wines from Alsace, Washington and California, Australia and New Zealand, etc.). But by and large, it is rieslings with just slight degrees of sweetness and light to moderate alcohol levels that do best with blackened tuna, as soft fruitiness in any wine offers delicious contrast to hot spices. Besides heat, residual sugar (in wines as well as dishes) balances salty ingredients (re the soy in blackened tuna), and the sugar/acid balance of classic riesling strikes an easy chord with sweet/sour pickled ginger. In our experience, however, we have found that dry style rieslings that are balanced with exceptional fruitiness in the aroma and flavor do just as well as rieslings with actual residual sugar (although overly tart, sour rieslings with narrow fruit profiles offer very little in the way of flavorful contrast). Conversely, we have found that rieslings tilted towards emphatically sweet fruitiness also make less desirable matches; since excess residual sugar tends to overburden the palate with sensations that seem extraneous in the context of a dish already laden with a multiplicity of sensations.

Medium bodied dry white and pink wines: Whites made from grapes like sauvignon blanc, pinot gris (a.k.a. pinot grigio), albariño, and grüner veltliner, as well as pink wines like dry rosé and vin gris, tend to be neither light nor heavy; and as such, would seem to be natural matches for aggressive dishes like blackened tuna. But in reality, we have always found that it is wines of at least some extremes -- like the weight and oak of chardonnay, the tannin and spiced berryish of pinot noir, or the tart, zesty edge of sparklers – that actual make the most positive impact. Wines of moderate alcohol, moderate acidity, moderate fruit intensity, etc. tend to taste just “moderately good” with blackened tuna. In short, wines that are “okay” with blackened tuna – but ultimately, not particularly exciting.

Heavy, light or medium bodied reds: On the other hand, high tannin reds dominated by dense, bitter sensations (like most cabernet sauvignons) as well as soft tannin reds characterized by accentuated fruitiness (that French Beaujolais) tend to offer too much extreme in the way of sensations to make an easy match for blackened tuna. But unlike medium bodied white and pink wines, medium bodied reds with soft tannins and a modicum of spiced fruitiness (besides pinot noir, softer styles of zinfandel, syrahs, syrah/grenache/mourvèdre blends, lemberger, etc.) do surprisingly well with blackened tuna. As long as the tannin levels are moderated (not outwardly rough or bitter) enough to work with the fish, and the fruit qualities are tinged with variations of peppery (peppercorn or chile) or brown (i.e. suggesting cinnamon, clove, cardomom, allspice, etc.) spices to bounce off the blackening and mustard spices, these types of red wines generally hold you in good stead.

There is, of course, a world of interesting wines now available to us, in restaurants and in stores, for fusion style dishes (see my piece, Basic guidelines to matching the Asian palate & fusion dishes). Whenever combining multifaceted dishes with complex wines, the best policy is to let common sense be your guide, think in terms of similarity and contrast, and don’t forget how umami can often pull things together. Ultimately, we are all ruled by personal preference; and so, if anything, the golden rule remains: to thine own self be true.


Roy Yamaguchi’s
BLACKENED ‘AHI TUNA WITH SOY MUSTARD BUTTER SAUCE

Soy-mustard sauce
1/4 cup Colman's mustard powder
2 tablespoons hot water
2 tablespoons unseasoned rice vinegar
1/4 cup soy sauce

Beurre blanc (white wine butter sauce)
1/2 cup white wine
2 teaspoons white wine vinegar
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon minced shallot
2 tablespoons heavy cream
1/2 cup unsalted butter, chopped
1/4 teaspoon salt
Freshly ground white pepper to taste

Blackening spice*
1 1/2 tablespoons paprika
1/2 teaspoon cayenne powder
1/2 tablespoon pure red chile powder
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper
1/2 tablespoon ground sandalwood (optional)

Tuna
1 tuna filet (preferably Hawaiian 'ahi), about 2 inches thick and 5 inches long (about 8 ounces)

Garnish
2 or 3 tablespoons red pickled ginger
1/2 teaspoon black sesame seeds
1 ounce Japanese spice sprouts or sunflower sprouts (top 2 inches only)
1 tablespoon seeded and diced yellow bell pepper (optional)
1 tablespoon cucumber, cut into matchsticks (optional)

To prepare the soy-mustard sauce, mix the mustard powder and hot water together to form a paste. Let sit for a few minutes to allow the flavor and heat to develop. Add the vinegar and soy sauce, mix together, and strain through a fine sieve. Chill in the refrigerator.

To prepare the beurre blanc, combine the wine, wine vinegar, lemon juice, and shallot in a saucepan and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce the liquid until it becomes syrupy. Add the cream, and reduce by half. Turn the heat to low and gradually add the butter, stirring slowly (do not whisk) until it is all incorporated. Be careful not to let the mixture boil, or it will break and separate. Season with salt and pepper and strain through a fine sieve. Transfer to a double broiler and keep warm.

Mix all the blackening spices together on a plate, and dredge the tuna on all sides. Heat a lightly oiled cast-iron skillet and sear the tuna over high heat to the desired doneness (about 15 seconds per side for rare, to 1 minute per side for medium-rare). Cut into 16 thin slices.

For each serving, arrange 4 slices of the tuna in a pinwheel or cross shape on the plate. Ladle a little of the soy-mustard sauce in two opposing quadrants between the tuna, and ladle the beurre blanc in the other two quadrants. To garnish, put a small mound of the red pickled ginger on the beurre blanc on either side, and sprinkle the sesame seeds over the soy-mustard sauce. Arrange the spice sprouts, bell pepper, and cucumber at the very center of this pinwheel.

* There is a Yogi brand of sandalwood available by calling the company in New Orleans (504-486-5538). If you prefer, you can use 1/4 cup of any Cajun spice blend instead of making up you own blackening spice.

Pinot Noir & Chinese Red-Cooked Pork Belly

Freestone Vineyard (with Philippe Pessereau,
viticultural manager), March 2010

When you taste 200-plus pinot noirs, as I did during the two weeks before, during and after my recent attendance at the tenth annual World of Pinot Noir in Shell Beach, California, this past March 5-6, 2010, you're bound to come up with an epiphany of sorts. For a complete report, including notes on the best wines tasted, please see my companion piece, Hanging with the Devil at the 2010 World of Pinot Noir, on Culinary Wine & Food Adventures.

I also participated in something called the Iron Sommelier seminar at this year’s World of Pinot Noir; as one of four sommerliers presenting two “ideal” pinot noirs with a dish prepared from a recipe of our choosing. My dish was a household favorite for sumptuous, spicy reds: Red Cooked Pork Belly, for which a good recipe adapted from Molly Stevens’ All About Braising (W.W. Norton & Co., New York/London) can be found at the end of this post. I matched this classic, Chinese style pork belly with two spice driven, snappy, cold climate grown pinot noirs: the roasted meaty, smoky spiced 2006 Hitching Post Cargasacchi Vineyard Sta. Rita Hills, and the round, juicy, strawberry, peppermint and anise/licorice spiced 2006 Maysara Delara McMinnville from Oregon.

Hanging with the Iron Somms (far left) at World of Pinot Noir

As expected, our audience found that both the Hitching Post and Maysara pinot noirs skipped lightly and fandango-y with the peppery, gingery, cinnamon and star-anise spiced qualities of the pork belly; the crisp acidity and round tannin centers of these black and red fruit driven wines titillating the palate with every bite, even at the fattiest ends. Alas, there was no “voting” in this particular Iron competition; not even an opportunity for jury rigging (as there were no judges). But I guarantee: it was a match those unaccustomed to the appreciation of Asian style food with pinot noir are unlikely to forget. Re the recipe...


RED-COOKED BORK BELLY with Bok Choy
Serves 4:

Braise
One 2-inch piece of fresh ginger, sliced into 6-8 coins and smashed
3 scallions, white and green parts, cut into 1-inch pieces
One 3-inch cinnamon stick
2 oz. Chinese rock sugar, smashed into small rocks with hammer (or ¼ cup brown sugar)2 whole star anise¼ cup dry sherry
¼ cup soy sauce
¼ cup dark mushroom soy sauce
5 cups chicken stock (or water)
1-½ to 2 lbs. pork belly, preferably skin-on, cut into 2-inch chunks

Bok Choy
1 lb. bok choy (1 medium head or 3 baby heads)
1 ½ tablespoons peanut oil
Coarse salt and fresh ground pepper¼ cup water

1. Braising liquid: In carbon steel or stainless steel wok, combine ginger, scallions, cinnamon stick, sugar, star anise, sherry, boy soy sauces, and stock or water. Bring to boil over medium-high heat, stirring to dissolve sugar, and boil for 12-15 minutes to infuse liquid with spices.

2. Braise: Slide pork into the wok and lower the heat to gentle simmer. Braise, uncovered, turning pork with tongs from time to time to braise evenly, until meat is fork-tender, about 3 hours. Monitor heat so sauce simmers modestly, never vigorously. Lower heat if necessary.

3. Meanwhile, washing and trimming bok choy: Rinse bok choy thoroughly, paying close attention to inside hollow at base of each leaf where dirt tends to gather. Drain. Cut lower ribs crosswise into 1-inch pieces, and slice the leaves into slightly wider 1-½ strips. Set stems and leaves aside in separate bowls.

4. Simmer bok choy: When pork is tender, turn off heat and let sit. Heat oil in large skillet over medium-high heat. Add bok choy stems handful at a time and cook, stirring, until stems throw off their water and soften, 4-5 minutes. Immediately begin adding leaves, stirring and tossing with tongs, and season lightly with salt and pepper. Add water, cover, and lower heat to medium. Simmer until bok choy is crisp/tender, about 5 minutes more. Set aside in warm spot.

5. Finish: With tongs, transfer pork to large platter and cover loosely with foil to keep warm. Strain the braising liquid medium sauce pan, and discard solids. Skim some but not all of clear fat from surface (some fat essential to flavor). Boil the braising liquid until reduced by one quarter to one half, about 8 minutes. Taste. Should be salty and intense.

6. Serving: Serve pork and bok choy with drizzle of reduced braising liquid.