New Column: How I Fell in Love with Wine

Every couple has a story. How you both met, what s/he was wearing, what music was playing, the magic of the first kiss.

Likewise, every wino has a story, a tale of how they fell in love with the juice of the grape. Well, here's mine. It's part of the recently-launched 20 Something Magazine, started by my good friend Dario DiBattista.

I hope you like the column, and please "like" the magazine on Facebook if you do. I'd love to hear the story of how you fell in love with wine as well.

Cheers!

On Lorrie Moore's Novel "A Gate at the Stairs"

I read Lorrie Moore’s novel “Who Will Run the Frog Hospital?” for a fiction class at Johns Hopkins University last year and loved it. So I picked her novel “A Gate at the Stairs” as soon as I saw it, expecting something equally good. The two novels are very different things, as any two novels are, but in this case I feel like I’m reading an entirely different author.

It was my love for “Who Will Run the Frog Hospital?” that got me through the first 100 pages of this novel. They are such a drag, and I was so tempted to return the book and not bother with the rest of it. But I stuck it out, and, despite the novel’s faults, it came around. A bit. There was some incredible stuff on pages 150 to 250. Then, again, it slipped back into mediocrity. The ending is a real letdown, not because nothing happens but because Moore completely drops characters she’s spent the entire novel developing.

The prose gets pretentious far too often. The narrator (Tassie) veers off into three-page expository rants about her childhood in the middle of a scene, then Moore drops us right back into the scene and we’re supposed to figure out where in the hell we are along the time-space continuum. In one scene, Tassie is talking to Sarah Brink, a local woman who adopts a two-year-old girl and hires Tassie as a caretaker. The reader is immersed in dialogue between Sarah and Tassie when Tassie goes off for three pages about some random experience she had when she was a kid. Then it’s right back into the dialogue like nothing has happened. The effect is discombobulating. At times, I really felt like I was reading the ramblings of a teenager pepped up on Pixi Stix and speed, albeit a teenager with a cheeky vocabulary.

Sarah’s character is interesting. She’s a white middle-aged yuppie who takes being a liberal as seriously as Karl Rove takes being an asshole. She runs an organic restaurant that serves food I’ve never even heard of topped with other stuff I’ve never heard of. She has bumper stickers that say “Born right the first time” and “If God speaks through a burning bush, let’s burn Bush and see what God says.” And she also calls everyone Nazis, telling Tassie “You may be too young to know this yet, but eventually you will look around and notice: Nazis always have the last laugh.” She becomes even more interesting as her secret past comes to light. She shows her true colors when Child Services comes to take her adopted daughter.

It took me a long time, however, to connect with Tassie. The experience of reading a first-person novel cannot be fully realized if the narrator isn’t interesting, if there’s no connection. And I struggled to connect with Tassie. In fact, she’s as boring as the Wisconsin landscape she grew up in. She’s not one to remember. She’s the girl your guy friend starts dating and everyone around them thinks: “Eh, give it two weeks. He’ll get tired of her.” I confess: I got tired of Tassie in about twenty pages. And that made the rest of the 300 pages a bit rough.

Henry Miller, the Evangelist of Big Sur

“Sweet or bitter, I am now convinced that all experience is enriching and rewarding. Above all, instructive.”

Henry Miller’s book Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch is full of such existential musings on art and life. Here are a few more:

“Surely every one realizes, at some point along the way, that he is capable of living a far better life than the one he has chosen. What stays him, usually, is the fear of the sacrifices involved.”

“Whoever uses the spirit that is in him creatively is an artist. To make living itself an art, that is the goal.”

Quotes like these remind me why I love Henry Miller. The man’s understanding of human desire, art and the innate human need to create is astounding. 

“Artists never thrive in colonies. Ants do. What the budding artist needs is the privilege of wrestling with his problems in solitude – and now and then a piece of red meat.”

And what better place to find solitude in the late 1950s than Big Sur, California? I’ve never been to Big Sur, which I feel is something of a crime given my love for California and rugged coastlines, but Miller is an incredible evangelist for this little corner of California. In Big Sur he tells the stories of the things he sees, the people he meets, the day-to-day things he does and the thoughts that pass through his mind. Seriously, that’s the plot. Nothing else really happens. There’s virtually no sex and only minimal drug use. If this sounds boring to you, perhaps you have not experienced the passion and power of Miller’s language.

We’re talking about Henry Miller here, so I wasn’t surprised that the book contains some serious rambling. He spills a lot of ink on a lot of tangents, and many times I found myself asking: “Miller, what’s the bloody point already?”  I was also not surprised that Miller rewards those readers who stick with him through the slow and rambling parts. There are phrases, sentences, arguments and observations that remain stunning more than 50 years after this book was published.

So, is it worth your attention? Is the ratio of boring to beautiful prose acceptable? Absolutely. When Miller hits it, he hits it hard, and the impact of his prose is undeniable.

The written word, Miller argues, should be true, real, personal and based in one’s experience and understanding of the world. “There should be fire, passion, an obsessive urge.” I’m with Miller here. Without fire and obsession I’m convinced you cannot master your craft, whatever medium you use. Miller states writing that is worthy of being called art comes only through “toil and struggle, through reflection, meditation, self-analysis, above all through being scrupulously and relentlessly honest with oneself. “

Miller offers this tip for struggling writers: “To those who protest that they are not understood, not appreciated, not accepted – how many  of us ever are? – all I can say is: “Clarify your position!” Miller, in this 404-page book, is clearly trying to clarify his own position on nature, art and community, and he does a damn good job of it.

Sauvignon Blanc from California and Virginia

For my palate, domestic sauvignon blanc is a hit or miss category of wines, with more than a few misses. On one hand you’ve got the leaner styled wines that can taste like grass and lemon juice, and on the other you’ve got the wines that have been oaked beyond recognition.

But I’m convinced that sauvignon blanc, being such a versatile and food friendly wine, can be made to suit almost any palate. The challenge is finding the ones that fit your tastes. At a recent tasting of American white wines, I tasted four domestic sauvignon blancs, two from California and two from Virginia. The range of styles was incredible, and each wine offered a distinct interpretation of the sauvignon blanc grape.

2011 Glen Manor Vineyards Sauvignon Blanc (Virginia, Shenandoah Valley)

This is one heck of an extreme sauvignon blanc. Pungent aromas of lemon, grapefruit rind, sage and freshly cut grass. The wine is so pungent it almost smells like a bitter green salad. My girlfriend said it smells like “a cat peeing on grass,” while my friend J described it as smelling like “bleu cheese under a Frenchman’s armpit in August.” Both are good descriptors. The palate is too sweet for my taste, bursting with lime and sweet tarts. The grass and onion flavors are too pungent and powerful. This wine just ain’t my cup of sauvignon blanc. 71 points

2011 Linden Sauvignon Blanc Avenius (Virginia, Northern Region)

Linden is one of the few Virginia wineries that almost always puts out solid and interesting wines. This sauvignon blanc beat the hell out of the 2011 Glen Manor. The nose has a seltzer-like sense of freshness, with lime, orange, honeysuckle and sage. The palate is light and tangy, with a burst of gooseberry, melon and lime. Minerals and hints of green onion accent the fruit flavors. Very balanced and clearly well-made. Maybe sauvignon blanc has potential in Virginia? 87 points

2010 Merry Edwards Sauvignon Blanc (California, Sonoma County, Russian River Valley)

I brought a few bottles of this wine back from a trip to Sonoma in March. When I tasted it at the winery, I was floored by its complexity, balance and depth. Among the many domestic sauvignon blancs I’ve tasted, this is by far the best, and it’s way up there on the list of my favorite sauvignon blancs from anywhere in the world. So I wanted to share a bottle with my good wine friends and see what they thought.

Heavenly aromas of grass, jalapeno, white peach and green apple. The aromas opened up with time and air, showing all sorts of nuance. Most of the tasters were a bit skeptical of this wine, thinking it would be too oaked or bold, but the acid in this wine is so attractive that it won a lot of fans. The melon and lime fruit is pure and plush, laced with herbs and cut chives. The finish is long and seamless. On day 2 the wine opened up even more, showing papaya and tangerine, but it’s equally matched with lime-like acidity. So fresh and beautiful. 93 points

2010 Cowan Cellars Sauvignon Blanc Isa (California, Lake County)

This ain’t your average sauvignon blanc. Your usually white wine is made by pressing the juice from the grapes and separating that juice from the grape skins, seeds and stems. The sugary nectar is then fermented, usually in stainless steel, sometimes oak. But to make a so-called “orange wine” the process is different, not to mention ancient, dating back thousands of years. Orange wines are made like most red wines are made, by fermenting the juice and the grape skins together for some duration of time. Depending on the length of time the juice and skins spend together, this process results in a wine with darker color and more structure. It also provides a wine-drinking experience unlike any other. In an interview, winemaker Jim Cowan explains why he chose to make this wine the ancient way: “Fermentation on the skins gives the wine texture and considerable complexity.”

The skin contact is evident in the wine’s pretty apricot color. The aromas are fun and wild: apricot, pineapple, white flowers and an aroma that reminds me of good bourbon. The palate is dense and creamy, but the acid keeps it fresh and lip-smacking. Flavors of quince, honey, wax and peanut shell. This wine reminds me of some wines from the Jura region of France, with its high acid, nutty and slightly oxidized aspect. This is really fun stuff, and I give it serious points for creativity. 89 points

So there you have it: four different sauvignon blancs, four different takes.

What’s your favorite American sauvignon blanc?

The Crazy White Blends of Compagni Portis

Bedrock Wine Co. describes Sonoma Valley’s Compagni Portis Vineyard as “a jewel remaining from a bygone age.” Originally planted in 1954, before everyone began uprooting obscure white varieties in favor of chardonnay and sauvignon blanc, the Compagni Portis vineyard is a gnarled hodgepodge of old vine white varieties: gewurtzraminer, trousseau gris, riesling, burger, green Hungarian and some that are still unidentified.

The label art is almost as gnarly as the vines themselves.

The Compagni Portis vineyard is a perfect example of quality taking precedent over quantity. These old vines produce ultra-low yields, but those grapes are packed with concentrated aromas and flavors. The resulting field blends offer some of the most delicious and educational drinking experiences in all of California white wine.

Bedrock’s winemaker describes this six-acre vineyard as, “a sporadic, seemingly random, assemblage of varieties that can only be found together here in California’s oldest vineyards and makes a wine more indicative of place than variety, spacing, farming, or anything else.” Basically, he’s standing up for the terroir of the Compagni Portis vineyard. And I agree: this place is very special.

At a recent tasting of American white wines I had the pleasure of tasting two white blends from the Compagni Portis vineyard. Both wines came from the same vintage, 2010. It’s always fun to taste two wines from the same vineyard, same vintage, but blended and fermented by different winemakers. While the wines were both unique, they share a baseline of aromas and flavors that speaks to the terroir of the Compagni Portis vineyard.

2010 Bedrock Wine Co. Heirloom Compagni Portis (California, Sonoma Valley) 

This wine is fermented with wild yeasts and aged in neutral oak and steel barrels. It’s a light yellow color in the glass. Aromatic intensity is this wine’s game: tons of flowers, peach blossoms, perfume and a gewürztraminer-like combination of fresh citrus and mixed nuts. The palate shows chunky melon and pineapple fruit, white flowers, honey and lychee nut flavors. There’s a lot of tangy acid throughout, and the wine maintains a superb sense of balance. This is a really unique white wine, unlike anything I’ve tasted. The closest comparison I can come up with is a traditional proprietary white blend from Alsace, one of those tangy-rich wines with five or ten white grapes mixed in. But the Bedrock Heirloom white shows a purity of fruit flavors that is quintessentially Californian. The combination of elements is like jazz: there’s a bit of everything in here, it’s chaotic, but somehow it works. Lovely. And a great bargain at $24. By the second day, the wine showed even more nuance and complexity.

92 points

I love the simple yet artistic label on the Arnot-Roberts.

2010 Arnot-Roberts Old Vine White Compagni Portis Vineyard (California, Sonoma Valley) 

Most of the people at our tasting liked this wine a bit more than the 2010 Bedrock Compagni Portis. I was in the minority, but this wine’s quality is undeniable. On the nose: white flowers, honeysuckle, rose petals, pears and tons of perfume. This is truly a beautiful wine to sniff. The palate is fresh and tangy, with green apple, tangerine, wax, tart lemon and perfume flavors. The acid sings all the way through, but there’s a waxy aspect to the wine that gives it great mouthfeel and depth. This white blend is just so damn authentic, a true testament to California’s rich history with white wine. A no-brainer at $25-$30. A blend of riesling, sylvaner, green Hungarian, berger and other varieties, all of which are fermented together.

90 points

If you ever get a chance to taste a white blend from this vineyard, I suggest you take it. You won’t be disappointed.

An Arsonist’s Guide to Writers’ Homes in New England

My paperback copy of Brock Clarke’s novel “An Arsonist’s Guide to Writer’s Homes in New England” is littered with drop quotes from big-shot publications: “darkly comic,” “absurdly hilarious,” “wildly, unpredictably funny” and other combinations of quirkily kooky clarifiers. Then there’s the Washington Post’s one-word quote: “Sizzles.” Okay, that last one’s a bit corny considering this novel is full of arson fires. Point is: Apparently everyone loves this book.

Well, count me in.

  

Sam Pulsifer, the first-person narrator, is an accidental arsonist who burns down Emily Dickinson’s house and kills the two people he didn’t realize were in bed upstairs. He’s 18 years old at the time, and he spends the next 10 in prison. When he gets out he visits his parents only to find out that his father has had a stroke, and his mother drinks more beers in one night than a Phillie’s fan at a double-header. Sam tries to fit into society, but he’s a confused and strange guy, having come of age behind bars.

Sam is a self-described “bumbler,” a man who fucks up most everything he touches. He’s aware of this, and he carries with him more than his share of self-loathing. At least it’s self-loathing of the ultra-comic variety: “Always count on a bumbler to think that he is unique in his bumbling, to believe his bumbling is like a fingerprint, specific to him. The truth is that the world is full of bumblers exactly like you, and to think that you’re special is just one more thing you’ve bumbled.”

Sam finally loses his virginity when he’s about 30 to a Catholic woman named Anne Marie. Sam asks her to marry him that same day and Anne Marie says yes. They’re married and soon have two children. I won’t give it away, but suffice it to say that Sam’s bumbling also extends to his family life.

The novel takes place in and around Amherst, Massachusetts. I’ve never been there but Clarke’s such a damn good writer that I feel like I know the place well. The narrator describes it thusly: “Amherst didn’t seem big enough to justify all these superstores and their parking lots; it was like building a sub without first building the urb.”

As Sam readjusts to life on the outside, someone begins setting fires to other writers’ homes, Mark Twain’s, Edith Wharton’s, Robert Frost’s. The suspicion falls naturally on Sam, who sets out on a detective mission to find the real arsonist. It’s this mystery plot that drives the narrative.

At times this book reminds me of some of Vonnegut’s earlier work, which is to say that it’s near perfect. The deadpan humor, the way Clarke fiddles with language, the way the characters possess a sense of zaniness and realness at the same time, Clarke brings it all.