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[originally posted on Tableau Vivante]
My wife and I, we have an affinity for the beef. So as the seventh day of our trip drew to a close, we sought out the Dolphin Resort wherein lies Shula’s.
We arrived at dusk, a bit early for our reservation, which gave us the time for a sunset walk around the lagoon.
As night fell, it was time to head back to the hotel. Our table awaited.
There is a casual elegance about the Dolphin. The canopied lobby was aglow primarily from its large central fountain.
From there, you enter the restaurant proper, a wood-wrapped, amber lit enclave of all things football and meat.
Yes, Shula is Don Shula of Miami Dolphins fame, the team he led to a pair of Super Bowl victories. Hey! Waaaaait a minute. Dolphin resort? I just got that…
As you might expect, Shula’s makes no bones (except maybe T-bones) about its status as a red-blooded American steak house. And if you didn’t expect it, the cart full of Saran-wrapped slabs of supper they wheel up tableside will definitely set things straight.
I had an inkling this might be a worthy feed, so I thought I would go light with a house chopped salad. What I got was more than just the tip of the iceberg lettuce.
My leafy Matterhorn came snow-capped with tangy, crumbling Bleu cheese. Above the timberline it was diced red onion and leaning heavily on the side were two mammoth planks of Beefsteak tomato so fresh and rich they were sweet. A light rain of balsamic and fresh-cracked pepper was all that was needed to bring life to the mountain.
My wife fared no better in her pursuit of temperance than I.
Her French onion soup arrived hermetically sealed beneath a caramelized cap of Gruyère. Carving her way inside, she found a broth so thick as to be more aptly described “onion stew.”
With those starters cleared from the table, our waiter presented us both with gleaming serrated weapons whose purpose was clear. We steeled ourselves to make war on the bovine species.
For me, rare is the only way to go with steak. The better the cut and the more I trust the chef, the rarer I like to go. When the waiter asked me how I wanted my filet done, I held up my hand and swept my fingers outward dismissively. “Just have him walk it by the fire.”
What I got was pure meat fantasy in every butter-braised bite. I hardly touched the dish of herbed Bernaise, though the side of sautéed onions and forest mushrooms was just the accompaniment.
To wash down the quintessential American bloodfest, you need a Napa cab. I ordered a 2004 half-bottle of Darioush. It was thick with dark berries and the firm tannins cut cleanly through all the fat. A perfect match.
Khaledi Darioush is an Iranian immigrant who grew up in Shiraz, the place that lent its name to the grape and a wine growing region of Iran until the Islamic revolution. Now Californians receive the gift of his passion for wine.
No good steak house dinner is complete without dessert, and cake follows meat like, well…meatcake.
I couldn’t fumble the camera out of my pocket fast enough to capture it in its pristine state. My wife was all over this classic rendition of a chocolate lava cake like a bulldog on a meat truck. Gutted and bleeding its molten chocolate innards, she dressed the carcass in vanilla buttercream sauce and had at it.
I think the only thing missing was a pair of wheelchairs to get us out of there after it all.
Thank you, Don. It was both touchdown and extra point.
[originally posted on Tableau Vivante]
Theme Park means park food. Disney World is just for kids. And Disney sommelier? Well, that’s just an oxymoron, right? You wouldn’t be alone if you thought so, but you’d better think again.
Last October my wife and I attended Walt Disney World’s 12th Annual International Food & Wine Festival at the Epcot World Showcase. By day we visited attractions and attended the festival. By night we feasted in as many of the Signature Dining establishments as we could get reservations in. We had an absolutely amazing time, and I’ve been blogging about it ever since.
Please join me now for a series already in progress that began here.
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I’d done North America from Canada to Mexico. I’d been through South America by way of Chile, Argentina and Peru. My tour of the southern hemisphere was rounded out by visits to Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. On Day #7 of our trip, I woke up with dreams of the Far East.
Across distant oceans lies the world’s most populous nation and what Anthony Bourdain has called the mother of all cuisine, China. In Epcot, it’s also home to a permanent pavillion in the World Showcase.
Chinese culture has affected western ways far more than the reverse. Architecture or noodles? Take your pick.
But one thing China hasn’t been traditionally is a wine culture. The presence of its booth at the festival intrigued me.
I’d experienced South Africa’s chicken skewer and Chardonnay combination, so when I saw the same pairing here I decided to give it a try. In this case, an authentically Chinese Chardonnay from the He Lan Mountain appellation was offered.
My Chicken Sha Cha came in a peanut sauce, and it was done just right with chewy edges and a juicy center.
After a bite, however, the wine seemed…undersaturated. That’s polite, euphemistic winespeak for watery. Onward, then, to my next stop: the island neighbor of my last.
Home of another permanent pavillion, your arrival in Japan is definitively marked by a 5-story pagoda with shingled eves as blue as the sky. Here, you enter the serenity of gardens alive with the watery chatter of small falls emptying into shallow, rock-lined pools, and the occasional splash of a playful koi.
For the festival Japan, too, had a booth.
They may call sake “rice wine”, but to me its just grain alcohol by another name. Show me the fruit!
Introducing: Takara Plum Wine. It was dessert wine sweet, but not heavy. Like plum nectar with a kick, it was elegant and balanced without any of that wineyness you might be inclined to associate with fermented fruit. It came paired with a classic spicy tuna roll.
As I’d come to learn, what each booth really offered the interested visitor was a chance to experience a professionally arranged pairing. Some bite matched with some sip in a way that was intended to better the both. The secret for wine with spicy food is a bit of sweetness. As incongruous as it may seem, one the best partners for a sizzling plate of Thai is a chilled, off-dry Riesling from Germany.
Rounding out my tour of the East was the nearest of the Far. India’s booth burst from the bushes like a bull elephant. There’s more to Asians than Orientals.
Here again I was on unfamiliar territory. Indian wine? Remembering Ms. Vivante’s affinity for France’s white lady of the Loire, I knew what to chose: the Chenin Blanc.
In this case, it was a Sula Vineyards Chenin Blanc estate bottled in Nashik, India. I found it to be rich with fruitiness. It was one of the more memorable wines I encountered at the festival, one worth looking up back home. Though you’re not likely to find it in the grocery store or even a wine shop, you can get it on eBay. From the winery: “Semi-dry, refreshingly light wine bursting with fresh, fruity characters which make for a delightful aperitif. Pair with food that has a hint of sugar and spice, such as Southeast Asian or Gujarati dishes. Serve well chilled.”
For the festival, Sula’s dance card was marked with a deep-fried Samosa (spicy pea and potato pastry) and Tamarind Sauce (just the “sugar and spice” called for). Quite nice.
Another successful day at the festival, with a blog-worthy dinner yet to come!
[originally posted on Tableau Vivante]
A while back a friend of mine asked me what I thought would make the ultimate $100 cellar. Fancy wine’s not cheap and there’s so much good stuff to chose from. I thought about variety and balance. You’d need some reds, of course, but also some whites. You’d want to be able to pair with different kinds of food.
After much deliberation, I came up with the following list:
- Turnbull Estate Grown Cabernet Sauvignon ($34), an amazingly rich, fruit-forward cab that rivals competitors at twice the price
- Mollydooker Shiraz ‘The Boxer’($20), classic Aussie Shiraz concentrate almost sweet with oak vanilin
- Rombauer Napa Valley Chardonnay ($27), heroin for Chardonnay addicts
- Van Volxem Saar Riesling ($17), delicious off-dry lemon and apricot that pairs with almost anything
That got me up to $98. Say what you will, but there’s really no other choice for that last $2: the infamous Two-Buck Chuck itself…
- Charles Shaw Cabernet ($2), smooth and easy drinker consistent across vintages
Okay, new vintages have been released since I originally priced this list and some have gone up. But still, it was a perfect $100. I’m a genius, right?
Then I thought about it some more…
Why cellar a wine? Why buy something years in advance of when you intend to consume it? Unless you invest in wine only as a commodity, the answer is to age it. The wines I picked were very enjoyable, ones that I’ve personally tried and bought again for myself. They all could age, but they didn’t need to age.
As wine sits in the bottle, it is not in stasis. Chemical reactions are in constant flux. This enzyme consumes these precursors to produce those results. Another compound simultaneously breaks down into a unique set of others. This goes on endlessly, in a thousand different ways all at the same time. Thus the wine’s composition, and therefore its character, change over time.
That’s complicated enough by itself, but here’s where it gets interesting. Every one of these reactions occurs at a rate that is affected by temperature…differently. Store a wine for a year at 76 degrees and you end up with concentrations of A, B, and C. Store it for a year at 66 degrees and you get D, E, and F. Let it cycle between summer and winter room temperatures and you get still another set of results. The wines you can end up with are as infinitely varied as the conditions you might store one in.
Why age a wine at all? A controversial, and therefore good, question. The short answer is, you should only age a wine if it needs it. Young wines can have an edge to the vibrancy they enjoy. You age to mellow, to round those edges and to integrate flavor, acidity, and texture. Ageing can, of course, be over done. While tannins (a flavorless chemical that provides velvety texture and grip) will soften over the years, so will fruit weaken. Your goal is balance, harmony of both flavor and feel.
The caricature of wine meant to be drunk young is one of simplicity (not always true, in my opinion, but that’s a discussion for another day). A wine built for ageing, on the other hand, promises power, complexity and finesse in one package, like a professional football player gliding his way effortlessly through an intricate waltz.
Such a wine may be nigh undrinkable in its youth. In anticipation of how it will fade, the fruit may be over the top. Think Welch’s with alcohol. It may be bitter with acid, stemmy with herbal notes. It’s tannins might pucker you up until your mouth feels like it’s been upholstered in corduroy. Ah, but when the thing ages those flavors and feels melt into synchronicity. It all slides together in a way that just can’t be duplicated right out of the barrel.
Sure, you can just buy vintage wine. But, it’s more expensive that way. The effort and patience to age costs money. Prices rise on a given wine year after year while availability falls. Wine Spectator’s wine auction index has outperformed the stock market’s DOW over the entire span of its keeping.
If you want to experience the best wines at their best, you can most afford to do so by ponying up the cash now and cellaring them yourself for later.
So now I want to change my answer.
What I’d originally done was choose something more like my own ultimate $100 gift basket, not a cellar. Cellaring requires patience. To be the most fun, a cellar should represent a series of prized acquisitions over time. Think of your cellar as a hobby. Give it the care and researched consideration that any collector would, because that’s really what you’re talking about: becoming a collector.
As such, a one-time infusion of cash won’t suffice. You need a budget. Without permission, I re-worked the conditions of my assignment. I gave myself $100 per year to spend and went back to my lists. Understanding that nothing is more personal than taste, here are a few of the candidates that would be on my short list if I had but a Benjamin with which to build.
- 2004 Turnbull Estate Grown Cabernet (20/20 Wine, $47) - 95pts, Connoisseurs’Guide: “…shows no shortage of youthfully gruff tannin. It is built to get better for a number of years, and it comes with a recommendation for five to eight years of cellaring.”
- 2005 D’Arenberg Shiraz The Dead Arm (LaBodega Wine, $56) - 95pts, Robert Parker: “Full-bodied, opulent, and super-concentrated, this structured, lengthy wine will benefit from 3-5 years of cellaring and drink well through 2025.”
- 2004 Concha Y Toro Don Melchor Cabernet (20/20 Wine, $55) - 94pts, Robert Parker: “It makes a youthful entry on the palate with layers of black fruits, mouth-filling flavors, a plush texture, with plenty of ripe tannins to hold this big wine together. The finish is long and pure. The wine demands 8-10 years to show to full advantage and should drink well through 2032.”
- 2005 Plumpjack Estate Cabernet (20/20 Wine, $85) - 92pts, Robert Parker: “…full-bodied, chewy effort displaying copious aromas of lead pencil shavings, black currants, blueberries, licorice, charcoal, and spice box along with a hint of new oak. This beauty should unfold gracefully over the next 5-7 years, and last for two decades or more.“
- 2005 Domaine du Vieux Telegraphe Chateauneuf du Pape La Crau (B-21 Wine, $65) - 95pts, Robert Parker: “…full-bodied, powerful, concentrated wine reveals fabulous purity as well as a finish that lasts over 45 seconds. Purchasers of this beauty will need patience. Anticipated maturity: 2012-2025.”
Refrigerated wine cabinets for every size and space can be found here at Wine Enthusiast. Or, if you’re a big shot, get a custom walk-in cellar. Alternately, check out International Wine Accessories’ selection.
Obviously you can’t get all the wines shown here for just one year’s budget of $100. Choices must be made, priorities determined, and some things put off until next year. That, my friends, is your exquisite dilemma.
Enjoy!
I'm not so lucky as Tableau Vivante to have seen the real thing, but I suspect the City of Light's Floridian facsimile is authentic enough in that it's best photographed at night.
The miniaturized town square provides both a general gift shop and a specialized wine shop.
And if you're willing to stand in line, you can at least get in to gawk at the racks of delectables in the pâtisserie. Eclairs, pies and tarts. Cakes and confections of every sort.
I should point out that in each pavillion at Epcot, from cashier to chef, every worker hails from that respective homeland. They speak the language. They grew up with the culture. Wandering through each meticulously crafted national mock-up, you begin to feel as if it is you that has been imported.
I guess what I'm saying is, here in France®, these folks can bake some Brie.
Being one of the culinary capitals of the world, it is fitting the French pavillion has not one, but two eateries. Set just below street level into the brick-lined sidewalk is the Chefs du France cafe.
Here you can find the best of French country cooking and comfort food, served in a casual atmosphere. The food is no-holds-barred rich. The French Onion Soup? Excuse me, Garçon, may I get some broth with this bowl of melted Gruyère?
Ah, but there is an elaborate, wrought iron-railed staircase that spirals upward to the Bistro de Paris. It's quieter, dressier, and more than just figuratively upstairs.
Not counting the incomparable Victoria & Albert's, we were about to have our most amazing meal of the trip.
It began with bread, butter, and bisque.
On the menu, I went right for the prix fixe with wine pairings while my wife ventured à la carte.
My first course was a Saffron and Mussel Soup, nicely frothed and floating a garnish of sour cream and chives. It was rich, creamy, and generally fantastic. The Domaine Pichot Peu de la Moriette Vouvray (2004) pairing, a fruity Chenin Blanc from southern France, was just the compliment.
My wife opted for the Salmon Domes, a surprisingly complex hors d'œuvre of blue crab wrapped in salmon tartare with lemon grass vinaigrette and curry biscuit.
French sushi? If you must. We could have made a meal just of that.
Compared to my wife's dinner, I had some extra courses coming and next was the first of them.
The Seared Scallop Skewer came on a bed of Braised Green Cabbage, bacon and tomato blinis. The sauce was something like a bacon and chive bernaise. It took a lot of creative spoon work and some mopping up with bread, but when I was done there wasn't anything left even to lick off that plate. It was nicely paired with a Willm Pinot Blanc (2004) that gave off light citrus notes and the nuttiness of French oak.
Then, in the midst of my courses, it was time for a break of sorts.
This gastronomic intermission came in the form of Strawberry & Basilic Granite, Key Lime Sorbet, and Pomegranate Liqueur. It was all delightful, leaving my palate cool and cleansed for what came next.
My main course matched her entrée. We had both zeroed in on the same thing, which for me came paired with the earthy red berries of a Chateau Tour de Segur Lussac St. Emilion (2000).
Behold...morsels of chicken breast wrapped in prosciutto and stuffed with porcini mushrooms, a cream-stewed chicken drummette in sauce with baby onions, and Macaroni with black truffle au gratin.
When the FBI is not looking, I will kidnap this chef, bring him to California and chain him in my basement surrounded by ingredients. You're all invited over for dinner. Bring wine.
What comes after dinner but before dessert?
You're damn right it's cheese. It is France®, after all. We shared an assortment of cows and goats cheeses, toasted bread, and mixed salad with pine nuts. The plate was adorned with white truffle honey and a syrupy balsamic.
Then it was time. The real reason my wife eats dinner was finally at hand. No one should be surprised that she got chocolate.
What the menu described simply as Warm Chocolate Cake with 70% Dark Chocolate in fact turned out to be that and more. She got a chocolate-dipped strawberry, a truffle cemented to a cookie with melted chocolate, and a shotglass full of something like a cocoa Crème de Menthe. I remember being briefly blinded by the glow of her halo and she drifted gently off to heaven.
There were similar surprises in store for me. I had innocently enough ordered the Crème Brûlée. When the waiter set the plate down in front of me, my first reaction was: there's been a mistake.
There was, indeed, a miniature mug of the charred custard in question, but it was just one member of a veritable dessert Dream Team. What looked like flan was actually a second Crème Brûlée envisioned upside down and drizzled in caramel syrup. That wasn't to be outdone by the caramelzied boat of rice pudding or the loving spoonful of dulce de lece iced cream. Far more than I'd bargained for yet not a drop unfinished.
I sipped my Marquis de Perlade Blanc de Blanc bubbly and pondered this grand encounter with our Atlantic neighbors' cuisine, after which I came to the following conclusion:
The French are insane...in the most magnificently delicious way humanly possible.
Would Syrah taste as rich by any other name? Richer, perhaps, if that name was Shiraz. Unlike Petite Sirah, which really is a different grape, Shiraz is merely the Down Under denomination of what we in the States enjoy as Syrah. And the Aussies have the weather for some serious, fruit-driven Shiraz. Penfold's Grange is considered by some to be the single best incarnation of Syrah/Shiraz in the world, which is quite an accomplishment for a juice whose ancestral home is France's more storied Rhone valley.
Needless to say, I aimed on the menu for whatever paired with the Wolf Blass President's Select Shiraz. That happened to be a Grilled Lamb Chop with Caramelized Onions.
The chop was spicy and tender. The wine was a concentration of smooth, dark berries. As hoped, I'd learned another pairing tip. Lamb is not too light for a deep, rich red.
There was one other bit of business before I could even consider leaving the Australian booth, however. They had Shrimp on the Barbie, people. It's like a right of passage or something. C'mon.
This sub-equatorial classic was paired with a Rosemount Traminer Riesling, which I found to be tart and on the dry side. They might as well have chosen a Sauvignon Blanc, I thought, which led me off to my next stop.
Not to be outdone in the surpassing-the-French-with-their-own-gra
Sauvignon Blanc has become the pride of New Zealand, hailed by many as some of the best anywhere including amongst white Bordeaux, as the grape is bottled at its home in France.
The tasting notes read, "Exceptional aromatic ripe gooseberry and lime characters dominate with hints of green pepper. Pairs well with Marinated Seafood Salad." And so it did.
The salad was reminiscent of a mixed ceviche. It had chilled bay scallops, shrimp and squid together in a lime dressing. Sauvignon Blanc tends to be an acidic wine. That was necessary to hold its own against the dressing.
Rounding out my visit to the bottom half of the globe, I traipsed on over to South Africa. I begin to traipse after a couple of glasses of wine.
As its economy begins to emerge, so does South Africa's wine market. Right now, they produce a growing number of value wines, but premium efforts are being made. It's a region to watch.
In the store, the wines are likely to be snuck on a shelf without much in the way of signage. Without resorting to fine print, the easiest way to spot a South African wine is: Look for the goat.
Okay, I'm half joking. I'm also half serious. It's like a thing with them. Goats Do Roam, anyone? And no, I don't get what it is with Billy. Still, I couldn't resist the urge to 'kid' around.
Ahem.
To go with my Goat Door Chardonnay, I was given the Durban Spiced Chicken on a Skewer.
The Chardonnay had a light oaking over melon and pear flavors. Its finish was crisper than the creamy stuff more typical of a Californian style. It went well with the spicy chicken and the gravy covered potato cake square that came with it.
Once again, I'd had another successful day at the festival. There were still so many booths yet to visit. Fortunately we had several more days left on our trip.
I enjoy a good Italian feed as much as anyone, but in retrospect I probably shouldn't have so recently been sipping and munching at the festival. You need to be hungry if you're going to the Portobello Yacht Club.
It was Friday night and the place was packed. While we perused our menus, a plate of fresh bread arrived with butter and a whole bulb of garlic that had been topped, wet with olive oil and roasted until carmelized.
Now I love the stinking rose and I've been down this road before. We're talking mosquitos-won't-bite-you-for-three-days garlic here. This is not something you do on a date unless your date does it, too. I gave my wife a look that said, "I'll do it if you will." She slid the first clove out of its papery wrapping and spread it across a chunk of bread like butter.
Game on.
As a fan of both tomatoes and mozzarella, I make it a habit to sample an establishment's caprese salad wherever I find it. In this case, I had no idea what I was getting into.
It arrived on a full-sized dinner plate, easily enough for a table much less one person. This particular incarnation featured roasted plum tomatoes and sliced mozzarella on a bed of roasted peppers. It was topped by a confetti of fried leeks and then doused in balsamic and olive oil.
Really fresh cheese and vine-ripened tomatoes accomplish quite a bit on their own. This was good, but subtelty was clearly not its goal. Imagine Tony Romas meets Chili's, and now I was nearly full. It did pair well with my Chianti, though.
My wife chose more wisely. She ordered the eponymous, wood-fired Portobello mushroom with warm, creamy soft polenta and rosemary wine sauce.
I got a taste and it was rich and flavorful, with an almost mushrooms and gravy-like charm, but with upscale appeal.
For an entree, she went with the house steak, a grilled center cut of Angus beef with caramelized onions and roasted garlic-whipped potatoes topped with a gorgonzola cream. Evidently, I neglected to get a picture of it. "Good," she reports, "But heavy."
After that mountain of an appetizer, I was trying to go light for the main course. When my bowl of lobster-filled ravioli with sautéed jumbo shrimp, pine nuts and sage brown butter sauce arrived, however, I knew I was in trouble.
Here, the attempt at subtlety came across more as understatement. Uncharacterically enough, I actually found myself reaching for the salt. Also, I really should have had something besides chianti with this dish, but the flavors were so mild I'm not sure that even a usually fairly tart Italian white would have paired well.
By the time dessert came around we were both stuffed. I mean top button undone, wheezing plaintively, and asking the waiter, "I thought we were friends?" stuffed. That, of course, wasn't stopping anybody, though my wife made the unprecedented concession to share an order of something.
We went for the cake, or more specifically, the Chocolate Paradiso. Out came a rich slab of chocolate layer cake with chocolate ganache, toffee crunch and a caramel drizzle. It was the meal's highpoint, to be sure.
Over all the place was fine. They just had the unfortunate distinction of being the least impressive experience in what was, to be fair, an otherwise formidable array of competition.
There are no permanent pavillions in the World Showcase from South America, but for the festival booths are added to expand the range of experiences available. First stop: Chile.
Chile shares a great deal of similarity with California, both viticulturally and geographically. Both are west coast regions on the Pacific, enjoying the same prevailing onshore breeze and weather systems. Both have coastal mountain ranges with central valleys framed but yet another, larger mountain range further inland. Chile may be as long as the US is wide, but its wine growing region happens to be about as big and exactly as far south of the equator as central California is to the north. The Colchagua Valley is almost literally Napa's mirror image to the south.
Not surprisingly, Chile does cabs.
Following the menu's pairing recommendation, I chose my entrée accordingly. The Tomatican con Manchego, a tomato, corn and garbanzo bean stew with manchego, was matched to a Vina Montes Cabernet Sauvignon/Carménère blend.
Carménère is an almost-forgotten minority blending ingredient in Bordeaux that was thought lost to France during the phylloxera epidemic decades ago. It had been unwittingly mixed with vines in Chile and grown confused with Merlot until modern genetic testing at UC Davis revealed its true nature. It never really returned home with any significance and remains the adoption of its southern savior.
The pairing was apt. The flavors of the stew were cut cleanly, but smoothly by the Carménère-softened, black cab fruit.
Onward to Peru!
Not knowing much about the wines available here, I let the entrée dictate my choice. I wanted the Roast Duck with Cilantro Rice.
That got me the Tacama Gran Tinto to pair. Gran Tinto is a blend of traditional French varietals including Malbec, Tannat, and Petit Verdot. It was deep, rich, and slightly more acidic than the French might have done it, perhaps fittingly enough in more of a Spanish style. I would not have guessed that a red would have gone so well with such a light dish.
And that's exactly why I was learning so much and having such fun with the festival's small bites and guided pairings format.
The last stop on my South American tour would be Argentina, and it merited more than one visit.
The wines of Argentina were represented by the eminent Bodega Norton. Look for them at any CostCo, wine store, and many markets.
Like Chile, they do cabs and chards. Eager to compare, I first tried the Organic Spicy Beef Empanada as it came with the suggestion of the reserve cab.
The empanada was a flaky pocket of spicy, beefy goodness as promised. The cab was more restrained that its Chilean sibling. The fruits were there, but subtler and they came with a bit of forest-floor character that some appreciate though I could do without.
Malbec is another French orphan that seems to have found a sunnier reception in the south. It is technically one of Bordeaux's Big Five grapes, but it's rarely included in a blend for more than a few percent and is often not used at all. In Argentina, they bottle it as a single varietal, producing some of the best Malbec in the world. It is their number one export and has become the country's de facto national grape.
Fascinated by the decisions behind blending a few years back, I was attempting to deconstruct Bordeaux by trying the grapes that go into it as wines of their own right. I wanted to know what Malbec contributed to the mix. Wandering the aisles of CostPlus, the only Malbecs I could find bottled singly were from Argentina, and they were good.
I wasn't leaving Argentina until I tried the pairing they'd set up: Grilled Beef with Chimichurri.
This was essentially carne asada on a scoop of seasoned mashed potatoes and topped by marinated, chopped onions and cilantro. The food was tasty. The Malbec was nice. But actually, I wouldn't put them together. The vinegar in the marinade made the wine seem harsh and herbal.
Ever read a wine review that talks about coffee or mocha notes? That's the Malbec. There's a bready, bakery kind of ground bean essence in the finish, that first taste after you swallow and air again moves through your nose and mouth. It's full of smooth, dark berries, too. Pair with something starchy, but not too acidic, like a BBQ chicken pizza.
They talk of comfort food. Think of Malbec as comfort wine.
With South America under my belt, literally, it was time to go on a few rides and get my appetite ready for whatever dinner would hold in store...
Ohboyohboyohboy!
The sort of nouveau deco environs seemed a fit enough place for Kimonos, where classic sushi is offered with a modern twist.
While we nibbled edamame warmed and lightly sprinkled with a coarse sea salt, I decided to start with the Spicy Thai Egg Drop Soup. It was a spicy and buttery broth filled with egg white drizzlings and the occasional shitake bit.
Not surprisingly, the cuisine of traditionally non-wine drinking cultures can be difficult to deal with. Fortunately, there's a veritable go-to varietal to compliment your edibles from however far east they may hail. From Szechuan to sweet and sour, the off-dry yet crisp-with-minerality nature of Riesling makes it the perfect partner for the hard to pair. And in this case, I got by nicely with a glass of Hogue Riesling (Eastern Washington).
Seared and skewered, chunks of Kobe beef and duck satay were next. They came garnished with chives and sided by a peppery dipping sauce with just the right touch of sweetness.
But enough with the cooked foods. Gimme something raw.
In addition to the traditional orders of salmon, yellowtail and tuna nigiri, we chose two rolls from a long list of interesting options. The Dragon Roll came arranged along the bottom. It was a giant shrimp tempura wrapped in seaweed and rice, then topped by tuna and avocado. All of this was criss-crossed with a thick sauce reminiscent of buttered mayo. Soft, creamy, and crunchy all at once.
Then there was the altogether different take on a spicy tuna roll. Inside, it's seasoned tuna. On top, there's a blanket of yellow tail and slices of crisp, raw jalapeño. The combination was surprising, but good, and it sure woke up your mouth!
Hmm...still hungry. Few things are as tender as raw scallops. Put 'em on rice with a dollop of roe and a lemon triangle and you've got yourself a treat.
We always like to finish sushi on a refreshing note, and the last roll was just thing. Tuna, salmon and yellow tail were wrapped around asparagus and carrots. But instead of rice or seaweed, the "roll" was made of an expertly shaved sheet of cucumber flesh. All of this was wet with ponzu sauce. Refreshing indeed.
At this point I want to go on record as saying that personally I have nothing against some fresh orange slices, maybe some honeydew, or a scoop of green tea ice cream for dessert.
With a prescience that comes only from years of marriage, however, I dutifully handed the dessert menu over to the missus for first perusal. I waited for a sign. Softly, her brow furrowed. A pink lower lip boo-boo'd out from beneath it's upper partner and she turned to regard me with those puppy dog eyes that yearn for an outting. That could mean only one thing: no chocolate here. Looks like I was going for a walk.
We ended up back home at the Floridian to wander into Citrico's just minutes before last call. With a seat at the bar we inquired about dessert. The tender brought menus and I knew right away the trip was worth it.
I got the tiramisu, a heavenly creation of rum and espresso-soaked cake layered with mascarpone, custard and sweet cream all topped with chocolate curls and cocoa powder. An array of chocolate and vanilla sauce drops on the side had me chasing each forkful of cake around the plate to soak them up.
Continuing my exploration into dessert wines, I got the menu-recommended pairing of Clos de Paulilles Banyuls, Roussillon 2002. It's France's answer to Port, and if you ever eat the fresh berries sometimes used to garnish desserts, you'll know why it works. Made exclusively from Black Grenache, the stuff is liquid blackberries on the palate.
As for my better half, it could only be the Warm Chocolate-Banana Torte with Vanilla Ice Cream and Caramelized Bananas.
Confection construction extraordinaire! Like a chocolate banana pie in a chocolate crust, it came beneath its own dark chocolate trellis. Heat the torte, let it go skinny dipping à la mode, and then just watch her go.
A happy Mrs. Vino is a happy Mr. Vino. We held hands on our way back to the room, promised we'd do an extra ten minutes in the gym tomorrow morning and slipped happily into caloric comas until then.
After all, Day Five awaited...
Day 2: Magic Kingdom
Day 3: Animal Kingdom
Day 4: EPCOT and the Food & Wine Festival!
This year's festival was sponsored by Disney Pixar's Ratatouille and everybody's favorite connoisseur rodent. There are many aspects to the festival, but one of my favorites is the International Marketplace. Surrounding a lake in the back half of EPCOT are the dozen pavillions of the World Showcase, with each pavillion dedicated to a different country from around the world.
For the festival, tasting booths are set up along the boardwalk and in addition to one for each pavillion, there are over a dozen more booths representing that many more countries. Every booth offers two or three types of regional cuisine, each paired with a suggested regional wine.
For me, it wasn't so much about discovering that one wine I needed cases and cases of to drink every night for the rest of my life. It was about pairing. What wine goes with sushi? How do you match a Turkish dumpling in yogurt sauce? What to do about chocolate?
I stood across the lake and gaped at a veritable à la carte playground. Pairing paradise, if you will, and my wife had just set me loose. Ah, but where to begin? Start at home, I thought. Then make your way abroad.
The Host Pavillion is, of course, the good ol' US of A. It's all bricks and white Colonial with shops, eats and a presidentially animatronic show. The festival booth sits dangerously close to the funnelcake booth.
Sugary Scylla or culinary Charybdis? For this intrepid adventurer, it was an easy choice. Show me the vino!
My options were the Maine Lobster Roll paired with a Dr. Konstantin Frank Riesling or the BBQ Pork Rib with Cole Slaw paired with a Beaulieu Vineyard cab. The Riesling was from New York, which intrigued me. I've never had a New York wine. Lobster roll it was, then.
Creamy lobster salad enrobed in a bun. The Riesling was pale, crisp and rinsed each bite clean with green and yellow citrus. It was a nice start that had me ready for more.
Keeping it neighborly, my next stop was Mexico. There an Aztec pyramid housed a classic Mexican restaurant, shops and a boat ride. Across from that sat their festival booth.
Ok. Chips, salsa, margaritas. What's to know? Two wines from the Guadalupe region of Baja California, that's what. I had my choice of L.A. Cetto's Chardonnay or their Petite Sirah.
I chose the Petite Syrah and got the recommended accompaniment, a Quesadilla con Chorizo. Spicy sausage and cheese in a grilled flour tortilla versus an inky mouthful of raspberry ganache?
It was a tie. Two winners, evenly matched, and I never would have guessed.
By then I was having so much fun I decided to round out my lunch with a bit of dessert from over the other border.
The European-inspired chateau said I'd made it to Canada. The picturesque garden said I'd have a place to stroll while I sipped.
Or, if I liked, there was the waterfall grotto that led to the 360-degree movie extolling the native land's national virtues regularly throughout the day. O' Canada, indeed.
But first, to the booth!
They had Maple Glazed Salmon paired with Chardonnay. They had Canadian Cheddar Cheese Soup. I was there for sweets, however, and I immediately spied the Mission Hill Reserve Riesling Icewine.
Icewine gets its name from the way the grapes are harvested. The longer grapes are left to ripen on the vine, the sweeter they get. The term "late harvest" on a bottle of Riesling, Gewürztraminer, Sémillon, or even Chardonnay usually means a sweeter version of that wine.
In the case of Icewine, the grapes are literally left to hang on into winter and past the first freeze, with natural ice crystals formed inside the berries at the time of harvest. The result is a positively unctuous concoction of honeyed tangerines.
Dessert wines should be about as sweet as the dessert itself. What could keep tooth-decaying pace with Icewine? Answer: Maple Custard topped with Almond Crumble.
Ever had orange crème brûlée? Together, the wine and custard were kind of like that. And it most definitely worked.
Thus completed my North American tour.
Walk it off, go on a few rides, and I would be ready for Dinner Number Four...
The main lodge is a gleaming white stack of red-capped spires. It seems fitting that within lies the only restaurant in all the World® where a jacket is required to dine.
To pass through the grand lobby is to go past the grand pianist. His ivory tinkling follows you up one floor in the polished brass elevator. On the way to Citrico's, there are two understated doors that sit quietly to your left.
Each bears an initial in large, cursive script: V and A. Going through those doors is like stepping through a portal directly into the private dining room of a Victorian-era mansion. Upon doing so, my wife and I paused to let the doors close, sealing the illusion around us before going any further. We were met by a ready waitstaff, flawlessly courteous and in period dress, that escorted us to our table in the study. Being seated before a grand fireplace above whose ornately carved mantel was hung the grand portrait of our hosts in effigy, there could be no mistake. We had arrived at Victoria & Albert's.
Our menus came folded within black envelopes under a golden monogram seal. Personalized at the top with our names and the date, they were ours to keep. The menu itself is prix fixe, our choice within seven courses. And while the wine list is weighty with benchmark bottlings from all over the world, I chose the optional Wine Pairings to get the guided tour. It was an almost three-hour tour, as it would turn out, after which I was appropriately lost. There is a reason Victoria & Albert's has been the recipient of AAA's coveted 5-diamond award seven years running. It is a place where every dish is sculpture, flavors take on an almost Tim Burton-like vividity, and the meal in its entirety becomes a sort of living presentation of the culinary arts. It was by an easy margin the most profound experience I've ever had at the table. There's just no other way to do this post than long.
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Our adventure began with a toast to the occasion in pink champagne or more precisely, Roederer Estate Anderson Valley Brut Rosé NV. This was followed by an amuse bouche of butternut squash soup, served like espresso in a tiny cup and topped with a froth of crème fraîche. Just enough to awaken the mouth and the appetite. Between courses and warm from the oven, balls of sourdough were delivered with a pale golden butter flown in from an artisanal co-op in Vermont. Made plain, it was served sprinkled with a coarse sea salt. Cream and crunch together.
For first course, my wife opted for the Chorizo Crusted Atlantic Tuna with Arbequina Olives and Banyuls Vinaigrette. In fine cuisine there can be a tendency to tease at the size of the portions, but when the delicacies are this rich and complex you really wouldn't have it any other way.
My appetizer was the Walnut Oil Seared Duck with Hearts of Palm, Huckleberry Vinaigrette and Fourme D'Ambert Fondue. For these or any of the items to come, there was no garnish in the common sense of a sprig of parsley just for color. Literally every drop on the plate had a flavor purpose. Tart, fruity dots of vinaigrette offset the creamy ring of cheese fondue. Texturally, crisp vegetables counterpointed the buttery softness of the duck.
The pairing was eclectic-meets-eclectic with a glass of ’05 Conundrum, which is the white wine creation of Napa cabernet legend, Caymus Vineyards. Aptly named, Conundrum is an entirely unique blend whose exact composition is never identified, but the players are known to include Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc, Muscat and Viognier. It’s apricot, honeydew, and creamy banana that all cleans up nicely with a bit of citrus. Fantastic!
Taking our time but moving on, my wife received her next selection of Minnesota Elk Tenderloin with Stewed Petite French Lentils and Corn. It was a medallion of elk filet seared rare and oh so tender.
Ever the varietist with edibles, I chose the Ballotine of Poulet Rouge with Chicken Consommé, Scottish Chanterelles and Black Truffles. The truffles enhanced the mushrooms into a rich, earthy broth. Each sip transported me into the forest in search of the damp, hidden treasures that cling to roots below the surface. This was 5-diamond chicken soup, people. Its partner was a 2005 J. Moreau & Fils Chablis, which is to say French Chardonnay in a crisp, signature style.
For the seafood course, Mrs. Vino took Alaskan Halibut with Celery Root Purée and Carnival Cauliflower. The delicate flavors were quite well mannered, taking their turns on the palate in a quiet symphony of taste.
My Seared Wild Turbot with Toasted Capers and Meyer Lemon was bolder, but came apart in tender flakes cordially enough. A Twisted Oak Roussanne/Marsanne Sierra Foothills 2005 was all it needed to dance. Roussanne and Marsanne are the full-bodied, traditional white blending partners of Southern France, in this case as envisioned by the Rhône rangers of Central California. Think peaches and spiced pear with a nose of dew-rinsed flowers.
Next, a covered white porcelain dish was set between us with the careful instruction not to unlid it without first bringing it close to your nose. I did as bid to draw deeply on my inhaled reward, the earthy, garlicky perfume of what must be the most exquisite condiment known to man: freshly shaved White Alba Truffles.
These would adorn and enhance what had finally arrived, the main course of His and Hers steaks. Hers was an Australian “Kobe” Beef Tenderloin with Smoked Garlic Purée. I went full tilt with the Japanese Wagyu Strip Loin in Oxtail Jus. This involved some additional contribution on my part, however. What’s French for “somewhat fixed price menu”?
Never you mind. From Seattle to Napa, Frisco to Vegas, and all around L.A. I have avidly aspired to be an amateur connoisseur of cow. Nothing in my experience matched the masterful slab of moo placed before me just then.
Wagyu steer are a special breed developed in Japan. The cattle are raised in a pampered, spa-like environment that exceeds the comforts even of their human caretakers. Their barns are air conditioned. Their meals are of rich grains, beer and sake. They receive daily massages. And all of these conditions are said to combine to produce a beef unrivaled in its marbling, flavor, tenderness and juiciness. I, of course, ordered mine seared rare.
Have you ever had toro, the white tuna that comes from colder waters so the flesh is lightened from its usual pink by the extra intramuscular fat? It melts over your tongue like a pat of butter. Well, Wagyu is the toro of El Toro. It’s beef sashimi in every, slippery bite.
And it is mouth-gripping tannins with the power to cut through all that fat that makes red wine so suited for red meat. To handle this bovine bounty it would take the biggest of the big, all the way west to the ancestral home of Cabernet Sauvignon itself and where blends began, Bordeaux. The Château d’Armailhac, Pauillac 2004 was typically French in style: restrained berries, dark and earthy with subtle expressions of wet rock and leather. Playing around with my steak in some of the accompanying béarnaise with smoked garlic purée, the wine was just right.
By now, I’m almost laughing to see what else. The next course was like a cooling off transition before dessert. She got a Mango-Blood Orange Gelato with Micro Mint that was exactly as refreshing as it sounds. Having already tossed caution to the tornado, I chose not to resist the cheese plate featuring Pierre Robert, Four Year Aged Gouda and Wabash Cannonball. These three came interspersed with such complimentary delights as dates, truffled honey, an ancient and syrupy balsamic, and apricot chutney.
The salivary rhythm of sweet fruit to tangy cheese and back again was kept in motion by a midnight-purple dram of Quinta do Crasto Late Bottled Vintage Porto 2000. Got a stack of crêpes layered in raspberry cream cheese? Nix the Aunt Jemima’s and pour this port over it instead. Yah, it’s like that.
At last, the event the missus had been waiting for. Here comes the chocolate. She looked like a kid come downstairs to Christmas when they set the dish down. Cacao is getting as ritzy as wine these days. You can go to tastings and obtain single-source confections the way some wines are bottled from single vineyards. And so I give you, from left to right, a Tanzanian Chocolate Pyramid, a Hawaiian Kona Chocolate Soufflé and a Peruvian Chocolate Ice Cream and Puff Pastry.
As you may have come to guess by now, the closest I got to any of these was with my camera. I can tell you that the pyramid lounged Luxor-iously beneath its edible crown of real gold leaf and though there was no rendezvous in our future, the puff pastry nevertheless winked at me seductively with its cocoa lashes.
What I did get to taste was my own Caramelized Banana Gâteau, a crystalline modern architecture of vanilla, caramelized sugar, bananas and custard. I remember surveying the kitchen door at that point with something of a demented twinkle in my eye. I think I almost quit my job and tried to live there. Oh, well. It’s nothing that a tall glass of ice cold milk and a new metabolism can’t fix, right?
But wait, we weren’t finished just yet. As if dessert itself wasn’t sufficient, along came the plate of after dinner treats: powdered lemon cookie, dollop of whipped cream decorated in more gold leaf and raspberry dust, tangerine paté de fruit, and chocolate truffle.
When it really was time to go, parting was such sweet sorrow. I mean literally, sweet. They gave my wife a single, budding red rose, but I got the little loaf of fresh-baked Brandied Orange Date Nut bread that would rekindle a measure of the evening’s magic over the next several breakfasts to come.
To Chef Scott Hunnel and Pastry Chef Erich Herbitschek I bend low across the middle. Thank you, gentle sirs, for a memory that can’t truly be priced. And to my best friend on what was our fifth: Happy Anniversary, Sweetpea. I’d marry you all over again…
But if we do, can it be here?
Dinner #2 was to be had in the Wilderness Lodge Resort, a towering-yet-cozy log cabin adorned with all the arts-and-craftiness of the Pacific Northwest.
There the Signature Dining opportunity is at the Artist Point, a wooden clad enclave of good eats to be sure.
The menu kept the Pacifc Northwest theme as well as the wine list. I decided to play along as best I could. In this case I figured that meant the Crispy Venison Spring Rolls with Hot Sweet-and-Sour Sauce to start.
They were good, mild, and paired better with the '05 Dusted Valley Stomp cabernet (Columbia Valley, WA) I chose the lighter I went on the sauce. Cabs are invariably dry. They can tend to get tart against anything sweet. I should have gone with the Elk Cove Riesling recommended on the menu. I don't know that "spring roll" gives quite the right impression, though. If I was writing their menu, they'd be called Tacoma Tacquitos and that's that.
My wife got the Selection of Artisan Cheeses, all sourced from small farms in Oregon and Washington. From left to right there was a tangy, hard white cheddar, a creamy blue, and a nutty something I can't remember that was nevertheless both our favorites (she does share cheese). There were accoutrements, of course: dried cranberries, Riesling-poached white raisins and Walnut Toast.
For an entrée she stayed safe with the Grilled Beef Tenderloin companioned by a Roasted Garlic Potato Cake, Wild Mushrooms, Spinach, and Caramelized Onion Sauce.
Nothing wrong with that! I let myself get talked into the Grilled Buffalo Sirloin Steak with Sweet Potato-Hazelnut Gratin and Sweet Onion Jam. It's lean, the waiter cautioned. Order it on the pink side to keep if from being tough. Aye, aye, cap'n.
For you filet afficionados, buffalo isn't quite as tender but it has an earthier, not-quite-steak flavor to distinguish the experience. As I devoured the bleeding slab of flesh on my plate I felt suddenly wolf-like, as though I were feasting instead on a wild kill amongst the pine-shrouded crags of the Olympic Mountain range. I grant this delusion may have been encouraged ever so marginally by another glass of wine. This second was an '04 Amavi cab (Walla Walla) that matched red for red better than the previous course.
Desserts, as always, were His and Hers. "Hers" was a Warm Heirloom Apple Tart with Buttermilk Ice Cream, Candy Pecans and Spice Syrup. I'd love to report on what it tasted like, but I never even got close to it. She has her own wolf-like moments, that one does.
Fortunately, I wasn't missing much. "His" was Coffee Two Ways. That is to say, Mochaccino Bread Pudding and Vanilla Latte Crème Brûlée, confections inspired by The Year of a Million Dreams.
This was your after dinner coffee and dessert all at once. And it was "Oh, wow!" good equally at both ends of the plate.
Ever the milk man with the sweets at meal's end, it was the Spirit of Vacation Indulgences perhaps that enticed me finally to venture into the world of after-dinner sippers. I ordered a petite cordial of '05 Barnard Griffin Syrah Port (Columbia Valley). Eureka! A sniff off the top was like inhaling dark fruit vapor. To sip it brought the lingering sweetness of wild blackberry syrup. There was just enough acidity to finish it from the mouth, readying the tongue for another delicious sip. I can see how that could be dessert, all by itself.
Calories? Cholesterol? It was only my second night in the Happiest Place on Earth and already I had begun viewing the days as roller-coaster filled chores, the reward for which would be a new night of nutritional vice.
Well, not quite...but close. :)
What do you get when you cross Walt Disney World Signature Dining with Epcot's World Showcase and the 12th Annual International Food & Wine Festival? An adult playground of diverse culinary delights. That's what.
My wife had made reservations months in advance. No expense was spared. Ok, it hurts a little to talk about the expense. Oh, but it was worth every penny. So we ate, I photographed, and now it's time to get all Travel Channel with it.
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We flew in on a Monday and, what with travel and the time change, arrived ready for dinner. We were booked at Disney's Grand Floridian Resort & Spa so dinner that first night was at Narcoossee's, one of the resort's own dining establishments.
The Grand Floridian is a sprawling Victorian complex that lounges on a beach directly across the lagoon from the Magic Kingdom. It boasts three eateries and Narcoossee's is its seafood joint. Appropriately enough, the restaurant itself is on the Floridian's pier, a window-walled, octagonal rotunda handsomely stocked with some of Nemo's tastiest compatriots.
While we perused our menus, the missus and I were presented with an amuse bouche, complimentary to resort guests: a bite-sized wedge of seared beef topped with a dollop of bleu cheese, tempura peas, and surrounded by dots of flavor-infused oils. Oh, my.
Next, it was time to get more in the seafood mood. Under Starters we both spied the same thing, Dueling Tartare, which we decided to split. It was Ahi tuna and smoked salmon sashimi served in the French style of tartare, chopped, formed and mixed with herbs. The egg-topped salmon was lightly smoked, more delicately than lox, so as not to overpower the subtleties of the tuna beside it that had been similarly crowned with a bit of roe. Now sashimi is already buttery soft, but when minced and pressed this way it became downright creamy. That made the sides of crispy-fried lotus root shavings and gyoza chips the perfect textural compliment.
Disney World dining, as it turns out, is nothing if not wine friendly. The menus almost universally list recommended wine pairings for each item. This trip, I would come to realize, was going to be like attending Walt's Academy of Wine Pairing where I got to sign up for all the lab courses without having to attend any lectures. Right from the start, I made the decision to sip along with the program.
Not only were we there during the food and wine festival, but it was also the Year of a Million Dreams. To commemorate, Disney sommeliers had collaborated with wineries around the country and the world to craft special bottlings of custom wines offered only in the park during the celebration. Our tartare had been paired with just such an exclusive, the '01 Iron Horse Fairy Tale Cuvée (Sonoma), a Chardonnay-based sparkling white in a slightly off-dry style. Have some, I did. It was a crisp palate cleanser full of tickly bubbles and citrus flavors.
For entrées, my wife chose the Togarashi-spiced Ahi Tuna, which came with a sticky ball of Lemon Rice, Wasabi Tobiko, and Edamame Salad all wet with soy reduction.
I couldn't resist the Grilled Scallops plopped on a bed of Butternut Squash Risotto, drizzled in Aged Balsamic Vinegar and sprinkled in Pancetta bits. Yum! Again I went with the menu for pairing. It was another Dream Year exlusive, the '04 Chalk Hill Imagine Chardonnay (Sonoma). I did find some of the "pear, red apple and spicy oak" promised in the finish, but it seemed a bit undersaturated for the incredibly rich flavors of my meal. I resolved to try the wine again later and see how it fared in another pairing.
One of the many things I find so endearing about my Sweetpea is that she absolutely, unequivocally and without question...
does
NOT
share
dessert.
If I want something, I damn well better order it myself. Her passion for chocolate is the analog to mine for wine. Little more than a glance at the dessert menu was required. The Warm Chocolate-Almond Gâteau, please. Thankyouverymuch. It turned out to be a French version of the lava cake, spilling open with gooey, hot-chocolatey goodness once violated by my wife's eager spoon. Side it with some Vanilla Bean Whipped Cream and she could die happy. I got permission for just enough of a taste to swear to you how good it was.
As is tradition, I ordered something different so between the two of us we could try as much as possible. To cap this particular culinary crusade, I chose the Coconut-Mango Panna Cotta, which came wrapped in Orange Chocolate, sided by Kiwi Sorbet, dots of fruit purée, and pixie'd up with some Rasberry Dust. It was a pretty good second place, the uniqueness of which added to its reward.
Being on a lagoon shared by the Magic Kindom, we were treated to the front row for a tug-boated train of barges that floats by every night with Florida's equivalent to our own Disneyland's Electric Light Parade. For our dining pleasure, magical blinking sea serpents and other fantastical creations frolicked to the synthesized musings of a invisible orchestra.
And when all was resting comfortably in our eminently satisfied bellies, the perfect ending was a slow promenade around the balconied boardwalk that belts the building, complete with view of Space Mountain and Cinderella's Castle. Sigh. And this was only Day One.
Yep. We were off to a pretty good start.
I’m off for eleven days of wining and dining at the 12th Annual Epcot® International Food & Wine Festival! So, I’ll leave you with these brief thoughts, a mood really. One that I hope you can capture for yourselves…
Head out to a wine store. Not the grocery store. A dark, quiet, maybe even dusty, but real wine store.
Find a dollar amount you’re comfortable with for a “good” bottle. Ask your proprietor what’s the best wine you could get if you only went a few dollars deeper than that in your pocket. Buy what they show you. It’s a splurge, sure. This weekend, it’s going to be worth it.
Take the bottle home and open it. Pour a glass. Swirl it, smell it, do all that stuff. The point is to take your time.
Hold it up to the light and let the color sparkle in your eyes. Close your eyes. Inhale it like a blind pilgrim come upon a winery. Try to smell your way backwards through the ageing, the fermentation, the crush. Get all the way back to the grapes and the soil.
Then dine with it. It doesn’t matter what. Maybe you just microwave a TV dinner and sit cross-legged on your patio as Gulliver surveying your miniature garden with lordly benevolence.
Let each sip play with the aftertaste of food in your mouth.
Wine isn’t just whiskey made with grapes. It’s the spirit with spirit. Enjoy it the way it was made, slowly and with care to the details.
Now that’s drinking.
She wasn't wrong. Apart from what may come in a jug, the supermarkets didn't seem to have any. Doesn't anybody bottle a premium Chenin Blanc any more? It seemed a mystery was afoot. My Inspector's resolve grew. I would turn the Case of the Missing Chenin Blanc into, well...a case of Chenin Blanc.
Chenin Blanc is the name of a white grape, vigorous and versatile. It's made into everything from dry to off-dry table wines, dessert wines, sparkling wines, and even brandy. It grows well in a variety of climates and soils and so is planted everywhere from its ancestral home in France to South Africa, South America and Mexico. Bottled from Chile, Brazil, Argentina or Mexico, look for it by its Latin alias: Pinot Blanco.
But where to find it here?
The Wine House has never failed me. In the Miscellaneous Whites aisle I scored twice, once with a bottle of 2006 Kiona Vineyards Chenin Blanc from Columbia Valley, Washington ($7.99) and the other with a 2004 Chappellet Chenin Blanc "Dry" from Napa Valley ($13.99).
CostPlus World Market usually stocks an eclectic mix of value options, so I tried there. I found Bonny Doon Vineyards' 2005 Pacific Rim Chenin Blanc from Santa Cruz, California ($8.99). With three samples from three west coast regions, I set to sipping. (That was back in summer mind you. I'm still backlogged. All you get is empty bottles now!)
The Bonny Doon was okay. The nose was a clean, yellow citrus. Lemony Sniff-It, if you will. On the palate it was a somewhat generic lemon-lime, starting softly but going a little too tart on the finish.
The Kiona's label promised "aromas of tart green apples and fresh cut straw." That it had. Self-described as "slightly sweet," I'm guessing "off-dry" would seem more accurate to most people. As there can be in the presence of residual sugar, a bit of continued fermentation after bottling has given this wine a playful tickle for your tongue, presaging a carbonation that was never quite to be. Going down, it had those green-apple-mixed-with-tropical-fruits flavors of a Riesling. Despite being the cheapest, it was easily the best of the three.
I had high hopes for the Chappellet. It's a big-name winery in the most prestigious appellation of all, Napa Valley. They make wonderful reds. It also remains the most expensive Chenin Blanc I've had. The label spoke of "citrus and melon, with hints of spice and vanilla." Most of the extra price undoubtedly came from their use of oak during fermentation, a costly indulgence. It gave the wine a noticeably more buttery color than the pale straw look alikes it competed with. Yet, while I crave oak with Chardonnay, for Chenin Blanc it appears to have been a profound mistake. Delicate flavors of honeydew and orange sherbert just got pounded into submission by a bitter, woodsy oak mallet so overbearing it almost made the stuff undrinkable. What a shame, too. It could have been so...[chokes up] "Why?" he supplicates to Bacchus from his knees, "Why?!?"
Anyway.
I wasn't quite done tasting. What about the French? After all, it's their damn grape. The problem is, our elusive cousins can't seem to bring themselves to label wines by varietal. Everything there is identified by region. Fortunately (at least for the label-weary American), what can be grown where and in what style is tightly controlled. You ask for Chenin Blanc? I give you the white darling of the Loire valley: Appellation Vouvray Contrôlée.
Back at CostPlus, they were easy to spot. The word "Vouvray" will be one of the biggest (if not the biggest) words on the front label. I found two. Sure enough, on their backs both confessed in tiny print to be 100% Chenin Blanc. I carried away the 2005 Barton & Gustier Vouvray ($7.99) and the 2005 Monmousseau Vouvray ($11.99).
Viva le difference!
The French style was very distinct from any of the Americans. I suspect the grapes were not only grown in cooler regions, but fermented cooler, as well. Allowing the yeast time to work accentuates fruitiness in a wine, and these wines were fruity!
The Barton & Gustier fumed florals into the air like a scented candle. A sip of its peach and pear flavors made me want a mouthful. The acidity was nicely balanced with just a hint of sweetness. There was nothing tart about the crisp, refreshing finish. Old World or new and at any price, the Best of Show was right here.
The Monmousseau was immediately identifiable as similar in style. It was fruits and florals extraordinaire. Perhaps, dare I say it, a bit overly so? Labeled as "dry to soft," the sweetness present glommed onto the exceptionally pungent fruits, resulting in a nose more tart, candied perfume than anything else. For the life of me, I couldn't shake the impression of juice squeezed from a concoction of red and yellow gummy bears. Half again as pricey as the B & G, I found the latter's slightly more restrained version to be the better buy.
In sum, I think that Chenin Blanc fills a gap somewhere approximately between Chardonnay (fruitier than, as well as cleaner, less oak) and Riesling (usually drier than) that may have shrunken, but has not disappeared. If you can find some, you really should try it.
Borrowed from their label backs, I leave you with a synopsis of the vintner's own pairing recommendations: as an aperitif (French) or with cheeses, light desserts, hors d'oeuvres, fish, seafood, poultry and "generally with any creamy or saffron sauce" (Monmousseau).
Enjoy!
Greetings! I return from blogular suspension. I may not have been writing about it, but I have been drinking it. So now I catch up a bit...
If only every trip could be a tasting tour. A quick jaunt to Napa, perhaps. Maybe something a shade more Sonoma? Alas, sometimes instead you find yourself spending a long weeked visiting in-laws on a tiny island off the coast of Seattle. The odds of having an enological adventure seemed slim. Well, your official Inspector Vino Travel Tip is this:
Where there's a will, there is wine.
The first trick is to eat and drink local. When abroad, don't just go to Denny's. Find that one of a kind chef-owned bistro worth driving out of your way for. You can only get so far with Google. I've found the best way is to just ask around once you're there. Turns out, Whidbey Island is essentially half artist colony, half organic farmer's cooperative. When dining, expect a particular sense of freshness and flair to the fare.
There, steak is envisioned as bacon-wrapped filet mignon topped by whole chunks of rich bleu cheese and drizzled with a sherry reduction. A flower-cut pepper adorns the side of lightly grilled vegetables. To go with it, I chose the full-bodied Freddie's Blend of mostly cabernet and merlot.
It was rich, earthy, full of dark berries and an excellent match. Of course, to complete this caloric orgy there was dessert. In my case, it was a uniquely delicious upside-down creme brulee alongside fruit purees and creme fraiche.
The middle of Puget Sound is a tad cool for red grapes. My dinner wine was from Columbia Valley, east of Seattle on the mainland. But, pay attention to the road signs and sometimes you get lucky! Sure enough, there is just such a thing as the Whidbey Island Winery.
Bud break is typically at the beginning of April. It was mid-May so the vines were all bursting with new shoots.