OMG! I can hear my wine!

Could I be creating wine like my favorite style of music?

A notion came to me a couple days ago while pedaling my fanny off on the mountain bike.

Through the rhythm and cadence, I spaced off into a Zen-like zone where my mind freed for a moment (love that when that happens) and it came to me.  I enjoy wine pretty much in the manner I listen to music.  Let me explain.

If you break down music (the quality of it) you basically have treble, mid-range and bass.

Okay, you could throw in a sub-woofer for "mega bass".  Now, think of the sensations in wine being assigned those in music, meaning, acidity would be treble, the fruit would be mid-range and the weight or fullness of the wine as it sits in the mid-palate to the finish would be bass.

If we consider the commonly accepted virtues of the different growing regions in our state, we could come up with high(er) acidities for the Yakima Valley, tannins for Red Mountain, depth and length of fruit for Horse Heaven Hills and weight and volume given to Walla Walla.  Now, certainly there are variations, so this generalization is just that.  But I find that I'm creating and blending the wines at Napeequa in similar style to those I personally like to drink and in a way there's a correlation between that style and my preference in tonal quality of music.

I'm a treble and mid-range kind of guy.  The thundering sub-woofer going by my house at 1:15 AM gives question to whether the driver is really hearing all there is.  So, brighter acidity and serious fruit attack at the fore and mid-palate are wine styles I enjoy the most.  I do like thundering bass (big, meatier wines), but not a steady diet.

How I got here (hear).

I confess, I was born under the lesser-known Zodiac sign of New Wave.  Sorry, it just happened.  I really tried to get my head around Led Zepplin, The Who, Hendrix and The Doors... but I was eleven at the time.  Associated with this music were hippies.  Crawling out of smoke-filled VW vans with their "turning on" and "dropping out".  Then there was free love.  Like it was ever free.  One of my uncles called them "lazy".  Point made when I read about a hippie serial killer named Charles Manson.  So lazy, he subbed out his work to followers.  Bearded faces, pelvic length hair, smelling of BO, wearing macrame and waving the peace sign were etched into my brain as the tribal symbols associated with this music.  I was eleven.  Crew cut, white tee, crisp blue jeans.  Possibly a vicarious fashion holdover through my dad.  I found solace in Motown.  Motown saved me from Cream, America, The Moody Blues, Bread, Deep Purple and Jefferson Airplane.  Grace Slick?  Think not.  Her psychedelic dementia meant nothing to me.  Sorry to you fans of these greats...  but I was too young to be impressed.  I wasn't buying any of it.  Then came the mid-seventies and thanks to the coke-snorting Warhol-wannabies at Studio 54, music detoured by way of mirror balls and opened shirts to Disco.  I admit at this time the music center in my brain was awakening.  Junior high dances.  Sticky and nervous.  Trying not to spaz (or act like one) to Leo Sayer, The Commodores and the Bee Gees.  Ghast!

Then around 1976-77 something happened.  

The music world got a much-needed enema and me my path to musical salvation.

Four foul-mouthed goons, with spotty faces, spiked hair and three chords told the Queen where to stick it.  The flood gates opened.  Punk gave the arena-rock genera a much needed boot to the ass.  Frolicking half-naked in the mud (see: brilliant things you can do on LSD) gave way to slam dancing.  Punk begat New Wave which begat Techo and so on and so forth.  

And... here came my treble and mid-range.  Techno and New Wave was full of it.  Crisp highs.  Even the bass was tight and snappy.  The Cure, B-52's, Elvis Costello, Gang of Four, The Jam, The Clash, New Order, Thomas Dolby, The Beat, Echo and the Bunnymen and XTC... you get it.  Not thunderous.  No power cords.  No five minute guitar solos played on the first two frets.  No pseudo-operatic half hour intros.  No mic twirling.  Just melodic, crisp, tight and different.  I was seventeen and it was damn refreshing.

And now the wines.

Cut to my palate (thirty years later).  I like acid and fruit.  Brightness.  Lean focus with finesse.  Lost on me is "jammy" (whatever in hell that over-used term is supposed to mean, remembering "jam" is cooked fruit).  Alcoholic, meaty, weighty and powerful don't push my buttons.  My godson wears AXE at doses which can only be measured in half-lives.  Lost on him is the allure of the faint... the whisp, the hint.  I like wines that don't tell you everything about themselves in the first glass.  I like people like that too.

Do you see similarities the styles of wine and music you enjoy?  No?  My recommendation is to drink more of your favorite wine while listening to your favorite music.  Do this long enough and you'll come up with a tipsy-epiphany... I assure you. 

Oh, you're doing that right now?

Never mind.

David

  

Thank you for a wonderful evening!

Visconti's brought home the bacon and fried it up in the pan!

There are a limited number of  things representing true precision in the world to enjoy.  Reaching the power band on an Audi TT could be one of them or perhaps attending a ballet or even a Broadway play, for that matter.  Things of timing, choreography, planned elegance and purpose.  My personal and professional thanks go heartfelt to Dan, Candy, Randy, Steve, Cheryl, Elysia and Kalin of Visconti's for their breathtaking performance at our winemaker's dinner this past Saturday in Leavenworth.

For all of those who attended, it was our pleasure to see you smile, laugh and visit while the courses ebbed and flowed. Your bliss-covered faces confirmed the reasons why I love to make wine.  I'll keep those memories in my head during the 5 a.m. trip to get fruit in October and the racking on the ice and snow in December.

Months of planning, wading through worst-case-scenarios and anticipating the flow of the evening all came to the line Saturday night.  The room was filled with eager and delightful guests ready to tour wine and food at an enjoyable pace.  It had come full circle.

A big "thank you" to Heath Putnam and Charles Smasne for giving some of your time.  Health of Wooly Pigs and Charles of Smasne Farms.  I appreciate you addressing the room and giving us insight into your operations.

To all those who patiently waited on our over-flow list, I regret you were not able to join us.  I thank you for your interest and by committing to the waiting list, you’ve given us reason to consider a “second show” for this annual event.

Until next time…

David

 

 

 

 

 

DUI and the Dump Bucket

Not a PSA, just good think'n...

January 29th, I had the extreme fortune of attending Empson's Barolo and Brunello Tour held at Kaspar's in Seattle.  This was a trade show/tasting put on by the importer Empson for wine shops, restaurants and stores.  Over a hundered wines from Piedmont and Tuscany were present.  My being there came way of a generous invite from Dan Carr (owner/chef) of Visconti's Italian Restaurant in Leavenworth.  He couldn't make it.  He was to attend a three-day class in Woodinville, learning how to breakdown a Mangalitsa pig.  He asked if I would act as his buyer.  Wow. Instant pressure.  But the need for he and his chef Randy to begin prepping for "our" pig dismantling (for the upcoming March dinner) was all too important.  I accepted the assignment.  I took my post.

Having spent time on both sides of the tasting room counter, I've grown to appreciate the accumulative effects of those "little sample pours".  When I've worked bigger regional events (with tons of wines poured), I've witnessed patrons at the end of the day looking, well... let's say (in nicest terms) hammered!  

I saw something at the Empson show that I would like to share with you.  A simple idea.  And it cries out from a comment made to me years ago by a French winemaker.  "We don't taste with our stomachs".  

I saw dump buckets.  

No, not the little flowery vase things one envisions at your run-of-the-mill tasting room, but bona fied three gallon pails... galvanized with heavy gauge wire handles.  And, here's the unsettling part... people were spitting into them.  Yes, bent at the waist as if to expel toothpaste from the groggy morning ritual.  Women carefully holding their hair back with head slightly turned to one side, as if to suggest that class and grace have always been partners in this custom. Glorious wine, spat right out for all to see.  The soundtrack was a cacophony of swooshes and splatters echoing throughout the room evoking the ill-aimed filling of nursing home bedpans.  A shame?  Of course!  Knowing that these wines were from some of the region's top producers, was nerve racking.  Then it occurred to me... hey, this was "trade".  This was expected.  Executed right in front of my eyes was the code of professional conduct.  Not to let the effects of alcohol cloud one's perceptions.  Clear-headed for the buying decisions one would make, amounting in thousands of dollars being spent.  It was all so normal.  It was a first-time for me, but soon it felt right.  Felt smart.  I didn't consume until my very last two ounce sample.  And it tasted like heaven.  It tasted earned.  2003 Poggio Antico Brunello di Montalcino "Riserva" it was.  I will remember you always... (insert childish whimper).

Okay, about now you'd be within your right to ask "...and your point is?".  The point is to tackle the stigma of spitting.  At bigger events, I think there's no question.  Taste Washington, Woodinville Wine Passport, Walla Walla's Spring Release weekend, you name it, at events of this size we all should.  But rarely one does.  There's a value-driven rationale of "Hey, I got charged to get in here, hell ya, I'm drinking!"  Oh, I've been there, so have many of you.  Five dollar tasting fee?!  More reason to throw back.

From these events (including day trip winery tours), you eventually have to get home. Drive home. Drive with maybe, oh... just a hair over .08 in the system?  Not hard to do.  With regret, I've done this and so have many of you.  Not proud of it.  Just being honest for a moment.  At forty-six, I've lived long enough to have seen a couple of friends, friends of friends and the like get a DUI.  With all its public-safety flag waving, the DUI citation has become a portal into a revenue-collecting industry.  A legal spider's web of court dates, loss of privileges, fines, fees, incarceration, mandatory attendance at a faith-based support group (thinly-veiled as a recovery program) at which you will be bullied into recanting your sobriety and, of course, a heavy dose of puritanical guilt thrown in for good measure.  On the moral side of this issue, someone can die.  And many have.  No, I've never received a DUI.  Just been a good (horrified) listener to those who have.

Preventable?  Sure.  Spit!  We all should be asking at each winery and event if we can do so.  

For the record, I'm no prude.  I'm not suggesting a campaign of buzz-kill mania.  One of my favorite things on this planet (okay, second favorite) is that red wine "glow".  That euphoria just before "buzzed" commandeers your forebrain.  The state of mind my friend Johnny P. describes as "being right with the world".  But for some of us, there's less distinction between "glow" and "buzz".  Fewer warning signs that we're several "little sample pours" past good sense.  Almost as if someone maliciously removed the safety-yellow floor striping cautioning our step at the edge of the abyss.  The abyss of reckless endangerment, of charges and shame, of fines and fees, of twelve-step programs.  The abyss of fatally injuring someone.

Folks, I encourage you to consider the art of spitting.

Ask for it by name.

Take care,

David

Visconti's Winemaker's Dinner Menu

Napeequa Vintners at Visconti's in Leavenworth, WA March 7th (6 PM roll call)

For reservations, call 509-548-1213  

Price: $85 per person (+tax/gratuity)

Reception   -   Bisol Prosecco 

Antipasti 

Smoked Pork Shank with Borlotti Soup 

(Puree of Borlotti  Beans with Smoked Pork Shank) 

Pork Pate Campania 

(Bacon wrapped Italian Country Style Pork Pate)

Insalata Radicchio 

(Applewood grilled Radicchio, hot Pancetta Bacon Dressing, Cracklings) 

Napeequa Randonee, Yakima Valley, 2006 

Primi 

Tre Belisimo Prosciutto 

(Three Preservation Methods of Italian Prosciutto) 

Pancetta Wrapped Prawns with Aioli 

(Wild Mexican Gulf Shrimp Wrapped with House-made Pancetta Bacon) 

Crostini con Pork Rillettes 

(Slow Poached Savory Pork Spread on Crostini) 

Napeequa Trillium Rose, Columbia Valley  2007 

Secondi 

Cotecchino con Lentils 

(Poor man's Banquet, Large Cotecchino Sausage with Stewed  Lentils) 

Stinco of Pork on Grilled Polenta 

(Braised Pork Shank over Wedge of Rustic Polenta) 

Grilled Eggplant with Pork Ragu 

(Grilled Round of Eggplant Stuffed with Pork Bolognese) 

Napeequa Malbec, Columbia Valley  2006 

Finale 

Porcini Mushroom Risotto with Braised Pork Belly and Poached Pork Tenderloin 

(Heritage Pork Belly braised in Stock and Poached Pork Tenderloin Scallops  on Porcini Mushroom Risotto) 

Napeequa Trailhead, Maverick Saddle Edition, Columbia Valley  2006 

Dolce 

Chocolates by Schocolat 

Napeequa Arete, Yakima Valley Port  2005 

Napeequa Gewurtztraminer Ice Wine, Yakima Valley  2007

If Only We Could...

State of Washington plans to build more liquor stores.  Do you care?

Well, when this very story ran in the Seattle Times two weeks ago, plenty of you did.

The objection (oddly enough) was not that the State needed to raise more money to cover a gaping shortfall, it was that folks were really re-visiting the nasty notion that the State is in the hard booze business... alone.  The hypocrisy here is that the State, for decades, has played the "control of consumption" card to protect all of us from the evils of over-indulgence. Then they announce plans to bring more liquor to the people.  More booze bought by more people equals more money.  I'm no economics major here, but I'm getting the idea that the State would like to sell more alcohol.  Which brings me to this next terrible idea...

Think of this for a second, what if you could only buy a car at a state-controlled car dealership?

State-ran grocery store?  What if Home Depot or Lowes were operated by the State.  Think of yourself wanting to start a business selling home improvement supplies, lumber, tools and lawn and garden equipment and being told "No!".  You couldn't enter that business because the State had a monopoly on it.  A monopoly.  That's right, the same practice that gets Microsoft in trouble and hauled off to court every other week.

How does Washington remain in this position of control when in other states you and I can walk into a Walgreens, Safeway or Costco and buy a bottle of whiskey or rum?  The practice excludes private enterprise.  How is this allowed?  To my knowledge, Indian tribes can sell hard liquor from stores that resemble convenience stores.  So they can run them but, non-tribal... forget it.  I'd like someone to fill me in on how we got here and why this practice is tolerated.  

The picture above is from a grandfatherly gentleman I met at a winery in New Zealand in the late eighties.  As you can see, he's self-serving his jug.     

A far cry from what I've discussed above.

To fill your own bottle of wine, beer or whiskey from a vat or cask and go home... if only we could.

This Little Piggy Went to Market

Mangalitsa Pigs: The Planning and Plotting

Hungary and the Balkans provide excellent Sessile Oak for wine barrels.  As a winemaker, I thank them for that.  They also must be commended for giving the world the Mangalitsa or Wooly Hog. Decedents from wild boars in and around the Balkans, the pig is also known as Mangalica in Serbia, being described as having "a lot of lard".  Before the advent of refrigeration, fat was king in the world of preserving.  Mixed in preparations or slathered on top of jars containing foodstuffs, lard was it.  And the Mangalitsas were pack'n.

Favored for this, the hog found an easy home in Eastern Europe in the late 1800's.  Popularity for this curly-haired hog began to wane in the 1950's as Westinghouse and the likes, began touting their "new" invention for the kitchen.  Out was Old World food preservation, out was the Mangalitsa.

If you remember anything from those millions of episodes of Julia Child you watched in the late 70's "...fat is flavor!"  That might well scare the lipid-conscious but, I assure you, when skillfully prepared this meat is healthy and succulent!  Mangalitsa, you're back on deck!  Here Piggy, Piggy!

On March 7th, 2009 a few lucky soles will get a very, very rare treat.  Visconti's Italian Restaurant in Leavenworth, WA will be hosting Napeequa Vintner's third annual winemaker's dinner.  The Mangalitsa has been chosen to be the "beast of burden" to carry our wines to new heights.  Today Dan, Randy and Steve of Visconti's (trio of chefs) and myself (shown left to right in the pic above) sat down for a little planning session.  "Pair that pig!" was the war cry.  Four hours later, we had the code.  Unoaked Chardonnay with Pork Pate Campania, Rose with Prosciutto and Pancetta Wrapped Prawn, the Malbec with Cotecchino and Lentils, Trailhead with Poached Pork Tenderloin and Porcini Mushroom Risotto!  Anybody hungry?

The great 20th century philosopher Vincent Vega said it best when he told Jules "Yeah, but bacon tastes good, pork chops taste good!"

See you for supper,

David

If you're interested in this feast, call Visconti's @ 509-548-1213, mention "the Napeequa dinner"... they'll know what you're talking about!

Meet the Mangalitsas @ www.woolypigs.com

Rack and Roll

Hey Deadliest Catch, I've got a job for you guys!

Racking.  Probably the most asked question I come across as a winemaker, "What the hell is it"?  Rest assured, it's the absolute least sexy thing in winemaking.  Period.  Much more interesting in billiards, where there it's a prelude to the game.  A preview explanation: it is gentle and considerate siphoning.  You're probably thinking "Yeah Dave, sounds fascinating.  Don't care. Don't care!"  Oh but wait my little gulper du vin, what I have to tell you will hopefully put some perspective on that next sip of Trailhead you take.

After primary fermentation (converting a grape's sugar into alcohol and CO2) a red wine's next journey is secondary fermentation.  This process entails getting malic acid in wine converted over to softer lactic acid.  The average "home winemaker" usually finds out about this conversion shortly after corks go flying across the basement with fizzy wine spraying everywhere.  This "secondary" fermentation creates CO2.  Pressure builds up behind the cork and excitement ensues (and an afternoon of clean-up).  In commercial winemaking, this process is initiated by the addition of a malic acid-loving bacteria that gets crack'n on the conversion.  When secondary is finished, I check to see if the process is complete by using paper chromatography.  This is a cool-tool.  Colored spots on special paper show the presence or absence of malic acid.  Think pregnancy test.  If it's your color, you're a happy camper.   A sample is sent off to a wine lab for confirmation and if the process is really, really done... it's racking time.

Wines, particularly young red wines, benefit from aeration.  A little O2 does a host of good things for wine's development.  Later in a red wine's life, not so much.  Without sounding like a chemistry geek and going on with techno-babble-speak, suffice it to say, in a red wine's beginning (borrowing a Martha-ism here), air is a "good thing".  Racking helps to get air into wine.

Being a garagiste-winery-situation, wine production is rarely easy.  You take a garage that was never intended on being used for the production of wine and fight every thing that's lacking.  Now here's some fun... most of the big stuff I do is outside... in the weather.  In Plain/Lake Wenatchee during winter, there's snow and ice everywhere.  

Racking (okay, I'll define it now) is simply the act of taking wine out of barrel (or tank if that's the case) without disturbing the sediment which has accumulated on the bottom.  The wine is transfered (splashed into, therefore aerated) into a bigger tank, barrels get rinsed to remove the sediment and the wine from the tank put back into barrel.  No big deal, right?  Yeah sure... remember that ice and snow?  Think of it like this, you're walking out onto a hockey rink that was just watered down.  Oh, you're carrying an 80-100 pound empty barrel (remember the wood is soaked with wine, not light and not aiding your balance).  But now, that hockey rink has humps, bumps, frozen ruts from where you drove a week earlier when it was slush and... well, you get the idea.  Damn dangerous!  It's so slick, it's nearly impossible to just stand in one spot, let alone walk across it, let alone carry an empty wine barrel!  Just so you know, the barrels are rinsed outside on a barrel washing device, thus necessitating this death-defying trek.  In a non-garagiste setting, I would be rinsing barrels inside the building with waste water going into a floor drain, remaining warm and dry and listening to some New Order on the stereo.  The biggest hazard would be running out of beer.  Not cracking my head open.

So, why am I not in the hospital?  Why am I not scheduled to see my orthopedic surgeon?  Because somebody very smart, very clever, made a contraption with metal studs that straps onto the bottom of your shoes.  These devices are to my winemaking like heat tiles are to the bottom of the Space Shuttle.  With out them, I'm cooked (If you're the person responsible for designing the brand I use, just know I'm putting in a good word to the Nobel Committee).

In the spring, we'll be back to gravel driveways, the chirping of birds, budding fruit trees, puffy white cumulus clouds against a sea-blue sky and... more racking.  Minus the personal injury stuff.

Stay upright,

David