Author: Tim Dammon

A few years ago I was in the home of a friend who was a member of my church (remember, I’m Southern Baptist) and noticed a box of Black Label Cabernet Sauvignon on their kitchen cabinet.  Knowing that I was a “progressive” Southern Baptist (at least when it comes to alcohol consumption), they insisted that someone had given them the “box” of wine and offered it to me.  Never one to turn down free wine, I stuck it in my car.  The next time Lisa and I hosted one of our “wine tasting” parties, I transferred the Cab from the box to a decanter and passed it off as an excellent Napa Valley vintage.   You’d be surprised (or maybe not) to find that most of the folks who tasted it at the party rated it very highly among the wines served!

Now, I confess that I’ve been guilty of “wine snobbery” when it comes to boxed wines, so don’t feel like a loner.  I’ve come to realize that traditional bottles and corks are more about the experience than an indicator of wine quality.  I’ll do an entire post at some point to compare the various methods of packaging wine, but suffice it to say that I’ve learned that bagging wine can be very effective.  In fact, since the bladder inside the box shrinks as the wine is released through the spigot of a box, the primary threat to wine is eliminated.  Because the vacuum within the bladder is retained, no oxygen touches the wine, so the wine in a box can remain fresh in your refrigerator much longer than an opened (and recorked) bottle.

The clearest and most powerful lesson in this little educational chapter came in the “Motherland” of wine . . . France.  Throughout most of the wine regions, I kept seeing signs posted at the end of driveways and in front of small vineyards which read, “Vrac.”  When I finally asked a local resident what that meant, he said, “You know . . . BiB!  Bag in Box!”  I nodded my head like I knew what the heck he was talking about.

It wasn’t until we were in Provence and staying at the beautiful home (converted, loosely speaking, into a B&B) of Michael Frost.  Michael is a retired barrister from England who moved to a small estate just north of Arles and started welcoming guests.  He’s an amazing guy and he’s usually in the kitchen cooking up something incredible while listening to Haydn or Brahms.  One afternoon he taught Lisa and me how to make true homemade croissants.  It was, of course, a memorable experience.

While we were cooking, Michael would keep refilling our glasses with a very nice blush wine which was refreshing, flavorful, and reasonable complex (layered, at least).  On the first day we were in his home, I noticed that he was refilling the glasses via a spigot on a box in his refrigerator!  Then, to add insult to injury, I found out that the delicious red wine he served each evening at his dinner table from a beautiful decanter came from (you guessed it) a box in his refrigerator!

Michael explained to me that throughout France all but the most mercenary of vintners make their wine available to locals in bulk (for which the French word is, of course, “Vrac.”)  So when Michael runs low on wine, he simply walks down the road to his neighbor’s vineyard and winery (which bottles some very good wine sold throughout Europe) and trades in his empty wine bladder (“Bag in Box) for a full one.  Then he serves it in crystal decanters to his guests.

Now . . . I can tell you without reservation that the wine that came from the boxes from Michael’s refrigerator was some of the best I’ve ever had.  The blush wine was enjoyed while learning how to fold the rolled out dough into more than a hundred layers of flaky buttery goodness while wearing an apron in Michael’s kitchen!  And the red wine straight from the box (via a lovely decanter) tasted incredible as we enjoyed dinner on Michael’s patio on a hill overlooking the Rhone near Arles with Michael and his other guests . . . an older Irish couple and their sister (he was a former UK police captain and had lots of stories) who were delightfully cultured, well read, and traveled.  On the menu (which we helped prepare) were “PiPis” (the tiny lavender shellfish found on beaches around the world and a specialty in Provence . . . you can even buy them on the street in Arles); roast lamb with local vegetables; a fruit tart; and quince paste to complement the cheeses!

All of this is to say that sometimes it’s not the bottle at all.  Sometimes it’s the company.  Or the food.  Heck, sometimes it might even be the wine itself.

Here’s to you, Michael Frost.  Thanks for the education.

 

Some bottles sit down at my table and offer up a serendipitous story of stumbled upon food and fun.  For example, last night Lisa and I stopped by one of our favorite little spots on Dallas’ lower Greenville Avenue, The Grape.  I picked a Helen Turley (a California winemaker whose name on a bottle nearly always guarantees success) Zinfandel from the Reserve List.  When the waiter first opened the bottle and poured an initial sample, I found the wine to be quite constrained on the nose and palate and was afraid it would be a little too austere.  However, after I had him decant the bottle and we gave it a little while to open up, and especially after we paired it with a braised lamb shank, it approached spectacular.  You know how it is when you first meet a stranger . . . the conversation can be a bit muted and awkward.  But by the time you’re sharing food together, you both really open up and the conversation becomes much more complex and fulfilling.

Other bottles have a story that is inextricably linked with a well known place like the bottles I’ve found in France and Italy . . . and whose stories are yet to come.  I love the way that Old World wines are named not by their varietals, but by their regions . . . Burgundy, Bordeaux, Cote du Rhone . . . and even by their villages . . . Montrachet, Sancerre, Gigondas, Brunello di Montalcino, Vino Nobile de Montepulciano.

Still other bottles are (at least to me) like books on a shelf that are waiting to be read . . . when I get the time (or money).  There are several bottles like that floating around some of the local wine shops that I’m hoping to open soon . . . a Gevrey Chambertin from Burgundy . . . a Condrieu from the upper Rhone . . . a Gaja or Sassicaia.

But perhaps my favorite category of “bottle stories” are those which revolve around people with whom I’ve shared wine.  Since I never drink alcohol when I’m apart from Lisa (except by special dispensation on rare occasions), she’s always in those stories . . . which makes them better, of course.  But there are also a large (and growing) number of people whose faces I see and whose laughter I hear whenever I look at particular bottles in my collection.

On the northern edge of the swampy north San Francisco Bay area, sort of at the junction between the southern ends of the Napa and Sonoma Valleys is the Carneros appellation in which sits a chateau that looks like it could be just as much at home in the Loire Valley in France.  It is Domaine Carneros, and is part of the Taittinger family (a worldwide producer of Champagne and other sparkling wines.

Of course you know that (at least in France) the name “Champagne” is very closely restricted to sparkling wine produced in a specific region northeast of Paris (there are many posts yet to come relating our experiences in Epernay and Reims in that beautiful region) from specific varietals in a very traditional method.  All other sparkling wine produced elsewhere is just . . . well . . . sparkling wine.  Since the United States failed to sign the international agreement in 1930 which limited the use of the word, “Champagne,” some U.S. wineries that produce sparkling wine call it “Champagne.”  Domaine Carneros, however, chooses to focus on the name of the house and the region in the product name, simply indicating that it was produced in the traditional “methode champinoise.”

Domaine Carneros produces three sparkling wines (all of which have been in my collection, but alas . . . I’m down to a single bottle of Le Reve).  Their Brut Cuvee is a beautiful blend of Chardonnay and Pinot Noir (white of course, with no contact with the skins) which is delightfully dry (the meaning of the Brut designation).  The Brut Rose Cuvee de la Pompadour is a lovely pink (the pinot is left on the skins just briefly) and is a little more fruity and floral than the other two.  Le Reve Blanc de Blancs (100% Chardonnay) is my favorite.  Rich and buttery with fine streams of bubbles which do, indeed, tickle the nose as you sip.

The grapes traditionally used in Champagne are Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, and Pinot Meunier.  The Carneros region produces Chardonnay and (due to the cooling breezes blowing up from the Bay) Pinot Noir.  In fact, the domaine often produces more Pinot Noir grapes than needed for their sparkling wines and so bottles a very good Pinot Noir still wine.

The whole process of making Champagne is amazing and far too involved and complex for me to relate here . . . you’ll get bits and pieces of it as I talk about our wonderful time in the Champagne region . . . but legend has it that Dom Perignon (the monk who supposedly invented the method) ran to tell his brothers of his discovery calling, “Brothers . . . come quickly . . . I am drinking stars!”

But that’s not the story.  The story is in the sharing.  I have spent a few beautiful hours on that wonderful terrace of the chateau at Domaine Carneros tasting their sparkling liquid sunshine.  Lisa and I discovered it together alone, at first.  Then we had the joy of sharing it with some of our great friends, Todd and Dena and Greg and Tammy.

And then, a couple of years ago we spent a weekend in Napa with our beautiful (one of our three) daughter, Hope, and her friend (and ours), Sara.  It was an incredible weekend complete with hot air balloons, champagne brunches, and grape stomping at harvest parties.

Sara had to leave a couple of days before the rest of us, so she missed Domaine Carneros, but Hope was able to be there with us.  It was unforgettable for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the book Hope chose to read on the terrace (that girl is ALWAYS reading something . . . wonder where she gets that?).  Charles Dickens’ “Hard Times.”  Note the picture below.

And hence the title for this bottle-told story. You’ll find I love literary references and movie quotes.  In fact, the title of the previous post (walking the parapet) was a quote from the movie Blazing Saddles.  Extra points if you caught that.  Wine culture doesn’t HAVE to be stuffy.

So . . . this New Year’s eve, whether I’m enjoying my bottle of Le Reve, or the 2000 Dom Perignon that was a gift from my great wine buddy Terry, or one of the bottles of “real” Champagne I brought back from Epernay, France, what’s in the glass will only be part of the story.  The REAL story will be the people I’ll be sharing it with.  Don’t know who that will be yet (Lisa will be there, of course), but I know that the combination of good sparkling wine, great friends, and the advent of another year (my fifty-first) will yield yet another incredible memory.

Bottoms up!

I suppose it’s no surprise that the bottle that comes to mind first when I’m “musing” is my 1997 Brunello di Montalcino. Brunello is certainly the king of Tuscan wines and is among the most well-known and best wines of all of Italy. It derives from the Sangiovese varietal native to Tuscany. Sangiovese (Latin for “blood of Jove”) is the basic varietal not only for Brunello, but for a number of central Italian wines including Chianti, Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, and (more recently) is blended with a number of varietals like Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, Syrah, and/or Merlot to form so-called “Super Tuscans.”

Although Sangiovese can be found in Napa, Texas, and several other places around the world, the Tuscan climate is ideal for this thin-skinned grape. The relatively dry, warm weather helps the berries mature to produce a fruity young wine that has enough structure to age well in oak and bottle to yield a firm and full-bodied wine which pairs well with rustic Italian fare.

But enough technical stuff . . . let me tell you how I first met Signore Brunello.

As I mentioned in the introduction to this blog, Lisa and I first experienced wine on our twentieth anniversary trip to Italy. Prior to that, the only wines I knew (vaguely) had names like “Thunderbird” and “Mad Dog 20/20.” Oh yeah . . . there was that “Boone’s Farm” stuff, too. I’d never really seen a wine glass and DEFINITELY had no idea about wine tastings.

When we arrived in Florence, we found that in every restaurant we were given a carafe of “vino della casa” and a couple of tumblers with no stems. Nothing fancy. Once in a tiny restaurant in Montepulciano, we were allowed only one glass from which we were both to drink . . . but that’s another story.

We also learned that dinner in Italy is an “experience.” The first time we showed up at a restaurant before 7:30 and were turned away, we realized we were in uncharted waters. Eventually we learned that dinner begins about 8:00 and lasts until midnight or later. At first we thought the restaurant service was just slow . . . but we soon learned that the service was excellent, as long as you adapted to the rhythm of Italy. And part of that “rhythm” was enjoying the carafe (actually just a pitcher) of wine.

On the second half of that trip we were in a cooking school in Castello di Tocchi, just south of Siena. Each day we’d cook in the castle’s kitchen with Giancarlo, our chef/teacher and Leonardo, our interpreter/comedian. Then after lunch, Leonardo would take us on a cultural excursion. Every day we’d visit a different village or cultural site.

One day we drove through the Tuscan countryside to a hill town called Montalcino. At the top of the village sits a medieval “fortezza” or fortress. After we strolled the parapet for a while, Leonardo led us into a huge stone lined room . . . almost like a chapel. On a number of tables around the room sat what looked like a THOUSAND gleaming glasses.

Now those of you who have shared wine at my home know how I feel about glasses. I wash and polish every single glass by hand for Lisa and I and our guests. Sometimes (at least when we lived in the BIG house) that meant polishing fifty or more glasses. Even for smaller dinner parties when I’m serving multiple wines, each wine deserves and receives its own glass, so preparing the glassware is quite a ritual. I just believe that wine is experienced better in a clean (sparkling) glass appropriate to the wine itself (I have glasses for reds, whites, Burgundies/Pinot Noirs, Bordeaux/Cabs, Sauternes and dessert wines, etc.). And of course part of the appreciation is visual . . . when you hold that wine up to the light of a candle or chandelier and see the ruby glint in the reds and the diamond sparkle in the whites. Nothing irks me more than to be distracted by water spots or streaks on the glass. And that obsession probably began that day in the fortezza atop Montalcino.

Anyway, over the next couple of hours, Leonardo and the docents of Montalcino led us on an adventure of sight, smell, and taste that I’ll never forget as we sampled Brunellos from a number of producers from the village. Because of the angle of the sun or the way the sea breeze (the ocean is a long way away, but there is virtually no obstruction between Montalcino and the shore) hits the various slopes (North, South, East, or West) of the hill on which the village sits, the wine can display subtle but detectable differences in taste and aroma. It was quite an education.

A few years ago, a scandal threatened Brunello’s reign as the supreme wine of Tuscany. Because of its DOCG (Controlled Origin) status, there is a stringent requirement that Brunello be made of 100% Sangiovese grapes grown in the region. An accusation was made (it was later revealed to have been made by a group of non-Brunello Tuscan wine producers) that a majority of Brunello producers were mixing other varietals (Merlot, Cabernet, etc.) into their wines to increase the yield. The claim was that the number of bottles produced in several vintages in the early 2000’s exceeded what should have been possible given the number of acres under cultivation. After many cases of wine (600,000 from Castello Banfi alone) were impounded, investigators performed genetic testing which eventually vindicated the Brunello producers showing that the years in question had simply been unusually productive for the region.

I’ve tasted many wines since that afternoon in the village of Montalcino. And yes, many of them far surpass the Brunello in a pure head to head tasting. And I’ve visited many wine producing regions and tasted at a lot of vineyards and wineries. But that particular day I will never forget. And I’ll always have a Brunello or two tucked away in my collection.

If you’re looking for Italian wines (Brunello or any of the other great Italian offerings of which there are stories yet to come), I can recommend a couple of places. Costco (my “go to” wine supplier) is usually very light on Italians. They trend more toward California wines, a few good French selections, and a ton of value priced wines from Chile, Argentina, and Australia. Central Market (in Dallas and Houston) are a shade better than Costco in terms of Italian selection. In San Diego (where we lived when we made that first trip to Italy) we found a little Italian market called “Mona Lisa” in the Little Italy section near downtown which stocked a few bottles of Italian descent. If you’re in or near Dallas, I can highly recommend Jimmy’s Food Store on Bryan Street. It’s a cluttered paradise of all things Italian including homemade pasta, cheeses, and an INCREDIBLE selection of Italian wines. Best of all, it’s less than ten minutes from our place!

So here’s to Leonardo and Giancarlo and to the beautiful little hill town of Montalcino. If you ever want to share a bottle of Brunello, come on over.

It was in my fortieth year that I discovered (seemingly from nowhere) my passion for wine. Perhaps it would be more correct to say that I discovered my passion for the culture of wine. Lisa and I had carried on both of our families’ traditions of zero alcohol for our twenty years of marriage (a tradition for which I am still thankful, even though our personal choices have changed).

We celebrated our twentieth anniversary with an extended trip to Italy, the first half of which was spent exploring Florence . . . consuming the art and architecture, dining under the incredible Tuscan skies, wandering the cobblestone streets, picnicking in the famed Boboli Gardens (where picnicking is supposedly disallowed) . . . and the second half of which was spent in a cooking school housed in a thousand year old Tuscan “castello” from which we discovered the hill towns and picturesque villages more incredible than we had ever imagined.

We learned many things on that trip about Italian art, Renaissance history, and Tuscan cooking. We also learned that in Italy, wine was not a commodity or a “recreational beverage,” but a way of life. I was entranced by the entire experience . . . the idea that, despite significant technological advances, the same basic processes have been part of winemaking for thousands of years.

My preconceptions were challenged while wandering through the vineyards of Italy, visiting with the local producers, and finding them to be anything BUT the pretentious, egotistical snobs I had always imagined wine people to be. These folks were hard working farmers whose generations-old connection to the land was palpable.

Not only did I have to correct my thinking about the producers, but the drinkers of wine as well. Despite the fact that wine was consumed with every meal and also as a social activity, I don’t believe on that trip (or in any of our subsequent trips to Europe) I encountered a single person whom I would describe as “drunk.” Any intoxication at all was only evident in the congenial conversation and warm hospitality of the Italians (which I would later discover to be true of the French, as well).

After being introduced to the complex sensory (vision, smell, taste) and social (long, slow dinners with incredible conversation and camaraderie) experience that was wine on that trip, it was clear that both Lisa and I would be adding wine (in moderation) to our dining experiences back in the United States.

Since two of our kids were still at home at the time, we continued to maintain our alcohol-free home, deciding that we’d rather wait until they were old enough to decide on their own approach to wine before confusing them by making an “about face” in our home. So for the next few years, all of our enjoyment of wine was reserved for travel and time away from home.

Because we were living in California at the time, our initial foray into domestic wines was, naturally, in Napa Valley. After moving back to Texas, we felt obligated to at least “check out” the Texas wine culture, so just before our last daughter graduated from high school, we visited the Hill Country for the “Wine and Wildflower” tour. As we stopped at winery after winery, we’d discover a wine that we liked and we buy a couple of bottles. At the end of the weekend, after visiting several Texas wineries, I discovered that we had packed the car with five cases of wine!

And so began our “collecting.” Over the next few years, we’d visit Italy again, covering several wine regions in that most enchanting of wine countries. We’d also visit Croatia, Greece, Turkey, and (of course) France. In all of these countries we’d find wines to be appreciated, bringing home what we could carry or ship. In fact, returning from France, a couple of years ago, we had thirty bottles in our luggage! But that’s a story for another time . . .

Much of our wine we have shared with friends and family, which is a major part of our enjoyment. Through the years, our collection has evolved. For example, Texas wines only make up a small percentage when once the entire collection was from Texas!

Our total bottle count hovers around 150 depending on how much we’ve been entertaining or what new bottle has caught my eye somewhere. Many of our bottles we’ve had for some time. We don’t drink them as frequently as you might imagine. And none of them are terribly expensive. In fact, my favorite “go to” wine (of which I always have a couple of bottles on hand) is an $8 wine available at Costco.

Since we’ve spent the last six months or so in a sort of “limbo,” I’ve been separated from my collection. Last week, when we moved into our new place thirty stories above downtown Dallas, I enjoyed unpacking most of my bottles and racking them in our apartment. As I was unpacking each bottle, I was reminded that each and every one of them represents a story. And that’s the fun part.

I’m really not a wine snob. I don’t spend a lot of money on wine. In fact, I LOVE to find a wine that Lisa and I and our friends enjoy at a really low price. But what I really love is the stories.

And so, I decided to start writing them. Partly because I’m getting older and might forget them. Partly because I like telling them. Mainly because they’re just good stories. Some better (more eloquent) than others, it’s true. But all good. And some even have pictures!

I’ll be sharing them here from time to time. Probably at the rate of one every week or so. Nobody may ever read them but me. But that’s okay. The joy is in the telling. And if you’re ever at my table, you’ll probably hear them anyway.