Nomacorc & Lean Manufacturing

My day job is in quality assurance. It's not a topic I talk about a lot here--I'm very engaged in the subject and it keeps the lights on at Casa de Benito, but it doesn't apply much to the kind of wine and food that I write about most often.

That's not to say that philosophies like Lean Six Sigma don't have a place in the world of food and beverages, it's just that you see the greatest implementations in mass-produced factory brands. My own home cooking is wildly inefficient, delicious, yet often inconsistent because I'm constantly tinkering with recipes. Your neighborhood baker can focus on making a dozen baguettes and a few hundred cookies without employing efficiency strategies, but the supplier for a national chain of grocery stores is going to have to use the Japanese-inspired manufacturing techniques that have been refined over the past forty years. Concepts like kaizen (continuous improvement) and 5S (sort, straighten, shine, standardize, sustain).

The macrobrew beer industry has fully embraced this, which is why every Budweiser you taste anywhere will taste exactly the same, and through a commitment to quality improvement, the amount of water required to make the beer goes down every year. Not just the water used in brewing, but all of the water used for cleaning the facility and preparing ingredients. More detail on the efficiency of the modern beer industry is available in my review of the industry book Beer Is Proof God Loves Us.

Wine is a little different, and often gets treated more like art than science. A lot of people lose money making amazing wine. Outstanding producers often have small patches of land that are unique and beautiful but can't really scale up to industrial production. Serious wines have characteristics that depend on the weather in the summer and how a certain volcano eroded ten million years ago. On the bargain side, it is possible to make mass produced, industrial wine. There's lots of it on the market and, although you don't read a lot about it, those jug/box wines keep many wine shops in business while the customers showing up looking for single vineyard Viognier only show up once in a blue moon.

Not every Cabernet Sauvignon needs to taste the same, and we can still enjoy the fact that a difference of a few miles will determine how your white Burgundy shows in the glass. But there are elements of wine production that can benefit from quality assurance while still delivering a product with artistic integrity. Here I am returning to my February visit to the Nomacorc factory in North Carolina. The factory holds many Six Sigma awards as well as multiple quality certifications. Their impact on the wine world is not to make every wine on the market taste the same, but to ensure that every individual bottling of a specific wine is free from the variation (and potential spoilage) due to the random performance of traditional corks. Moving beyond that goal, the company works to match the perfect cork with the desired oxygen transfer rate needed by the wine in question.

How do you figure that out? It takes some time. The above photo shows the development of the Nomacorc over twenty years, demonstrating how that commitment to kaizen takes the product from a relatively simple alternative enclosure to a highly sophisticated and technically superior choice over the traditional cork. From the labeling of bins and floor markers to the signs about 5S compliance to the tester who would plug a bottle and show you exactly how many Newtons of force were required to pull the cork to the engineers who perform testing on all of the raw materials, the factory is a model of modern lean manufacturing.

We got to try a couple of wines for a controlled experiment, starting with a Hungarian Chardonnay. Our group sampled the same wine from bottles enclosed with three different Nomacorcs. Each one was a little different, and I think most of us enjoyed the middle option that wasn't too bright or too restrained. Opinions also varied on a Cabernet Franc presented in the same way. The synthetic cork with the most oxygen transfer would probably be the most welcoming in a restaurant situation (soft and fruit forward), but I enjoy how that particular tannic grape opens up over time, so I preferred the enclosure with the least oxygen transmission. The Nomacorc technology allows the winemaker to select the perfect synthetic cork for the desired presentation.

A quick note on these tastings: the comparisons against different types of Nomacorcs are very useful, but comparisons against natural cork are difficult due to the wide variation introduced. Comparing against things like agglomerated corks is easier due to the fact that TCA contamination tends to spread out evenly amongst an entire production run. Screwcaps--and I'm a big fan of them for "drink now" table wines--also present their own problems with consistency when it comes to oxygen transfer over time.

It is possible to introduce science and modern quality assurance into the world of wine without sacrificing the art. From everything that I heard at Nomacorc, glass bottles are wildly unpredictable (and their corks are designed to work within a wide delta of internal neck diameter). There are probably efficiencies of labeling and shipping that are already happening behind the scenes. While we embrace the tradition and romance of the old ways of making wine, it is important to take advantage of modern technology that can deliver a better and more enjoyable wine experience for everyone.

Note: This trip was sponsored by Nomacorc. All opinions are my own.

Tools for Writers: Grammarly

I use Grammarly's grammar check because let's face it, I'm always posting after sampling a lot of wine.

Actually, I do a lot of my writing after coming home from the day job, having dinner, attending to household chores, and then popping open a few bottles that have been desperately waiting to be reviewed. I used to do a lot of self-editing when I had more free time, but with increasing responsibilities, it is necessary to rely on various tools that are available.

I have a simple workflow for writing here at the blog. As soon as samples arrive, I take photos of the bottles and go through the collateral material and winery website to produce a stub of a post. The stub contains all of the essential data and relevant links, as well as the flags and FTC disclaimer. When I get around to tasting the wine, I will flesh out the details and incorporate any other stories that I'm in the mood to tell. For any of the PR firms reading, it may be a month or more from receiving to publication, as I usually have a big backlog. (I always try to taste the wine in the proper setting, so if it's 100°F outside and the A/C isn't working, I'm not going to crack open that warm Malbec.) When the final piece is ready, I give it a quick read through to make sure there are no glaring errors, but I don't stress too much over a simple 200 word review.

My freelance writing follows a much different workflow, which is where tools like Grammarly help. I work with editors for outside publications, but I prefer to send them pieces that are as refined as possible. Rewrites eat up a lot of time and don't inspire confidence. While any writer should have a firm command of grammar, vocabulary, and orthography, editors have less time these days to deal with sloppy writing--something that most forms of online communication tend to encourage. That's a pet peeve of mine, since it used to be that nearly everything you read had first passed through an editor. "Is this written properly? Is it appropriate for this book/newspaper/magazine? Will it make the author and us look professional?" Now almost everything you read online (blog posts, comments, reviews) is a stream of consciousness first draft that was probably forgotten soon after posting.

If you want to be taken seriously as a writer online or anywhere else, then you'll have to take your writing as seriously as a full time job.

I ran a few of my older posts through Grammarly and preferred the interface to various grammar checking programs I've used in the past. Having been in writers' workshops over the years and having had pieces rejected for publication, I'm very comfortable with constructive feedback. I realize that I have some bad writing habits that emerge from time to time (overuse of a single word in a short piece, the affectation of some weird Mid-Atlantic word choice, etc.). It is a little easier getting that feedback from a computer program rather than hearing my beloved AP English teacher tell me, "You're a great writer but why can you never spell receive correctly? What is it with that one word? I'm going to burn it into your desk."

Grammarly points out errors in subject-verb agreement, tense issues, sentence structure, punctuation... It even has a plagiarism detector, though note that if you're quoting another work it will prompt you to source it. Since few of us who are struggling freelancers can afford to pay someone to proofread our work first (and friends and family members may get tired of it), it's a fascinating tool for getting another set of digital eyes on your writing before sending it off to the publisher. There is a free seven day trial available, and right now there's a 20% off sale on subscription rates: $29.95/month, $59.95/quarter, and $139.95/year.

P.S. This post was run through Grammarly for three revisions. It caught several mistakes I would have otherwise missed, and provided some interesting suggestions for improvement.

Note: Compensation and access to this service were provided for review. The opinions of the service remain my own.

Wolfgang: 1998-2013

"When a man's servant shall play the cur with him,
look you, it goes hard: one that I brought up of a
puppy; one that I saved from drowning, when three or
four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it.
I have taught him, even as one would say precisely,
'thus I would teach a dog.' I was sent to deliver
him as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master;
and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber but he
steps me to her trencher and steals her capon's leg"

The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act IV, Scene iv, li 1-9

Four hundred years ago Shakespeare wrote about the relationship between a servant named Launce and his grouchy dog Crab. Crab stole a chicken leg in the above passage, and in another scene, Crab had gas and it offended the Duke. Launce stepped up and said it was his fault, and took the whipping to protect the dog. When I read that play in high school, Crab was just a background detail, but now I think he's my favorite part of that particular comedy. Wolfgang was not above stealing a sandwich or famously pooping on the floor during a first date, and though the Bard was not fond of dogs, I'm sure he would have found much humor in my pup's exploits over the years.

The Roommate and I hadn't been living together long when, in the summer of 1998, she announced that we needed a dog. She'd grown up with lots of dogs, and despite a brief period with a black Labrador named Duke in my first two years that I don't remember, I didn't have dogs in my life as a child. I was 21, living a semi-Bohemian life in an East Memphis apartment, and thought, "Why not?"

We went to the Germantown Animal Shelter and looked over the dozen dogs in their cells. One stood out: a nine week-old puppy with light yellow fur and a sad, Oliver Twist look about him. He was not friendly or aggressive, but quiet and kept to himself. We debated the decision over Chinese food for lunch, and then realized we had to adopt him. "He's got short fur, so he shouldn't shed too much. He looks like a wolf cub, so we'll call him Wolfgang."

Fifteen years and five vacuum cleaners later, I know that I'll have Wolfie fur following me around for the rest of my life. Once we got some protein into that little coyote, he took on many of the traits of an Alaskan sled dog, but Memphis weather meant that the Arctic fur flew off at every opportunity.

Wolfie and I were pretty tight for the past fifteen years, a great run for a scraggly little shelter dog. He never got above fifty pounds, never had any serious health issues, and was content to keep to himself--the perfect companion for an introvert like me. We could respect each others space, get together for meals, and he'd keep a warm spot on my bed all night.

We hiked thousands of miles together, and every night would go out to look at the stars while he did his business. In fact, something I miss the most is that celestial observation each evening. Having dogs means that you have an internal timer of feeding and peeing and other daily events, and when that little alarm goes off but there's no dog ready to receive your attention, it hurts.

One of the great things about Wolfgang was that we enjoyed living with him so much that we added Macbeth, and then my parents adopted Mac's mother Goldie, and my brother and his wife got three dogs, and my buddy Paul got three of his own over the past decade. I can't give him credit for all of those relationships, but Wolfgang taught me the magical bond that has existed between man and dog for the past fifteen thousand years, and it was a pleasure to share that joy with friends and family.

This is the last photo I took of Wolfie, a few days before he passed away. He was very old, but up to the end was in good shape, and, aside from a a particularly sad 72 hour period, was able to walk and eat and do everything else under his own power.

Wolfie, you were a grouchy coyote dog, but we all loved you, and are better people for having had you in our lives. I hope that heaven is full of field mice to chase, cow hide to chew on, and soft couches for sleeping. Until we meet again, you're a good boy, Wolfie dog.

Simply Enjoying Wine

Here's a scene from today's pleasant Saturday lunch. Tacos, served with a Hungarian red and an Italian Prosecco that I've dosed with a little crème de cassis to make a Kir Pétillant cocktail.

I picked up both of these wines at the wine shop because I was in the mood for them, and wanted something I could just enjoy. I love doing wine reviews, but every once in a while you have to just step back and enjoy a wine for its own sake. And thus, no flags, percentages, or reviews here... Though I'm cheating a bit because I've written about both of these before.

I hope that everyone out there takes a moment to just sit back and enjoy wine during the last days of the holiday season. There will be plenty of time for analysis and cogitation after the New Year. Right now it's time to enjoy life, friends, and family. Best wishes to you all.

Winter 2012

Memphis had been enjoying an unseasonably warm winter for most of the month of December. I spent Christmas Eve with my parents, and then Christmas Day at Julia's parents' house in Jonesboro, Arkansas. The area was under a blizzard warning (a very odd NOAA warning in this neck of the woods). We enjoyed Christmas lunch with her family until about three in the afternoon, when the blustery winter winds finally started delivering precipitation. Best to head east towards home before things start freezing.

Snow came to Memphis later in the evening, delivering a technical but not full white Christmas. However, on the 26th I was able to take Wolfie out for the annual photo of him in the snow. The old man is fourteen and a half years old this December, and while he may take a while to sit down and might sleep even more than usual, his eyes are still clear and he can hear and has a healthy appetite.

It's been a busy month for me, and wine reviews are a little behind right at the moment, but fear not: I have a bevy of sparkling wine reviews to post, and while they will not match Fredric's annual roundup, I don't think there will be a lot over overlap between our reviews.

In the end, I hope that all of you are taking time during this runup to the New Year to enjoy moments with friends and family, open some bottles you've been holding on to for a while, and petting your pups. Stay warm, and there are great things to come in 2013!

Let's Get Small

I turned 36 yesterday, and for a variety of reasons I'm focusing on tiny details. Such was the case with the legendary biologist E.O. Wilson, a fellow Eagle Scout who studied ants during WWII because the pins needed to display flies were in short supply due to steel rationing.



On the thirty-sixth anniversary of my birth, I was lying in the grass in my backyard, holding my Nikon D40 digital camera with a zoom lens and a 1970s Minolta SLR lens mounted backwards in front of the zoom. It's a technique called "reverse lens" and is perfect for microphotography, although it works better if you have step down rings to attach everything. I was doing this manually and tilting my head to get clear shots of the ants.



Each of these Monomorium minimum ants are about 1.5 mm in length. Most of these pictures are less than half an inch in width. Through the multiple lenses I could watch them carry individual grains of sand into the colony, as well as individual grains being removed.



I was struck by the clean and shiny carapaces that reflected the blue sky. Beauty can be found in the smallest of places, but sometimes you have to stop and look for it.

Retiring a Notebook

I bought this little Moleskine notebook on January 13, 2008, en route to a legendary Barolo tasting. Four and a half years later, it's full.

Now, I haven't taken all of my wine notes in it since then, though it did go with me to Sonoma (as seen in the photo). Most of the time I take notes on the back of envelopes, post-its, or whatever else is lying around. I often use the blank backs of the numerous pieces of paper that arrive with each set of wine samples. But this humble black notebook has accompanied me to many tastings and dinner parties. I'm not going to toss it out--there are phone numbers and stains and little notes scribbled in by various mischievous young ladies who enjoyed swiping my notebook sometime around the third course of wine. There are plenty of pages torn out, never from regretted reviews, but when I had to scribble a recipe or write down the address of my blog. In fact, just a few months after getting the notebook I got tired of ripping out back pages and got business cards to hand out instead.

I've got a few other wine journals of varying elegance and size, but I think this weekend it's time for another Moleskine. After all this time it still feels just right.

Gentle Riposte

Last week, my dear friend and fellow Memphian Fredric Koeppel posted an article titled America Will Never Have a Genuine Wine Culture, based on his long history of living in our fair River City and some recent statements about our suburbs. And for the most part, I agree with him. The present state of our city is hostile to wine lovers, but I think there has been real progress recently, and I have a great deal of hope for the future. Why?

Demographics
Much of the legal and social opposition to wine drinking (or any alcohol consumption) comes from a fairly specific WASPy segment. But Memphis is changing quite a bit, and our newcomers are not as uptight, and international corporate headquarters like FedEx, AutoZone, International Paper, and others have brought in people from all over the world. The additional growing immigrant population of the city is not made up of teetotaler Mennonites from Moravia, and the food scene is already showing that it's much easier to get odd organ meats, obscure vegetables, and delightful spices than it was ten years ago. Saturday I bought Swiss chard from a Vietnamese farmer but chose to pass on his arugula, which was wilting under the heat.

The Gift Bottle
It used to be that when I'd give someone a bottle of wine, they'd leave it beside the oven for months or even years. And that's fine--if you don't want to drink it, I don't care. But in that sort of environment it will get cooked pretty quickly, more so once it's been opened. But now when I give non-wine enthusiasts in Memphis a bottle of wine, it gets consumed within a few days. I don't think people are as scared or as intimidated as they used to be, and I hear more and more about folks visiting wineries just for the fun of it while on vacation, due to the fact that there are wineries everywhere these days.

Wine Tastings in TN Wine Shops
I honestly never thought it would happen, but it did. I've only engaged in this activity a few times (I've got plenty back home that needs to be tasted), but I was really surprised when the laws loosened up a bit. Anything is possible.

The Rest of the Country
Some states like Virginia are getting fiercely enthusiastic about their native grapes. When I was traveling a lot in 2007-2008, I got to see things like a gas station in Dallas that not only sold decent wine but also had weekly tastings. A Super Target in Denver that had wine in racks next to the checkout lanes beside the soda and candy. A Whole Foods in Cleveland that had its own sommelier with a lot of opinions on organic Spanish wines. Five wineries in the middle of Arkansas that are carrying on a tradition of Swiss/German winemaking from the 1800s and sell to busloads of senior citizens every weekend.

My hope is that within the next decade, Fredric and I will be able to walk into a wine shop, on a Sunday, and not only purchase whatever wine or spirits we desire but also some cheese and a spare wine glass because a friend broke one at the last dinner party. And neither of us will look out of place, because we're bumping shoulders with lots of customers walking into the shop.

Cheers, Fredric!

Anticipation

I'm fortunate to live in a town with easy access to good food ingredients, via the upscale grocery stores Whole Foods and Fresh Market, the local bounty provided at the Downtown and Shelby Farms farmers markets, a network of little Asian markets, and yes, even the monolithic Kroger empire has stepped up its game at several locations to provide a wide range of options for the increasingly diverse and culinarily curious market of Memphis.

I'm excited to be within walking distance of the new second location of my beloved "International Market", which goes by names like Farmer's Market, Mercado Latino, and many others. It's a sort of multiethnic supermarket with thousands of ingredients, non-mainstream meats and organs, fruits and vegetables you won't see anywhere else, and prices for fresh herbs that are low enough to reflect that the damn things grow like weeds in the right environment. "Here's enough mint to season a whole flock of lambs for 50¢." I'm really excited about walking to grab sugar cane or obscure dried chiles or frozen rabbits or all the other great things that I can't get anywhere else.

In the meantime, because that picture above was sub-par, and I think I was making the woman in the white car paranoid, here's a recent photo of an ersatz sangria that I really loved. A bit of grapefruit juice, a layer of vodka, and then a slow pour of leftover red wine.

The "blood in the water" effect was really beautiful and I only really captured it well on the second glass. Doing a manual focus while also pouring wine and trying to focus on each with separate eyes was daunting but ultimately rewarding.

As pretty as it is, the sangria was ultimately unrewarding. It tastes better after steeping with fresh cut fruit overnight, and a splash of brandy or orange liqueur makes all the difference.

So a note to my friends: when I show up with a load of weird looking potatoes, fish heads, monstrous carrots, and strange leafy vegetables, just know that when it comes to food, beauty and flavor don't always go hand in hand.

My Favorite Wine

My least favorite wine question is "What is your favorite wine?" It's an honest and friendly question from someone that doesn't spend a lot of time thinking about the subject and I usually answer with a rambling mishmash of "Well, it depends a lot on the weather and the food I'm eating. Wines I love with beef in the winter are terrible with shellfish in the summer." At that point I can usually steer the conversation into something more fun, like pairing popcorn with Champagne.

My real, honest answer is more philosophical and more complicated, better suited to a one-on-one situation free of distractions rather than small talk at a noisy and crowded gathering.

Right now my absolute favorite wine is this 2009 Graf v. Schönborn Grauer Burgunder. What makes it so special? I haven't opened it yet. I have no idea how it tastes, and I'm not even going to review it for this post. Maybe in a week or two after it's had a chance to rest and I've figured out a good meal to go with it.

I've never had a German Pinot Gris before, and I'm intrigued to try the wine of a German aristocratic family that goes back to the 12th century. But a few years ago, my favorite wine was made from dandelions in central Ohio by very poor Amish farmers.

Simply put, my favorite wine is the next bottle, the next interesting grape, the next fascinating story. It's not that I don't appreciate all of the amazing wines I've tried in the past, and I've been let down by wines that I was very excited to try. But no wine will ever be as thrilling as that next mystery waiting to be sampled and studied and recorded.

Merit Badges

"Where are the wine reviews?" Patience, young grasshopper. There's some wine in the cellar downstairs, and a couple of wine reviews that I haven't posted yet, but I've finally worked my way through the waves of Christmas/New Year's Eve/Valentine's Day wines, and am currently in the ebb before the next big wine marketing holiday: St. Patrick's Day. Yes, there are wines with green labels and wines with Irish names, and all joking aside, there are various bottles on their way. This blog won't stop if the faucet gets turned off, but it will give me a chance to focus more on food and beer and cocktails and essays and other fun stuff.

I had planned on writing a long essay about getting my Cooking merit badge in Scouts, but when I went to grab my old sash it was notoriously missing. And now I don't think I ever earned it, though I certainly met all the requirements and did all the work. (The white sash is a separate one for the Order of the Arrow, an honor society. Longer story that I won't get into here.)

What are merit badges, and how do they work? As you advance through the ranks, you have to have various required merit badges (silver border) and enough electives (green border). The requirements have changed a bit over the years, but in general it's always been around 11 required badges and 10 electives, plus all of the various other requirements, leadership roles, and community service to make it to Eagle, which I did in 1991. You can continue earning merit badges until you turn 18, which is why I have a total of 36. For the required badges, you generally have assigned instructors and very rigorous rules. For electives, you're either getting it at camp through organized classes, or you're seeking out an expert in the field to teach you the subject because you're interested in it. Some people get every merit badge, but it's very rare. Some of these badges involved a few days, some took years, some I barely remember, and others almost killed me. I've always wanted to list them out, so here goes...

From left to right, top to bottom, more or less in chronological order from 1986-1993:

• Citizenship in the World: Basically social studies class with a bit of geography thrown in.
  
• Swimming: Surprisingly difficult, with a lot of attention on how not to drown. More survival if you fall out of a boat than learning specific swimming techniques, though we were tested on all of those as well. This one was a make or break moment for a lot of guys over the years.
  
• Safety: Pretty general subject, but some good common sense stuff.
  
• Home Repairs: I don't remember a lot of this, aside from basic plumbing and carpentry.
  
• Traffic Safety: Essentially Driver's Ed long before you can drive. I think this was probably more intensive in earlier days, as I've met guys at reunions who talked about learning to drive via our Scoutmaster and having him take them to their license tests.
  
• Rifle Shooting: For this we shot .22 calibre rifles and I was a good enough shot to pass. My brother is an expert marksman and in our family there are lots of guns, but the sport never quite clicked with me, even while shooting oddballs like a .50 calibre black powder rifle.
  
• Reading: I think I had to do a book report for this, and since I was a kid who sometimes wrote term papers for practice in the summer, I was way overqualified for this one.
  
• Genealogy: Very interesting, and I got to do a lot of work with a few relatives who were really into the subject.
  
• Shotgun Shooting: Basically like rifle shooting, except that I really enjoyed shooting clay targets with a 20 gauge. The Roommate has a 16 gauge in the closet that doesn't get any use, so I should probably take up this gentleman's sport again at some point.
  
• Pioneering: Making structures based on chopping down saplings and binding them together with rope. Surprisingly difficult to pull off well and safely, and you learn a lot of primitive engineering techniques.
  
• Aviation: A cherished memory, and something of a rare badge to earn. Dad had his single engine pilot's license and needed to get some hours in, so we did all of the preflight checks and filed a flight plan and everything else required for the badge while flying around south Memphis/northern Mississippi.
  
• First Aid: One of the best I ever took, and I've used the lessons learned with this badge many times over the years.
  
• Mammal Study: The first goofy summer camp badge I ever earned, which involved writing a report on river otters and building a habitat for various ground rodents.
  
• Canoeing: Loads of fun, and I loved canoeing for years afterward. It was good to learn some proper technique and how to recover from a tipped canoe in a safe environment.
  
• Indian Lore: A simple look at Native American culture, and may have indirectly influenced my later choice for an Anthropology major.
  
• Wilderness Survival: Probably my favorite of all time, since it involved going out in the woods, building your own shelter, and sleeping in it overnight. Multiple other tests for managing to live in the woods on your own without the benefits of civilization. I've always felt that if society completely collapses, I'll be fine for a good long while.
  
• Basketry: As much of a joke as it sounds, though I still have the little wicker basket from 1988 and keep change in it.
  
• Citizenship in the Nation: Another social studies class.
  
• Woodcarving: I think I made a neckerchief slide and learned how to not cut myself, which was a bit late judging by the scars on my fingers.
  
• Leatherwork: Arts and crafts time, with emphasis on stamping patterns into leather sheets.
  
• Citizenship in the Community: Social studies class. By the way, these were good classes, I just don't have a lot to say about them.
  
• Nature: Normally a simple badge, but in my Troop it was a requirement for Eagle and our Scoutmaster made up his own requirements. We had to be able to identify more than 40 trees (even in the winter, without leaves), plus bird identification and other requirements. This one took me years of hikes through neighborhoods and forests.to finally earn it. It drove me crazy at the time but I can still identify trees at a great distance or sometimes just by a piece of bark.
  
• American Heritage: More social studies.
  
• Camping: This was something you sort of earned out of endurance, by completing a number of nights spent outdoors and the ability to pitch a tent and build a fire and not starve over a weekend.
  
• Environmental Science: Fellow Scouts of my era will know why this one was difficult, but I'll leave it at that. Another one that took months of work.
  
• Sailing: The most fun I ever had with a merit badge. Tiny one-person sailboats with a single sail, one seat, and a dagger board you had to drop through the hull before going out on the water. Learning to tack into the wind and not get hit in the head with the boom, and then you learn to catch the breeze just right and you zip across the lake while you're just two feet above the surface... heaven.
  
• Lifesaving: The one that damned near killed me. It's all about how to save someone who is drowning, which is accomplished by taking a 13 year old and having to rescue drowning adults, who punch you and try to dunk you and otherwise act like a frantic, scared drowning victim. Also fun was diving into a murky lake to pull up a cinder block (the "victim") before brain death occurred. You dive, hear the minute count, you dive again, etc., if you fail, the victim dies. Keep at it until you can save the victim in time. This one made me angry at the time, but I'm so glad that I went through that training.
  
• Communications: Public speaking and letter writing and other good gentlemanly skills. I'm still exceptionally polite on the phone because of this and my parents' upbringing.
  
• Personal Management: A difficult one that involved six months of work. This was basically an economics class, which involved learning about banking and taxes and other things. As part of the class I had to meet with a loan officer and go through a sample credit approval process.
  
• Pottery: Everything from here on out is just gravy, since I'd already reached the rank of Eagle. Can't remember anything about this one, but I had a fun week at a new Scout camp.
  
• Archery: A lot of fun, and I still have my old scores and worksheets from this for some reason. I love archery.
  
• Sculpture: Like pottery, I have no memory of this one, and probably don't deserve it.
  
• Rowing: I worked hard at this one, though I didn't really enjoy it. Canoeing is great because one person can lift a canoe and paddle it and they're pretty quick on rivers. Rowboats are heavy, slow, and you can't see where you're going. I'd hop in a canoe in a minute, but you'd have to force me back into a rowboat.
  
• Horsemanship: A great class that involved not only riding but also grooming, including cleaning the hooves. Along with earning a lot of respect for horses, I also managed to get bit and kicked by a new animal. (Before collecting wine grapes, I loved to list off all of the various critters that had gnawed on my flesh. Getting bitten by snakes is painful, but moles have a certain rage that is just scary.)
  
• Backpacking and Hiking: The last two were earned as a result of two separate treks at Philmont Scout Ranch in Cimarron, New Mexico, in the lower range of the Rockies known as the Sangre de Cristo mountains. Each trek involved two weeks in the mountains, carrying a pack between 40-50 lbs. depending on water and provisions, and days that included waking up in snow and spending the day slogging through hot desert with sand and cactus. Those experiences could fill an entire book, and serve as a fitting conclusion to the sash and to this post.

Steel

Recently I was staring at my old baking sheet and marveled at its smooth, nonstick surface. It's not due to a Teflon coating or an anodized finish. Rather, food doesn't stick to it because it's been in continuous use for 40 years.

It's an Ekco, perhaps from 1972 as best Mom can recall. A sheet of steel that was probably stamped out in a Rust Belt factory just like thousands of others. It has a brother--a round sheet that's pretty battered and beaten but can still cook a pizza. When I was a kid this baking sheet was used to make biscuits and cinnamon rolls and cookies and lots of other baked goods. Since it was handed down to me in the mid-90s, I've used it for those purposes as well as a million other things. Yesterday it was used to heat up frozen crab legs dusted with a little Old Bay seasoning.

It was difficult to get a good shot of the cooking surface, since you're looking at black on black. So I took it outside and first snapped a shot of the bottom. Not quite as seasoned, but there's nothing shiny or gray. A little rust here and there.

Despite four decades of use the baking sheet isn't warped or bent, and it doesn't have any holes from rust or damage. It won't last forever, but it's certainly performed far beyond what anyone could have imagined.

When you're photographing something that is dark, it helps to go with brighter light, and you can't get a lot brighter than the sun on a clear day. In this picture you can see some of the patterns in the patina, but more significantly the nonstick coating that has built up over the years allowed me to see my own reflection. A white t-shirt, a big SLR camera over my face, and the blue sky behind me.

This pan and a few bowls and other items are remnants from my parents' wedding in 1972 and early years together before I came along in 1976. Sunday they celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary. As I gaze into my reflection in this otherwise unremarkable piece of metal, I know that I'm in the pan and the pan is in me. The food cooked on it allowed me to grow up and build bone and muscle, and every meal meant a few iron atoms that strayed from the pan to the food to my bloodstream. Likewise, I've burned myself on the pan many times, adding my own contribution to the patina of the lip and edges.

There's a lot of enthusiasm about that which is new and exciting and sparkly, but there's also a great deal to be said for that which is still going strong after so many years and shows no signs of stopping.

Dulcius ex asperis

After doing a lot of cooking at home, at parties, and on icy mountaintops for the past 20 years, I don't have any fear of failure in the kitchen. It doesn't mean that I don't screw up--my New Year's Eve fondue was a dud and I burned a frozen waffle the other day. But I tend to celebrate said disasters rather than get anxious or annoyed. Frankly at this point I enjoy learning something from a cooking failure, and then there are the occasions when the end result is sweeter out of difficulties.

I was planning on doing simple tacos for Saturday, with roasted chicken thighs and braised pork shoulder. With the latter I'll usually throw a few cans of tomatoes and chiles in the enameled Dutch oven along with the pork and let it slow cook until everything is nice and tender, just enough to be pulled easily with a fork. I got distracted with a few other projects and that shoulder ended up simmering for almost ten hours. Because I'd started on Friday, there was plenty of time to make something new for Saturday, but I decided to let it all cool and see what I had to work with in the morning.

Saturday I woke up and discovered that the pork was almost mushy. Flavorful, just barely still in muscular strings but soft and buried under a half inch layer of pork fat and gelatin. I poked around and thought that, it weren't for the tomatoes and chiles and assorted spices, I'd accidentally made rillettes de porc. For the tacos, I took a few spoonfuls and mixed in a bit of chipotles in adobo sauce. I had to be gentle, and just barely warmed it, but the rillettes worked wonderfully in a warm flour tortilla at lunch.

For dinner, I took the opportunity to try another application with my favorite sandwich, the medianoche from Cuba. Ham, Swiss cheese, mustard, pickles, roast pork, all pressed in a loaf of bread split longways and brushed with butter before grilling. Most of the elements of this sandwich are pretty basic and don't change a lot, but the type and preparation of the pork does make a big difference. Sliced pork loin doesn't work that great. Smoked or roasted shoulder that's been pulled is the standard, but can often come out in chunks as you're eating.

But a rillettes-style preparation? Perfect. The flavor is great, but you also get something like a porky version of the tuna melt. Some of the fat renders back out into the bread and helps with crisping, while it slices neatly and makes for easy eating. If I were having to make a lot of these on a regular basis I'd be making Caribbean-spiced rillettes all the time.

I've packed away most of my rillettes de porc mexicaine in the freezer, knowing that in a month or so I'll want to mix some with chopped dates and almonds to serve on toast points.

Happy New Year!

The end of the year is upon us, and while the clock hasn't quite struck midnight, I've got a busy weekend in front of me. In fact, the whole holiday season has been rather hectic with work and family and all sorts of other things, and I've barely had a moment to stop and smell the boughs of holly. For that reason, I'm taking the advice of Fredric and extending the holidays until Twelfth Night. Not only is there historical precedent, but you also get the opportunity to hang out with your Eastern Orthodox friends who celebrate Christmas a little later. Stretch New Year's Eve to Chinese New Year later in January, and you're even better.

As long as I"m mentioning Fredric, be sure to check out his annual Twelve Days of Christmas series on Champagne. You'll get great recommendations from someone who really knows his authentic bubbles.

For my part, I offer up a bunch of posts on proper Champagne, Prosecco, and a whopping 42 posts on sparkling wine, though there's probably some crossover on those categories. My general advice: if you can spare the cash and have a significant other plus another couple that might enjoy the wine, shell out at least $40 for a decent Champagne, and if possible, pick a Grower Champagne. If you're looking for affordable fun for a group of people, grab an assortment of Cavas in a variety of sweetness levels. If you just need fizzy wine to be splashed around at midnight and served to people already too far gone to know what they're drinking, you can have pallets of the stuff delivered for next to nothing.

On another note, during this holiday season, I've left the pen and notebook at home. I've still dutifully tasted and noted samples sent to me, but for wines that I picked up and took to parties or bottles that I sampled at various houses, I took no photos or notes. Oh, people asked me to talk about them, and I did to the best of my ability, but mostly I just said, "What do you think about this wine? Do you like it? If not, it won't hurt my feelings and I won't make fun of you." It was relaxing to simply sit back and enjoy a glass of wine without thinking about linking the winery and writing the PR rep and updating links to the notes on Twitter.

Not that I don't enjoy all of that, and it's part of why I keep scribbling away on this virtual parchment. But we all need perspective, and we all need time to sit back and remember that time with friends and family is wonderful, and if said time can be improved with a little fermented grape juice, all the better.

Dear readers and friends and families, please have fun this weekend, drive safe, and I look forward to a prosperous and engaging 2012. Damn the Mayan calendar, I've got too many things I still want to do.


P.S. Let me explain the photo... It's an old one from five years ago. We used to have a rosebush on the front porch that would dutifully produce a single peach-colored blossom once a year. Not in January, but it was an interesting annual event. I always loved seeing it and took a bunch of pictures each time it bloomed. I always felt that the "Pleasantville" effect was the best way to display it. Sadly, the plant died a few years back.

What a Wonderful World

It's a bit clichéd because of commercials these days, but I'll always have a soft spot for Israel Kamakawiwoʻole's ukulele version of Louis Armstrong's classic hit "What A Wonderful World".

I've been to Hawai'i but haven't actually experienced it. Allow me to elaborate. In the summer of 1976 a pregnant Mom and Dad won a trip to Hawai'i and decided it was too good to pass up. I don't count it on my official list of states visited (I've willingly set foot on 31 as of now), but it's kind of a neat story, and an apt intro to this birthday post. Yes, I turned 35, and why am I showing computers?

In 1984 Dad brought home a bunch of boxes which contained a bunch of gleaming white pieces of technology collectively known as the Apple IIc. It was fully a parents-only thing for a few weeks until I got my wee grubby paws on it and began reading the manuals. Within a month I was doing simple programming in Applesoft BASIC and ProDOS. A few months after that I'd mastered the primitive but mathematically complex applications that allowed for word processing, spreadsheets, and databases. With a 1 mHz processor and a scant 128kb of memory, I pushed that beast to its limits all the way to 1994.

I've held onto the dear machine out of sentimental reasons, though I've tossed out all of the interstitial computers. I do find it fascinating that the latest Apple purchase is the postage stamp-sized iPod Nano. An 8 gigabyte hard drive (the Apple IIc didn't even have one, just the 128 kb of RAM and 140 kB of space on a 5.25" floppy). Full color display (hey, the IIc was advanced for its time), ability to play music for 24 hours straight, grab FM radio broadcasts, serve as a pedometer, and lots of other things.

Similarly, in 1984 I was a voracious reader and quietly thought it would be amazing to be a writer. I either wanted to write science fiction or newspaper editorials, a drive that persisted well into adulthood. Obviously nothing came out of those plans (although I've appeared in magazines and newspapers), but I never stopped writing thanks to the advice of a grouchy English teacher who honestly told me how badly I wrote some things, and how well I wrote other things. And eventually, I got some readers, and today, I had hundreds of them wish me a happy birthday via e-mail and Facebook and other electronic means that I could never have imagined back in 1984.

Lots of people wondered what I was drinking or cooking tonight. And the reality is that I had a vegetarian pizza and a ton of water, because I was hungry and thirsty after work. But I did celebrate last weekend with a long-needed dinner party in Nashville with Sally, her husband Terry, my brother-from-another-mother Paul, and others. I'll write about the wines later, but I'll go ahead and show the dishes. We all had a wonderful time, and it was good to get back in the groove of dinner party magic.

I started out with a sparkling Brut Rosé and a platter of cheese and olives. The cheeses were Wensleydale, Red Leicester and Cambozola. Big hit, but then I brought out the following with a Riesling... moules normande, or mussels cooked with apples, bacon, cream, brandy, shallots, and a great deal of love to keep them from getting tough:



Καρπούζι με φέτα, or as it's known in these parts, watermelon with feta, onion, mint, and a little oil and vinegar, plus the requisite salt and pepper. It's stupidly easy to make but tends to be a show-stopper for those that have never tried it. Pro tip: bad implementations of this dish are really watery, and the fruit juice and whey from the cheese make an unattractive pink slurry. Drain everything and pat dry with paper towels before combining, let rest in the fridge for a few hours, and plate with a slotted spoon to avoid excess liquid. Serve with additional sea salt.



The main course was provided by brother man Paul: a 3.6 kg (8 lb) ribeye roast that was dry-aged in the fridge for a full ten days. Slow roasted to medium rare, and served with grilled endive, homemade horseradish sauce, and a freshly prepared chimichurri sauce. The beef and horseradish were huge hits--chimichurri needs some charred flesh to really work well.



I always pass off dessert responsibilities to the host or a guest. I'm not a great pastry chef, I don't have a sweet tooth, and by that part of the evening I really don't want to cook another course. Sally and Terry provided a delicious carrot cake, while Paul provided the Port. A great combination with the raucous jokes and merriment that ensued:



A great time was had by everyone, and as is my tradition, I'm happiest when I can celebrate my birthday by cooking for a bunch of new friends that don't know it's my birthday. I'm happy, they're happy, and it's a great way to get rid of excess bottles of wine. And what about the wine? They'll show up in future posts about those particular sets...

Until then, thanks for the kind birthday wishes, and many more thanks for reading all these years.

That Which I Dislike

I am not a picky eater by any stretch of the imagination. Part of that was genetics, part was upbringing, but as long as something isn't rotten (in a bad way) or more willing to bite me back (excluding interesting fights with live food), I'm there. I can't recall anything past the age of 13 that I've refused to try. It doesn't mean I liked everything, but when you've consumed live ants and baby octopus that are still twitching slightly and other crazy things, you develop something of an iron stomach.

There's been some talk in the blogosphere recently about the role of negativity in wine writing. I typically don't post negative reviews. I don't lie about wines I dislike, but if something's boring or bad I really just ignore it and focus on the stuff that's drinkable. I think there's also an objective standard like in judging a dog show. The Bedlington Terrier looks ridiculous and might be weird to have running around the house, but I could still say that an individual dog is an excellent representative of the breed standard. I think this approach is important when looking at some of the stranger grapes.

But just to release the valve a bit, I'm going to point out some items that just don't do it for me. I'll consume any of these without crying or moving into projectile vomiting, but it's more a case that I don't get why they are so beloved.

Sake
...and my Japanese readership drops to zero. I've had it hot, cold, cheap, expensive, with food and without. Still not a fan. With sincerity, I bow and say すみません.

Chickpeas
Go on, make hummus with cannellini beans or mashed potatoes and it will be just as tasty. The worst offense is when chickpeas are paired with osso buco, truly one of the greatest dishes ever developed by mankind. Chickpeas are a neutral starch in a nugget form, and are better replaced by rice or beans or pasta or anything with a polysaccharide chain.

Ranch Dressing
Two things really bug me about ranch dressing. 1) People who love it slather it on everything. Fries, dipping your sandwich in it, and coating every vegetable in sight with the stuff. People even have Ranch Dressing Fountains at weddings. Moderation, people. 2) I love buttermilk, and happily cook with it and drink it straight. The population at large finds this disgusting, and will only touch buttermilk if in pancake form and covered with butter and syrup. That ranch dressing you're devouring by the gallon? Lots of buttermilk in there.

Skate
You can add shark in here, since they're both cartilaginous fishes of the Chondrichthyes class that can easily smell like ammonia or urine if the piece of seafood is just fifteen minutes too old. In both cases, you find yourself thinking that it's interesting from a curiosity standpoint, but that there are thousands of tastier things in the ocean.

Jägermeister
Actually, I like Jägermeister. What I can't stand is that the popular perception of it as "the last thing you drink on a dare before you throw up". This gives a bad name to bitters, herbal liqueurs, and anything licorice or anise flavored. There's this amazing world of aperitifs and digestifs out there that people are scared to try in their proper usage because of stupidity in bars.

The Chicago Hot Dog
Sigh... more hate mail. I've had these in Chicago and prepared by expats of Cook County. The concept isn't bad, but I think it's destroyed by the neon green relish. Not only is it as sweet as pancake syrup, but it's dosed up with blue food coloring to get that bright shade not found in nature. I say ditch the relish, and make a crude salsa from the tomato, sport peppers, dill pickle spear, onion, and celery salt.

The Neologism "Foodie"
I don't normally get angry about words, but "foodie" bugs me. There are perfectly good words like gourmand and gourmet and gastronome and epicurean that fit your particular niche. Foodie sounds like the babbling of a toddler that is constantly begging for nourishment but can't use big words yet. I do not object to those who call themselves foodies--such folks love good food and are doing some amazing writing online and in print. But I can still twitch my whiskers in annoyance when someone calls me by that name. If people start calling oenophiles "winies", so help me God I'll shut this site down. I'm talking full on, turn the station wagon around, we're not going to Disney World, kids.


Credit goes to the Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh for the Mr. Yuk logo. I remember it well from my childhood. Not so much from a warning, but rather reading off the numbers to Mom because I'd sampled some bottle of vitamins or dish soap or whatever. What can I say... young Benito had an expansive palate.

Civil War Wine Reviews

There is a time in your life when you start to become fascinated by genealogy, and for many this time is accompanied by a general thinning of the scalp and the odd grey hair in an otherwise red beard. My interest in wine is not new to my family tree: I had ancestors in California back at the turn of the last century and various fruit wines were produced at home by the many farmers in the woodpile. I had thought that I was the first wine writer in the family until I stumbled upon a forgotten relative from the 19th century.

Sgt. Beauregard Benitus Carter, III (1827-1903) was a member of the British Army (St. Lawrence Canadian Regiment). This was an awkward position for him, as England was not involved in the war, but marginally favorable to the Confederacy, while Canadians were generally supportive of the Union. As an observer, he stayed out of actual battle but was ordered to photograph and document the war. A serious wine fan and importer for the Hudson's Bay Company, his focus was rather narrow and of limited use to the Crown. Below are a few of his photos, sketches, and notes.

The Union controlled the 19th century winemaking powerhouses of Ohio, Missouri, and New York. As such, there were frequent raids by Confederate forces who had grown tired of low grade whiskey. Here, a pair of Union soldiers defend the last barrel of 1856 Pichon Longueville.

"One may venture to inquire as to why soldiers would shield themselves with the very treasure they were entrusted to protect. Due to lamentable losses in the early stages of the war, barrels were double-walled with a layer of steel between them. While this required much extra work from the coopers, such protection was paramount to ensuring safe passage and storage."
— Sgt. B.B. Carter, III. March 8, 1863.

The much stronger, thicker barrels required some new technological advances. The iron forges of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania provided the first prototype of the M1857a Napoleon Tactical Corkscrew. It took three mules to pull the cart, and ten strong men to position and operate the corkscrew. A half dozen bags of powder were required to pierce through the thick oak and metal plating.

"I wept as a crew of new recruits overloaded the Napoleon and sent the steel worm-screw completely through the barrel. Our precious Michigan Chambourcin flowed upon the ground like so much blood has been spilt in this tragic conflict."
— Sgt. B.B. Carter, III. March 8, 1863, addendum

Tastings were not always happy affairs. When supply was scarce, only the generals got to consume wine. But at other times, like in this sketch from Chancellorsville, Virgina, many were able to sample the latest arrival. Regardless of class, the only accompaniments were small slices of salt pork, dry squares of hardtack, and the odd bit of artisan goat cheese plundered from nearby farms.

"A strict hierarchy is enforced during the degustation. Officers are served first and in descending order of rank. Officers are served five-ounce pours, while the enlisted men are provided with three-ounce pours. Some enterprising men have been known to drill out the stems of their glasses or run a section of pig intestine down their sleeves in order to swindle a deeper ration. Those honourless thieves who are discovered are whipped at dawn and restricted from attendance at future tastings."
— Sgt. B.B. Carter, III. November 12, 1864

Individual bottles did still exist at the time, and in areas with good access to uninterrupted train tracks and postal service, some were able to maintain their wine-of-the-month subscriptions from back home in Boston or New York City.

"As a non-commissioned officer I often spent time with soldiers of my own rank. Infantry Sgt. Wellington stared at his latest wine-subscription bottle, and mourned, 'For the love of God, our nation, the innocent souls of my children, and all that we hold dear, why on Earth did they send me yet another corked Merlot? Gentlemen, these are the times that try men's souls.' Morale was poor that month during the cholera outbreak, and the last thing those men needed was a spoilt claret."
— Sgt. B.B. Carter, III, undated caption on back of photo


For more on the subject, be sure to check out the detailed History of Canadian-American Wine Photojournalism During the Civil War at the Smithsonian website.



Many apologies to Mathew Brady, Edward P. Doherty, my ancestors on both sides of the conflict, and others too numerous to mention.

The Not So Endless Summer

Visiting a zoo (such as my dear beloved Memphis Zoo) in the summer can be an interesting experience. Even the animals that are accustomed to hot weather prefer to take it easy during the day, and those that prefer colder climes retreat to air conditioned enclosures. For instance, a few years ago I snapped this photo of a female Pongo abelii who decided the best move was to just nap in the clover. As a fellow great ape with red hair, I know how she feels.

In addition to the long, hot, miserable summer we've endured here in the southeastern quarter of the United States, various winebloggers around the country have found themselves wondering, "Where are the comments?" "Is anybody reading?" "Should I admit that I'm dropping ice cubes in my Chenin Blanc?" Summers are always a little dry as folks go on vacation, kids are bugging them all the time, and various responsibilities of life eat away at time. Plus, the heat and humidity can sap the gumption of the best of us. "I've been meaning to comment on your blog, but every time I sit down on the couch with the laptop I zonk out within fifteen minutes. Also, I love wine but right now an ice cold Coors Light is about as much as I can handle."

Over the years I've noticed this summer drought of communication, and it's easy to read some of the lack of enthusiasm from other bloggers. How do you keep it fresh and interesting? How do you maintain readers without resorting to repeats or gimmicks?

I'm thinking that next summer I'm going to devote a day a week to random odds and ends. Maybe some short fiction, maybe some humor, maybe I'll fantasize and design some Chateau Benito wine labels, maybe post a dozen links to my favorite summer songs and explain where I was when I first heard them. There's a lot of debate over the border between writers and bloggers, but to do either well you have to want to convert ideas to text, and care about what you're doing. The joy of this particular format is that you can write about whatever you want. The weakness is that few take that opportunity. Nobody challenges you to step out of your subject area or comfort zone. There's no teacher that assigns you 500 words on the color green or an editor that needs you to review a Swedish death metal concert when you've been covering city council meetings for ten years.

Fear not, this blog isn't going to turn into wistful musings on my time playing catcher for a church league baseball team, and I'm not going to replace wine reviews with funny pictures of cats with amusing captions. I'm examining the idea that these dreary summer months might be better spent recharging the batteries and exploring some experimental territory. I've got a hunch that you'd see some pretty spectacular wine writing in the fall.

Notes on Dinner Party Management

For about a year now, I've wanted to do a comprehensive guide on hosting dinner parties. I keep starting and then deleting it all, because it always goes in a weird direction. Sort of a grouchy Kitchen Confidential angle, which is unfortunate because I really enjoy hosting dinner parties and have it down to such a science that the past few have been practically effortless and I find myself missing the exciting, nervous energy that such events used to evoke.

Here's a few odds and ends that have survived the editing process. I could write an entire book on Why I Don't Invite Children, but I'm trying to steer the project into more positive directions.

* * *

I've hosted about two dozen dinner parties, which I define as six or more guests and multiple courses with matching wines throughout the evening. These were events where I planned the whole menu and prepared everything during the party. Not only was I cooking and hosting, but I was also eating, drinking, and participating along with everyone else. It's a delicate balancing act, and I've learned valuable lessons like putting the smallest portions on my own plate and just going with small pours of wine throughout.

If you haven't done this before and you want to be prepared for hosting a dinner party, I'd suggest the following training exercise:

1) Get ready for a regular weekend dinner with your significant other or spouse, and lay out all the ingredients and equipment you will be using. Mise en place is very important to a smooth dinner party.

2) An hour before dinner, have your special someone randomly remove 25% of the ingredients and equipment and move them out of the house.

3) Fifteen minutes before dinner, a random and unknown number of people show up to join you. At least one person must be a vegetarian, one person must have specific religious objections to certain root vegetables, and one must be allergic to all ingredients that begin with the letter B.

4) If at this point you break down in deep, heaving sobs while an improvised couscous-eggplant casserole slowly dries out in the oven, I would recommend going back and reading The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus. You have to learn to accept the absurdity of certain impossible situations.

* * *

I don't think you can really pull off a proper dinner party unless you've had some colossal screwups and failures in the kitchen. Everybody messes up occasionally, but doing it in front of a bunch of friends, family, and lovely young ladies you're trying to impress is different than burning the toast while making breakfast alone.

I've always admired the first lesson from Juggling for the Complete Klutz. It's called "The Drop". You take one beanbag and drop it on the floor. Since learning how to juggle will involve a lot of objects dropped on the ground or flung across the room, you might as well go ahead and get that out of the way. The same goes for cooking. I'd like to see more beginner advice for things like hollandaise sauce. The first thing you do is make a really buttery set of scrambled eggs. The next thing you make is a nasty egg-lemon soup. Between the two extremes lies the ideal mixing and gentle temperature necessary for a proper sauce.

I'm going to list some of the mistakes I've made during dinner parties. In every case I managed to recover and soldier on, only because I'd previously made similar mistakes and had learned to improvise:

1) Slicing off the tip of my left thumb and going on to cook an entire Thanksgiving dinner for six using only my right hand. Thrusting my entire arm into the turkey to remove it from the brine and rinse it off in the bathtub is now a cherished holiday memory.

2) Making a delicate and intricate garnish out of various herbs and vegetables, then forgetting about it until everyone is halfway through the course.

3) Grilling a leg of lamb and realizing at the last minute that I didn't have any sort of meat thermometer. Lots of poking and prodding and hoping for the best.

4) Desperately trying to make homemade mayonnaise to show off to a group of folks who had never had the condiment freshly made. It's a simple emulsion of egg yolks, oil, and an acid like vinegar or lemon juice. Without the egg yolks, the whole thing will not come together as a sauce, and you'll be standing there like me for five minutes with a mixer, getting nowhere.

* * *

Any interest in further, more detailed musings on the subject? Further topics include Assembling a Good Mix of People, The Importance of Preparation, and How to Get Guests to Help Wash Dishes Between Courses. Or do you have your own cautionary tales of dinner parties gone awry? Go crazy in the comments.

A Wine Self-Education

I recently had a week that involved e-mails back and forth wine winemakers and exporters in half a dozen countries. I had dinner with Lady A on a Thursday, then dinner with Laura and her friend on a Saturday. I'd never met Laura's friend before, and she asked me how I got into the whole wineblogging thing. I gave the 30 second canned answer, but as I was opening up my 15th bottle of wine for the week, I asked myself, "Well, how did I get here?" After thinking about it for a few days, I think I found the answer.

Stamp collecting.

I was never a serious stamp collector as a kid, but it was a neat hobby. Most of what I find enjoyable with wine is what I liked with stamps: foreign languages, geography, history, and this sense of wonder that I get to hold something in my hands from 6,000 miles away that's maybe older than I am. The significant difference, of course, is the social aspect. I've gotten a pretty good reputation for my dinner parties and wine pairings, while I think inviting folks over to look at my First Day of Issue Covers might not go as well.

The stamp collector can be a tragic figure: the loner who explores the world through little squares of paper but never leaves the house. The wine enthusiast has a much more positive public image, especially since the stereotype of the snob is diminishing.

Years back, I'd considered doing a guide for wine newbies, sort of a path to follow if you wanted to expand your palate and learn about wine. But I think Tyler did it better with his book on seasonal wine exploration. Instead, I'm going to offer up my own personal wine history for the sake of anyone that's curious. Is this the best path to take? No. Did it work for me? More so recently than early on. Am I happy with my wine self-education? Absolutely! It's been a blast, but it ain't over yet.

Early 1990s
High school years
I honestly don't remember the first wine I tasted, but I certainly remember the first name I began to associate with wine. Around 1990 or so, Dad started to get mixed cases every Christmas from V. Sattui. They made a Cabernet Sauvignon, a Riesling, a Chardonnay, a Gamay Rouge, a Merlot... Really a perfect mixed case from a great producer. Since this was the start of my high school years, I was doing a lot of cooking at home, and many of the recipes I was learning required a bit of wine. I was given the freedom to use wine as needed, and would usually take a sip from the measuring cup just to see what the flavors were like. I really appreciate my parents trusting me to experiment with wine in this regard, and at no point did I end up drunk and passed out on the kitchen floor. I was an Eagle Scout and did fine in school. I've always admired the European method of demystifying wine at home, rather than our American tradition of encouraging spectacular drunkenness on cheap hooch as soon as the kid moves out.

1996
20 years old
Trip to Italy with the girlfriend at the time, got to enjoy wine during lunch, afternoon snack, dinner, and the inevitable post-dinner conversation in broken Italian with various innkeepers and restaurant owners. Breakfast was the only meal that didn't involve wine, because invariably you got a shot of liqueur in your espresso.

1997
21 years old
After enduring the awkwardness of getting my older roommate to purchase wine for me (mostly cheap sweet Riesling), I spent the eve of my 21st birthday with my parents and Mike Whitfield at a combination cooking class/wine tasting/general party at Mantia's. It was the first time I ever tried a wine over 10 years old, the first time I tried a wine over $100, and the first time I ever saw treasured wines opened up for the sheer pleasure of sharing them with friends.

1998-2003
22-27 years old
These years saw a bit of a decline in wine interest. Because of the people I was working and hanging out with at the time, this was an era of beer and, in retrospect, really terrible cocktails. Zima and cranberry juice? Premixed margaritas? Yep. I'd grab the odd bottle of wine but it was more of a special occasion thing.

2004
28 years old
I got invited to a dinner party hosted by longtime family friend and local wine expert, Mike Whitfield. I brought two absolutely undrinkable wines to the party, but nobody gave me a hard time. I got to try a lot of amazing wines with delicious food, and for the first time in my life I realized the glory of a multi-course dinner party with matching wines. I hosted my first later that year, and have done dozens more since then. More importantly, in 2004 I started attending wine tastings. I discovered that my local wine shop attached to Costco was having regular tastings, and it was a fun way to spend a Saturday afternoon. Try five wines, buy one that tasted good? Why not? Then I discovered the Great Wines tastings, and could sometimes double up on a Saturday. Faced with lots of tasting, I began to look for a digital solution to keep track of the notes...

2005-2006
29-30 years old
I started this blog in January of 2005, solely as a way to keep track of all the wines I was tasting, and I tasted a lot. During those two years, I attended every free or paid tasting I could find, and wrote about every single one. Even if I attended a party and someone broke out a horrible California Chardonnay that had spent years sitting on top of a radiator, I wrote about it. These were not great years for the readers, of which there were few, but around 2006 I started posting stories about dinner parties, or focused on a single wine for a post, and learned the value of quality over quantity.

What happened to my wine tastes in this era? I lost my interest in sweet wines, except for the occasional dessert wine or properly balanced Riesling. I discovered the joys of bitter, earthy, and citrusy flavors. I learned to appreciate the beauty of a good Bordeaux while at the same time learning the fun and value of a Prosecco. Since I had a strict policy of tasting everything, and almost never buying the same wine twice, I broadened my palate considerably during this period.

2007-2008
31-32 years old
This was a time of lots of business travel, and one in which I became interested in things like cocktails and cigars, discovering all sorts of new flavors. The blog became a lot more popular, people started calling me an expert (I'm still not quite comfortable with that title), and my wine writing began to really get noticed locally, nationally, and around the world. It was also during this time that I got to know Fredric personally and started to spend the odd afternoon at his place going through fascinating wines that wouldn't have otherwise crossed my path. I'd grown up reading his restaurant reviews and started to learn more about wine criticism rather than simple tasting. I call this a self-education because of its informal nature, but never underestimate the benefit of a mentor who will point out your error on Beaujolais classification.

2009-Present
Because I got noticed by the industry and began receiving samples on a regular basis, the choice of the wines I was tasting shifted out of my hands. The great thing about this phase is that it forces you out of your unconscious biases. Over time it's easy to get tunnel vision, where you skip entire sections and stick to what's familiar. Also, for the first time, I got to try three wines from the same producer in one setting, or eight wines from one region, or some other grouping. I started to pay more attention to terroir, to winemaker style, and to the impact of mergers and acquisitions.

I think the natural destination for a wine lover is that at some point you narrow your focus and specialize, often in one of the big regions: Napa, Burgundy, Bordeaux, etc. Or that it's best to purchase only whole cases of single wines for aging and collecting. Talking to people ten years ago, I figured that's where you were supposed to go. That at some point you have to put down the Cava and other childish things and stick to Champagne. But I don't see myself ever going there. When I collected stamps, I never focused on bird stamps or war stamps or any one subject. I wasn't concerned about profitability either, I just wanted interesting stamps from as many different places as possible. I see my wine tastes staying pretty much like that, getting ever more spread out as new regions pop up and older neglected regions get a new chance in the American market. I recently told a chef that my ideal wine list would look more like the phone directory at the UN rather than just a set of Cab Savs and Chard.

I get a little flack for that position, but any hobby without some arguments and friendly trash-talking is a boring one. And the way I keep it fresh and interesting is by hopping from grape to grape and country to country with the frequency of a cheap ham radio.

Enjoy your own path, wherever it leads you. Take notes, share the love, and have fun.