Dark, complicated, and consistent. As the phantom falls from the bottle, the eye can’t resist but indulging in the ravishing siren of a shade. Not a predictable or facile character. This ghostly muse, one of many channels and harmonies, flavors and potentials. Nose conveying the floral shade, in soft sensual strokes, gently augmented by rich berries. When the 84% Cab Franc, 16% Cab Sauvignon, 2% Merlot leaps to your lips, the complication blossoms, revealing inveigling character in the notes of dark chocolate, persistent espresso, and rich, savory, damp soil. Her chocolate fervor carries for more than a cluster of minutes on finish.
Ingenious approach to an otherwise difficult wine. No dryness, just diligence in character and flavor. It has a certain haunting effect, a playful presence which begets the lasting impression I hope for my wines to have. Flavors layer and interact admirably, consistent character with a salve to each sip. So I sip, sip...
Friday, April 30, 2010
100 During Hours of Office
That no student attends. A little more awake, now. Was dying while the students were engaged in their exams. First thing when home, into the literary cellar. Enough of this procrastination. See what varietals, genre blends, craziness I bump into.
Writing a lot of poetry. A lot. Manuscript idea: ‘Poems, Entries, Responses’. Can’t afford to spend years on a novel and not do anything else, not now. Write and release, as the hardest working author in the world. I don’t want to be the richest, necessarily. Definitely don’t want to be the most “famous.” I simply want to be acknowledged and respected for my ethic.
Writing a lot of poetry. A lot. Manuscript idea: ‘Poems, Entries, Responses’. Can’t afford to spend years on a novel and not do anything else, not now. Write and release, as the hardest working author in the world. I don’t want to be the richest, necessarily. Definitely don’t want to be the most “famous.” I simply want to be acknowledged and respected for my ethic.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Room Notes: Shackled in Calculation
Will sweeping. Offered to help, but he’s in a distinguished swoon. Don’t want to interrupt. As the bristles against the tiles scrape, dust is projected, like ash from battle-blanketed streets, or a tomb, disintegrated bone. With such ethereal elements on the other side of the glass doors, we are trapped in here. In this tomb. Maybe I need a sip. Sauv Blanc? The breakfast bottle, as Auggie calls it.
Older couple. Laughed when I said “When times are tough, people drink,” referring to the tough economy. They asked how we were doing in such financially uncertain scenes.
Someone just used the term “foodie.” Hate that word. Look, some enjoy wine with food, some don’t. It is truly that simple. No tag necessary.
Tired. Cranky. Too much of that ’05 Cab last night, and Katie’s Chardonnay. Damn this wine!
10:49a. Long day, Mike was sure. His limbs, even language, process of thought, felt twisted. He was unable to untangle. Still, he managed to record a couple items in his little book. How was he going to make it to 5p?
“So what else is new, man? How’s your teaching going?” Will asked, setting the broom aside. “How is everything for ya there, Bob?” he said, imitating that Chris Farley skit where he enacted the obsessed super fan.
Mike laughed. He could never hold in the reaction to Will’s hilarity. “Everything A-okay, Bob.” They laughed, continued with the Chicago-staccato’d improv. “School is on my last nerve. There’s no work.”
“Yeah, that has to be tough,” Will added. “Sorry, bro.” Guests approached, their postures pushed into the collective professional.
Growing disdain for this Room, its invaders. No peace. I should be outside, walking around that vineyard, vineyards. Writing. Those mountains, talking to me, urging a flee.
Will and I just saw a semi turn around, alarmingly close to the first row of Syrah grapes. The driver managed to maneuver his I-don’t-know-how-many-wheeled monster on just a slice of gavel path. Will and I are going back for with this puzzling moment, reality. How did he do that? What an odd event to witness from the Room. Trying, in my head, to calculate this driver’s performance. Horrible at math, don’t try. Part of me wants to go out and tell him to back off. I love Syrah, and want to protect it. Okay, now I am getting deranged, delusional. Where’s that breakfast bottle?
4 from NC. Funny, kind, joined the club. They spoke to each other with such a smoothness, Southern slang, strangely elegant, sophisticated. Would love to visit North Carolina. Counting the money I have, in my account, in my head. Calculating this possibility. My math skills, remedial, child-like, at best. Whatever. I’m sure I can’t afford it.
Outside, Heaven. The Room, a punishing Purgatory. Refusing to sip the Sauv.
More San Diego people. Was there a memo?
Just when I was beginning to open myself up to club members, I’m greeted by a pig. Group of 4, Mark helping them at the other end of the bar. He went into the VIP room to fetch some artisan bottle. I approached, with discretion and humility. “How’s everything going? Mark treating you guys right?” The piggish club member said, “Well, he’s a manager, what do you think?” Get me out of this box. Put me in the vineyard, in the sun, away from these pretentious clowns.
Shackled by this shift. At least Will persists with the Chris Farley bit. Can’t get enough of it. “How about a nice pork product sandwich there, Bob?” He just reminded me of the meeting immediately after the day. Am going to be here even longer. At least we get dinner, free wine. Fair middle-ground. I suppose.
Two friends. Male from Green Bay, WI, woman (older) from southeast Alaska (can’t remember name of town; it was a “town,” she said). She, very artsy, featherish with her descriptors, but somewhat bitter and snappy. She asked for some water, complained when I gave her a wine glass with water from tap. She lectured on how water shouldn’t ever go in a wine glass, and how tap water is full of toxins, and evil things the corporation “vomit into our streams,” she said. What?
Just found a red dot, a couple of them, on my shirt. Damn puddles on the wooden edge of the counter. The dots, on the abdomen portion, and yes, they are red, dark red. Must be the Petit Sirah from Dry Creek.
Sipping the SB. Need it, in order to extinguish this claustrophobia, eagerness to leave, coping with the Now, that I’m going to be here until at least 7p. It’s just after 12p. That’s a galaxy away. Sip, sip...
Trying to calculate exactly how much time I have left in the shift. Take away the 30 min for lunch (which is ridiculous! Moronic, menial PAST management), the cleanup/promo-ing of bottles...forget it. No more math.
A guest just tried our ’05 Merlot. “Pretty good for a Merlot,” he said. What’s that supposed to mean? Poor Merlot.
1:02p. Time for lunch. Should I tough it out till 2? Just asked Mark if that’s okay. He said “1:50.” Traffic is increasing. Wouldn’t be shocked if I don’t get out till 2:30p.
Nice couple from Salt Lake City, UT. “4 of 4, all with 4 stars,” the man with an amazing camera said. He showed me the pictures he took, how his professional device functions, the options, modes, etc. Inspires me to get my few pictures developed. Makes me realize I need a new hobby. Why not photography? That’s art, fun, a healthy hobby, right?
2:51p. Back from lunch. Will doing aroma workshop in VIP room. He remerged, approached me with an intoxicated gaze and glaze to his eyes. “The fumes are making me nauseous, man. They’re strong. Come back and check it out.” No thanks, I said. Went back there a few minutes later to make sure he was standing, lucid. Found he had acclimated. Should have sampled the scents. Would have been an interesting experience, valuable for my pages.
Some jerk limo driver just yelled at Cara and I. He complained about our phone system, how no one would pick up, and how our winery needs better arrangements for his passengers. I asked if he was from California Wine Tours. He said, “Don’t ever say that in my presence! They’re the enemy!” He then arrogantly shot his business card onto the marble, more or less in my direction.
Couple from AZ likes the ’05 Cab, the paramount culprit in this morning’s sluggishness. Part of me wants to dislike them, the other praise their taste in wine.
Closing register, calculating totals. Hope I got them right. Day finally past. Now, the meeting. Good, I need dinner, a free dinner.
Older couple. Laughed when I said “When times are tough, people drink,” referring to the tough economy. They asked how we were doing in such financially uncertain scenes.
Someone just used the term “foodie.” Hate that word. Look, some enjoy wine with food, some don’t. It is truly that simple. No tag necessary.
Tired. Cranky. Too much of that ’05 Cab last night, and Katie’s Chardonnay. Damn this wine!
10:49a. Long day, Mike was sure. His limbs, even language, process of thought, felt twisted. He was unable to untangle. Still, he managed to record a couple items in his little book. How was he going to make it to 5p?
“So what else is new, man? How’s your teaching going?” Will asked, setting the broom aside. “How is everything for ya there, Bob?” he said, imitating that Chris Farley skit where he enacted the obsessed super fan.
Mike laughed. He could never hold in the reaction to Will’s hilarity. “Everything A-okay, Bob.” They laughed, continued with the Chicago-staccato’d improv. “School is on my last nerve. There’s no work.”
“Yeah, that has to be tough,” Will added. “Sorry, bro.” Guests approached, their postures pushed into the collective professional.
Growing disdain for this Room, its invaders. No peace. I should be outside, walking around that vineyard, vineyards. Writing. Those mountains, talking to me, urging a flee.
Will and I just saw a semi turn around, alarmingly close to the first row of Syrah grapes. The driver managed to maneuver his I-don’t-know-how-many-wheeled monster on just a slice of gavel path. Will and I are going back for with this puzzling moment, reality. How did he do that? What an odd event to witness from the Room. Trying, in my head, to calculate this driver’s performance. Horrible at math, don’t try. Part of me wants to go out and tell him to back off. I love Syrah, and want to protect it. Okay, now I am getting deranged, delusional. Where’s that breakfast bottle?
4 from NC. Funny, kind, joined the club. They spoke to each other with such a smoothness, Southern slang, strangely elegant, sophisticated. Would love to visit North Carolina. Counting the money I have, in my account, in my head. Calculating this possibility. My math skills, remedial, child-like, at best. Whatever. I’m sure I can’t afford it.
Outside, Heaven. The Room, a punishing Purgatory. Refusing to sip the Sauv.
More San Diego people. Was there a memo?
Just when I was beginning to open myself up to club members, I’m greeted by a pig. Group of 4, Mark helping them at the other end of the bar. He went into the VIP room to fetch some artisan bottle. I approached, with discretion and humility. “How’s everything going? Mark treating you guys right?” The piggish club member said, “Well, he’s a manager, what do you think?” Get me out of this box. Put me in the vineyard, in the sun, away from these pretentious clowns.
Shackled by this shift. At least Will persists with the Chris Farley bit. Can’t get enough of it. “How about a nice pork product sandwich there, Bob?” He just reminded me of the meeting immediately after the day. Am going to be here even longer. At least we get dinner, free wine. Fair middle-ground. I suppose.
Two friends. Male from Green Bay, WI, woman (older) from southeast Alaska (can’t remember name of town; it was a “town,” she said). She, very artsy, featherish with her descriptors, but somewhat bitter and snappy. She asked for some water, complained when I gave her a wine glass with water from tap. She lectured on how water shouldn’t ever go in a wine glass, and how tap water is full of toxins, and evil things the corporation “vomit into our streams,” she said. What?
Just found a red dot, a couple of them, on my shirt. Damn puddles on the wooden edge of the counter. The dots, on the abdomen portion, and yes, they are red, dark red. Must be the Petit Sirah from Dry Creek.
Sipping the SB. Need it, in order to extinguish this claustrophobia, eagerness to leave, coping with the Now, that I’m going to be here until at least 7p. It’s just after 12p. That’s a galaxy away. Sip, sip...
Trying to calculate exactly how much time I have left in the shift. Take away the 30 min for lunch (which is ridiculous! Moronic, menial PAST management), the cleanup/promo-ing of bottles...forget it. No more math.
A guest just tried our ’05 Merlot. “Pretty good for a Merlot,” he said. What’s that supposed to mean? Poor Merlot.
1:02p. Time for lunch. Should I tough it out till 2? Just asked Mark if that’s okay. He said “1:50.” Traffic is increasing. Wouldn’t be shocked if I don’t get out till 2:30p.
Nice couple from Salt Lake City, UT. “4 of 4, all with 4 stars,” the man with an amazing camera said. He showed me the pictures he took, how his professional device functions, the options, modes, etc. Inspires me to get my few pictures developed. Makes me realize I need a new hobby. Why not photography? That’s art, fun, a healthy hobby, right?
2:51p. Back from lunch. Will doing aroma workshop in VIP room. He remerged, approached me with an intoxicated gaze and glaze to his eyes. “The fumes are making me nauseous, man. They’re strong. Come back and check it out.” No thanks, I said. Went back there a few minutes later to make sure he was standing, lucid. Found he had acclimated. Should have sampled the scents. Would have been an interesting experience, valuable for my pages.
Some jerk limo driver just yelled at Cara and I. He complained about our phone system, how no one would pick up, and how our winery needs better arrangements for his passengers. I asked if he was from California Wine Tours. He said, “Don’t ever say that in my presence! They’re the enemy!” He then arrogantly shot his business card onto the marble, more or less in my direction.
Couple from AZ likes the ’05 Cab, the paramount culprit in this morning’s sluggishness. Part of me wants to dislike them, the other praise their taste in wine.
Closing register, calculating totals. Hope I got them right. Day finally past. Now, the meeting. Good, I need dinner, a free dinner.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Reconnecting With Merlot
2004 Merlot, St. Francis, from their Behler Vineyard. Soft, composed, gentle yet stern. Dark berry flavors with speckles of smoke. Been a stretch of life since the last Merlot that shifted my sense of Self. I know many are on the “hate-Merlot” cruiser, but this bottle, its character, will pull them back into subscription. I didn’t plan on composing a response tonight, but I can’t be immobile while sipping such Merlot mastery. Mint staccatos from nose to the fulfilling finish. This wine’s essentia, opportunistically erotic. Each sip, spellbinding. Me, powerless in this reconnection with the Bordeaux sedative. My reflection, wonderment and euphoric imbalance. Sip...on a cloud. Enamored in Merlot, for the second first time. Feel like I’m on a stroll, with a lover, a mistress. St. Francis created an immortally extraterrestrial wine. Another sip? Yes, yes.
No Conundrum at Kunde.
Why do I say this? It’s brilliance. I am certain of my reaction to this sanctum. Hospitality exquisiteness, winemaking mastery. Tantamount to Sonoma Valley perfection, and what is unrivaled in tasting experiences, honestly. Another family winery that stands up to the most reputable of corporate big whigs in Sonoma, or Napa, Valley. Everything today in their tasting Room, from the Sauv Blanc to the Cabernet, delivered structure, complexity, and continuity. Notable notes that insure my revisits. On the tasting menu, I must say, though, I was most impressed by the Primitivo. Fruitful, forward, and impressive in the delivery of deep chords, and reflection. A complicated character, that I had difficulty in tapering tastes. This winery’s character, one that pushes the story forward, comforting, and captivating the subject with elegant confusion. Like me, as I ask myself, “Why haven’t I visited this harbor of enjoyment, savor, before? And how did they make such an amazing and distinguished Gewurtztraminer?” Never tasted one I liked. Till today.
The vistas: matchless, divine. Hospitality: any winery in the valley would envy such practices. From the caves, to the pond, to the tasting Room, to the Primitivo, to the Cab (that even Napa folk would envy, adore), I’m reflective, replaying my moments on the grounds. Don’t forget that Gewurtz’. Lasting impression, multi-layered. When can I go back? No conundrum, or confusion about my state following my sojourn. Sincerely dazzled, impressed, seduced. Going back. Maybe tomorrow. Why not. Yes, tomorrow. Kunde, hope you don’t mind my revisit, and adoration.
(Sat. 4/24/10)
The vistas: matchless, divine. Hospitality: any winery in the valley would envy such practices. From the caves, to the pond, to the tasting Room, to the Primitivo, to the Cab (that even Napa folk would envy, adore), I’m reflective, replaying my moments on the grounds. Don’t forget that Gewurtz’. Lasting impression, multi-layered. When can I go back? No conundrum, or confusion about my state following my sojourn. Sincerely dazzled, impressed, seduced. Going back. Maybe tomorrow. Why not. Yes, tomorrow. Kunde, hope you don’t mind my revisit, and adoration.
(Sat. 4/24/10)
Friday, April 23, 2010
Kelly
She’s not speaking to me. Why? Is she perturbed with the way I her depict? Frustrated, hating all ideas. She deserves better. I want to imagine some resolve to this session, but can’t envision one. With only a handful of breaths before sleep, I’m near a weep. Defeat. Want to push ‘delete’. Looking through my notes, on her. She deserves better.
She’s the notion I can’t deliver. If I could, I’d be rich. But that’s not what I’m after. Seeking to respect my character, be honorable in her ubiety. She’s my literary deity. Her entries, swirling in my circle. But I can't execute neither written nor verbal.
She’s the notion I can’t deliver. If I could, I’d be rich. But that’s not what I’m after. Seeking to respect my character, be honorable in her ubiety. She’s my literary deity. Her entries, swirling in my circle. But I can't execute neither written nor verbal.
Midday 100: Mayo Family Winery and Vineyards
What to say about Mayo? Go there, now. Selection, quality, agreeability. Delightful staff and wines. Where do I begin with this extended selection of delectation? Yearly production of about six to nine thousand cases, and 35 different wines. Comfortable tasting Room, ushering a memorable moment, tasting experience. Find the main Room for tasting these robustly rich vinos in Glen Ellen, right off of 12 (take a right on Arnold into Glen Ellen), and the Reserve Room in Kenwood which offers wine and food pairings, as well as more reserve wines and other surprises. Each location, like a step into a familiar structure. Reliable, both in quality and interaction. My Mayo favorites: 1) ’07 Kunde Ranch Barbera, sweetly concentrated and bold, 2) ’06 Russian River Valley Alicante-Bouchet, balanced, firm and fruity, 3) everything else, especially their Pinots. And Zins!
This Family winery is sincere, and an experience impossible to forget. Come to think of it, I need to get back. Thinking about their 2007 Ricci Vineyard Zin, a must-taste. Could use a sip of that. Stop by. Visit, either location. No, both! Now. Flavors, dependability and delight. Family entails occasion, and celebration, to me. My friends, your friends, at Mayo will agree. Call soon to find out more, 707-938-9401. Cheers!
This Family winery is sincere, and an experience impossible to forget. Come to think of it, I need to get back. Thinking about their 2007 Ricci Vineyard Zin, a must-taste. Could use a sip of that. Stop by. Visit, either location. No, both! Now. Flavors, dependability and delight. Family entails occasion, and celebration, to me. My friends, your friends, at Mayo will agree. Call soon to find out more, 707-938-9401. Cheers!
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