May 2004

May 31

Another travel guide recommendation for a restaurant called The Witchery. This one was easier. I walked in the door and asked for a table for four people. “We're not quite ready to seat anyone yet, sir,” was the terse reply. I apologized and asked when we could sit. “Soon.” May I show my friends the restaurant? There are some people down there, so you can go down the steps but don't get off the steps. “May I see a menu?” “There's one out front.”

The out front referred to was about one hundred feet away, out on the street. I explained that we would simply dine elsewhere but “thanks”. Is the concept of hospitality that hard to understand?

May 29

The beginnings of a trip to Scotland are aboard British Midland Airlines, an airline I haven't ever experienced before. Amazing service, good wines, fairly good food, amazing hats. The flight attendants all wore little black leather gloves. Hmm.

But, just like every American airline staff, they knew nothing about the wine they were serving. I had some Pol Roger non-vintage Brut, a few glasses of Benigni Verdicchio and even more glasses of Batailley 1999 later, I didn't care.

May 30

Restaurant service in Edinburgh was far less caring than I might have hoped. A highly touted restaurant called Oloroso treated us politely but refused to seat us, as “all tables are booked for this evening.” This was at 7:30 pm and my rough count says there were twenty tables free out of twenty-five tables in the dining room. We sat in the bar and had a very pleasant snack of potato-sogged fishcakes and then I ordered a glass of Hidalgo Oloroso. Remember, we're at “Oloroso”.

“I'm so sorry, sir” said the waitress ten minutes later, “we're out of that selection.” While saying this, she pointed at a different Oloroso on the menu. I pointed out the discrepancy and she hustled off to find the Hidalgo . She returned empty-handed a few minutes later. “That one is out, too, “she grimaced. “No problem,” I replied, and point to the Colosia.

Five minutes later, the same story. Instead of simply finding out which Oloroso she actually owned, she asked me to select another. That was easy, there was only one left on the menu that we hadn't tried to find. That one was in stock and obviously at the bottom of the bottle that had stood idle on the back bar for, I'm thinking, a year or two. Oloroso hunh?

As we left the restaurant at 9 pm , there were three more tables that had been seated.

May 28

Folonari Soave 2003 – well, for starters, it's not bad. On the other hand, it hardly serves notice to the other boring Soave producers that brands such as Anselmi, Pierpoan, Inama or Gini, are no longer going to be exceptions that prove the rule.

No, the rule is, boredom is okay, especially if you wrap it up with some pleasant citrus, a touch of sweetness and offer a wine that actually has ripeness. But if Folonari does this in 2003, what will the good producers have to offer? I can't wait to find out.

May 27

Back in Norde America and on San Antonio 's Riverwalk I search in vain for a Margarita (at least one that is featured on a menu) that contains anything other than Gold Tequila or Anejo Tequila. It's a shame when marketing stands in for concept but that is the American way. Gold tequila is almost universally reprehensible, at least as a crisp and balanced spirit. Gold, or joven abacado, as the Mexicans call it, is far too sweet to be the best base for the refreshing character of a Margarita.

Anejo is barely better as the base spirit. Its woody, spicy, butterscotch notes are, even from the best Anejos, quite off subject when it comes to supporting the thirst-quenching personality of a true Margarita.

May 26

La Cofreida was far more rustic in look, but the fermentation tanks are more visible and the whole place proves to be photogenic in its way.

Interestingly, as is common in Oaxaca, the agave is referred to here as a cactus. Of course, it's not, and it's impossible to know why they call it that. My Spanish is reprehensible and his English is only slightly better, so something very imperfect is at work. Think of those instructions that come inside little Chinese toys and you get the drift.

But the garden has examples of various agaves: blue, espadin, tobala, and a “cactus” known alternatively as “montario” or “jalabera”. To see a tobala in Jalisco is pretty cool, but no one else is growing them that he is aware of. If the name Tobalo rings no bells, you need to try the Tobalo from del Maguey in Oaxaca. World-class spirit.

Espadin is almost as unusual in Jalisco, though it's widely used in the central part of the country for pulque. Pulque. I never could find a drink of it. When I asked my guide at La Cofreida why no one had any, he smiled and said, “this is for Tequila”. Nobody wants to make cheap crap.

May 25

She stops and rests. It's got to be hard work; the cobblestones have huge ruts and the debris barely moves a few inches each time it's struck by the bristles of the broom.

Would there be something wrong with using a vacuum or a blower? Probably. It wouldn't be “colonial Williamsburg ” authentic. I'm using that example because yesterday, when we were at Cuervo, my friend Anamaria said that Cuervo is using Disney and Williamsburg as guides in their work as they recreate their own version of the traditional hacienda.

The tour takes us through another series of guarded and machine-gunned gates, and around the corner is the firehouse; a worker is out front with a massive blower to clear away the debris. On our way out at the end of the tour, the woman has made some progress, about thirty feet or so.

May 23

Spent the day at back in Tequila looking for the elusive glass of pulque and visiting Herradura, Sauza and La Cofreida. It's hard to glean much from Sauza, especially when it's closed.

No such ill fortune at Herradura. It's a fascinating project, the re-creation of an old Tequila-producing hacienda, “the last of its kind”, as Jose told a small group of us. The entry is barred by tall wooden gates and two armed guards – but you get used to seeing machine guns in Mexico .

You enter into an old tree-lined boulevard of sorts, the sort of street that would offer workers housing and shop a century ago. Imagine Colonial Williamsburg in only one block. “We had sixty workers a hundred years ago,” Jose said, “now we have over twelve hundred. So they live everywhere around here, in the city, in other towns.”

A middle aged woman in a red tank top is sweeping the cobblestones with an old straw broom, the kind without a handle. It's so autheeeeentic.

May 22

Evening on the town in Guadalajara and there were hip spots to recommend. Nude is one such; it looks like a super-charged joint in a coastal Latin city, especially in Spain or Portugal. Three story windows and a laptop band standing atop the coat check, while I sucked on an absolutely lip-smacking Sangrita – fresh squeezed tomato juice, add orange juice and some chiles, but not so many that it disrupts the texture. Drink your tequila with that.

Soanto Chayoppo (Santo Coyote) reminds me of Caribbean Zone in San Fran in the 1980's but much more real. Even though it's still not that real. Their Palomas (squeeze of lime, tequila and Squirt) are just as refreshing as that nearly National drink can be.

May 21

I never got to trim an agave plant. I was hoping to take a picture of it to prove that I'm completely inept with a coa (the cutting tool) but I'll have to wait another day. The jimadore jefe, Ismael Gallegos, was pretty cool, fast and accurate as hell. He made sure we knew that he never drinks so he still has all his toes, unlike some other jimadores.

May 20

Tthe first day in Guadalajara is pretty easy. Anamaria Cesena and I take a drive downtown to see the Clemente Oroszco mural at the Municipal Hall. I've seen reproductions before but they don't do it justice of course. Hidalgo is massive and Christlike, the bloody scenes around him like a focused Bosch triptych, with knives everywhere, corpses, black robed and looming bishops, and two men balancing a sickle and a hammer on the tortured faces.

We head to the market at Santo de Dios. I buy a very strange see-through statue of a death figure in a monk's robe, holding a skull and a cross. The see through part is the really weird part; it's like he's filled with blood and intestines. “It's for good luck,” says the lady who's selling it to me. I've got a gift in mind…

May 19

On my way to Tequila on a Jose Cuervo junket. I never do these sorts of things so my guilt meter is only slightly elevated. After rising at 3:30am Tequila time to make my flight, I snore and slobber my way through both flights.

The taxi driver is talkative. He doesn't like the PRI, but he doesn't like the PAN either. “They're all the same,” he says, “there's no real opposition.” He's waiting for the socialists or the Zapatistas to get serious. “It's warm today,” he says, “earlier than usual but of course the weather is changing everywhere. When it gets warm like this, it means it will rain tonight.” It does.

I feel compelled to talk politics with my friend Anamaria Cesena of Cuervo; she seems to be a PAN and President Vicente Fox supporter. “The Congress is controlled by the PRI so he can't get anything done.” And as she notes later, “At least he has met with the Zapatistas.”

May 18

The first day of this spring's instalment of the Spirits Education Diploma, a course I conduct at Disney World for food and beverage and bar management there. It's a livelier group than usual (more questions and good ones) and everyone passes the rather difficult test at the end of the two day course.

One of the attendees brings me a bottle of the new Rose's Sour Apple mixer, “for Appletinis”, as it says on the label. It's fairly good but smells like candy and tastes sweeter than that. It's non-alcoholic, which could be helpful, but it turns a drink far too sweet. You'd have to balance it with some lemon juice and now you have a different drink.

A few people try to make a non-alcohol drink out of it, but it's the same problem. Add lemon juice? Now it's better but we're not sure what to call it. Pucker up and kiss?

May 17

My visit to Orlando includes a dinner at the Old Hickory Steakhouse inside the monstrous Gaylord Palms resort, which is owned by the Opryland hotel group. This place is architecturally fascinating: sweeping glass ceilings with massive wide steel girders, bigger than two football stadiums by far. The individual locations inside the massive indoor complex are recreations of outdoor life – “without the bugs, heat or humidity,” my friends helpfully point out. More re-creations for Orlando . Like they needed that.

The Old Hickory is really fun inside; more clever design work: falling signs, lots of little pretty, quaint, attractive rooms, a few waterfalls at your feet while you dine on a seemingly old swamp deck, alligators nesting below.

The food is just okay. The flavours are okay but the caloric content is insane, globs of cheese, butter or hollandaise on everything.

May 16

Outpost's Howell Mountain Zinfandel 1999 was one of the gems of this tasting and provided all the pleasure and friendliness missing from all these other wines. It remains one of my favourite Zin producers and only wish that I was buying more. This comes from someone who is convinced that he has bought far too much Zinfandel and needs to unload some –not because the wines aren't good or aging well, but because I have too much. But this – I'd take more.

May 15

Andrew Will's Sorella 1999 has been very beautiful at times, but not this day. Nothing was wrong with it, mind you, it was just disjointed, as it has a right to be at this point. Long sweet bing cherries, it was very perfumed and showed both dark earth and orange juice in the mouth. A nutty nose and a cranky mouth. Time, time.

May 14

More surprises in store. Vieux Telegraphe 1994 was a dead ringer for Cornas – pure pepper. Dry and hard at the end, big chunks of Brett go floating by. More pepper. Got to be Cornas, right? Nope, Vieux Telegraphe 1994.

The next day was an improvement again but I still have some questions as to where this wine is going.

May 13

Dalla Valle's 1992 was just as tannic but the end came to seem more and more dried out. Chocolate notes persisted, and it was better the next day, to be sure. But it didn't inspire as much confidence as the Azelia. Could that be because I wasn't tasting either of them blind on that second day and could conclude what I felt I should conclude in this regard? Nah.

Yeah, probably.

May 12

The 1988 Cesare Ornato and 1989 Sandrone (mentioned above) were put in further perspective by a tasting of 1989 Barolo Bricco Fiasco from Azelia (from Luigi, one of the Scavino brothers). Azelia has been through a few winemaking changes over the last decade, but the 1989 was pretty straight-forward tradition. The color showed age, of course, the nose showed some as well, with orange skins and stewed cherries and something like leaves and Worcestershire sauce. It was very dry and tannic, but there was a juicy center with this hard tannic shell around it and it was very long from the first taste.

May 11

The 1998 was preferred by the group because there is hardly any wine so impressive to a European wine lover, to any seeker of tart, powerful, earthy and densely fruited wine, than young Nebbiolo from a very good vintage.

Consider this wine a good example of the type. And Cesare's other virtue, other than price that is, is an unabashed love of Nebbiolo fruit, unencumbered of new oak and Parkerized wine densities.

Two days later, it was very pretty, if still tannic.

May 10

Joe also brought along some Pio Cesare Barbaresco Ornato, 1988 to compare to 1998. More evidence that Piedmont just couldn't make anything but lovely wine from 1995 to 2001. The crowd was dead-set against the 1988. They're mad. It was complex, still young, very dry, and laden with black tobacco. They don't like older Nebbiolo and while I don't think it was one of the top examples of 1988 Barbaresco, I don't care. I would gladly drink it again and it's one of the few you can find and can afford on a consistent basis.

May 9

The 2001 Joly Coulee de Serrant was everything that troubles me about Joly. The color was that of a ten year old California Chardonnay, and the wine exhibited not much more fruit than one would expect from such a decrepit Chardonnay. Joe enthused about the “dried honey” notes; no question that the wine was made from Chenin and smelled like it. But when a wine so young tastes so screwed up at such an age; it's impossible for me to blindly believe that the wine will come around. Certainly, if the 2001 tastes as the 1993 does today ten years hence, I will eat my hat and buy more Joly, if he will let me.

May 8

The next comparison was courtesy of Joe Spellman MS; Nicholas Joly is a very controversial producer to most observers. The 1993 was toasty, nutty, honey-laden with very long orange flavours and aromas. It was wonderful, in a word.

May 7

The 1996 was its polar opposite: bright, zippy, fruity, strawberry laden as friendly as a drunk at a picnic. This is the face that Champagne usually shows; not many see Champagne with age. I find it impossible to believe that the 1996 will not be superior to the 1985, once it has aged to a comparable maturity. That said, it will still likely become rather vegetal at some point, but I believe that is only a point in time that is exceeded later by other, more unusual, and more pleasing, flavours.

May 6

The 1985 was fairly vegetal at this point, and Champagne has to go through a slightly cabbage-laden moment before it ends up with that marvellous chocolate flavour that age can bring to it. Not every one agrees with me on this, it's clear, and even fewer are likely to give such a wine the benefit of the doubt and age it even longer. There's no question that the acids were poking out of the wine. But considering that it isn't so pleasant right now, what's the harm in waiting?

May 5

While the Cockburn tasting was from Fred Dame's cellar, the Monterey Festival afforded some fun comparisons too. Jay James MS arranged for a tasting of Veuve Clicquot's Rose 1985 with the 1996 version of that excellent wine. While I've had my complaints about Veuve lately, those complaints don't extend to the vintage wines.

May 4

The 1963 Cockburn was far more roasted, far more youthful and exhibited real, honest grip, that ill-defined texture that demonstrates a Port's true character or sometimes greatness. Greatness is clearly here. Very long cherry and layers of complexity. The 1955, at least in my few experiences with it, has never demonstrated the sort of spunk and drama that the 1963 has in spades. So, something wrong with that? No, it's still very elegant.

May 3

Finally, a comparison of two amazing Ports: 1955 Cockburn and 1963 Cockburn. The 1955 was very dried fruits: fig, raisin, date, fig skins, sweet nut notes, with delightful rose and orange zest accents. The long finish is maple and almond and it still seems to be together and capable of a few more years of life.

May 2

1988 Sassicaia in comparison was shocking. It's no longer tannic (!!!) but still as taut and austere as a glass of nut shells and a finish like something brown and rich has been smoked. Is it chicory?

May 1

Sandrone Boschis Barolo 1989 was nothing short of fantastic. Floral notes, rich, heavy toasted notes (10% new oak for thirty months) and layers of blue, red and black fruits, it finally finishes with a touch of heat and something like liquid iron.