It's no Willows Lodge

Wine Bloggers Conference 2011.

Interesting and super nice folks, wine-centric, majority are crazy about Virginia wines.  And for good reason.  (more on Virginia wines a little later.)

I'm saving most info and thoughts for later in the weekend--I need to hit registration downstairs in minutes.  But I will confess that there will be a "Nitty Gritty Scop" post.  Oh yes, there will be.

Looking forward to the discussions today, especially "Drink Local".  I'm dying to know what everyone thinks of the issue.

Talk soon,

Tina

Bare Feet Sipping

So I had my first virtual tasting through Twitter last Wednesday.  Needless to say, I couldn't find the correct wines, but found some comparable, my old machine couldn't keep up with the volume of tweets (I swear it groaned at one point), waking at 5am and staying awake for a 7-9pm tasting wasn't working out too well, so by 8:30 my contacts were sticking to my eyeballs and I lost interest.  (Not with the wines, mind you.)

Nonetheless, it was fun to be a small part of a larger picture, and, best of all, I didn't have to get dressed up--bare feet ya'll--awesome!!!  I jotted down my overall perceptions of each wine below.  what the? (so I'm sitting here minding my own business and I start hearing this eerie, high-pitched "music" and damnit if it isn't a little bastard of a mosquito! I hate these damn things.  And by the way, I'm still on my quest to find wines that when consumed regularly, will repel the little monsters, not unlike vampires and garlic.)

Very quick as to why Viognier does well here:  the grapes are thick-skinned with loose clusters, which means that works in the humidor we call the Virginia countryside.  Anyhell, my wines, from my own Virginia Viognier private dancer tasting:

Horton Vineyards, 2010 Viognier Orange County
Bright, pale gold.  The wine doesn't jump out of the glass and shout “hello” like most Viogniers, rather its scents lure your beak into the glass, gently, with fragrances of sage blossom honey, lightly roasted pineapple and a touch of lime.  Palate structure is racy, with lemon/lime notes and honeyed spice.  The Horton finishes with a tang of gasoline (not petrol), which, I gotta say, I'm digging.  I've heard only good things about winemakers Dennis and Sharon Horton.  A fabulous Viognier. (And as a side note, I didn’t finish the entire bottle—ha! So I corked it, placed it back in the fridge and I opened it last night, just to see, and it held up alright.  I used the rest for a pasta dish.) Verra nice.

Keswick Vineyards, 2005 Viognier Monticello
I thought trying a 2005 against all the young studs would be enlightening to the possible longevity of Virginia Viognier, so here goes:
Yellow-gold in the glass, which generally means the wine has some age.  But is she wearing it well?  Nose is definitely honeyed mangoes and peaches, acids are present, taking a supporting role, but there is an older vanilla scent, not bad, could just be the inevitable approaching.  The finish lingered well, with the taste of peaches on my tongue.  So quite an interesting older wine from Al and Cindy Schornberg, and at 6 years, I think the 2005 could have a few more years left in her.  Nicely done.

All in all a fun evening, although I did lurk on the Twitter.  (is that correct terminology?)  So this upcoming weekend is the Wine Bloggers Conference in Charlottesville and I must say I'm quite excited.  No more lurking! This will be a live blogging and tweeting event.  I also plan to get some feedback on a paper my geologist friend and I have been tooling around, concerning Virginia's burgeoning wine evolution and if its terroir can support it.  We'll see what happens.

later gator,
Tina

Snow in dark places

Hmmm... what to drink upon discovering a snowy white hair in the nostril?

That's easy, my friend Angela's A Tribute to Grace 2008 Grenache, Santa Barbara Highlands Vineyard, bottle 1909 of 2112.  Wine teaches us how to live...gracefully.

http://gracewinecompany.com/the-wine/

Salute!
tina

Sea of Change, #44

Been a couple weeks since a post, so let's get up to speed, shall we:
--since moving back to the east coast, we had our first, multi-family vaca in LBI this past week.
--the very first night, my little 12 year old Doberman, Sara Belle, became sick and passed away 3 July.
--stayed most of the week for the kids, but just couldn't do it anymore and left just one day early.
--back at the house we rented for Sara, but now every room is just a painful reminder of her absence.
--this coming Monday will be the first time since 1997 that I'll be alone, (her brother Jacob passed in 2009)without the little pitter-patter of Doberman paws dancing on the floors.

I honestly thought it would be somewhat less painful with Sara.  When we let Jacob go, I immediately had to have Sara physically with us, so we picked her up and walked around Jacob's favourite park.  I still had her, we still were a family, Jacob being with us in spirit.  Sara was always the Hubbs':  they were Search and Rescue partners for years.  But I suppose since she retired, we spent more time together, especially since we moved.  We had a routine:  wake up with Hubbs, quick pee break, then back to bed.  Rise at 0630, eat breakfast, head out for our walk soon after.  Pee break and walk around 1200, then a snack.  Dinner about 1600, then out again for her evening walk. She slept with us, she went just about everywhere with us and if she couldn't, we just didn't go.  We stayed home a lot.

And now she's gone and I'm realizing I'm no longer a dog mom.  I've got a little identity crisis going on in the Burg.  My good friend Eric reminded me of one of my earlier posts:  "Pain Births Clarity", and it really is true because I feel I'm shitting diamonds right about now.

Anyhell, life must go on, right?  Shit.  So tonight, on the evening before my first day quite alone, I plan to have a bottle which was gifted to me by my good friend Mike, who is the proud writer of http://www.ediblebabies.com/.  He gave it to me on a previous birthday, which is just around the corner, but I want this bottle because he attached a bandaid to it, so hopefully it'll give me a little "fix".  Foxen, Tinaquaic Vineyard 2005 Cabernet Franc.

Godspeed Sara Belle.
I love you.

Pain births Clarity

I just watched a quirky little Independent film (I am an independent film junkie!) called Wilby Wonderful.  For me, these films never have a premeditated agenda.  They're usually just stories about everyday folks, going about their everyday lives. And the only modus operandi:  take what you need.  Painful, they can be (thanks Yoda).

But the thing about Pain--it brings Clarity.  Think about it.  When everything in our lives is happy happy joy joy, fast-paced fun, we don't grow, we don't reinvent, there's no forward motion. Pain births clarity.  Pain reminds us to think, seriously, literally.                                        
Aw crap, it's late, I'm tired and I'm painfully aware I sound crazy.

Anyhell, all of the above reminded me of a wine,  Matteo Correggia Anthos 2008, made with the Brachetto grape, completely dry, smelling and tasting of roses and licorice--a painfully delicate and ethereal bottle.  Makes a person think.

nighty night,
tina

Nitty Gritty Scop..."Blow Me..."

...said the cigar to my lips.  Hey, I warned you.  With the title Nitty Gritty Scop, content may be slightly off-kilter.

I woke to the ironic scent of smoke in the air.  I say ironic because in San Diego environs, it's usually the tell-tale signal of California fire season. But here? in the Burg?  and it's not someone burning, erasing all traces of their garbage--yes, here in the South, they do that.  Apparently parts of North Carolina have been burning for months now, and the smoke is turning the area into a hazy, smoggy nightmarish vista. (yes, I just described Los Angeles as well.)

But the smell of smoke, meaning something of a wood origin burning, reminds me of cigars, more than likely because I'm now on the East Coast, and cigars remind me of my youth when my father used to smoke big, fat, "stogies". I've always been intrigued by cigars--no inhaling involved they say.  I refuse to start in on the horrid effects of smoking anything, let the doctors, scientists and people who have nothing else to do discuss.

What is interesting to me is the social aspect of cigar smoking.  I akin it to American Indian pipe smoking:  the good stuff isn't brought out all the time, only at special gatherings and other ecclesiastical happenings.  I can't imagine it's as prevalent as wine drinking, probably for those health reasons and a bit of the possible daunting nature of it all (refer back to my title above.)  I've been to the local cigar shoppe to sit with a friend and smoke a little.  They were very nice, a quick tutorial given, but the clientele were men.  Is it a guy thing? Hmmm.

The Williamsburg Inn holds a "Smoke and Spirits" event, every Saturday night, outside on their beautiful terrace.  For $25 you can imbibe in a Cognac, Scotch or Bourbon (the typical marauders) and a cigar, accompanied by smoked and cured meats, cheeses and breads.  Sounds like a good deal, I think my Saturday evening is set.  I'm mostly curious as to whom will be there--mostly men?  What kind of people smoke cigars?  Do they also drink wine?  How about a 2008 Sonoma Coast?  (bad joke.)  In any case, should be verra interesting--report to follow.

vapors anon,
tina

"...Memory must be the Devil."

I hit the library today--picked up a few really cool books regarding social media and its potential and possible destruction of our humanistic communities.  Way too heavy for a winedown evening of course so I also grabbed one of my favourite writers, Diana Gabaldon.  I've always been struck by her poignant revelations and her prologue was a killer:

"Time is a lot of the things people say that God is.  There's the always preexisting, and having no end.  There's the notion of being all powerful--because nothing can stand against time, can it?  Not mountains, not armies.  And time is, of course, all-healing.  Give anything enough time, and everything is taken care of:  all pain encompassed, all hardship erased, all loss subsumed.  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  Remember, man, that thou art dust: and unto dust thou shalt return.  And if Time is anything akin to God, I suppose that Memory must be the Devil."

So all this talk of time and I got to thinking about wine, hello, so I padded over to the "cellar", which right now is the laundry room, an 8'x8' enclosed space, right off the garage, but because the air conditioner has been running mostly non-stop, is the best location right now.  I chose Domaine de la Morderee, Lirac Reine des Bois 2004, mostly because after reading the above passage, I pretty much said, screw it, I'm popping that cork, although I had an inkling I should wait at least five more years.  But that's the point about wine, "Do you know, Darling..." (Edna Mould), no, we don't know, we can only guess.  And herein the fun.

I was always fascinated by Mordoree, which is the locally used poetic nickname for the migrating woodcock, which flies over the domaine.  I checked out their website after glass one and I'm blown away by it.  They have a maturation page:  http://www.domaine-mordoree.com/fe/e/maturity.htm which I have yet to see on another winery's site.  It's quite nicely done and quite plainly says that the '04 can go another seven years.  And boy, can it ever.  The 14.5% alcohol coats the glass with gorgeously-sculpted, manly, hairy legs.  The nose is full of dark berries, with a slight tarry edge, and cool, antique leather, like my grandmother's muddy-yellow leather handbag which I adore.  Oh wait, the Hubs clearly detects gym socks. Yeah, the alcohol is rough on the palate, and acids are still present, but tannins are in the background, still adding structure, but providing a sweetness now, a creaminess to offset the high alcohol.  The Lirac should be interesting tomorrow--ah, and there it is, time.  Time should be friend here, or not, supposedly only God knows.

Sleep well my lovelies,
tina