Wine Tasting and Troy Bilt Tillers

  You can't drive anywhere in this valley without ending up behind some minivan with a decal of  a happy family of stick figure parents and kids in decreasing size and a "god is my copilot" bumper sticker.  In that same spirit, I have my own version now. Presented without further comment.

 It's now official, I'll be pouring wine at Desert Market every other weekend, which, according to my careful prosthesis, comes out to twice a month. I've done two sessions so far, the second being last Saturday. I didn't write about the first session, as it went well but ended in a pretty bizarre fashion and I didn't know exactly what to say about it and was concerned that it might be my first and ONLY time there. Several good friends dropped by, including Johnny Montezuma and Susun, neighbors Greg and Nancy, and lots of other folks who formerly knew me as only their kids' teacher. Yes Virginia, it's true. Teachers have other interests besides your kids' ability to reason and do not crumble to dust and blow away after they retire. The day went well and we sold a lot of wine, not to mention beer.

  Things ended in a less than pleasant fashion. A couple known for their, um, FIRM political and religious opinions came in and tag-teamed me during the last hour of my tasting. This fellow had, HAD a business relationship with the owner of the store and so felt it was OK to take liberties and began pouring his own wine. I'll cut this short by simply describing it this way. Imagine, you're stuck behind a tasting bar, people are drifting in hoping to sample some wine and beer, and a loony-tunes and his even nuttier wife are both preaching to you. Looney Tunes is blaming the entire history of the United States and every wrong ever committed on President Obama and "The Socialists", while simultaneously, his deranged spouse, eyes wide and looking reminiscent of the eyes of that guy who shot Gabrielle Giffords, is showing you a carefully highlighted copy of a book of morals written for young people by Noah Webster in 18 hundred and something that she just happens to carry around with her. In addition, she's explaining how the Constitution of the U.S. is based on the book of Leviticus.

  I don't claim to be an Old Testament scholar, but the book of Leviticus is a book of laws. Most of these laws involve what ancient Jews could and couldn't eat, who got stoned to death for fornicating with whom, and under what circumstances it's necessary to take a sheep, a goat, or a chicken to the temple to have it's throat cut by the priests and burnt on the altar as payback for some sin. Granted, there is the phrase towards the end "Proclaim Liberty Throughout The Land", which happens to be on our Liberty Bell, or carved in the lintel of some D.C. building or something. Maybe that's the part she was talking about. Please be aware that I am not anti-Any Religion, I am Anti-Stupidity. She also managed, somehow, to blame virtually all of humankind's illnesses on, and I'm not making this up, GLUTEN. I had no idea what an evil, foul,  insidious, downright EVIL agent gluten is. And here I thought it was just a simple protein found in wheat and other grains that expands and knits things together, making risen bread possible. BOY are my eyes open NOW.

  Neither of this pair appeared to be aware that the other was talking. Each of them felt they had a BIG fish on the line and they weren't about to let me off the hook. My conversion was apparently what they'd been living for for some time. Having no spare Xanax in my pocket (note to self) and having nearly chewed through my tongue being nice, I had to beat a hasty retreat and got out of there as fast as I could.

  It turns out that Mike, the owner, was way more than sympathetic and we now have a nice "No Politics, No Religion, and No Cell Phones" sign posted right on the front of the bar. My second tasting went really well last Saturday. A steady trickle of folks beginning around noon. It turns out that Desert Market is ideally located to catch incoming folks from the valley who are headed to the tasting rooms at Page Springs, and also those who have already been there and are headed elsewhere. I actually like the ones who've already hit Javelina Leap, Page Springs Cellars and the others. They are nicely loosened up and ready to buy more. We sold 22 bottles of wine between noon and 5 out of that little store. I think we can do better as the tourist season cranks up.

  In other news, it's gardening time. When we first moved here, my neighbor, an aging and experienced gardener lectured me; "Don't plant until the mesquites are budding AND you can't see any snow left on the mountain".  That sage advice worked for years, but now, not so much. It's getting hotter earlier each year. One week it's freezing and then  whammo, it's summer and your tender plantings are keeling over in the heat. I never manage to get it quite right, stalling and worrying that it might freeze again. This year we want to have everything in by the first few days of April.  Our oldest garden spot, which now doesn't get enough sun to support a lot, is devoted solely to strawberries, a few herbs, and I planted the rest of it in onions and shallots. Last year's newer, sunnier and bigger plot will be strictly tomatoes and some kind of squash I can manage that won't turn into a monster. French Ronde de Nice round zukes I'm thinking. We're also fencing off the largest and sunniest spot out in the pasture. It has to be well fenced as it will be a big attraction for the goats. It will be for Hopi Red Lima beans and corn. We're going to plant a New Mexico heritage variety of red grinding corn originally grown down by the Verde by Johnny Montezuma his-self. He gave me a big jar of seed years ago and it's finally going into the ground.

  This plot hasn't been planted before, and the other day it dawned on me. "This is a big plot, you need a tiller." Last year, for the smaller space we planted, we utilized Home Depot's "rental" program and bought a little Honda Mantis-type cultivator to bust it up, and took it back for a refund when finished. I don't abuse Home Depot's liberal return policy very often, but hey, money was tight last year. If you've ever known anyone who works for HD, you probably don't have a whole lot of sympathy for that store anyhow.

  As soon as I realized we're gonna need a tiller, I came in the house and opened up good old Craigslist and there, at the top of the farm and garden for sale page, is a 35 year old Troy Bilt Tuffy listed for 25 dollars. Must be a misprint. Years ago Katie's grandfather gave me an ancient Troy Bilt that had been peacefully rusting away under a Cottonwood tree for many years up at Moencopi. "It ran good about 10 years ago". I brought it home and changed the plug and fluids and cleaned the rust out of the gas tank and it fired right up. A few years later a friend of mine was delighted to pay 300 dollars for it.  There is no such thing as a 25 dollar Troy Bilt. Must be a misprint. So I quick called the number on the ad. It turned out that this one was owned by this older fellow in Camp Verde and no, it wasn't a misprint. His comment was almost identical to Katie's grandfather's. "it ran good about 10 years ago, last time I used it".  He had sold his home and was clearing out the typical Camp Verde barn full of all sorts of strange machines, industrial junk and old farming stuff. An interesting fellow, he had gone to school at the one room schoolhouse at the old Child's Power Plant on Fossil Creek. After hearing lots of Verde personal history, he helped me load it up.

The 86 dollar Troy Bilt

  I brought it directly to Ken Bishop's shop in Cornville. Ken and his son Wayne and grandson Coawin can fix anything from a chinese tractor to a 53 Chevy pickup. If there was any life left in that little Troy Bilt, they'd find it. Sure enough, 61 dollars later, it runs like a top. An 86 dollar Troy Bilt. To quote Wayne R. through Johnny M. : "all in a day's Karma".

Corned Beef and Cabbage

  Q: What does this post have to do with wine? Or with the Verde Valley?
  A: Nothing, deal with it.

  Today is the feast day of St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland. It is a day when the whole country, some 60 or more percent of whom can claim some Irish blood, get really drunk and do things they'd just as soon not admit to and wear silly green hats and pinch each other. God love America and her holidays. We go nuts over Cinco de Mayo (even though we really wish they'd all go home),  a minor observance in Mexico and NOT their day of independence, so why not use our alleged Irish-ness as a reason to do silly things, drink too much and eat supposed "Irish" foods.

  For generations, the Irish have been known not for their food, but for their booze. Legendary distillers of some of the finest whiskey ever made, Bushmill's and Tullamore Dew are beyond compare. Then, there's Guinness. What would life be like without Guinness? I'll tell you. Dismal, that's what. I know you've heard me extoll the virtues of Bitch Creek here. No doubt about it, Bitch Creek is a great beer and my stash is almost gone, but Guinness is, well, Guinness. Guinness is perhaps the highest expression of the brewer's art. Their newly available Foreign Export, at over 8% ABV is beyond compare.

  In the food department, the same cannot be said. Imagine an island, surrounded by the cold, clean waters of the North Atlantic. A North Atlantic filled, brimming, JUMPING full of edible delights. The people who call this island home have a significant seafaring tradition. An ocean full of fish and a population that knows how to navigate those waters ought to equal a seafood culinary tradition beyond compare, right? Well, not so much. What have the Irish traditionally eaten? Cabbage and potatoes. Their legendary dependance on potatoes ( a decidedly native American plant) is what caused so many of them to flee their homeland and come to this country when the crops failed. An ocean full of the healthiest food on the planet and you're running away because the POTATO crops failed? WTF is wrong with this picture??

  I count myself among the smallest minority in this country. Someday I may start a fund or political action committee. PWANI. People Who Are Not Irish. We will stand up for our rights, just you wait and see. In the meantime, we'll just have to eat corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick's day like all the other Suddenly-Irish Persons in the country.

  Before talking about cooking the above mentioned delicacy, we need to allay some myths. First: Saint Patrick's favorite color wasn't green. He's most often depicted historically in BLUE. Google is your friend, look it up. Second, and most important: CORNED BEEF is not Irish. You will most likely find actual Irish persons eating boiled bacon and cabbage. Irish bacon is more like our salt pork than our bacon. They might also boil up a joint of some mutton, or an un-cured joint of beef with the ubiquitous cabbage, but corned beef is a decidedly American addition to the tradition. In fact, it's more Jewish than it is anything else. The laws of Kosher require beef to be sapped of all it's available blood before cooking. Blood is a big biblical no-no (see Leviticus if you don't believe me). The practice of soaking beef in salt or salt brine is a tenet of Kosher food preparation. In addition, the word "Corned" comes not from any modern use of the word but from the ENGLISH (as in ENGLAND English) word for the size of the salt grains used in salting meat. As any practicing IrishPerson knows, the English are the Devil's Own.

  Somehow, never the less, corned beef and cabbage has become what silly Americans associate with St.   Patrick's day. All ethnic considerations aside, it's a great dish. Salty meat, cabbage, potatoes, what in the world is there not to like? It doesn't go with wine. It requires beer, stout beer, ale, good stuff, GUINNESS.

  I was in WalMart today buying a piece of corned beef and a head of cabbage. As I passed through the checkout, the lady checker said "you better get home and put this on if you want to have it tonight, mine's been in the CrockPot all day".  I smiled and said "I barbecue mine, doesn't take so long". "Oh", she said, looking at me like I was some alien spoor come to spoil her "tradition".

  Here's how to cook corned beef so it tastes better than the stringy stuff we all grew up with.

  SOAK: soak your piece of corned beef in tepid water for at least 2 hours to remove the salt. Change the water at least twice or three times if you can. Reserve the water from the last soaking.

  SIMMER: your beef in the last soaking's liquid until a thermometer registers about 140 degrees on the inside of the beef. Don't boil it for God's sake. It'll take an hour or so. Save the simmering liquid.

  SPICE: your beef with the paltry amount of seasoning that comes in the cheesy packet you got with your roast. Add to that more pepper, coriander seeds, etc. to cover the fat side of the meat.

  ROAST: your beef using offset heat on your grill. Light one side, put the roast on a sheet of foil to catch drippings or a pan that fits if you have one. Your grill should be not hotter than 250 American Degrees. It'll take about an hour. When it's up to 160 American Degrees inside, take it out, cover it with foil and let it rest.

  BOIL: your potatoes and cabbage, putting the potatoes in first and adding the cabbage during the last 5 minutes or so (see Vlad and Corina's cabbage abomination in a previous post) in the liquid you simmered the beef in.

  Slice the beef, scoop out the taters and cabbage, open a Gunness and enjoy.

 As me sainted grandmother never in her life said, "What's a fookin' crockpot?"

 

A New Sampling Gig

  Well I've worked out a deal with Mike Anderson at Casey's Corner Desert Market, right here in Cornville. For those who are unaware, it's right on the corner of Page Springs and Cornville Roads. Mike has been really pumping up his wine and beer selections recently, and his tastings are getting popular. They're also the best deal going pricewise.

  In most of the other tasting rooms, you pay around 15 bucks and get to sample 6 wines and keep the glass. Typically, you get a one ounce pour for each sample. This equates to about a glass and a half total. Mike noticed that lots of folks only wanted to try one or two wines, and so has come up with a new pricing schedule. You can get a teeny, half ounce taste for free in a plastic sample cup. You can also get a nice 2 ounce sample and keep the glass for 2 bucks, additional samples are a dollar each. We'll be sampling three wines, so you'll pay 4 dollars for sampling all three and keep the glass. We are also going to be sampling 5 different craft beers. Small craft samples will be free, or if you find one you'd like to try more of, you can buy a bottle and legally drink it on the premises.

  In addition to the featured wines and beers, Mike has tons of specialty liquors available for sampling. He's even got a mead that's made from Prickly Pear fruit and local desert honey, and is being produced in...wait for it...I'm NOT making this up....RIMROCK!! Tasty, strong and VERY pricey stuff. I haven't researched it yet but am planning a separate writeup on it. Gotta get to know this maker and hopefully get a tour. I don't know if I still have my Viking hat or not.

  We will be sampling the following wines: Novellum 2009 Chardonnay. A very nice French Chardonnay. Done in the French style in stainless steel, without the oak aging that I've ranted about before. Grassy, herbal, fruity, without the "buttery" (oily?) notes of so many California Chards. Blackstone Vineyards Sonoma Reserve Pinot Noir. This one should be interesting but a bit risky. Pinot Noir is the hardest grape to grow and the most financially troubling for winemakers. Pinot grapes like a cool growing season followed by increasing heat near harvest time. Low yields and a picky personality can produce some pretty awful Pinots. I don't know this one well so am going to sample it again before work. Chateau Bonnet 2007 Bordeaux. A French 50/50 blend of Merlot and Cab Sauvignon. Tasty stuff, tobacco, dark fruit, bitter chocolate.

 For those who pay for a taste, all wines are 10 percent off. I'll be there tomorrow, Saturday March 5th from 11 to 5. Come by and have a taste. Salud!

Valentine's Weekend Miscellany

  Sometimes you just need to ramble so this is going to be a quickly written, unedited, rambling post. Valentine's Day, officially tomorrow I guess, is to this old curmudgeon a made up holiday, like Easter and Halloween, designed to pick the pockets of guilty suckers, who spend more than they can legitimately afford on fleeting pleasures like roses and chocolate, in a vain effort to make up for a full year of complete emotional negligence. Uh huh, feel all better now? It's secondary purpose is to cause angst among tween and teen boys and break the heart of every girl over the age of 10. An added benefit is lots of business for dentists. Humbug I say. Every day is Valentine's day at our house. Just ask Mrs. Goatherder....wait, maybe you better not. Anyhow, this weekend turned out pretty nice and since the Missus works tomorrow, we had a great time together as she was off all weekend.

  We had good friends visiting from the Frozen Wastes of Terre Haute Indiana, wherever that is, somewhere in the east I'm told. Mike and Terre are old friends who we don't get to see very often. Mike and I went to high school and college together and have had more than our share of misadventures over the years. They came out so Terre could run in the Sedona Marathon on Saturday morning. While Terre and Mike's son's girlfriend were huffing and puffing up the hills of Sedona, we were having breakfast at The Coffee Pot Restaurant, "home of 101 omelettes". Not a bad breakfast. It included the added feature of a case of heartburn. I never get heartburn. I did yesterday. Also included was a visit with Mike's first wife and the mother of his oldest son. She lives in Sedona it turns out. He has lots of sons. Lana was not only Mike's first wife at an extremely tender age, she was a crush of mine in the 6th grade. I used to walk her home. We hadn't seen each other since. Pretty strange but amusing none the less.

  Our pals went back to Flagstaff to spend the day with their son Devin. Devin works for Nackard Distributing, the 800 lb. gorilla of liquor distributors in N. Arizona, and he knows and has ins with all the restaurants. They spent the day eating and drinking too much. Kate and I came home and after a rest and a big slug of pink stuff, we went over to the recently re-imagined Casey's Corner, now known as Desert Market. You can look at their new website here. They were having their wine tasting. This wine tasting, as I've mentioned before, is the best tasting deal in the valley. They now charge 2 bucks for the first taste, and a dollar per taste after that. Taste 3 wines, it's 4 bucks and you get to keep the glass. One thing Desert Market has that you won't find at ANY other tasting: Beer. For the price of admission they'll also have usually 4 microbrews that they're featuring. No charge for samples. I had a chance to talk further with owner Mike Anderson and we are definitely going to work together. I'm going to start taking a few tastings a month and doing some private events for him. We'll see what develops after that.

  When we came home, I decided to put together an elk stew. Browned two pounds of floured, seasoned elk meat with a big sweet onion till they were caramelized, then added half a bottle of Bitch Creek, a handful of mashed garlic cloves, lots of pepper, some jalapenos I roasted on the grill, and the basics of celery (including the leafy tops, don't throw out the leafy tops, ever) carrots and whole baby yukon gold potatoes. Topped it with stock and stuck it in the oven for about 4 hours. The celery and onions melted down completely and it thickened into a real dark, tasty ragout. Went nice with a bottle of Malbec we picked up at Desert Market, followed by a few tiny bites of  artisanal chocolate confections that are being sold there, made by some very talented hippy girl from Cottonwood. Or Clarkdale. Or somewhere.

  Today, we met back up with Mike, Terre, Devin and Devin's lady friend Lindsay, who is a first year, rookie middle school psychologist in Flagstaff. God bless her. We went to the Camp Verde Wine and Pecan Festival which had been going on since friday. This festival gets better every year. Hundreds of people enjoying the sunshine, the antiques, the barbecue, the vendors of arts and crafts and cigars and of course, the wine. The valley's wineries were well represented, with the notable absence of Merkin and Caduceus. Nobody seemed to know why Maynard had decided not to sample his wines in Camp Verde. He missed a bet is all I can say. The booths were doing land office bottle sales. Mike and Terre took The Stronghold's reserve Chardonnay back to Indiana with them. I would suggest to anyone who wants to spend a pleasant early warm-up February day, this is the place to do it. A fine time all around.

  For those who aren't aware, Cornville has it's very own mission. The mission provides free food to all comers, and these days it comes very welcome by many who are struggling in our community. The mission is the single-handed success of Greg Roeler, who took it upon himself to fill this need a couple of years ago. In that short time he's managed to gather food donations from all over the northland, has opened a very nice thrift store at the corner of Page Springs Road and Cornville Road, and today, managed to pull off what Cornville has always been known for: a fantastic community come-together for a good cause.
  Greg organized a community dinner to benefit the mission. A seven dollar donation got you a very nice dinner prepared by noted retired chef Al Kramer, former owner of The Manzanita Inn, a Cornville landmark. The dinner was held at the Living Water Retreat Center, a place I often refer to cynically as "The Jeezus Hotel" at the end of our road. Josh has worked there bussing tables since he was 13. Finally, when they realized what a great kid and sterling employee he is, they quit trying to proselytize him. He never got the "Another Boy For Jesus" T-shirt. Recently, he became a prep cook there. He assisted Al Kramer in the meal tonight, all volunteer. He spent 8 full hours busting his backside and loved every minute of working for a real chef. Kramer is notoriously, shall we say, brusk. I had suggested to Josh that he practice saying "yes chef" and "right now chef" and it paid off. When we got there for dinner Kramer had nothing but praise for him. Well done son! It turned out that Greg had sold only 57 advanced tickets, but in typical Cornville style the whole darn community seemed to show up. There were at least 300 people there by the time we arrived, and the food ran out early. I forsee a yearly event. Greg was beside himself.
  We're now closing out this Valentine's weekend watching romantic comedies. I keep hoping we can watch a movie that has explosions or cowboys in it, but I'm betting it's not to be. Better get another Bitch Creek open and settle in. Salud!

Sampling Wine at Sam's Club?

  I know it's been a long time since I've updated this blog. Very little in the way of wine has happened since the holidays. Mostly, I've been trying to figure out how to get rid of the 6 pounds that found their way to my gut thanks to all the Bitch Creek I've been downing in place of wine. No solution so far, as Suzy Q market still has a few cases of that frothy goodness left, and I am not quite broke yet. It's the best beer bargain on the planet. But I digress.

  WalMart is the Devil. Satan incarnate. Killer of local businesses and abuser of employees world wide. We all know that, yet we shop there anyhow. Go figure. Cheap is cheap. Principles be damned when the price is right. I stumbled into a gig working for a nationwide product promotion outfit and was offered the chance to sample some wines at the Prescott Valley Sam's Club. What the heck? Twenty bucks an hour plus mileage there and back. A big nationwide day before the Stupor Bowl promotion. First place winner in bottle sales for each state gets a hundred dollar Sam's Club gift card. Who knew they sampled wine at warehouse stores? Curiosity got the better of me and so I said yes.

In order to work for this outfit, I had to complete the Arizona Dept. of Liquor License and Control's alcohol server's certification. The company paid the 35 dollar fee, and I took the course online. It took half an hour and included such thrilling topics as how to recognize a drunk person, how to spot a fake I.D., how to cut someone off who's had too much, and how to handle an aggressive drunk. (call the cops, duh). The questions were multiple choice and tough. Here's an actual example which I am not making up:

You have refused service to a customer who has clearly had too much to drink. The customer becomes aggressive and argumentative. Your best response in this situation is:
A. Threaten the customer with a club or other scary weapon.
B. Acquiesce and give the customer another drink strong enough to make him pass out and be harmless.
C. Agree to serve the customer but slip him club soda with lemon instead of alcohol.
D. Notify management for help and then call law enforcement without confronting the customer.

It reminded me of the military test I saw during the Viet Nam war that had a picture of a flower, a cow, a hammer and asked "Which picture best illustrates a tool?"

Anyway, I was somehow able to pass with flying colors and now have a cool certificate. I also have one for the state of Texas, because the company initially sent me the wrong log in information and NOWHERE in the lessons and text did the word 'Texas' appear until I'd passed and had my certification.  For the record, Texas' course is a whole lot easier than Arizona's. Now I can bartend in private dry-county clubs in the Texas hill country. I feel ever so much more financially secure. When things get real bad here, "There's always Texas".

Next came a half hour conference call with the company to "train" me in how to contact the manager at Sam's club and arrange for set up of my sampling table. It also covered how to pour a half ounce sample and dire warnings about leaving open bottles unattended, and strict instructions on how to dispose of unused product at the end of the shift. No, I didn't get to take the half consumed bottles with me. They had to be poured down a drain with the manager on duty watching and I had to do it, for some reason. What they didn't cover is what to do if you arrive at your Sam's Club and NOBODY knows you're supposed to be there.

Me: "Hi Ms. Manager Person, I'm here for the Prestige-Trincheros Nationwide SuperBowl Wine Demo"

Ms. Manager Person: "The what?"

Me: "The Prestige-Trincheros Nationwide SuperBowl Wine Demo, it's going on at Sam's Clubs across this land of ours. They told me you'd know all about it."

Ms. Manager Person: "Huh. So you want us to set up a table or something?"

Me: "That'd be great, or just tell me where the tables are and I'll do it."

Ms. Manager Person: "That's OK, I'll get Eddie to do it, hang on a few minutes."

I hung on for half an hour until Eddie, who turned out to be a really funny and helpful guy could be found and got me set up. Thank goodness for the Eddies who work at Sam's Club, the managers are clueless. In this day and age, this little episode sure begs the security question. The kit bag I was lugging into that store coulda been loaded with ten or twenty pounds of plastique or a Glock with a few 30 round clips and nobody would have known the difference. Kinda scary.

The Prescott Valley Sam's is really nice. Spotlessly clean and has a great product selection and, apparently, almost no customers. We're used to going to Costco there, and on a typical Saturday it's packed. I figured this Sam's would be too, what with it being the day before High Holy Day. I fully expected to see hordes buying giant bags of fozen cocktail weenies, pizza bites, huge plastic barrels of "cheese" puffs and other savory delights for the big day parties. They weren't there. The majority of those who were there apparently go to Sam's for lunch. There are people handing out samples on almost every aisle. Shrimp cocktail with BIG shrimp, Fettucine Alfredo, beautiful pizza, all sorts of tasty looking stuff. I lost count of the number of people I saw pushing around empty carts that had the kid seat part folded out so it could hold a veritable smorgasboard of samples. Munching happily, they didn't appear to be actually buying anything. I commented to the guy handing out the shrimp that it looked to me like a lot of people just show up for the free food. He said "yup, 40 bucks a year and you can eat lunch here every day free." Apparently, nobody cares. Who knew?

The wines I poured were largely forgettable. A pretty good German Reisling in a cutesy trick bottle that has a 3D label, a puckeringly dry Italian sparkling Prosecco, which you'll definitely want to have on hand if you follow Giada Dilaurentis' cleavage recipes on Food Network, and two reds. One, Barrel Box Cabernet, I can't even find a link for online, and the last and only decent one was The Show Malbec; an Argentine import. We've had this one before as well as The Show Cabernet, and they are both quite tasty. The Malbec has really heavy tannins and oak and desperately needs to breathe in order to open up and mellow out. Out of the bottle there's only one word for it; bitter. Given a little air, it's great. I had been given strict instructions NOT to pre-pour samples for security reasons. Wouldn't want some wino or pimply teenager stealing a teaspoon of wine and getting all cranked up. After watching customers screw their faces up into knots and hearing "boy is that stuff BITTER" about a dozen times, I threw the pre-pour rule out the window and let The Show air out a bit. Afterwards, I sold 5 bottles of it. There are some wines that really do need some elbow room.

Altogether, my experience sampling cheap wine at Sam's was interesting and fun, albeit a bit demeaning. Will I do it again? Sure. Easy money is easy money.

On the way back home, I decided on a whim to stop in at Casey's Corner, now renamed "Desert Market" for some beer. Mike Anderson, the owner was there just concluding his Saturday wine and beer sampling. I told him what I'd been doing and we got to talking and it turned out he's going to hire me to do his tastings periodically. I'll also be doing a custom private sampling for a wedding in April. Some horsey couple is getting married at the Dancing Apache Ranch and then bringing their entire guest list to Desert Market for a private tasting. I get to pour. That's another story though, and I'll report on it later. Salud!

Christmas 2010

  So it's been a while since I updated this blog. As I said in the beginning, sometimes the muse leaves me. Poof, she goes elsewhere. Winks out like a cheesy little bulb on a 2 dollar string of WalMart  Christmas tree lights.  I know she'll be back but don't know when. As the harvest season wound down and all the festivals came to an end, there wasn't a whole lot in the way of wine to scribble about; so I didn't.
  For the time being, I'm going to expand the subjects of this site a bit. I'm going to be talking about more than wine, namely beer and other grown-up beverages. More about that later. This is gonna be a long post, so quit reading now if Twitter length novels are to your taste.

  It's been cloudy and raining for what seems like forever. My pasture is a smelly bog. Your boots sink several inches into this viscous, anerobically foul mix of dirt, manure, pee and wasted hay and every step makes a vaguely biological and disturbing sucking sound. The goats are unhappy with the mud, and when the goats are displeased, I am too. They are apparently genetically convinced that stepping into mud or heaven forbid a puddle will cause their limbs to dissolve, starting from their hooves and gradually working it's way up their legs, leaving them hobbling about comically on stumps. They're smart. Being wet and cold is no fun. God would not have given us garden hoses and drip lines if we really needed days and days of dark, drizzling rain.

   I was starting to be reminded of a misplaced quarter of a year I spent in the Pacific northwest, where EVERY morning brings the drumming of rain on the roof. The denizens of that dark and gloomy land are uniformly about the same color as the 3 inch layer of moss that grows on their roofs. No wonder every town of any size has a bar or saloon on every block. By the time you stop at one and drink your misery and head down the street, the b-b gun sting of ceaseless rain is so overpoweringly depressing that you need to stop on the next block to bolster your courage.

  My pal Johnny finds endless days of pleasant weather uninteresting. He and I are opposites. He's always looking forward to the next meteorological cataclysm. He can't wait for them to arrive and revels in their grandeur. Not me. I told him not long ago I was thinking of looking into real estate in the Atacama Desert, where it hasn't rained for centuries. They have goats there. And I bet those goats are happy, too.

  But I digress. The sun came out for Christmas. A cloudless sky and shining sun announced the lengthening of days. We had a lovely day, as near as I can remember. When I'm seriously cooking I get into this weird kind of zone. It's a matter of an aging brain trying to keep track of a menu that a dozen people are going to sit down to, hopefully all at once. What time did the roast go in? If I want a 135 degree pullout and it was at 125 10 minutes ago, how long before checking it again? How hot is the mind-of-it's-own oven now? The roasted vegetables were par-blanched, but the Brussels Sprouts blanched a bit too much and the carrots are a bit crunchier than the baby Yukon Gold potatoes, so what is the optimum roasting time? Is the rosemary and thyme chopped and is there enough?  Did the bitter salad greens get washed and are they dry? Strain and boil down the pan drippings for the au jus and add the herbs but don't forget to skim the fat off first, and if the fat isn't skimmed well enough (it wasn't) should I add butter or forget it? How long has the roast been resting? During this time, especially the end game where everybody has arrived is the most critical and it's also the time when the socializing starts. Wine and beer is poured and conversations ebb and flow and it's a struggle to remember all that has to be remembered while trying to be at least remotely sociable at the same time. Josh Wheeler has a natural ability in this regard and knows how to stay out of my way, take on tasks and foresee outcomes. He's got the natural feel for a kitchen and can intuitively find his place in the "brigade de cuisine". If he wants to pursue a career in the kitchen, I'll support him in that endeavor in a heartbeat.

  Somehow it all came together  at some level, thanks in large measure to liberal applications of Grand Teton Brewing's Bitch Creek ESB. Bitch Creek is an awesome brew. My go-to beer store, Suzy-Q market in Cottonwood has a current sale on it and given some extra cash, I'd go buy all they have left.

  Bitch Creek is unusual in the universe of American Micro-brews. There's a current paradigm among the thousands of U.S. micro-breweries that has decided that beer should be heavily hopped. The more hops the better. This is apparently what the snob-beer newbies have decided they want. Go into any good beer store and you'll find dozens of examples of beers with names like Hoptober Fest and Caribou Spit Hopalicious and god knows what else. IPA's (India Pale Ales) are all the rage, and the more hops they've been hit with the better, apparently.

  It should be noted here that hops are a chemical anachronism. Hops was originally added to beer not so much as a flavoring agent as a preservative. British persons, who presumably couldn't figure out how to brew their own local beer during the Raj period of Indian history, insisted on beer from their homeland (another dreary, gloomy place). Sadly, beer that was shipped on sailing ships to India from England had the tendency to turn into undrinkable slop, spoiling on the long and bouncy sea voyages. So they added tons and tons of hops to the mix to preserve it. Somewhere along the line they decided they actually LIKED the taste of this puckery stuff, and IPA as a beer type was born. American brewers, in typical yankee fashion, have taken this to it's logically absurd extreme. Given all the thousands of American micro brews on the market, the number of balanced, malty brews with a hint of hops flavors are scarce as hen's teeth. Bitch Creek is one of these brews. It's head is brown and long lasting, the balance of hops and malts is perfect, and enjoying it from a big deep wine glass gives off it's lovely aroma, reminiscent of a bakery. It goes down real easy. Thank god it's not available all the time. You could get in trouble.

  Our dinner was pretty simple. A prime rib. Brussels Sprouts, roasted in olive oil, salt and pepper. Baby Yukon Gold potatoes, carrots and sweet onions roasted in olive oil, salt, pepper, thyme and rosemary. Bitter greens salad and Olive oil and rosemary sourdough bread from Orion Bakery in Cottonwood. Pumpkin Creme Brulee for dessert was an experiment met with mixed results.

  Each year I experiment with dry aging my prime rib. Plastic wrap is the worst thing that ever happened to meat. Wrap a piece of meat in airtight plastic and it immediately begins rotting. Rot is caused by anerobic bacteria, the only bugs that can survive in the airless environment of plastic wrap. These buggers will spoil meat in a matter of days. They are the same kind of nasty critters that are currently making my pasture stink. Dry aging involves unwrapping the meat, washing and drying it off and putting it on a rack, loosely wrapped in a tea towel and letting air circulate around it for a time. The nasty anerobic bacteria will be beaten back by the oxygen and the natural enzymes and aerobic bacteria contained in the meat will cause it to intensify in flavor and age gently and begin to taste like actual beef again. I have aged roasts as long as three weeks, and as little as 6 days. A week seems to be optimum. Three weeks causes too much crust to form on the roast and given the price of prime rib, too much has to be trimmed off before roasting. This year's roast was aged a week, as was the roast from year before last, and based on comments received I think a week is optimum for home aging.

  We were joined by our soul mates John and Susun, dear friends Bob Dog Brubaker, his wife Bonny and their son and daughter Arthur and Annie, and Kate's dad Bob Lomadafkie and his son Michael. This is our normal Christmas mix and it's about the only time everybody gets to see each other. Johnny got lucky and ended up with the trick folding chair at the dinner table. It gave way on cue and he did an admirable recovery from the floor after it collapsed, receiving an 8.5 from the judges. He got the medal by default as nobody else's chair fell apart. Next year we've gotta add in another trick chair to give him some competition. Just kidding of course, the offending furniture has been added to the burn pile out in the pasture.
  Our wines were varied and all agreeable. Suspecting that others would show up with bottles and trusting their tastes, I bought only one bottle of Merkin's Chupacabra. It was the 2006, and although made here at Page Springs Cellars, it's California grapes. Tasty none the less. You won't find any complaints here about California grapes. There are so many thousands of acres of grapes growing in California that there is truly an entire universe of good wines available made from them. There is so much good California bulk wine available that even the Demon Spawn WalMart has gotten into the act with their own label of dirt cheap, very drinkable wines. The genius in Chupacabra is the local vinting expertise of Eric Glomski and the out-there, edgy blending of M. J. K. I like Chupacabra, CA grapes or not.
  Johnny and Susun brought an unfiltered Merlot called Renaissance, from North Yoruba, also in California. John and Susan had been hipped to this wine by a friend, and I must say it impressed. As an unfiltered wine, it really needed to be decanted. I need to get a carafe for such occasions.  I've never seen so much sludge in the bottom of a bottle. I looked at an empty this morning and wondered if maybe somewhere along the line I'd used it as a spittoon. Is that fruit and yeast residue down there or Copenhagen? A very tasty Merlot, and I like Merlot.
  Bob Dog et al brought an Argentinian Malbec. Bob and family have an understandable affinity for Argentine wines, their son Arthur having spent a year there recently. The Mendoza region of Argentina is the home of the Malbec grape, and I expect to be seeing it appear more and more in U.S. wines. Argentinian Malbecs are a great value right now. Very drinkable young and with the chops to stand a few years layaway to deepen and open them up. I've noticed Malbecs do well with being opened and allowed to breathe for up to a day before serving. Their flavors really deepen and expand.

  Kate's dad brought a wine with...I am not making this up....a SMILEY  FACE on the label. It didn't get opened at dinner sadly, as I think it would have been real nice with the roast. Tonight we had the ribs off the roast reheated with a salad and that wine served very well. It's made or at least bottled by Oreana Winery in California and is called Project Happiness Syrah. In spite of the goofy label, I like it. An "Oreana" by the way, is an old California Mission Spanish term for a feral, unbranded calf. I don't know what significance this has one way or another, but they didn't see fit to put a cow on their label, so it's an interesting piece of trivia. You can't beat a decent varietal Syrah. I also had a bottle of Chateau St. Michelle Syrah out on the counter and it's nowhere to be found so I guess it got drunk too. My pal John Hull brought it by the other day on his way to Phoenix. Tasty. I like Washington wines in general.

  All in all it was a perfect day. I want to thank everybody who came and hope all had a good time and at the same time let me apologize to anybody I may have offended. God knows what I may have said to anyone who got in my way in the kitchen. When I win the lottery, we're going to have Christmas dinner catered and I'm going to stand in the kitchen and kibbitz and criticize and have someone else to blame for the screwups. Meantime, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and please know that we cherish all of you!
  Johnny, who I think I've mentioned had surgery some years ago to have a Canon point and shoot digital camera permanently attached to his right hand, has done a magnificent job chronicling this year's debacle. I've taken the liberty of linking to it here. Lots of fun pictures, don't miss them!

Leftover Omelets

  Thanksgiving went well. We were joined by Kate's dad Bob and her brother Michael. It was the first time we'd seem Michael out and about in a long time and it was great to have him over.
  A simple dinner of Turkey and all the go-withs followed by good pie and Rye Whisky laced whipped cream and cups of Bob's latest find, Mayan Winds "Native Sun", a single farm, organic fair trade coffee from Mexico. Great, guilt free coffee that's not blown all out of proportion in price. It looks to be a great company doing good works.
  Our wines ended up being the aforementioned Pillsbury Wildchild White and a little Nachise when the white ran out. They both went very well with the multi-layered flavors of Thanksgiving. Nachise will probably end up back on the table with the Christmas roast. Wish I'd had a little bottle of Keeling-Schaefer's dessert Zin, but sadly it's all gone.
  Now we're getting rid of leftovers. This morning's stab at emptying out the fridge was to take the remaining green beans, tiny roasted baby Yukon Gold potatoes and a dab of gravy and heat it all up together to be used as an omelet filling....perfect, and I managed to clear out 3 bowls from the ice box, making more room for beer.
  Johnny called my attention to the Giganticus Headicus (no relation to Biggus Dickus) this morning. How I, a native of this fair state, could have spent some better than a half century here and not know about this popular destination is pretty disturbing. Heck, even Zippy The Pinhead knows about Giganticus Headicus. Salud!