Our annual wine club gatherings, called Revels, in another nod to Charles, often include an element of performance. Members write rhymes and toasts, perform skits and songs, and otherwise contribute to a long legacy of creativity and camaraderie, of art and silliness, that is a central tenet of our community.

As part of our countdown to this Friday's Annual Deed Day Writing Contest , today we share with you one such poem written by a club member at an event a few years back. These are often written in very brief amount of time, often a few glasses in, but always with a warmth and friendship that makes our club members so very special to us. 

As you craft your entry for this Friday, know that they need not rhyme nor be in perfect meter, nor do we give any consideration to mentions of Gundlach Bundschu specifically. Most important is the heart, sincerity, humor and emotion of your words. Here is one example from an event a few years back written by a 'wine of the moment' club member (aka WOMer) named Barb:

Boones Farm Tickle Pink
Was my favorite wine to drink

I didn't care if it had aged
Just how to buy it underage

Many years have passed since then
Probably twenty, maybe ten

But my knowledge of wine was slim
Until I got to that winery of Jim's

I didn't know how to swirl or quaff
People with their nose in wine made me laugh

But through kindness and patience with a novice like me
I think I've learned what great wine should be

Yes, it is bouquet and clarity
And a sense of complexity

But the truly special ingredient
Is the essence of family

Passed on through generations, so generously shared
With their workers and their tasters, why everyone that cared

Some places may ship you wine, but there the story ends
WOMers are lucky; ours is a special delivery from friends.

For fifty years after prohibition, our family grew high quality wine grapes on Rhinefarm and sold them to other wineries. In 1969, Jim Bundschu convinced his father Towle to reopen the winery.  In the years that would follow, Jim blazed a trail to introduce the world to Sonoma Valley wines and Gundlach Bundschu in particular.

This was the era of some of the most legendary stories of Gundlach Bundschu, when Jim and his compatriots calling themselves The Wine Patrol, donned masks and capes to hijack the Napa Wine Train, kidnap Sir Richard Branson, and lead scores of wine salespeople on mystery tours around the country, all in the name of celebrating the legacy and quality of Sonoma Valley.

The Sonoma Valley Wine Patrol had an oath, and at any gathering, members were committed to reciting, if not actually performing, the spirited toast. Times have changed, but the spirit of the lyrical poem remains - that every hour of every day is an opportunity to appreciate life's great gifts.

We celebrate that legacy by commemorating our anniversary this Friday with our Second Annual Deed Day Writing Contest - details can be found at www.gunbun.com/152.

This week in this space, we preempt our regular blogschu musings to share with you each day one of the poems that inspires us, and hopefully inspires you to participate during the one day writing contest this Friday.

We start things off, of course, with old Charles.  He wrote the following poem for a gathering of his friends, members of the Bacchus Club they called themselves, for a lunch in San Francisco.  He writes about a beautiful day not much different than the one we enjoyed yesterday here on Rhinefarm.

Bacchanal Reunion at Tait's
San Francisco, April 27, 1907

Not many days ago I wend my way
On business bound and partly to allay
The burdened mind midst nature's blissful bounty
Towards the vinelands of Sonoma County

The winterstorms, the rain and frosty chill
That hovered over lowland, knoll and hill
No longer in it's rawness did abide
The wayward season now had turned its tide.

The air was balmy and the birds did sing
Indeed the conqueror had come - the Spring!
Dotted with gold and flanked with purple seam
The surrounding fields implied a verdant dream

The blossoms of the trees glowed bright and fair
And every nook had taken up it's share
Of nature's greening in advancing spring
The sky proclaimed: The soil again is King

The rising slope of vineyards showed a fringe
Of shoots and tendrils in refreshing tinge;
The budding bloom still checked to stay and hem
The flowing sap rushing to crown and stem.

A paradise of hope, delight and fear
In which vintner dwells from year to year
While anxious invocations he may shout
To every passing overhanging cloud.

Oh gentle vineyards, ever since my foot
In all it's wanderings looked for rest and root
You filled my heart with cheer and tender grace
Wherever I upon your charms would gaze.

Nature's great floodgates always stand ajar
Her generous dowries ever near and far
Are gifts from heaven provident and wise
They all implore the human soul to rise

And if unsoiled by wanton dissipation
The will invoke a higher inspiration
Of God's great mysteries in nature's sphere
and make life better than it may appear!

Greeting to you, dear bretheren in Bacchus!
May his high inspiration never lack us
May friendship, love and joy embrace the hours
And sweet remembrance evermore be ours.

Charles Bundschu

The telethon will be broadcast by TV Chile, which is carried on spanish-language tiers of many cable networks, including Comcast & Cablevision, check local listings.

We heard about this this telethon from Ronald Leon, one of our cellar crew whose mother-in-law had a wall of her home collapse in the quake. Several of our staff have family and friends in Chile, and thankfully all are safe, but they have shared stories of terrible devastation.

If you would like to participate in this campaign to provide emergency shelter to the Chilean earthquake victims, here are links to the information and donation sites. Some information is in spanish, but most pages can easily be translated by your web browser.

Chile Ayuda Chile Telethon site: http://www.chileayudaachile.cl/

Donation Page for those outside Chile: https://www.bancochile.cl/webchile1/Teleton/index_tarjetas_ex.html

Santiago Time article about the Telethon: http://www.santiagotimes.cl/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=18323:chile-aid-efforts-continue-telethon-begins-in-chile&catid=43:human-rights&Itemid=39

News and photos from inside Chile: http://noticias.terra.com/terremoto-chile/

Thank you, and please pass on this information if you can.

Not just any cookies, Girl Scout Cookies. 

One of my first days on the job some six years ago included a visit by Gracie Bundschu, who, being the 7th generation of a long line of charismatic entrepreneurs, not suprisingly took me for about seven boxes. In recent years her sister Eva took over the cookie business with equal charm.  I've been one of their best customers, buying boxes for equally dependent friends in the city, where 6-to-12 year-old girls are rarer than parking spaces. 

This year, apparently both girls have traded their Girl Scout trefoil for the 4H clover, and I'm out in the cold. Everywhere I go, I am seeing the remains of chocolate-smeared sleeves of thin mints, so I know they are out there somewhere, but I have yet to find an actual scout selling boxes. 

I am all about the trefoils. I know most of you are addicted to thin mints, samoas or tagalongs, and I do love those too.  But my guilty pleasure for about three weeks out of the year is a couple of shortbread trefoils with my coffee at my desk each morning. Sure, they're a little dry. And yes I know real shortbread is so much better, but it's way too rich to be a breakfast treat.

It occurs to me that I could probably buy a box of Lorna Doones any day of the year and enjoy them just as much, because they seem to be basically the same cookie, no? But I haven't bought Lorna Doones in over a decade, and I haven't wanted to test that theory, lest cookies for breakfast becomes a year-round habit. There just isn't an equivalent for the Thin Mint though, is there? Wait, no, don't tell me if there is, that is something I truly don't need to know.

I guess I'll have to go trolling around Sonoma this weekend looking for my fix. I really hope it doesn't rain.

While the month has arrived in traditional lionish fashion in many places, here in Sonoma it might rain later today, but otherwise the warm, mild day is quite lamb-like.  February rains and warm weather have us a little ahead of the game, and spring seems to have already sprung in the form of tall mustard in the vineyards, pink cherry trees and smiling daffodils all over town.

After a weekend in the snow, I drove up from San Francisco this morning to find the Sonoma landscape startlingly vibrant.  There is a pasture at the corner of Arnold Drive and the 121 that has a particularly beautiful carpet of yellow mustard and wildflowers.

I was admiring the spectacular view, thrilling to the idea of warm weather and longer days, when I noticed a row of Acacia trees in full flower. My throat tightened just at the sight of them - welcome to Claritin season! These evil yellow trees kill me every year.

On cue, an 80's classic came on the radio: The Talking Head's 'Flowers.' 

David Byrne sings 'If this is paradise, I wish I had a lawnmower.'  I had to laugh. Once Sonoma's notorious spring allergy season kicks into overdrive, I may be a little more inclined to agree with him.

Antica's Ruggero Gadaldi makes perfect, simple northern Italian cuisine that somehow always manages to have a fresh twist. His creme brulee incorporates a touch of blood orange - one of my favorite treats of the season. An inspired flavor combination was elevated by its ingenious presentation.

The custard was served in a hollowed-out blood orange. The visual and aromatic appeal adds to the appreciation of the slightly sweet citrus that makes a decadent dessert almost refreshing. And it was so fun to pick up a half-orange to spoon out every last bit.

Equally impressive and memorable to the previous presentation, for the polar opposite reason. Not sure the photo does it justice, but it was brilliant.

It was amazing to be surrounded by a group of winemakers and wine lovers so passionate about wines that altogether probably represent less than a few percent of wines sold in the US. Even with all the buzz about alternative, aromatic whites, the few restaurants and wine shops that do embrace these varieties tend to focus on imports, but there are several excellent domestic bottlings that were on display this weekend.

Our cool site and unique legacy make us unique among our immediate neighbors in our ability and commitment to grow gewurztraminer, but up in the Anderson Valley, there are dozens of exceptional rieslings, gewurztraminers and pinot blancs to taste. There were dry and off-dry table wines and decadently delicious late harvest wines. Wines that I (and you) don't remember to drink nearly often enough, though they offer tremendous variety and are exceptionally food-friendly.

I promised myself I'd return to Anderson Valley soon with the free time to explore the wineries and the spectacular beauty of this place. It is only two hours from Sonoma, but something always makes it seem further away in my mind. That something is Highway 128.

Highway 128 is a one-lane slalom course through the mountains that separate Mendocino and Sonoma Counties. It can be a super-fun drive, if you dont get carsick, have a well-handling car, and there isn't a local bearing down on your back bumper for going too slowly. However, when you're running a bit late for an event and it is raining, it can be a bit stressful. The total lack of radio and cell phone reception mean that if you don't have company, you had better have some good driving music close at hand.

Which brings me to today's Music Monday. Mogwai's aptly-named 'Auto Rock' kept me mellow so that I was able to enjoy the beauty of the drive and take my time.

I am fully dependent on it as well, mind you, but it is as much a great pleasure as a physical need to have a large cup every morning. No frothy espresso beverages are necessary, just a strong, brewed coffee with the tiniest splash of whole milk, and then the day can begin properly.

Given how much interest and energy I expend on food and wine, it is somewhat curious even to me how little I put into selecting coffee. I couldn't tell you difference between Ethiopian vs Costa Rican, and though I've been to a cupping, I found it completely impossible to get past two tastes without losing all sense of palate.

I know people who swear by specific brands and spend insane amounts on the machines, but I've never bothered with any of it.  I am not claiming to be low maintenance - its not like I buy the stuff in cans, and I really hate bad coffee, but I am uncharacteristically unexperimental in this area.  I determined my preference for French Roast long ago, and at the risk of losing all credibility with some of you, I admit that I regularly buy Starbucks, pre-ground, at the grocery store.

I know, I know.  All the Bay Area Peet's loyalists are appalled, but I find their roasts bitter. (There, I said it!) And while I have made many a well-intentioned purchase of brands promoted as organic and fair-trade, I have yet to find one whose flavors I appreciate as much as its practices.  And to those of you who insist on grinding your own, all I can say is you must be made of something stronger than I am if you can tolerate that sound in the morning, especially before coffee.

A few months back, I was invited to a fundraiser for Tel-Hi, an amazing community center that has been running health, food, education and art programs for the people of this San Francisco neighborhood since the days when Charles Bundschu lived just a few blocks away.  I won a gourmet basket in the silent auction full of local treats , including a pound of dark roast coffee from Graffeo Coffee Roasting Company.

Graffeo is a family-run company, founded in San Francisco in 1935. They still roast small batches of beans in a sparse, old storefront on the north end of Columbus Avenue. They don't sell cups of coffee and they only sell three blends: dark roast, light roast and decaf.

After a night of lots of great food and GB Merlot at that fundraiser, I woke the next morning in desperate need of coffee. I made that first pot of Graffeo and it spun my head around.

I am now a total convert. I still don't experiment, but you won't catch me buying Starbucks, or anything else, anytime soon.  I've bought bags for everyone in my family, and highly recommend paying them a visit.  Even if you can't make it to North Beach, they offer mail order on their website.

On Superbowl Sunday, kitchens across the country were turning out cajun and creole specialties in honor of the Saints.  On CNN, James Carville and Mary Matalin were debating the proper way to make gumbo (not surprisingly, I agreed with James. The darker the better!) The game broke a 27-year record for TV audience (previously held by the finale of M.A.S.H.), and I'd guess it was likely a record day for national catfish sales as well.

Years ago, I got a tiny little photo-heavy New Orleans cookbook as a gift.  Its butter-splattered pages are a testament to how much I love those recipes. My all time favorite is barbeque shrimp, which despite the name has nothing to do with grilling. Basically it is shrimp sauteed in butter, beer, cayenne and rosemary, with a little lemon and parsley.  This recipe is pretty close, though I've never used celery and onions.

The people I was watching the game with usually frown on the idea of eating anything served swimming in melted butter. Health freaks. So with their eyes fixed on the game, I fried blackened redfish in butter instead. If they can't see the butter, it works best for all of us.

On the side, I made my own version of red beans and rice:

- saute onions, garlic, sliced okra, red pepper and tomatoes with bay leaf, pepper, salt and chili powder/cayenne until soft
- add broth and rice, cover
- separately cook and dice some andouille sausage
- when the rice is done, add a can of azuki beans (red kidney beans are too big to me) and the chopped sausage and heat through

I fully planned to drink beer, but we had a bottle of 2008 GB Chardonnay open while we were cooking, and it worked really well with the food, so we stuck with that.

It was all pretty easy and yummy, if not particularly authentic, but even so, the moment I set the plates down, Tracy Porter famously intercepted that pass, and it was as if we all were in New Orleans.