Gone fishing, for how long? Not sure. Be good.
One I wrote for the new James Halliday Wine Companion in Australia. It's a common theme for me, that first barolo.
With Pierre Jancou, Olivier Cousin and his horse.
Gone fishing, for how long? Not sure. Be good.
The other day in the mad search to find palatable wine in Tenerife we found ourselve atop of Oratova in a small winery with steel tanks five times the size of pasta pots. We thought we might have found a man who made wine (for himself) who added nothing, took away nothing.
You never know when you're going to hit on a gem. But, we weren't sure about those pasta pots, and after the last disaster on Lanzarote, we didn't get our hopes up too high.
Wine poured. Sipped. We looked for somewhere to spit, but unfortunately the ethic in that little home cellar was swallow.
I thought the 2011 listan negro was palatable enough, with that LN spice thing and ash going for it. From there it went screwy. The next vintage, 2005 was riddled with a herd of brettanomyces. The next wine was a wacko job with aguardiente mised with wine for sweetness, but the piece de resistance was in a beer keg.
Think of this, I forgot which vintage, but probably 2010. Fermented under pressure, on its lees. It was poured and I made José taste it because there was no way it was going to go into my mouth. IT was hard not to think about all of those critics out there who believe as long as it's natural, Alice says its delicious. Ah, the old sandbox where macho idiocy reigns over sensibility and humanity, but never mind.
It was leesy and dirty and microbial and everything that those kids in the sandbox think all natural wine is. There it was. A terrible, terrible wine. The kind, creative gent who created the monster chuckled as he told us he told his wife to use it for cooking wine. Cooking wine? She wouldn't even let it into the house.
With that we went off in search of dinner.
Been traveling. Sorry for the silence. My advice, keep out of the sandbox.
Meanwhile, I've been visiting the wonders of the world.
And they need a savior to help José save them from abuse.
I spend my life looking for wi-fi when I'm on the road. The angst burns into a fever when I can't get on line, when the code doesnt work and I can't keep in umbilical touch with my world back home. The pursuit of connection is a metaphor for existence, chasing one's tale (not a typo) in searh of connection that eventually turns into irritation. Then you find it. A comfort that you might not want to leave, forcing you to stay still, cease exploration. A trap.You see, that's the difficulty in love and also in assignment. Here I am in hogging the connection when I should be down in the town exploring.
So much for morning philosophy. You might have guessed, I'm in the Canaries, on assignment. I have to be careful in these posts so I don't scoop my story, so many of the particulars and details will have to wait until they come out in print. So, bear with me please.
So, how random is it that the day I land in Tenerife, Mr. Asimov posts a story on Canary wines? There are now accidents. A friend of mine was talking about the magnetism on the Canaries, and I suppose all force of attraction are at full strength.
First tip: do not take the ferry from Tenerife to La Palma, especially if you get sea sick and especially if you want to make a 10am flight on the return to Lanzarotte.
Tip two: dress appropriately when going to visit El Tiede.
This idiot was in for a big surprise when he gets to the top in 60k an hour winds with something like 28 degrees.
We thankfully missed the tour buses. That's the third tip.
I've never been big on getting to the top, but going to El Tiede, the third largest volcano in the world is essential in understanding the specific terroir of Tenerife . Seeing the magma, frozen in its tracks is humbling.
Tip three: eat basalt nurtured potatoes.
Tip four: Don't try to take one of these back with you on the plane. or one of these
Generally I see land that has seen chemical warfare but not holocaust. I see quite a bit if moss in the vines, evidence. And even in those who are working better, this moss lingers. So do irrigation pipes from previous owners or previous interventions. I've not see anyone work the soil yet, or plant to open up the soil without plowing, but I haven't yet seen the soil of the only biodynamic vineyard Crater, to see what they are up to. But the raw material to work with, strange soils, little top soil, and ancient vines that look like some prehistoric sea creatures or at least plaited, hyperbolic vines and those vines on their own roots, is profound.
The best wine I had so far was a 1984 field blend from Monje.
This was still made in old lager, foot stomped, full stems, minimal sulfur at crush and at bottling. On the nose at first dead, like an old and spent Barolo. The palate was fresh, fleshy prune and molten, with bright lemon edge on the long, ashy, and uplifted finish. Opened for two hours, it just kept on getting better, the nose eventually catching up to its tongue, until it was gone way too soon. Monje is the only one on the island with older stock as most wineries were not selling commercially back then except for the co-op. With many thanks to Felipe, an unusual man for sure, for opening this up for us.
Arrived in Madrid with enough time to go to one of Victor's favorite restos he says all the wine geeks go to, Asturianos.
Amongst two others an amazing trumpet mushroom and mango yolked egg and about 25 wines, (look for post later) Alfredo Maestro from Ribera del Duero and
Fabio from Vino Ambiz were there to eat, drink, talk, argue. This is a hasty post on the ferry to La Palma, so check back for more captions.
upside down me
More magma!
Had to share this with you, as it just came in to my DM on Facebook.
Hi Alice, Random mail from San Diego, here. A friend suggested I add you because your book ruined me. Now all my whites look like old man pee, and I can hardly find a drinkable red. I blame you.
My latest wine story appeared recently in The Hollywood Reporter about people just saying no.
(errata, the 10,000 associated with the grower champagne should be cases and not bottles.)
If you have a story to pitch me for THR, please get in touch.
I seem not to get hangovers anymore. Not sure why. Maybe I just don't drink enough these days? In addition, the most spiritual I get is fasting on Yom Kippir, pagan Morris Dance stuff, Biodynamics and viticulture.
But recently, I had the opportunity to sit down with a real-life-guru, someone by the name of Dr. Michael Joseph Levry (Gurunam), a guru who is purported to lead the world's fastest growing sect of yoga ( Naam) blends kabbalah and yoga, is originally from the Ivory Coast.
He was fresh from leading a yoga class for 12,000 in Mexico City. Upon hearing that I was a wine writer and New Years was coming up he gave me these hangover tips from his book, “The Divine Doctor: Healing Beyond Medicine."
The perfect cure for a hangover is to “Add a little salt and cumin seed to lemon juice and drink. The hangover will stop, because lemon is an anti-alcohol agent.”
There is also an exercise for headaches,
Lie down on your back, arms by your sides, palms down. Raise your head off the floor and do long, deep breathing. Continue for 1-3 minutes.
And then, if all else fails go for the hair of the dog.
Feel free to add any special cure you've got. Ok? (They say that no sulfured wine is the way to go, but alchol is, well alcohol!)
Happy New Year.