Sunday, January 17, 2010

A Knack for the Abstract

Little more than 7 hours in California and they have sunk their talons in me. Even though it now more resembles a Vegan-Disney gone to Singapore, the raw, naked beauty of the territoriality mystifies me.

Two wines tonight at a local hot spot, Rosso, in Santa Rosa. The first a Greco from San Francesco in Calabria, the Fata Morgana; old vines, bush trained, dry farmed and hand tended. The barkeep popped a fresh one and the flavors were crisp and chalky. A huge difference from the diffident Muscadet I'd had earlier with a dozen oysters @ Hog Island in the City. The only shape shifter was the French wine, heading south to the land of syrup. Post haste. The Greco was a perfect wine for the salad, a modified Caesar with the hot Calabrese chili sauce. It worked – and this is the gift Italy and the wines give to us: low expectations - high returns. No one would ever expect from a Greco what they would from a Muscadet. But the Greco was lithe, while the Muscadet was being wheeled into the ICU.

Not content with that, I ambled towards the Margherita. It’s Sunday, after all, pizza night in Italy. But no beer, while watching the Chelsea game on the big screen. No, not a Rosso Piceno, which I was salivating over. Here I was in Sonoma, how about a local wine, to be true to trying things in their place. Nearby a woman was asking about a Grenache and the server pedaled a Montepulciano from the Marche on her. In keeping with the contrary nature of a Californian in exile, I asked her about the Quivira. “It’s fab – try it.” Same thing she said about the modified Caesar, The hair on my back was standing up but I wasn’t paying attention. The earlier chair massage in the hotel had diverted my suspicion mechanism,. “Ok, let 'er rip, pour me a glass of the Dry Creek, dry farmed, organic, Grenache.”

Dr. P. would have been in stink-heaven. The wine had a balmy garrigue and culatello pungency- not that I was bothered by that – I was hoping for a Lambrusco moment, in lieu of beer. The Grenache was almost too much of a statement – but this is California – the spawning ground of possibilities, even as it turns into a Ridley Scott third world vision.

Somewhere in the world it's always hula night.


damon said...

amazingly abstact desciptions.
Loved it.
Keep it going mr. cool

Do Bianchi said...

Dr. P? Who dat? Perhaps a relative of Mrs. Dr. P?

Alfonso Cevola said...

thanks Damon - know you master somms are having a time of it down in old Monterey. Make sure Guy stays on his diet - no 2 buck chuck for him.

Jar- you mean the future Mrs Dr P?

Real Time Analytics