by Julian Schultz
julian@oxfordwineroom.com
“Ju…li…an
Schu…ultz!”
I could recognize that lyrical voice anywhere: “Frou-frou Finnegan!
What ever are you doing here at The Oyster Cabin, at this International Wine
& Food Society wine dinner? You’re not a member.”
(Frou-frou and three women friends attended my wine appreciation classes
at Doherty High School’s Night Life program some 18 years ago. They and their
husbands became members of my Worcester Wine Society. They would e-mail me for
wine suggestions when they weren’t sampling the Wine Picks I was recommending
in my wine columns.)
“Hubby Caspar and I are guests of Don Raymond, our eagle-eyed
accountant – can’t sneak in any illegit tax deductions…Oh, Julian, I’m
so sorry to learn about Lillian. We had such a fun time that summer…..”
Frou-frou brought back dubious humorous and happy memories. Later that
evening, listening to Debussy, I reflected on the experience she afforded us….
She asked -- would I select a variety of wines for her group’s 27-day
July vacation, roughing it at a remote wilderness log lodge in Vermont’s Green
Mountains? And would I suggest matchups with food simply prepared, consistent
with camp life, with outdoor living?
“No lofty gourmet cuisine here,” she said, “no starchy British
gentility-in-the-jungle-format in formal dress with silver tableware and white
linen. We will be living exuberantly…au naturel.”
I was aghast: “What?! Au naturel! In the buff – like in a…in
a nudie colony?” I stammered, shocked.
She laughed. “No, no, Silly. I mean casually, back to nature, with sky
and earth, lake and forest, shrubs and stones, birds and berries, away from uncivilized
contemporary society; eating and living down and dirty, as it were.”
“Well,” I said skeptically, “I think you’re thinking heavy
hamburgers, hot hounds -- err, dogs, charred chicken, fried fish, seared steaks,
potted porcupine, quail quenelles, chipmunk casseroles, roasted rabbit and skunk
stews – these merit pedestrian wines. I don’t know enough about plonky wines
to suggest...” I threw my arms up in despair.
“Oh, come on Julian!” She remonstrated with me: “How many times
have I heard you say, ‘simple crusted bread and simple Cheddar cheese with
simple quaffing wines are food fit for simply happy gods?’ I’m sure our camp
cooking offers more than that, so give the better wines your best shot.”
She said they would consume three different wines each evening with
dinner, about three ounces of each wine for each person. She wanted the names of
a variety of wines from different top-tier producers. For my efforts, she said,
Lillian and I could spend a week with them…but to bring our own wine, so as
not to reduce the nine-ounce pours per person.
I asked -- what was there to do all day? She answered, “The women play
bridge and mah jong, swim and sunbathe; drive to town for food, mail and
newspapers, and share the cooking chores. The men play pinochle and poker, hike
the trails, fish and hunt, swim and sunbathe. The day seems never long
enough.” She added that one evening we would have a fancy dinner in St.
Albans, 40 miles away.
Sounded idyllic to romantic, sentimental, emotional me. Not to practical,
organized, realistic Lillian: “I can just hear the whirring of dive-bombing
mosquitoes; I’ll be scratching from no-see-‘um blackflies; and who knows
what kind of mattresses we’ll be sleeping on? Hard, lumpy, musty, I’ll
bet.”
She continued, “You may fantasize you’re Henry David Thoreau,
cavorting with nature -- like at Walden Pond. Not me. And if you think I’m
trotting from the in-house to the outhouse in my undies by the light of the
silvery moon – or to the outhouse at high noon when the summer sun sparkles in
the azure blue -- you’ve got
another think coming. So…we’re not going.”
I protested: “I think we would welcome the week’s isolation and the
inconveniences of undefiled nature here, the change of pace, away from
civilization’s rat race. I’d really like to stay.”
“Oh, dearest Julian, how unrealistically romantic you are. How can you
close your eyes and your mind to the realities of a week here? I can just see
you stumbling, half-slumbering, to the smelly outhouse in the pitch of black
night – maybe scented yet by a startled skunk and attacked by enraged
mosquitoes. Knowing this likelihood and knowing you, my darling, you really
don’t want to go.”
Stubborn me: “Yes, I do. I want to go.”
As was her wont, when Lillian was certain – ensuring to the point of
repetition -- that I understood her suggestions or objections, she always
deferred to me.
So we went.
…As usual, she was right. As usual, she never “I-told-you-so-ed”
me. (God! How I loved, and still do, that wonderful woman.)
Bored before the week was over I was sipping caloric extras of my own
wines, chewing caloric extra chunks of crusted baguettes and eating caloric
extra Cheddar cheese as I lazed by the lake on dreamy afternoons, listening to
tapes of Chopin Nocturnes and Etudes.
Selfishly, I had prevailed upon Lillian that we forgo a plush Catskills
resort hotel where we would walk bug free in the sun, feast sumptuously on three
delectable ethnic meals every day, enjoy ballroom dancing and live New York
entertainment every evening…and enjoy a luxury bathroom with all modern
appointments – that we abstain from all this to rough it in the forest
primeval – suffering that abominable three-holer outhouse -- with Frou-frou
and friends.
I begged Lillian’s forgiveness, which, as usual, was sympathetically
and smilingly given. So no more wilderness vacations...vacations exempt from the
public haunt; forgoing tongues in the trees, books in the babbling brooks,
sermons in the stones, and nature’s good in everything for the Schultzes.
If only it weren’t for that nervous outhouse trek in the dead of night,
with the dread of bugs, mosquitoes, skunks and whatever else lurked unseen….
Oh well, that was then. But my first comment apropos of tonight: Who
needs to drive to Boston to dine? Who needs to schlep to Providence to
gourmandize?
Answer: Nobody! Not when we have about a dozen premier restaurants in our
area, definitely including The Oyster Cabin, on route 146A, Uxbridge, among the
top tier.
The Oyster Cabin dinner Reception Course: Eyrie Pinot Gris 2000, Oregon,
$19, was paired with seared Hudson Valley foie gras of goose liver on
sourdough crouton topped with Black Mission fig jam. Each consumed on its own
was delicious – thrice around of each for me; taken together, however, I
thought the sweet fig jam metal-ized the dry, lively, Alsatian style wine,
diminishing its subtle peaches flavor and emphasizing its acidity and dryness.
Frou-frou and Caspar disagreed with my perception of the combination, blissfully
oohing and aahing. Wine rating: straight A; numerically, 91 to 94.
My evaluation of the wine and food combination of the ensuing First
Course did not have the same result as I had with the Reception Course, although
I feared it might: the sweet cranberry and quince glaze on the duck breast and
the dry austere cabernet sauvignon were indeed, surprisingly, most compatible.
Thankfully, the Washington State Sagelands Cabernet Sauvignon 1999,
Washington, $18, was properly poured before we were served the cranberry and
quince glazed duck breast with black Beluga lentils, baby beet tops and cinnamon
dust. Each taken on its own was superb, eliciting murmurs of pleasure from the
45 I.W.&F.S. members. In combination, they elevated the First Course into
the stratosphere – certainly for my palate…and for Caspar and Frou-frou’s.
One of the table members exclaimed favorably on the dish by referring to
a previous I.W.&F.S. dinner with a duck course, saying, “What a relief!
This duck is deliciously tender and easily cuttable! Not like the last time.”
I had written wryly of that
same disappointing duck dish by referring to it as, “Dinosaur duck, need a
chain saw to cut it” -- so tough it was. I used a one-word evaluation of
tonight’s duck course: Superb!”
My
notes on the Cabernet Sauvignon: “assertive fruited nose; immediate currants
and cherries on the palate; lively fruit acids, firm tannin, warm rough swallow;
needs time to soften and mellow.” Rating: A-minus; numerically, 88 to 90.
Frou-frou
asked that I issue a plea from her heart: Distributor reps should not drone on
with irrelevancies when discussing the winery and the wines. Remarks should be
limited to discussing the wines and briefly…oh, so very, very briefly …the
winery: Who cares that the winemaker wears red BVDs on 31-day months and blue on
30, none in February? Who gives a rat’s ass that the winemaker beats his wife
on Mondays and Thursdays and she beats him on Tuesdays, Fridays and Saturdays
and both beat unpopular visiting relatives on weekends? So what if the river by
the vineyards has a pebbly bottom, not sandy?
She suggests
limiting reps’ remarks on each wine to 4 minutes/16 seconds, after which an
ear shattering, crashing, vibrating gong resonance would reverberate throughout
the room, jolting to awake the slumbering palateers. I agree!
Second
Course: pan fried skate wing (tender, tasty, ocean white fish) over purple
sticky rice, honey smoked bacon (delicious lemongrass sauce for me) and pea
tendrils was matched with Barnard Griffin Chardonnay – yes, questionably, the
white wine followed the red cab – 1999, Washington, $17.
Now I was
stuck…and I said so, so unlike me – I refrain from writing disparagingly-
and from speaking negatively about wine. But I said, “After tasting wine for
50 years, here I am encountering the most a-typical chardonnay of my experience
-- alien aroma, funky taste, totally disconcerting to my palate; stale butter,
musk, fermented rotted apples, flinty – the oddest chardonnay ever.”
I
was not alone in my assessment, although Caspar and Frou-frou demurred, saying
they enjoyed its creamy texture, spice, pears, subtle oak and hint of
butterscotch. De gustibus non disputandum est: There is no accounting for
taste. Palateers among us who are
intrigued by the occult, the mysterious, the frightening, the horror movies,
were jubilant with the novel aroma and flavor in the aberrant chardonnay.
Third
Course: Tenderloin of beef with tiny ruby crescent potatoes and shiitake
doubloon mushrooms in a delectable mushroom sauce was accompanied by Patricia
Green Eason Pinot Noir 2000, Oregon, $39. Ah! This marriage was heaven-blessed. Sensational
describes the food and wine and the pairing. The meat tender, prepared
medium-rare, exquisitely flavored; the wine pronounced berries nose with slight
barnyard whiff, reminiscent of a pedigree Burgundy; hints of raspberries,
blackberries, cinnamon and nuts disclosed youthful complexity; with added
complexity from further bottle age, I would elevate the rating from A to
A-to-A-plus; numerically, 94 to 98.
Dessert
course: Executive chef/owner Christopher Phaneuf learned his lesson well
from a previous I.W.&F.S. dinner: He included St. Andre cheese under warm
raspberries and white truffle honey with to marry with Barnard Griffin Semillon
2000, $16, Washington. Piquant cheese, sweet berries and luscious honey did not
clash with the sweet semillon, did not degrade its fragile flavor. Result:
highly successful conclusion to a classy gourmet dinner, eliciting enthusiastic
and sustained applause for Phaneuf and his sous chefs.
Kudos
all around: hostess Jem Benbhino, pretty and charming waitresses Lisa Allen and
Amy Rivet; and wonder woman, ubiquitous Kristine Phaneuf, who was everywhere at
once, hustling everything that needed doing all at the same time, it seemed. Our
pleasure with Christopher Phaneuf’s culinary artistry was greatly enhanced by
the diligent and efficient waitstaff.
Classic
Wines’ reps Ray Safer and Lloyd Foster answered questions about the wines’
merits, blend composition and approximate retail prices. Nice job, guys! But
remember, in the future leave the droning to the bees and keep the discussion
succinct, succinct, succinct, succinct, succinct…….
Wine
Pick: Clos Pegase “Palisades Vineyard” Cabernet Sauvignon 1999, $33-$35.
Complex nose of layered currants, cherries, raisins, underlaid with intriguing
coffee grounds, transfers to the palate with mouthfilling, nicely balance
flavors; smooth swallow and lingering aftertaste. An unforgettable classy wine
for the discriminating connoisseur.
Wine
Pick: Carmody McKnight “Select Blend” Chardonnay 2000, $12-$13. Aromas and
flavors of melon, peach, hint of vanilla, spicy cinnamon, allspice; rich, clean,
zesty fruit acids; clean, crisp finish, long aftertaste. Bigtime chard,
littletime price. It’s around, seek it out.
Wine
Pick: Errazuriz (Chile) Merlot 2000, $11-$13. Enjoy dark berry, red pepper and
chocolate flavors with vanilla and oak accents from barrel aging; ripe tannins,
arresting weighty texture, perfectly balanced; lush berry fruit lingers on to a
smooth, creamy finish and reluctant-to-leave farewell; blended with 15 percent
Cabernet Sauvignon for added complexity. Yes, another Robert Mondavi winner.