by Julian Schultz
julian@oxfordwineroom.com

At the International Wine & Food Society May dinner, hosted by the Sonoma Restaurant, in Princeton, on Route 31 North from Paxton, Holden and points south, I sipped Pol Roger Rosé Champagne 1996 and tasted Sveruga caviar crescents of puff pastry, which was flavored with lemon cream and dill.

 After finishing another glass of the sparkling creaming bubbly and two more caviars, I blissfully, albeit recklessly, hoisted a glass of J. Lohr Monterey Bay Riesling and euphorically sipped away on it with the second hors d’oeuvre of grilled peach wrapped in air-dried beef in white peach nectar. I repeated the “doubles,” with these as I did with the Champagne and caviar. 

One hour of consuming these irresistible hors d’oeuvres and reception wines transformed many of us from restrained gourmets into ravenous gormands, the latter who exceed safety, satiety and sobriety. 

Only the close presence of caring good friend, Dr. Bob Ouellette, prevented me from joining the latter: my overloading with the reception wines and food. I preferred the frustration of denial to his inevitable lecture the next morning when I would confess, “I had a tough night from over indulgence.” 

The serious eating consisted of five elaborate courses and matching wines, which required big-time willpower of moderation for midnight comfort or big-time capacious girth of belly to contain it all. I was in a quandary: big-time belly thankfully I don’t have, but neither do I have big-time willpower of moderation. 

I was rescued from eating additional hors d’oeuvres with their consorting wines when Dr. Bob said it was time to take my place at his table with Dr. Roland and Norma Caron, Dr. Fred Busch and Pat, and with him and wife Lucille. 

As I studied the menu, concentrating and salivating, noting the intricacies and innovations among the food preparations, I mused that owner/chef Bill Brady’s prestigious Princeton Sonoma Restaurant is to restaurant dining what prestigious Ivy League’s Princeton University is to education: Only the best results to be obtained from dining here and from the experience of education there. 

I recall my Boston attorney son saying of Bill Brady after his first dining adventure at the Sonoma: “The accolades he is getting now from these (wine dinner) patrons suggest that they consider him as some sort of culinary genius…and I wouldn’t dispute that. The gourmet and far more expensive Boston restaurants fall far short of this one; definitely so, if tonight’s wine dinner is standard here.” 

I said that Brady is a modest guy who would prefer that he be considered a Prince of Pots and Pans. Speaking of pots, Bill certainly enjoys eating his cooking. 

Seated at an adjoining table, catching my eyes with eye flutters, shoulder shimmies and frontal shakes, thus promising to add immeasurably to my pleasure, was Fifi Fluttereyes, M.D., anesthesiologist and former colleague of Dr. Bob, when he was Chief of Anesthesiology at Saint Vincent hospital. 

She was alone, and I asked Dr. Bob – why hadn’t he invited her to our table, so that we would be an even eight people instead of my making it an odd seven?

“I’m worried about your blood pressure,” he said. “I know you are on Lisinopril and I am afraid you will need to overdose if she sits beside you.” 

“Well, Pat Busch is sitting beside me now,” I said, “so I’ll have to increase the Lisinopril dose anyway.”

 Pat, patted my arm sympathetically: “No need to worry, dear friend, I won’t lay my dazzling flutters, shakes and shimmies on you. I want to ensure that your BP stays constant to enable you to reach your forthcoming youthful age of 90.” 

Came now the triple cream Brie and apple soup with diced apple garnish, accompanied by Camelot Highlands Chardonnay 2003 of limited production and of $45 price. Here began table buzzing about the wine’s compatibility with the soup.  

Bill initially had planned to pair the sweet, thick, delicious apple soup with a DeLoach Fumé Blanc, sweet-edged with delicate herbaceous and fresh cut grass flavors. I, and some of us, thought it might have been more consistent with the soup; other palateers didn’t agree, saying they preferred the counterpoint of the dry, apricots, toasty oaky, spicy, lemony, crisp acidic flavors of the Chardonnay, with yet a nuance of compatible apples. 

I asked Fif’s opinion. “I agree with Bill,” she said. “I have had more positive experiences with crisp, fig-flavored, fruit-acidic, semi-dry Fumés when paired with spicy foods. This sweet soup dish would be incompatible. But whatever…the first course is a decided winner any old which way.” 

Rapturous in Nirvana, I was eating way on the second course: wild mushroom crepe with fleshy fungi of Portobello, shiitake, oyster; with greens of frisee, green oak, mizuna and radicchio; of finé herbs of parsley, thyme, basil and lavender leaves. The dining room was as quiet as King Tut’s tomb: The 60 I.W. & F.S. members seemed to be eating slowly in awe and with exalted devotion. The Robert Pecota 1997 Merlot’s rich, ripe berry and stone fruit flavors were perfection with the dish. 

Fifi overheard me ask if it were possible that I might have seconds, or perhaps at least a half of seconds? She called over, “Julian, what about your Julian’s enigmatic axiom?” 

I explained to questioning table members: “Enthusiastic gourmandizing (elegant eating) and gormandizing (rapacious eating) doubles the calories, which vigorous exhausting exercising reduces only by half. (I know: I sweat my ass off just on the Exercycle for 30 minutes, 3.35 miles vigorously pedaling and puling, and I burn only 120 calories. I eat two dinky crackers with peanut butter – oh, weep, weep, I can’t continue.)  

“Are sipping superlative wines and dining with fabulous foods worth the regrets that plague the mind and body later; the despair when reading the sneering dial on the bathroom scale? 

“Does all the grand eating and Bacchanalian tippling make sense when I must intensify my energy to near exhaustion for 75 minutes on the Exercycle and the treadmill; with the 80-pound curling weight bar, 5-springs scissors-like crusher, Bullworker, iron horseshoe, 2 adversarial unyielding chest extender springs, 6-pound dumbbells and 5 finger-flex springs, with aerobics interspersed?

 “Are my gourmet/gormand excesses worth this anguish? 

“They are! They are!” 

I heard, “You’re a nut cake,” and a few other bon mots to that effect, which I haughtily ignored. 

Fifi beckoned that I join her. Familiar with her charm and wit, and her knowledge of what constitutes gracious dining, and the fact that she was alluringly seductive in her provocative black sheath gown, titillating exposed décolletage and exotically coifed hairdo, I bade our table members fond farewell, kissed dear espoused Pat, Norma and Lu, and made my way to her table. 

Dr. Bob called after me, “Don’t plan to return to this table!” 

“Have no fear that I might,” I said in agreement. “Fifi is sitting, as I am, partner-less.” In my best Ronald Colman voice, I intoned, “It is the far far better thing that I do now that I am accustomed to do when a devastating damsel is in dire distress. And…what…a…damsel! If I thought she would lean over me to administer anesthesia, I would find a reason to undergo serious surgery.” 

“Now I am sure I don’t want you back at this table,” he said grimy. 

We were poured properly before the food was served, Rabbit Ridge Zinfandel 2001. The nigh breathlessly anticipated principal entrée, aged Black Angus sirloin steak of mouth-gaping generous proportion followed. 

Prepared deliciously medium-rare pink with a variety of chopped caramelized onions, napped with Stilton Bleu cheese and peppercorn sauce, with added risotto cake, and surrounded by a complex roasted vegetable sauce, the Black Angus evoked murmurs, hums, applause, which wafted throughout the room.  

“An incredible dish of incredible generosity; half of it I shall take home,” Fifi said. (I did, too, and I observed many plastic containers at other tables.) 

Saying that I would write a wine column about this dinner, I asked for her assessment of the dinner so far. 

“I am ecstatic,” she said. “Wisely, darling Bill prepared this lean, diet-friendly- raised, Black Angus beef with innovation, imagination and complexity of flavor. This course is beyond anything so rich and rare in a steak dish for flavor and presentation. It makes my speech poor and my breath unable, except to say that my darling Bill has outshone himself.” 

I heard accolades for the steak throughout the room, but none expressed so poetically. 

“Now for the zinfandel,” she said, thoughtfully and very slowly, I thought, as she sniffed the wine and rubbed it over her tongue. “I must first determine which of the three zinfandel styles we will be tasting: the light-bodied, fruited, Beaujolais style best for casual informal dining; the medium- to full-bodied claret style with tangy, rich fruit evocative of berries, spice, cherries, jam, oak, briarwood, perfume, tar and violets; or the super-ripe style with some claret style attributes, highly alcoholic, rich, raisiny, plumy, sweet. 

 “I find this zin to be the latter, with pulsating come-and-go-layers of flavor reminiscent of blackberry, boysenberry, black pepper, wood spice, hint of plums, whisper of chocolate, and…and…and…what is that? Oh yes! Port-like! Port-like! And as exquisite a zin as I have ever been blessed to taste over the years.” 

“Ah, thank you, dear Fifi,” I said. “Your astute comments avoid my needing to supercharge both memory and imagination to develop the wine column. Your description of the flavors confirms your taste ability.” 

“No, no, Julian.” She corrected me a second time. Taste has six sensations. These are located along the different parts of the tongue: sweet grape sugars, at the tip and front sides; sour, acidity that balances grape sugar up along the sides; salty, not experienced in table wines at the edge of the sides; bitterness, slight amounts at the rear offer character to well-made wines and contribute to flavor balance; body and texture, weight and “feel” of the wine throughout the mouth; astringency, mouth-puckering tannins primarily in red wines at the middle and back of the tongue, on the gums and inside the cheeks. So what is taste? It is the interaction among smell, flavor and texture.” 

 “Now, thump-throb-in-my-heart Fifiala, you have given me all the information I need for my wine column.” 

“But wait,” she said, “we have yet to enjoy an assortment of cheese: Grafton Village Maple Smoked Cheddar; Great Hills Blue; Crystal Brook Farm Goat. The cheeses are to be enjoyed with Quady Starboard Port Batch 88. And notice Bill’s tantalizing surprise: pineapple currant chutney with sliced apples and yogurt coated raisins.” 

“Wow! He has gone all out tonight, all right,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “But I think I will ask for a zin refill to sip with the cheese varieties, and sip the port probably with the dessert, or just by itself.” 

“Desserts!” Fifi corrected me a third time. “There are four: baked grape nut custard in pastry mold, tapioca pudding, banana cream pie, and arched biscuit cookie flavored with almond and chocolate sauce. And wait until you have tasted the Armeno coffee. You’re in for a luxurious treat.”  

“Oh, woe!” I groaned crocodile groans, then grinned happily at the prospect of stuffing myself with the desserts. “But – crocodile groans again – down goes determined diet, up goes sneering scale. I’m glad Dr. Bob can’t see me putting all this away. His lecture on my wanton gluttony will be of Pulitzer Prize caliber.”

 As I stood to leave, she rose with me and embraced me fervently; her voluptuous body pressed hard against mine, and she attacked my lips. 

Dr. Bob, observing, called out, “Look at him! His face is all flushed!” 

Norma: “Yes, flushed like a ripe red tomato.”

 Pat: “Yes, flushed like a shy bride on her wedding bed.”

 Lu: “Yes, flushed like a dead red herring.” 

Addressing Lu, “I never saw a red herring alive, dead, or otherwise.”

 Dr. Roland muttered, “Lucky you, Julian.”

 Dr. Fred, “You certainly get the good ones!”

 “Roland!!!” Norma outraged glared lazar beams.

 Pat, slapping Fred’s wrist, “Stop fantasizing. You wouldn’t be able handle her, anyway...or any way!” 

I did return to Dr. Bob’s table and was greeted with chuckles and forgiveness. 

I said the dinner was worth considerably more than its price for reasons other than the superb quality of the food and wines: I grinned knowingly at the hypnotic sway of Fifi’s pinchable derriere as she departed the restaurant. In Boston, the cost of this dinner would be twice price of our $75; and figure in travel time, cost of gasoline, tolls to and from Boston and the price of parking. 

The Sonoma likewise has perfect waitstaff. Smiling, eager-to-please waiters and waitresses were constantly at our side with the hors d’oeuvres and glasses of wine. At the dinner table they promptly removed empty plates and used silverware and immediately replaced them. They scrambled nimble-footed around the crowded tables, superbly balancing the plates, dropping no food, spilling no wine. They earned our enthusiastic applause. 

Kudos to lovely, charming maitre d’ Anne Marie Nelson, who deservedly received my Julian’s coveted, would-be-to-die-for special kiss. She warmly greeted the guests, directed and worked with the waitstaff at the tables, and kept the food and wines uninterruptedly moving.

Accolades also to servers Debbie Trapasso who also was deservedly kiss rewarded, Kyrill Schabert, Courtney Callahan, Robert Rienhart, Jayson Booth and college student Maegan Broderick (Bill’s pretty niece).

Knights of the kitchen: Michael Donnelly, executive chef; Jim Quill, sous chef; Denis Brown, Marshall DeForest, Karl Eicholtz and Iassac Algazin, apprentice chefs.

Wine pick: Clos du Val Merlot 2002, $25. Intense black currant, raspberry, blackberry nose, with emerging hints of herbs, black olives, and toast transfer to the palate, where they are balanced with varied spice. Soft tannins and balancing fruit acids, together with smooth swallow and lingering aftertaste, result in a splendid wine of excellent price value.

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