by Julian Schultz
julian@oxfordwineroom.com

                     
Yesternight...ah, yesternight...at the wine dinner, betwixt my friends' affectionate "roast" and my sentimental response there fell Lillian's shadow... and her love of was shed upon my soul between the kisses and the wine.

I recalled our million memories with my customary romantic passion.

I am grateful to you, my dear friends, for creating and recreating those blissful moments...in my customary emotional fashion.

This wine column is primarily about the great wines and superb food at the Webster House, at a surprise party, orchestrated by Dr. Bob and Lu Ouellette - who else would you expect to confound me with surprise! - in honor of my - gasp! - 90th birthday.

Everyone in attendance was a wine friend, as well as a dear personal friend. Everyone knew something about me to roast - about my writing, eating and behavioral idiosyncrasies -- with words, pictures and poems. 

Much laughter and goodwill throughout the roast added perfumed aromas to the wines from the blossoms of my heart and flavor enhanced the artistic gourmet cooking to the preparation of my food.

Hors d'oeuvres in the Grecian Room: I arrived to a chanting, singing, wailing, groaning, caterwauling..."Happy Birthday, Julian," surprise. 

So once again I was out foxed by Dr. Bob and Lu: I was told..."a dinner for the three of us; don't wear those abominable walking shorts, showing your knobby knees; wear trousers."

All guests were sipping Champagne and munching on spinach/feta cheese pitas, assorted cheeses, fruits and crackers. 

After exuberantly kissing and embracing the ladies - repeating both with seconds and thirds - I hurried to the Champagne and pitas.

Dr. Bob brought Champagne, saved for me, Le Brun Servagny Rosé Champagne. Others sipped Bollinger Champagne; delicious I was told. 

Congratulations and good wishes for many more productive and repeated birthday years -- between puffed mouths protruding with the food and wine - added festivity to the prelude of the evening.

Dr. Bob clinked his empty Champagne class and ordered us up upstairs to the Worcester function room, where proudly displayed were the wines that would be poured: Saint Aubin, Santorini - we traveled up the Greece mountain there on slow asses and came down the Greece mountain on sore asses - Batard Montrachet, the aforementioned Champagnes, Toasted Head Chardonnay, Medina Tselopes and RSU Cabernet Sauvignon.

I was directed to a special seat, away from any possible escape route, with Dr. Bob and Lu sitting close by.

Dr. Bob announced that we should eat, drink and be merry before the roast would begin and asked that everyone stand, raise their glass and wish me a happy birthday...and many more.

Came the first course. Chicken a la Francaise: skinless, boneless, wafer-flat, tender breast of chicken with an unusual sauce of citrus fruit varieties and liqueur. 

Pleased murmurs echoed throughout the room. We were offered a choice from two varieties of white wine; many of us sipped each of the two varieties: Saint Aubin and the great Batard Montrachet. This course combination now resides at Mt. Olympus, awaiting those of us who perform good deeds on earth.

Dr. Fred Busch called from his table, saying that he didn't see Dr. Fifi Fluttereyes, whom he thought - and hoped - would be among us.

Dr. Bob answered him before I could. He said that Dr. Luba Blinder in attendance here warned him that I was still on Lisinopril for high blood pressure; and that he was not about to have me return to 200 over 100 that I registered when Lillian died.

I started to remonstrate with him that with Fifi at my side, instead of ho-hum by comparison, Dr. Roland Caron, I wouldn't mind the BP abnormality. And anyway, I said, she wouldn't be blending low over me with breathtaking exposed décolletage and cleavage.

I didn't get far in my protest to Dr. Bob in his answer to Dr. Fred. Dr. Bob said, addressing me, "You would smother to death from your prolonged breathlessness with Fifi here, so I'm cutting you off at the pass; let's eat, sip and be jocund with the libation of the fermented grape juice and not talk."

Well, not so fast that I permitted Dr. Bob to "cut me off at the pass." I was determined to get in the last word - reminding myself of a Sweet Life Foods employee who always sought to get in the last word with me when I would remonstrate with- criticize or correct him. What a pain in the ass he was!

I addressed Fred: "I wish Bob had invited her. She would have revitalized these creaky, decrepit old bones. Remember when I wrote that I would willingly undergo risky brain surgery if Fifi would be the anesthesiologist bending over me low...her breathtaking physical attributes exposed...and I would steel myself to remain ogling-eyed awake during the surgical procedure?" 

That was enough for Dr. Bob who would brook no further interruption to his meticulously structured party: "Fred, why don't you un-retire and go back to performing hysterectomies on humming birds and colonostopies on wild gorilla King Kongs? So please don't reroute the course of this roast for Julian."

Saun Maynard next served lightly Cajun seasoned, lightly blackened Salmon Fillet, so tender that it virtually melted in the mouth. And again, murmurs of delight pervaded the room. 

The wines: Toasted Head Chardonnay 2002, and (Greek wine) Mondina Tselopes 2004, both white. Dr. Caron, on my right, and an educated palateer, opted for the Mondina; praised it lavishly. He then tasted the Toasted Head and exclaimed aloud for all to hear, "Here is an adventure! Two white wines, each different in aroma and flavor, each successful with the salmon. A praiseworthy pairing...Oh, I see Bob is smiling; I guess he did the matchup."

Came the piece de resistance, which I told Dr. Bob should have been presented with a tremolo of trumpets and a sashay of strumpets: Roasted Tenderloin Steak with mushrooms and herbed sauce.

The good doctor growled, "You are lucky Lillian isn't here to hear such nonsense from you - trumpets, strumpets - baah! So cool it and get with it!"

Not wishing a lecture from my caring friend, I made a my-mouth-is-zipped motion and selected last-minute-arrived-special wines: Dehlinger Pinot Noir and Dry Creek Old Vines Zinfandel, both exceptional with nose tweaking aromas of varied fruits and spices, which transferred to the palate and were greeted by toasty oak and black pepper flavors.

I heard comments about "superb balance, soft tannins, gentle fruit acids, velvety texture interaction, smooth finish and persistent aftertaste."

I said, "counterpoint to each other - the disparate varietal grapes -- but both gloriously compatible with the steak."

The tenderloin was not prepared in today's familiar mundane style, eminently acceptable as that may be; this evening it was prepared old fashioned, like mother-used-to-prepare-it Central European style of a hundred years ago: tender, moist, uniquely flavored with reduction sauce and a variety of ethnic delicate spices: 

I consumed it with the nostalgia of long ago, remembering my little boy days, the East Side three-decker house, the coal stove, my beloved mother's eager ears and eyes searching accolades for her culinary artistry. I suppressed tears of remembrance.

Dr. Bob announced, "Time to roast our aged, creaking, venerable, albeit ever sexy-woman-fantasizing, wine compatriot with his ever libation glass in hand brimming ever filled with wine."

Again, the sonorous voice of Dr. Fred Busch pervaded the premises: "Julian, shouldn't Lola Lies Supine have been invited? She surely would rejuvenate your - to quote Bob - your aged, creaking, venerable, hopelessly sexy-woman-fantasizing, creaking, decrepit old bones."

"I agree!" I said enthusiastically. But I would have preferred Fifi."

Fred answered, "Ah, Julian, you are so fickle. I remember your writing in a column that Lola lying supine could spring upright to rigid military attention the most recumbent libido."

Bob responded, "Not without Viagara in double dose that would be the end of our gentle, romantic Julian. Look here, Fred, have we come here to praise Julian or to bury Julian? So, please again, hold your hinterlands tongue; I implore you."

Roast time preceded the dessert. Each guest had been asked to prepare a roast, no holds barred. In the interests of space and your patience, I have summarized the remarks:

Dr. Bob: "He smugly boasts that he has the snobby connoisseurs' esteemed British palate: He likes his wine on the...down side. Truth be told, he prefers them flat down at the rock bottom's lowest depths; even the driest, thirstiest wino would scorn them."

Dr. Boris Blinder: "We all know Julian as a bon vivant voluptuary, so I am presenting him with a picture of him superimposed on a picture of a Bacchanalian Voluptuary, with a garland of ripe grapes and vine leaves for his noble brow; also, a picture of me as admiral in the Russian navy, Dr. Bob when he wore a mustache with debonair élan, and Castle sommelier Jim Nicas cogitating to uncover the truth in the wine."

Hubert Meunier, Ph.D.: "How can I roast this sensitive person who is a fellow aficionado of fine wine, fine music, and fine poetry? We are friends, despite his abhorrence of my profession as professor of physics and chemistry, winds and tides, undiscovered and unproven celestial planets, and imaginative and unseen gigantic Pygmies on Neptune."

Dr. Ron Dorris: "At times Julian can be sneaky clean. I prescribed that at his antiquated age he must cut down his wine consumption to one glass a day with dinner. He did...he bought a 24-ounce glass."

Carole Dorris: "We have a poem for Julian: 'We've gathered to roast and toast our friend of renown, and to applaud his longevity as a man-about-town...weird characters and stories fill out his writing, and his humor is wry and rarely biting...he can sniff out the wines that are the most delectable, and always is gracious when one's barely respectable.' "

Bill Giannopoulos, Friendly Discount Liquors wine impresario: "Patty said she would crown me if I said anything derogatory about Julian, and she meant not the king's crown of Whitinsville. So, Julian, my friend and leering-eyed Patty's friend, from both of us - thank you for being our gracious friend and for your unstinting support. Mazel Tov!"

Dr. Roland Caron: "Julian should have been an orthopedic physician. When he came to me to have his knee drained, he would insist the needle go...no here...no there...no too high...no too low...no the other knee...no, let me get the hell out of here! I would finally drain him; he was a good patient." 

Chris Liazos, Webster House, mine host: "When the kitchen is told Julian is coming for dinner, the crew shakes with fright and Chef John Hammerstrom dives under the sink: 'No pork from off the round rump of sweet Miss Piggy, no goddamn limp libido for me with unlucky garrrrrrlic, no devilishly hot Mongolian seasonings, not enough feta cheese in the pitas, too much feta cheese in the pitas, not enough spinach in the pitas, too much spinach in the pitas, not enough pita in the pitas.' The fact is, when I know he is coming I rush home with a police escort."

Dr. Steve Mellor: "At our Worcester Wine Tasters' meetings, Julian likes to plague Bob. When all of us applaud the wines, Julian says they haven't aged enough to acquire va-va-va-voom voluptuousness...too obstreperous...too much acid for the plateau of optimum drinkability...so much tannin, it's like sucking on an aspirin...ah, a good wine here; is like the caress of a kiss on the lips from m-m-m-m-m-m-m Melanie Griffith."

Dr. Michael Bradbury: "Roland already said it. Julian should have been a retina surgeon...or maybe a romance writer. When Julian comes to me for treatment, he first regales me with stories of his old romances, when he was known in his youth as The Yiddisher Errol Flynn who lived by swordplay. Then he directs me on how to proceed with his macular eye problem. Do I listen to him? After convincing him that he is a nut case, I take over without listening to further consultation from him."

Dr. Fred Busch: "He doesn't ski, he doesn't golf, he doesn't wallop tennis balls, he doesn't chase sweet young things except in his fantasy; he reads and writes poetry, he writes wine columns with concocted characters from his impossible imagination, he disagrees with Bob about his consuming too much food and wine and hides from Bob's inevitable lecture.

"So what is his life like? Why, it's a bore!!!

"But really, seriously, that is not so. He has many friends, many more than there was room for them here.

"So, Julian, from Pat and me and all of us here, we wish for many more wine dinners with you, old friend. L'Chiam!"

Tasty and artistically prepared the birthday cake, with gooey delicious frosting and with freshly brewed coffee, evoked an applauded climax to the memorable event.

My response to my friends, today, three days since the toast and roast:

Beauty is learned best in memory:

Of fiery swamp maple leaves in late September,
Of the lake hushed at dusk, a balm for troubled thoughts, Of a soaring Puccini aria from Tosca heard by chance,
Of a face seen once, and loved, married, and lost forever...
Of the hope at dawn that cannot last beyond the dawn...
Of caring friends, comforting and loving when I am down.

These are moments split from time,
Flung like moons against my heart's dark sky.

I ask that God bless you all - you and yours - with a good life.

Wine Pick: Victor Hugo Petite Sirah, any vintage, $18-$20; lush fermented berry fruits and plums, velvety, beautifully balanced with fruit acids and soft tannin; black pepper and varied spices rounded out an excellent price-valued wine.

 Email Comments to Julian at:
julian@oxfordwineroom.com