by Julian Schultz
julian@oxfordwineroom.com
...At Union Station
The Restaurant, that is. Memories of long ago: nostalgic, poignant, bittersweet.
Superb wine dinner of last evening: six Dry Creek prestige wines, six gourmet
food courses.
Blackstone Valley Wine Club and Friendly Discount Liquors, special guest David Stare president and founder of Dry Creek Vineyard as guest speaker, and The Restaurant’s palate-pampering chef duo of Vince Cosgroves and Ritchie Fischer, evoked enthusiastic congratulatory comments…from reception wines through dessert wines…from savory hors d’oeuvres of crisp buttered crostini selection: tomato basil, chopped shrimp and scallop, and sherry marinated onions through dessert of “boozy banana.”
The hors d’oeuvres were accompanied by a dry Chenin Blanc 2002, priced $7.39,
after Friendly Discount Liquors’ 20 percent discount price on 12-bottle mix or
match purchases (all prices reflect the discount price).
Notes on the Chenin Blanc: “forward nose of citrus – lemonade, pineapple; palate: sweet-citrus edge, firm, crisp, dry, refreshing; lingering finish.”
Yes, I was beset with nostalgic, poignant memories of long ago as I entered the gleaming, cavernous, stratospheric ceiling-ed Union Station…but where were those long, hard, dark brown wooden benches? Those grim posterior-punishing benches that saw me through my college days of the ‘30s, commuting to Boston University; through my wartime days of the early ‘40s, and the last time, when I returned from Egypt in 1946?
Dear loyal readers, I beg your patience and ask that you indulge this old octogenarian, whose shadows are lengthening, whose twilight is here, who reflects with wistful retrospection on his long ago glory days associated with the Union Station.
Fear
not, we’ll get to last evening’s grand wine dinner that I will also relive
in mellow reminiscence….
As a freshman in 1934, I walked down Providence St., from the Granite St.
area, blinking away sleep from heavy eyes at 7 a.m.; I rode the laboring,
lumbering train to Copley Place in Boston, exchanging sleepy good mornings with
other yawning sleepy commuters; at around 4:30, a chugging, puffing train
returned to the station, its wheels unnervingly g-r-r-r-rinding to a halt at
every passing village and town; then down the worn stone stairs from the tracks,
passing the long, hard, dark brown wooden benches; and trudging back up
Providence St. This was my life five days a week for two years before I
transferred to Clark University where my youthful shanks were conveyance
to-and-from the East Side to Main South to complete my education.
In the spring of 1942, I was again at the Union Station. Little had
changed: The long, hard, dark brown wooden benches and stone stairs to the
tracks were the same. I was on my way to Officer Candidate Adjutant General’s
School at Fargo, North Dakota; back in late May as a newly commissioned 2nd
lieutenant in the Air Corps, greeted by my new bride of just three months and
admiring proud family members.
For the ensuing four years, the Union Station was a familiar friend, sad
with farewells and joyous with arrivals. Sad when I departed for Memphis,
Tennessee, my first air base; joyous when I was greeted by family members upon
my return from Brownsville, Texas; sad when I observed the emotion of my
apprehensive Lillian as I was departing for overseas assignment to Cairo, Egypt,
and bidding goodbye to eight-months-old gurgling Gordon.
Almost three years later, at 5 a.m., I was on an interminable, plodding,
huffing and puffing milk train run, coming from Westover Field to the Union
Station, that stopped at every passing hamlet and village. At the Union Station
a sliver of silver dawn gave faint light to the
eerie interior; a few sleeping soldiers were stretched out on the long, hard,
dark brown wooden benches.
It was the first time I was alone at the Union Station – no commuting students, no family, no fellow soldiers. I walked to the exit and looked back. I stared, thinking: What an adventurous part in my life the Union Station had played.
Always the romantic and wishing to surprise my family, I didn’t tell them I was coming home. My thought was to make my homecoming a dramatic emotional surprise.
I walked the short distance to Himmel’s Restaurant on Front Street,
where my father had breakfast every morning before he opened his food market on
Grand Street. I waited outside.
When he came out and walked to his Pontiac, I called to him: “Pa!” He
stopped…motionless…unbelieving. I called again: “Pa, it me – Julian!”
he turned and staggered. Stunned.
The few passers-by saw a short, stocky, middle-aged man and a medium tall, lean Air Corps, now a Reserve major, hug and kiss in the middle of the sidewalk,cheeks of both wet with tears.
Back again in Himmel’s, patrons saw a red-eyed but glowing father who showed off his first born, his only son whom he hadn’t seen in three years – a war hero in his eyes, maybe who even won the war for our country.
It was a foolish thing that I did: He might have suffered a heart attack. But so much love passed between us during those minutes…I shall never forget them, never forget that early morning in the faint light of peeping dawn, when I came home through the Union Station so long ago…so many memories ago.
Thank
you for staying with me, dear friends. And now to the adventure of an
unforgettable gourmet wine dinner at that same Union Station…NOT the Union
Station of days gone by…but a refurbished brand new magnificent structure,
which proudly replaces what had been a part of my youth.
Today’s Union Station: No more a decrepit mausoleum, but a stately pleasure dome worthy of a Kubla Kahn. Seventy ogling gourmet/palateers inspected with awe the brightly lighted, glittering gleaming confines of the restored train terminal. We praised The Restaurant, now behind where the ticket counters had been, its décor, and the professional decorum of its black and white clad waitstaff of Jody Simonian, Mikey Roberts, Kathy Perduta and Vincent Davis as we went to our tables. “Elegance epitomized,” I whispered to a nodding Dr. Bob Ouellette who answered that hadn’t he told me so, his having dined there the week before.
I
heard the familiar voice of a disconcerting opinionated wine dinner habitué
coming from an adjoining table: Oh, oh! Ding-a-Ling Dolly Dooley who relished
referring to me as a “contentious connoisseur” and a “preposterous
pomposity.”
“A Fumé Blanc is a Fumé
Blanc is a Fumé Blanc, if I may paraphrase Gertrude Stein,” she said, her
nasal voice three decibels higher than normal. “So what’s all the fuss about
this Dry Creek Fumé? It comes from the same Fumé varietal grape as Fumés from
other wineries -- or Sauvignon Blancs, if you prefer -- unless Dry Creek has
another wine or wines in its blend. (It doesn’t.)
I couldn’t refrain from
turning my chair and addressing her table, remembering good wine friend Irving
E. Marcus’ dissertation of this subject: Wines made from the same grape do differ
in taste; it is almost impossible for one bottle of a varietal wine to match its
name-sake. Reasons:
1.
A varietal grape picks up characteristics from the soil. Soils vary in
composition. Therefore both grape and wine vary.
2.
A grape reflects climatic conditions during the growing season. Copycat
climates are rare. Therefore, grape A and its wine growing here, differ
from grape A and its wine growing there.
3.
Grower practices vary. This brings major-to-minor changes to like
varietal grapes. Therefore, to the wines made from them.
4.
While vintners use their own grapes, they also buy grapes; but not always
from the same growers. Therefore, there are varying qualities, year by year, in
a vintner’s grape mix and his wine.
5-6-7-etc.:
Grape differences are magnified by differences in winery operations:
Vinification methods, storage practices, blending concepts, filling procedures,
etc., vary winery to winery. Therefore, some taste differences are inevitable
when comparing different brands of the same 100% varietal wine.
Items
ad infinitum: When a wine leaves the cellar, it goes through many hands:
railroader, trucker, distributor, retailer, buyer. Potential variations in the
care given a wine here are infinite. Therefore – as an inevitable conclusion
– some taste differences are almost certain to be found in the same wine,
bottle to bottle. So a Fumé is not a Fumé is not a Fumé is not a Fumé, if I
may paraphrase Irv Marcus.
Dolly, her nasal voice now sarcastic: “Bully for you, Julian. Do you
want I should confer upon you a medal for ostentatious and conceited
erudition?”
I ignored her and returned to enjoying my Fumé Blanc with some
half-dozen fire-kissed sweet figs, stuffed with organic goat cheese, grilled
over pecan wood and softly accented with balsamic vinegar. Absolutely delicious
combination: the tender, soft, figs
with counterpoint from the cheese, complexity from the pecan wood and
complementing flavors from the Fumé evoked murmurs of delight from surrounding
tables.
My notes on the Fumé 2002, $10.39, “lively white wine, reaches out
with floral perfume nose, layered flavors of melon fruit, piquant lime, varied
herbs, fresh grass; balanced fruit and fruit acids; finishes crisp, clean,
smooth; think Loire’s great Sancerre; much superior to other Fumés I have
tasted.”
Second course: wild Pacific Canadian salmon, prepared slowly-poached in
shallot oil, with steamed sorrel and fennel. A large portion – perhaps too
generous because of the big beef dishes to follow. All but the timid of stomach
hypochondriacs, however, ate it all, including me.
The consorting Merlot was out-and-out sensational. Dr. Bob Ouellette, who
freely expresses indifference to Merlot, praised the Merlot ’99, $15.99. I
noted orders being written to be handed to Friendly’s Bill and Patty
Giannopoulos. Cabernet Franc in the blend lent color and body.
My notes: “assertive nose of rich fruit; loads of lush berries,
currants, cherries; traces of cedar, leather, chocolate occupy the palate; full
body, soft smooth texture; smooth swallow, forever farewell.” I overheard
Dolly’s “mint” and “tobacco.” Quality/price value after the discount:
125 over 100.
Third course: braised short ribs of beef – sensational! Outstanding
dish of the night! Marinated in Merlot, then deliciously braised with parsnip,
celery root and young autumn pumpkin, the ribs elicited everyone’s effusive
praise; many of us pleaded with Joe Petrou, owner, to keep it permanently on the
menu. The generously portioned short ribs, which fell off the bone, could
accurately be called, “butter tender.” I observed not a shred of ribs on any
plate removed from the table.
Zinfandel ‘00, $11.99, the matching wine, for my palate afforded the
greatest satisfaction tasted with and without the short ribs. Loaded with red
fruit, it laid siege to the nose, invaded the palate, occupied the palate with
layered flavors and took up seemingly permanent residence. I ordered two
bottles; just too good to pass on.
Notes on the Zinfandel: “assertive raspberry/blackberry aromas move to
palate, add to spicy complex fruit; balancing black pepper, firm smooth tannin,
zesty fruit acids and redolent woodsy nuances; chewy body, smooth swallow,
lingering aftertaste. So far best wine of the night, best price value
hands-down.
Fourth course of Beef Wellington, infused with truffle, was anti-climax for many of us, following the triumphant short ribs. Perhaps had we not already eaten so sumptuously, and had it preceded the short ribs, well, maybe I might have enjoyed it. I gave the most of it that which I hadn’t eaten to a table companion to add to his take home container.
The accompany wine, however, was stupendous! Dry Creek’s Endeavor ’97, $41.59, 90 percent Cabernet Sauvignon and 10 Merlot. I ordered a bottle to serve on an auspicious occasion – like when my 28-year-old beautiful granddaughter lawyer finds herself a husband already!
Notes on the Endeavor: “big cab flavors of currants, cherries, cedar, tobacco, underlay of leather; nicely softened by the Merlot; smooth finish and long aftertaste; will improve with age.” Other tasters added “chocolate” and “mint.”
The socko dinner ended with a pleasing palate pampering postscript of
“boozy banana”: Amazonian bananas, flame-seared with rum, brown sugar and a
splash of lime juice, finished in a phyllo cup of vanilla bean ice cream. Light
and delicious and compatible with the Sauvignon Blanc Soleil ’99, 19.99, 375
ml. dessert wine made from overripe, properly “rotted” grapes.
Notes on the Soleil: “fragrant floral nose, some peach, kiwi, honeysuckle, tropical fruit; palate: honeyed peach, apricot and orange zest interwoven with hints of apple pie, spice and lemon; rich, clean, balanced, not cloying. An unusual treat and much less expensive than its French Sauternes counterpart.”
So who needs to schlep to Boston or Providence for gourmet dining? We have it here at Union Station The Restaurant!
Wine Pick: Dry Creek Meritage 2000, around $30, a blend of 70 percent Merlot, 13 Cabernet Franc, 12 Cabernet Sauvignon, 5 Petit Verdot. Think traditional Bordeaux classified growth; nose: rosemary, sage; palate: currant, pomegranate dominance, subtly layered with chocolate, mint, black pepper, blackberries, soft oak; superbly balanced; long, long aftertaste. A superb wine!
Wine Pick: Reynolds (Australian) Reserve Merlot 2001, around $15, a blend of 85 percent Merlot, 13 Cabernet Sauvignon, 2 Shiraz. Deep, solid wine with aromas of ripe berries; reminiscent of fresh earth; herbal nuances; palate: balanced sweet berries and complementary oak; smooth texture, soft tannins, silky swallow, lingering aftertaste. Unusually price friendly for such fine quality.
Wine Pick: Monticello Vineyards Chardonnay 2002, around $30. Lovely wine with nose of pears and green apples; palate: pear, melon, lemon, hints of figs; bold in the mouth with delightful balancing fruit acidity; rich, steadfast aftertaste. Classy representation of chardonnay.
Zabaco Sauvignon Blanc “Dancing Bull” 2002, around $10. Accent of Semillon in the blend. Nice crisp, clean wine with citrus-y grapefruit, tropical fruit and nuances of varied herb tastes; nose: green apples, kiwi, lime, peach, some bell pepper; zesty, lively with fine fruit/acid balance. A savvy bargain hunter’s treasure!
Email Comments to Julian at:
julian@oxfordwineroom.com