by Julian Schultz
julian@oxfordwineroom.com

                     
Zo-Hotsie Burns hailed me effusively, planted a scorching buss on my lips, and patted an affectionate palm on my ass.

"I am here, all eager and ready, at your behest, to witness you and your boring wine friends in activated articulation and vinous verbosity. In more plebian terms: the interaction among your purging diarrhetic oral exchanges of wine perceptions."

I pointed to congregated members of the Worcester Windy Woeful Wine Worshippers, vociferously gesticulating, as they pontificated their evaluations of Prosecco Brut Italian sparkling wine that was paired with - gasp, glorioso and halleluiah! Five representations of Massachusetts' oysters.

As assembly of barnyard chickens could not have clucked more animatedly and incessantly among one another than our WWWWW members.

"Are those two people coming our way members of your proudly esteemed wine bores?" Zo-Hotsie nodded towards my son, Gordon, and, Lyn, his wife, approaching us at the reception table of overflowing platters of large-to-gigantic, tender, deliciously-delicate, varied-flavored, raw Cotuit, Barnstable, and Wareham oysters and cocktail sauce of tomato and horseradish. Interspersed were baked oysters Rockefeller and oysters Casino, the latter with turkey bacon. 

I cannot remember ever having observed more avid and frantic arm pumping from platters to mouth: a speedy slurp, a sublime swallow, a renewed reprise. No automatic arm from oysters to mouth was faster -- and more flamboyant -- than mine, unless it was Gordon's.

When I directed him to the oyster table, initially, Gordon grimaced and resolutely shook his head, no way! Lyn and I remonstrated with him, accused him of being Chicken Little, bereft the spirit of dining adventure and exploration - "lily-livered, wearing the pusillanimous badge of cowardice," I snorted derisively. Being so shamed he ventured an apprehensive try.

Result: He vigorously and vehemently resisted Lyn's dragging him from the table, and he left other worshipping oyster aficionados far behind him in consumption. I was happy for him ...and me: So satiated with oysters was he and unable to finish most of the ensuing dinner, that I was able to take home his uneaten portions for my next evening's dining at home.

The occasion: Periodically, Grand Master Chef Stanley Nicas and son, Master Sommelier Chef, James, enjoy venturing into the unusual - the unknown, if you will -- when planning wine dinners.

This time all foods were from a regional selection of "raw bar" products from Cape Cod and the Islands' shellfish producers, aligned with the Castle's "inspired classics presentation" of these products; including gigantic wild lobster mushroom from daughter, Evangeline Nicas' Leicester garden. 

I have been attending Castle Restaurant gourmet wine functions for some 35 years and have participated in some of the most imaginative and innovative wine dinners on this planet; but nothing like tonight's that was anchored with something called Brachetto d'Acqui Marenco, a crisp, light, red chilled cordial of sparking strawberry/raspberry flavors.

After I introduced my family to Zo-Hotsie, I suggested that she occupy the fourth place at our table when dinner was served in the dining room. She demurred, saying, "I came here to witness boring winespeak, as you had suggested, so I would prefer to join the bores to ascertain if I might be mesmerized, hypnotized. If I am not in a trance, I will join you later at the table.

Midway into the first course, glassy-eyed, breath-gasping and mouth-gaping, carrying her scallops platter, Zo-Hotsie, panting, plopped the perfection of her posterior into the upholstery:

"Julian, are you really comfortable associating with that insufferable ilk of pompous wine aficionados? Say you, yes, then know your ever-leering lascivious orbs have seen the last of this maiden fair for ever and a day."

I asked her to relate her experience among the WWWWW members.

Zo-Hotsie, shaking her head, indicating incredulity: "After this experience, I would gladly suffer the wine snobs that I had earlier decried (see Finally, Finally California! wine column). But wine bores just leave this Burns-y baby bewitched, burning, bothered, and bewildered. I can't believe you would dare to risk diminishing your self-admired charming cavalier image by association with such pomposity."

I protested: "Zo-Hotsie, it all depends on your perspective. Yes, beneath much of the nonsense, there is truth to be acquired about the noble beverage -- this blessing of Bacchus, this miracle of Dionysus, this Olympian libation of the gods, this splendor in the glass."

Zo-Hotsie disdainfully shook her finger at me: "It figures. I see now why you are a wine bore fellow traveler."

I pressed her for examples of winespeak that led to her discomfiture.

"I asked a simple question: the effect of weather on the wine; I shouldn't have asked. The guy launched into hot sunshine late afternoons in mid-July when the merry blood-sucking mosquitoes buzz; hurricanes and tornadoes from Guatemala that frighten the vines out of their roots; inimical premature springtime in January that cause the grapes to ripen before the winemaker can find his patriotic underwear and his patented pesticides.

"Another geek was talking 'terroir.' " I asked, what? He cleared his throat, loosened his tie, scratched his groin and delivered a dissertation on Doppler frequency, environment, soil, climate, Medoc's stony gravel versus Graves antediluvian stones versus behemoth boulders and goat droppings fertilizers in Outer Mongolia, vineyard lie, exposure to slowly-drifting morning fog and blazing noontime sunshine as they vary in France, Zimbabwe, the Canary Islands, Thebes in Egypt. He was blowing, all sails flying, with full wind."

"Oh," I said, "that was the weather man, Chalaria Matutu, from radio station WICUMAKPP."

"Well, anyway," Zo-Hotise continued, "I walked over to where Jimmy Nicas was pouring, with one finger beneath the bottle. I asked about giving a wine bottle the finger, saying I have seen fingers directed at me and have given them, but never beneath a wine bottle. 

"The woman I had sidled up to said it was the 'punt' that Jimmy was holding by bottle by. I said the only punt I know anything about is the lousy Patriot's punter whose kicks don't hang high and last long enough. She said something about the punt's purpose is to trap the sediment and that by giving it the finger it also gives grace and elegance to the pouring ceremony.

"Then she described the sloping shoulders of Burgundy bottles, the square ones of Bordeaux, the fluted ones of Alsace; the green colored bottles of Moselle and the brown ones of the Rheingau; the thickly made bottles of Champagne, so they shouldn't explode; then the closures of cork, plastic, rubber, screwtop - the pluses and minuses of each; then the wine in cardboard containers --

"That was it! I had it!! I was bored out of my skull and I learned nothing. Now, I am convinced: that ignorance about the wine mystique is truly bliss."

She was hyperventilating and I feared she might be getting the vapors. Lyn, being an empathetic sister female, gently calmed her. And Zo-Hotise enjoyed the dinner at our table.

Oh, yes! About the dinner. Enough of the Zo-Hotsie saga.

The oysters: Cotuit, Barnstable and Wareham. Each representation afforded its individual flavor: foggy smoke, ocean brine, pungent seaweeds - all irresistibly delicious. There was such shoving at the table that I grabbed oysters at any platter that was free of another person's grasping hand; consequently, I don't remember which flavor went with the oyster from which area.

The consorting sparkling wine was absolute perfection! The shellfishy flavors and soft slurpy texture of the oysters demanded a dry, crisp, zesty carbonation-balancing conclusion. 

First course: pan seared tender, delicate, delectable Nantucket scallops on herb-creamed spinach with Cooper's Farm fresh heavy cream, surrounded by herbed mashed potatoes, radishes and sliced carrots. This delicious variation of my favorite Castle's Coquilles St. Jacques entrée influences me to repeat this preparation on my next visit.

A pleasant surprise: the paired wine was Grecian -- from Peloponnesus - a white Roditis Lefezanis 2004 - with lots of varied fruit, balancing fruit acids, smooth texture and pleasing aftertaste.

Yes, I was stuffed to the eyeballs with oysters; discretion advised "no-no" about consuming the entire scallops course. Like hell! Hedonist that I am, I plowed ahead and ate everything on the platter - the who-o-o-l thing.

I prepared myself for a rendezvous with peppermint and baking soda during the night. My delight with the dish was well worth the mid-night abominable peppermint/soda stomachic.

"Julian, you are so mute!" Zo-Hotsie said questioningly. "Where are your sure-to-be wine boring comments on the dinner?"

"Zo-Hotsie your beauty is as a butterfly; your tongue is as a tarantula. I regret to say that I am intimidated."

From son Gordon, chuckling: "Dad, 'lily-livered? Wearing the pusillanimous badge of cowardice?' I guess the son doesn't fall far from the father."

I addressed Zo-Hotsie: "I think you are too hasty with your commendations. If you had listened to the rhetoric with an open mind instead of emotionally reacting from your spleen, you would have enhanced your knowledge about the intricacies of wine."

Zo-Hotsie: "Nonsense! Had I listened any longer, my sister, Scorchy, would be sitting 'shiva' for me."

" 'Sitting shiva'; hey, that's a Hebrew expression for time of mourning."

"I ought to know: My birth name is Zolda Hadassah Burnstein; Scorchy's is Sophia. I learned to be analytical and questioning from studying the Talmud."

Fortunately, the discussion was interrupted: Being served was the second course of Laurelwood Farms roasted giant golden oyster mushroom with Petruzzi's butternut squash, accented with risotto and aged balsamic syrup, and Evangeline Nicas's wild lobster mushroom from her garden.

With it we were sipping Pinot Noir "Reserve" 2000, from New Zealand's Zenith Winery, as fine a varietal short of what might be grown in the best of Burgundy. Loads of crisp, dry fruit: intermingled flavors of cherries, raisins, blackberries; cinnamon, toasty oak, nuts, earthy. Just a superb wine.

Wine and food together transported us to dining Nirvana. The wine's flavors and the fungi tastes of the mushrooms, constituting an entire course, and so uniquely compatible, were a gourmet's exploration into hitherto dining obscurity for most of us.

Many of the limited seating of 24 were calling, "Long live the king!" for Stanley Nicas to take a bow as Jim and wife Denise poured two Bordeaux 1983 vintages: Chateaux Leoville Las Cases (St. Julien) and Smith Haut Lafite (Graves).

Stanley visited each table, greeting familiar dining friends, as the waitstaff served three medium-rare, meaty lamb chops with Cabernet Sauvignon demi-glace; torte of apples, pears, raspberries; and Little Bit Farms and Breezy Gardens zucchini, summer squash, eggplant, tomatoes and Bermuda onions, augmented with a compote of Silver Springs goat cheese, lentils, black quinoa (high protein grain from South America) and wild rice.

Whew! Wow! Would my 34-inch waistline accommodate this aromatic, mouth-watering heaping platter? Gordon and Lyn surrendered, each taking a few savory tastes and wryly pushing their platters to me. Next night, I was like the wild thrush: I did the dinner twice over and recaptured its first fine careless rapture.

Each wine represented its growing area (terroir) and the aromas, flavors and textures of the blend composition; the 22-years of maturity hadn't dried out the fruit, but had transformed its fruit into delectable complexity. They were, however, at the end of their plateau of optimum drinkability, soon to slowly dry out and descend.

Blend composition of the Leoville Las Cases, St. Julien: 70-percent Cabernet Sauvignon (austere), 15 each of Cabernet Franc (robust) and Merlot (soft/smooth).

The Haut Smith Lafite, Graves: 70-percent Cabernet Sauvignon, 5 Cabernet Franc and 25 Merlot.

With grandiose and graceful flourish Jim poured the rare Brachetto d'Acqui 2003 Marenco into small slender fluted appropriate wine glasses; Denise followed suit, but with more modest, nonetheless graceful, demeanor.

We sipped small sips of the cordial with luxurious delight as the dessert of fresh native fruits and mint under sabayon cream sauce in cookie tartlet was ceremoniously placed before us.

Spontaneous applause followed for Stanley, Jim, Denise, and waitstaff led by towering Josh Suprenant.

Zo-Hotsie exclaimed, "How ever will the Castle top this dinner? I would even tolerate your wine bore buddies to repeat this dinner."

I said, innovation and imagination are what have made the Castle's gourmet cuisine so famous, and that she could be confident the next dinner would likewise please her.

"Fine!" she exclaimed. "I'll have Scorchy will me."

She kissed Lyn, Gordon and me and bade us good evening.

Wine Pick: Clos du Val Merlot 2002, $25. Nose: nuances of herbs, black olives, toast; palate: red and dark fruits, sweet toast, hints of spices; soft tannins; soft, smooth, velvety swallow, lingering finish. Improves each time I return to it with roast beef.

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