2008 Sonoma Cutrer chardonnay, and things

tiniest hint of fresh sweet grassiness -- very pale, almost colorless --
high acidity -- finishing with that "kiss of oak" (vanilla, banana, toast) 
subtle? or just dull?

I ask the question -- almost a sacrilege, Sonoma-Cutrer being the legendary producer of chardonnays that it is -- partly because I have enjoyed other chardonnays more, and partly because this one did not turn out to be the best seller we hoped it would, almost a year ago. We are still sitting on our last few cases of cute little (357 ml) half-bottles. Alas, in this economy a retail price of $12.99, or even $9.99, for a mere half-portion is exorbitant enough to scare off practically everybody. Legend or no legend, sacrilege or not.  

Image from Sonoma-Cutrer Wines.

So shall we discuss other topics, just for a moment? You know, dear things, I have a number of recipes in draft to offer you as usual, but they are all now as it were from a previous life. That brief vacation turned out to be not very much fun at all. Post-vacances, I suddenly cook for one less person than I used to, and photos and news of dinners from what seems the distant, verdant, sun-dappled side of a piece of scorched earth don't fascinate as they used to do. Not Antoinette Pope's "Southern hash with rice," nor Marshall Field's Walnut Room restaurant's meat loaf, nor Gourmet's cider-braised pork shoulder with caramelized apples. All of it remains such good food, of course. Perhaps if I use the recipes, I should add an asterisk to them, in a sort of hint-y "*this was when" style. In any case brief notes on drink seem, for the moment, quite enough to engage my attention. Is there a good, human reason why harassed and busy people use the foodie metaphor of the full plate to describe, um, overstimulus? Who ever says "I have a full glass" when they want to express "quite enough"? The cup runneth-ing over indicates joy. The crammed plate does not. 

Still. We do have to eat. I may as well "share" (what a dopey word) a little dinner we had a few nights ago. It's called Chicken Divan, and it has a very respectable retro pedigree involving a white sauce flavored with sherry and thickened with egg yolks and I don't know what all. We'll explore that some other time.

To make it, you will take up your leftover roast chicken and its leftover gravy, and you will proceed to simplify matters. Slice off the best of the meat, layering it in a buttered baking dish with three cups of  freshly cooked broccoli. Then, bring the gravy to a boil on your stovetop. Add a cup or so of milk to it, to make about 2 cups of sauce, then add a half cup of grated Parmesan cheese and stir it in until it melts and thickens. Ladle the sauce over the chicken and broccoli, sprinkle more grated Parmesan on top, and put the dish in the oven at 375 F for 15 to 20 minutes, until it is all hot and bubbling. Serve it over hot buttered toast and you will have something delicious, if un-sherried and un-egged, on your un-crammed plate. A chardonnay in the (half-full) glass beside would also be good.

Serves four.

 

Just for fun

"Just for fun," as my grandmother used to say about practically anything ("feel how heavy this is"), let's taste two wines from opposite sides of the world. Then let's admire a picture of Martha, the cat, taking a bath in the sun.

2004 Coto de Imaz Rioja reserva, "Embotellado por el Coto de Rioja, S.A. Oyon -- Espana"

smoky -- brine -- old berries
light, bracing, and agreeably chewy (that's tannin)
so good

So very good. Remember what Karen MacNeil teaches about Rioja in The Wine Bible: that, while you might expect a Spanish wine to be big and brawny and all syrupy, hot-climate macho, in fact the tempranillo-based Rioja is more often a delicate drink -- "almost fragile" she says. I wouldn't call this one fragile, but rather, let us say, enticing. It's interesting, almost in an intellectual way, and makes us want more. This is as opposed to a syrupy, hot climate macho red, which can delight us with its sweetness at first but then make us mourn, when the first glass is drained, "Jeepers, I suppose I have to finish the bottle, don't I."

Retail, about $22.

And then --

90+ Riesling, Columbia Valley, Washington Lot 19

light, crisp, and dry-finishing
refreshing and racy 
an everyday pleasure

Retail, about $9.

We have met 90+ wines before, and the more I taste them, the more I like them. Anyone may roll his eyes at the company's claim that "this would be a $30 (or $40 or $80 -- pick a price point) wine -- but we buy up great wineries' overstock and Pass The Savings on to You." Still, why shouldn't it be true that in this depressed economy, good winemakers are drowning in unsold product? In fact, we've met evidence before that good, very good wineries are drowning in unsold product. And it seems to me that what 90+ now bottles and sells in plain numbered "Lots," wheresoever it might be from, is quite good.

And this is Martha, bathing. Just for fun.

Comfort food (comfort wine?)

 Comfort -- derived through middle English and old French, from the Latin ("esp. in Vulg. of OT")  confortare, to strengthen much.

Comfort food: it's probably different for everyone. Meatloaf. Noodles. Chocolate cake. Hazelnut coffee with lots of milk in it. A bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwich. Cookies.

I'm not sure what might be the wine equivalent to comfort food. Something big, warm, and red, I would think. Certainly one doesn't want champagne, or anything zingy or racy or light, or even white at all. Would we be safe with a perfect Napa valley cabernet, from a perfect producer, and already aged to a certain (if not necessarily perfect) maturity?

thick, brownish purple
the scent of cedar (comforting and familiar)
old, soft, dark plums
the zing of acidity, bite of tannin
very good, very masculine

If merlots remind me of beautiful actresses, then this is --

Image from Military Channel

Delicious. To be saved for comforting company, if you like.