Ode to the Michaels

The next day, we woke early to meet Michael Terrien, a contact sent my way through an old HarperCollins author named Michael Sanders.  Terrien had assisted Sanders on his wine books, and was a man with his Napa Valley hands full.  Little did we know that by the end of the day, we would find ourselves equally blessed by Terrien’s hand.

Terrien made his own wines under a company called Tricycle Wine Company.  Three wines coming out of the Carneros region that were bottled under the labels Molnar Family, Kasmer & Blaise, and Obsidian Ridge, they had a cult-like following and we were advised not to miss them.  Then, there was Terrien’s highly touted project with Kenzo Tsujimoto, the Japanese businessman responsible for such gaming phenomena as Street Fighter and Resident Evil.  Mention Kenzo and his company, CAPCOM, to my girlfriends and there was no recognition.  Mention Kenzo to any of my male friends and their eyes lit up.  “Street Fighter, duh!  I used to play that for days on end when I was a kid.”  You learn something new every day…

Tricycle operates out of Domaine Carneros, a sand colored, regal property in Carneros.  There on a barrel, amid winemaking staff tending to vats of grapes, Terrien had displayed all of his wines, including the new Half Mile, a Cabernet in its first vintage that I loved.  In contrast, the Kenzo estate is far up in the hills of Mt. George.  When you’re buzzed onto the property—a whopping 4,000 acres—it takes another ten minutes to reach the main winery.  Everything is lush at Kenzo; the grounds are meticulously manicured, the tasting room is impeccable, and of course, visits to Kenzo are by appointment only.  There, we were introduced to another fabled name that would come to resonate over the next 24 hours: Thomas Keller.

Power attracts power, so it follows that Keller’s Bouchon Bakery would supply the bites for Kenzo Estate.  Paired with our $150 Ai Cabernet and $75 Rindo were $10 Bouchon sandwiches.  $60 for the whole tasting/sandwich she-bang.  But it works.  The wines were spectacular (Yes, I bought a couple of bottles; No, I don’t know who I think I am), and the experience fulfilling.  Plus, I was experiencing it before most of the public.  (Yes, really.  No, I don’t know who I think I am).  When our time at Kenzo was finished, I was loath to leave.  When would I ever get to casually sip me some Kenzo again?  I’m just a writer, after all.

Our last night in wine country called for something big and since it’s impossible to get into French Laundry on short notice (sorry, at all…) if you’re not Gael Greene, we decided to hit Ad Hoc, Keller’s highly praised price-fixe joint.  As we sidled up to the bar, we were immediately identified as bait for Chris, an Usher-type in a newsboy cap (30-something tip: the kids are calling this a “newsie”) with a penchant for saying things like “Oh my God, who are you?” or “You are so amazing, I have to know you” in full seriousness.  Did this kind of crap work in the Napa Valley?  Really, Chris…come on!

Turns out, Chris was a food runner at French Laundry who, like most things associated with Keller, elicits a certain confidence.  Ignoring our cues, Chris sent over wine after wine for us to try, while the bar staff served us course after delectable course (cucumber salad, tenderloin with Brussels sprouts, cheese).  Nick, the super-sweet manager of Ad Hoc, finally caught on and befriended us in Chris-less safety.

Re-enter Michael Terrien.

When Nick heard about our day with Michael Terrien and our time at Kenzo, he assumed us more knowledgeable (and privileged) than we actually were.  He disappeared into the back room and, when he returned, it was with a bottle of, gasp, the Kenzo Rindo.  Was Nick kidding?  Did Keller restaurants often open bottles of $75 wine for neophytes?  (Yes, really.  Again.  No, I don’t know who I think I am).  So there, with the staff of Ad Hoc, under the steady gaze of Chris the food runner who continued to spoil us with Billecart Salmon champagne, we dined like Napa Valley queens, once again proving Napa to be a place of generosity and kindness if you just allow yourself to scratch the surface.

After a new morning spent with Bruce Neyers, another Michael Sanders connection, Nick met us at Keller’s Bouchon, a posh (and delicious) French bistro down the road from Ad Hoc.  There, I wound up in screaming cell phone match with my father, which proved to be very un-Napa-like not to mention very unladylike.  Five days in the country had taken its toll and my internal temper was begging for a bit of some hot city action. 

Bidding Nick adieu three cases, 10 vineyards, and countless tastes after we entered wine country, we crossed the Bay Bridge back into San Francisco and checked into the Clift Hotel.  But what a hell of a finish! 

Thank you, all!  

(But especially the Michaels…)

The Kindness of (Most) Napa Strangers

A stop at the annual Food & Wine party on our second night made me realize that regardless of the open-armed, accessible experiences in Sonoma, the snooty wine mentality still exists in some circles.  A nameless editrix bedecked in ill-chosen animal print boots shook my hand with, gasp, two fingers when introduced through a mutual friend.  Wow.  As if full contact might have sullied her bony, manicured hand.  Maybe she’s a germ-a-phobe and I’m speaking out of turn, I thought to myself as I sized her up.  Then, I snapped out of making excuses, and went back for more free cheese in consolation.

Though the party was stuffy, the location was divine.  Held at the absolutely stunning Carneros Inn, the night was my intro to the fabled terrain of Napa Valley.  First stop the next morning: Robert Sinskey Vineyard.  An organic and biodynamic operation, Sinskey works with nature to create their wine, employing solar panels, trucks and tractors on biodiesel, and an electric ATV to get around the property.  An organic grower since 1991, Sinskey isn’t the usual stop on the Napa circuit, and I was thrilled that I heeded the repeated recommendation to make the stop.

At Sinskey, we participated in the Farm to Table pairing, a concept developed by Maria Sinskey—part of the husband (winemaker) and wife (chef) team that makes up this innovative label.  The Sinskeys emphasize the interaction between food and wine, preferring to focus on the enjoyment of both, rather than the commercialization of their brand.  In literature that accompanies each wine, Maria offers food pairings (and corresponding recipes) for each label.  At the Farm to Table flight, we popped some of those very recipes: tomato and basil, zucchini and Parmesan tartlets, herbed almonds, and soft cheese crostinis.  The very receptive Kaine, who took us on a tour of the property—a beautiful spot off Silverado Trail—furthered our education by letting us sample each and every wine that Sinskey bottles.  By noon, having not mastered the art of spitting, I admit that I was thoroughly (and happily) blitzed.  Kristen, thankfully a more conscientious spitter, drove.

After lunch in Napa town at ZuZu, a tapas joint that Kaine recommended, we arrived for our blending seminar at the mighty Franciscan.  Here, we would get the chance to play winemaker.  A choose-your-own-Bordeaux-varietal experiment—and a very cool wine activity—we mixed and matched Cabernet, Merlot, Malbec, Petit Verdot, and Cabernet Franc in an attempt to replicate Francisan’s marquee label: Magnificat.  Bottom line: my blend sucked.  Literally, it tasted like dirt juice, which seriously bummed me out.  I had made such wine strides over the past few days, but clearly, winemaking was not my second calling.  Our very serious wine educator tried to make me feel better with lame jokes, but as I saw Darryl struggling to keep her bloodshot eyes open, I knew we had hit our wall.  I finally understood why we were advised to stick to two wine stops per day.  And, I now concur.

Kristen left us to our own devices in our little cottage at Franciscan.  Bigger than my apartment by hundreds of square feet, we needed a nap.  Three days of being winos-in-training had begun to take its toll.   But when, at 9 PM, our internal body clocks woke us up for another drink, we obliged and headed up the road to Farmstead for dinner, wondering just how many alcoholics resided in the Napa Valley.  For the week, we upped that number by two.

Napa is glossy and polished compared to Healdsburg but we soon learned that all you have to do is scratch the surface, and the rest will fall into place.  Sitting at the Farmstead bar—the restaurant associated with Long Meadow Ranch—Doreen the bartender chatted us up.  Dotted around the bar were a bunch of folks drinking from the same bottle: Wicker Vineyards Cabernet.  “Tell us about Wicker,” we prodded Doreen.  “Well, Ron could probably do better than me,” Doreen said as she pointed across the bar to an older gentleman with soft features and bright eyes.  “That there’s Ron Wicker himself” 

Next thing you know, we’re knee deep in a conversation with Mr. Wicker—the man on the label.  Retailing for about $150, Wicker was wickedly out of our price range, but we tasted this glorious wine and got his story during some complimentary tastes from his bottle.  Ron had been in the wine business for 40 years, growing and delivering fruit to other vineyards.  The culmination of a career, in 2001, he debuted his own Cab to stellar reception.   A mailing list only distribution, Wicker was already sold out of the upcoming vintage.  Ron Wicker embodied the persona of the types we had come to Napa to meet.  A true gentleman, he invited us to his home for lunch in the coming days to sample a Chardonnay he and his wife had been saving for “just the right occasion.”  As we closed down Farmstead, we promised we would try to fit in the stop.

Two-fingered handshakes?  Animal print boots?  Puh-lease.

Hello, Wine Country!

California Wine Country.  Those three little words have been elusive for decades.  Well, the two decades during which I’ve been legal.  Once I ditched my dream of moving to San Francisco post-college, I never looked back.  And when I took off for worldly pastures, there was always a snazzier, more exotic, international destination calling my name.  Wine country, the American edition, always wound up overshadowed by wine country, the global edition.  Stories began to accumulate; there was Hunter Valley hide and seek in Australia with Sarah, Sally, and Tim.  There was the unfortunate car accident after a day of solo tasting in Marlborough, New Zealand.  There was the letdown of Concha y Toro in Chile’s Pirque, and the failed trip through Argentina’s Mendoza.  Wine country wasn’t of my country—it became part of the folly of other countries.  Until earlier this month…

My friend Kristen, an old Harper colleague, broke from publishing the same year I did (2005).  She and her (now) husband shucked their New York coats for greener, wide-open spaces…and grapes.  He decided to become a winemaker; she went along for the ride.  Cut to 2010, their sixth vintage, Kristen and Jamie have made a beautiful life for themselves on the left coast.   On her last trip to New York, Kristen convinced me to head west for a vacation, and a proper vineyard education.  I love wine, especially California reds.  Harvest was upon us.  Kristen reasoned it was high time for a visit.  I reasoned that Kristen was right.

Enlisting Darryl, my trusty travel sidekick of late, wine country awaited exploration.  Of course, I had preconceived notions of what I expected, wondering if everyone swirled the glass pretentiously in Napa, or if they sucked air through their teeth before a swallow in Sonoma.  I imagined the residents of these places spoke in varietals and vintages only privy to savvy insiders, and mocked silly people like New Yorkers who bought bottles based on menu pricing.  Turns out, my trip changed every single of one of those ideas.  Implicitly.  I guess I should have expected that it would.

It all started at 6 AM on an October Monday when, sitting in the Admirals Club at JFK, I got the call that Darryl missed her flight.  Sure, we had a wild Saturday prior, but C’mon D!  Get it to-freakin-gether!  Six hours and one screaming baby later, I arrived solo at SFO to find Kristen, a rental car, and a big smile in welcome.  Kristen and Jamie were privileged insiders to wine country and they would be my able guides.

First stop was Healdsburg, a quaint little town in the northern reaches of Sonoma County.  Ask anyone who’s passed through Healdsburg about a favorite wine country spot, and Healdsburg itself is the answer.  Now, mine included.  Off a vibrant main square, cafes and restaurants abound—Scopa for pizza, Healdsburg Bar & Grill for burgers and Bovolo for to-go breakfast and lunch sandwiches.  Freshly ground coffee beans come from The Flying Goat and accompanying reading material from Copperfield’s.  The three stories of the Healdsburg Hotel beckoned with its ivy-covered trellis, while down the road, its sister property the new h2hotel makes headlines.  Healdsburg is also home to renowned restaurants Cyrus and Charlie Palmer’s Dry Creek Kitchen.  The pool in the back garden of the Healdsburg Hotel was equally enticing, but as we whizzed through the square, further discovery would have to wait, for we were onto our first tasting and pairing.  At Simi.

Simi holds a special place in my heart.  Almost half a lifetime ago, I got my first promotion to a publicist position at Avon Books.  It was a happy day, for I got business cards and my own office…and a subscription to California’s Cab of the Month Club from my San Fran-living friend, Todd.  In that first package of Cabs was a bottle of Simi.  Love at first taste, it was fitting that I was standing on Simi ground popping my wine country cherry.

The winery itself is a gorgeous example of architecture and sustainability.  Built in 1890 by brothers Guiseppe and Pietro Simi, the facility was Healdsburg’s first winemaking property, and has withstood many massive earthquakes.  Tours of Simi, which take place twice daily, are followed by tastings and pairings.  Let me tell you, I couldn’t have been more overjoyed about my plans.  Chef Eric Lee is the food force at Simi, and he’s churning out some amazing pairings for guests of the property.  I indulged in fried greed tomatoes with Dungeness crab (with the RRV Chardonnay), and simple wood-oven grilled pizzas (with the Sauvignon Blanc), a duck breast over creamed spinach (with the Alexander Valley Cabernet and the Landslide), and a black and tan crème brulee for dessert.

Met by Steve Reeder and winemaking power women Susan Lueker and Megan Schofield, the first thing I learned at Simi was to trust my palate.  This wine mantra would hold up over and over again.  Trust.  Your.  Palate.  Yes, it’s that simple.  I entered Simi certain it would only deliver on reds and, man, was I wrong.  I left Simi delighted by whites, especially their Pinot Gris.  Repertoire expanded, I wondered how deep my revised wine lists would run after a week in Bay Area vines.

When I Kristen and I retired to our borrowed Healdsburg vineyard house for the night, we couldn’t help but open some more Simi to pair with a baguette and some cheese.  We stood in the kitchen, sipping our wine, and caught up like the old friends we were.  We were significantly buzzed when Darryl arrived fresh from layovers in Charlotte and Chicago, then a bus ride to Sonoma Airport, and a taxi to the house.  It took me a trip around the world to get to Sonoma; she merely grazed a couple of states, but I could already tell that both of our trips were going to be well worth the prolonged wait.

If you’re interested in Sonoma or Simi, please check out my latest posts on the Huffington Post about Wine Country for a First-Timer and Simi's Landslide Terazzo Pizza Café.