Party!

Let the games begin.

I said the Cascade Cliffs website would have its own blog, and I meant it.

But for now…

Call it a team effort. The website and all my plans for it are in the “R&D” stage, so I’ll be using Jared Wines Up for now to promote some of the happenings at the winery. And boy, oh boy, there’s trouble brewing (fermenting?) at the winery this month. Of course “trouble” isn’t always a bad thing; that’s just another way of describing the good times!

This month (November), we have a couple of different open-house parties lined up at the winery. The first day of reveling will be on Saturday, November 21, from 10 A.M. til’ God knows when. Festivities will include:

• Live music from local bluegrass musicians, The Dufur Boys.
• Periodic vineyard and winery tours (12, 2, and 4 P.M.)
• Ever had roasted goat? You will… and you’ll love it.
• Artisan cheeses and appetizers will be provided
• Special one day discounts on wine purchases.
• Bad, bad jokes provided by Bob and Jared.

 

If you’re already a Cliff Club member, and you’ve opted to pick up your November shipment at the winery, we’ll have it ready for you- along with a complimentary gift (1 bottle of Goat Head Red and estate honey). If you’re not a member yet… why not? 25% off wine purchases for life, no charge to join, access to all of our library and award-winning wines (‘06 Est. Barbera anyone?), and complimentary gifts in your package are some of the benefits to the Cliff Club. Click here to find out more.

More of the same trouble will take place at the winery on Thanksgiving weekend, with more food, entertainment, and enough popping corks you’ll hear them from as far as Portland. I’ll send out more details on the holiday weekend as we get closer…

Please mark the 21st down on your calendars and I hope to see you all there. If you’re coming from the West and it’s raining, remember the weather’s usually nicer in the “rain shadow“, east of the Cascades where the sun smiles on our vineyard and winery. And if the weather’s not cooperating, we’ve got plenty of red wine to keep you all nice and toasty. Or at least toasty…

With good cheer,

Jared

Lost and Found

Cliffs, vines, and new beginnings

Serendipity: The occurence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

…How do you “start over”?

You can move, change jobs and make new friends, but ultimately you have to trust your instincts. For me, it was quitting my job, selling most all of my earthly possessions (not my wine, though, no-no-no…) and following my gut all the way across the Atlantic for the summer. And while the experience was profound, it didn’t answer that burning question: What do you really want?

Wine is an extraordinary creature– it can drink you in, reveal to you all sorts of flavors and textures, and then quickly spit you out. Such was the case for myself after years dedicated to the retail side of wine. Margin. Profit. Inventory. Display. Sell.

Rinse and repeat daily.

Because of the daily pressure to sell, sell, sell, I found myself (gasp!) falling out of love with wine. I hate to even write that down, but it’s true. It occurred to me I was becoming a stranger to the things which brought me to its doorstep in the first place: small family farms, ancient history, cultural connections to people, the magic of yeast, the land and the vine. If I had a day off and was invited out to one of the local wineries, I’d scramble to come up with an excuse for being unavailable. I’d sneak away to the Gorge by myself. My beloved wine books at home began collecting dust. And worst of all, I started giving sample bottles away as if they were junk mail. Commence burnout…

Signs of the past along the Deschutes

If you’re reading this and you’re in the wine biz, I know what you’re thinking: join the club. And it’s the business of wine that allows it to be enjoyed and explored by millions of people every day. I’m not trying to rail against the economics of retail or wholesale- I’m saying one needs to be honest with themself.

Back to that pesky question. The past few weeks here in Oregon has, ironically, led me back to the same constricted feelings I had six months ago. Should I go for another steward position? No. Mind you, I loved my job for a long time and hold no resentment for the company or any of the people. But after ten plus years, it was — and remains — time to move on.

How about wholesale? I have many good friends who work for wine distributors here in Oregon and some other states as well. And I have a truckload of respect and to some extent, sympathy, for what they do. Hell, a lot of them had to deal with me every week! It’s a dynamic and high-energy job, full of self destiny, if you will, but not my cup of tea. Trying to get from account to account, I’d probably get multiple speeding tickets, high(er) blood pressure, and some serious emotional scarring from select buyers. I really don’t know how you guys do it, but God love ya for it…

*    *    *

I met Bob Lorkowski at his winery and vineyard, Cascade Cliffs, about five years ago on a trip out to the eastern end of the Gorge. His laid back, friendly and content demeanor was something you wanted to be around and something you wanted to live up to even more. I was amazed that his focus at the winery was not the typical cabernet, merlot and syrah (although he produced them too) that prevails in Washington state’s warmer wine country. Bob was growing and producing top-notch barbera, dolcetto, and nebbiolo.  “Piedmont’s about 6,000 miles that way, dude,” I thought. But the wines were awesome- richer than the traditional Italian expressions of these grapes, but still layered, intense and lingering.

I would re-visit this area of the gorge many times after that hiking, driving, and just getting away for the day. Dramatic basalt cliffs, warm and bright sunshine, and ancient petroglyphs welcomed me back time and time again. I ignored the winery not because I didn’t love the wines, but I made it a rule not to do anything “wine” on my days off. In a twist of righteous fate, I can now be somewhere I love personally and embrace all the aspects of wine I neglected for so long.

I’ve been hired by the winery to help them in all facets of operation, including marketing, sales, event planning, grape picking, vine pruning, bin stacking, floor sweeping, tasting room duties, and deliveries. Among other things. And really, that’s usually the deal at a small, family-run winery and exactly what I was looking for. To be part of something, literally, from the ground up.

A winery. After wandering around throughout the country and overseas, it became clear to me that this is where I wanted to be. Not in some monster, large-production winery where there are locked gates, men wear suit and ties and the women click-clack around the polished floors in their best heels. No, I needed some good ole’ fashioned country winery, where the people behind the counter have grape (nebbiolo!) stains on their pants and everyone’s family.

I’m having a hard time just staying calm, keeping my big mouth shut, and not trying to build Rome in a day. A couple of years ago, they expanded the back of the winery and added an upper floor that will soon be an event center for dinners, parties, private tastings, and who knows what else. If you’ve not been there, get there. I’ll give you a personal tour of the vineyards and winery myself. Bob and his wife Denisse also grow Garlic, produce honey, make mead and more importantly, will know your name when you leave.

*    *    *

Will “Jared Wines Up” turn into “Cascade Cliffs Wines Up”? Nah. That’s my own personal forum for ranting and one of my goals is to create another blog for the winery’s website. I’d like to apologize to those of you who’ve tried to see me while here– it’s been a personal whirlwind of sorts for me lately, and I’ve been desperately trying to get settled. But I now feel the spin cycle coming to a slow halt.

I hope to see all of you out at the winery. I’d better. This post could have, maybe should have been focused on the winery, its 20 acres of vines that overlook the Columbia river, and the awards that the Barbera (2009 Best of the Best Wine Press Northwest), Nebbiolo, and others have won. But as usual, it’s all about me. What can I say? It’s been a while since we last talked, so I gave you all an extra pour…

With grateful and blessed cheer,

Jared

A parting view as you leave the winery

Hello old (and new) friend…

Oregon.

It’s almost unfair how beautiful this state is. Amazingly, most people throughout the US and abroad are fairly unfamiliar with the Beaver State.

Seattle? Sure. The Oregon Trail? O.K., a little better, but still, Or-uh-GAHN remains a bit of a hidden gem in the world of food and wine.

Portland will always take the lion’s share of credit for the state’s culinary prowess. But areas like Ashland, Bend, Cannon Beach and Hood River are all offering wine geeks and foodies a little somethin’-somethin’. You have to work pretty hard these days to find an area in the state that doesn’t have at least one boutique wine-themed bar, bistro or shop.

On a sunny and crisp autumn day at the beach, I walked into The Wine Shack, a small but seriously impressive wine shop in Cannon Beach. As the owner chatted with some customers I looked around and noticed high-quality selections from Elena Walch and Paolo Scavino. First growth Bordeaux lazily slept in a locked cabinet. And many of the typical cult NW favorites were here as well.

After exchanging some Portland wine gossip and updates (St. Innocent is now sold by WHO?), I confessed to co-owner Dean Reiman that I never knew Cannon Beach had such a great wine shop. “We’ve got visitors from all over the world,” he told me, and hinted that even in tough economic times like these, the shops in and around this beautiful coastal town continue to do well. Still, you can’t just set up shop in a high tourist area and wish for the best. In a state full of winers and foodies, you’ve got to “bring the thunder” as Gary V. from wine library tv often preaches. And this place definitely does. If you haven’t been there, and your at the beach, drop in and check it out. You can taste some of the goods there every Saturday, 1-5 P.M.

Speaking of the goods, I noticed a bottle of pinot noir I hadn’t seen before: Puffin Oregon pinot noir. Puffin? Turns out this is The Wine Shack’s proprietary label, and is an homage to the marine wildlife that occupies Oregon’s coast. A percentage of the sales from this label goes to the Friends of Haystack Rock, a typically excellent Oregon organization dedicated to the preservation and protection of coastal wildlife in the area. Bottles like this with “causes” can pluck the heartstrings but are often, unfortunately, less than great. Last night with friends, we put the Puffin to the test.

The latest bottling of this pinot is from 2007, a vintage that got some pretty harsh press. Don’t believe the hype. Remember that multiple wines from a single vintage are hardly singular. 2007 pinot noir is often bright and fresh, if a bit lean. Isn’t that what pinot noir should strive to be? This pinot was indeed bright and fresh, but still rich with silky strawberry and raspberry flavors on the mid-palate. A touch of that Oregon spice and earth on the finish made this a great wine, eco-driven or not. Puffin pinot noir, sadly, is not available outside of The Wine Shack. You’ll have to order it from Dean and co. or better yet, take a trip to Canon Beach and get your hands on some there.

*    *    *

After being on the road here, there, and nowhere, it’s good to be “home”, if only for a short while. I hope the people who do live here in Oregon understand how good they really have it. And I secretly wish that the world continues to overlook this place — a gem can only remain brilliant after so many hands touch it…

With homegrown cheer,

Jared

Say “Uncle”! Sugar, yeast and other fun in Lodi

Hanging out in Lodi

About five years ago, a very good friend of mine, Tom Lowes, brought me a bottle of his “uncle’s wine”. At the time, I was a wine steward in SE Portland, and many of my new friends from the hood would bring in some their favorites. A typical scene would go something like this:

“Hey Jared- Mary and I decided to make our own wine last year and we wanted your opinion.”

“….Oh! Wow — thank you. I’ll take it home and let you know what I think. What’s that? You want me to try it right now? Right here. In front of you. (gulp) Well, O.K…”

Glasses are brought out, the cork is popped, strange and funky aromas of sulfur and prunes would make their way out and find my big schnoz. And then the sip… “Hmmm. Interesting. Lots of… earth.” Pleasantries and deeper conversation would ensue and when the impromptu tasting would end, I would go rinse.

I always appreciated the intentions, and I sure don’t know how to make wine myself so it was still a learning experience, albeit a painful one at times. I was never one to pull punches with Tom, so when he handed me a dark bottle with no label and some crunched-up aluminum foil over the neck, I gave him a big ole’ sarcastic smile and teased “What have you got there, homey? Some of uncle Willie’s backyard hooch?” He didn’t bother to defend this mystery juice, but just quietly replied “It’s petite verdot. Pretty good…”.

So I took it home that night and braced myself for the usual funk and fear so prevalent in home-made wine. The first thing I notices was how dark it was. “Well, he got that right anyway,” I thought. When I stuck my nose in the glass, I had to pull back, not because of anything off-putting, but because of the sheer intensity of all the dark, spiced berry aromas. After a minute more of intrigued sniffing, I went in for the kill. My palate was bombarded with rich, velvety flavors of ripe blackberry, cherry, and licorice. The finish lasted forever. “Whoa…,” I brilliantly concluded.

“Uncle Dave’s wine” became a bit of a cult wine for myself and others Portlanders in years to follow. Uncle Dave is better known as Dave Huecksteadt, or “Hux” as he was nick-named growing up.  When Tom said he was going down to visit Dave, some of his less than proud – ahem – friends would give him a puppy-dog look and ask if he was bringing anything back with him. “You know, you should come down with me some time. Help out with crush,” he offered.

I never did get down there — until now. I arranged to meet Tom at his uncle’s farm/winery in Lodi on my way back to Oregon. Over the years, I was treated to samples of tempranillo, syrah, petite sirah, roussanne, late harvest viognier, and other home-made beauties. I repeatedly asked if Dave was ever going to try and sell his wines, and for the love of God, let me sell it!

And so, on a late, breezy evening in Lodi, I met the man responsible for “Hux Vineyards”. The three of us tasted barrel samples of grenache blanc, tempranillo, mourvedre, and maybe my favorite, roussanne. Roussanne is a white/green varietal that is home to France’s Rhone valley, and often used as a blending partner to marsanne and viognier. It can be a real pain to grow and is often subject to mildew, but as Dave informed me, Lodi’s cooling evening winds help keep the grapes healthy and balanced. His small plot of vineyards are meticulously cared for, trained in a “quad” system, and situated well above the ground for maximum sunshine and air flow through the canopy.

Not to be labeled as a complete and utter slacker, I got my hands dirty (sort of) and helped punch down several vats of fermenting red grapes. The smells and sounds of this process is amazing; witnessing first-hand the magical interaction of yeast and sugar is something to behold. There are lots of stories of over-zealous winemaker getting their head a little too close to this action, and suffering the debilitating effects of the carbon dioxide that comes off the breaking “cap” of this purple soup. An unwilling (and dangerous) bath can ensue if you’re not careful.

The beauty of Dave’s wines, aside from the variety and overall quality of them, is that he admits to knowing virtually nothing about the selling, marketing, etc. phase of wine making. “I just want to make the stuff,” he said at one point and asked me how much I thought some of his wines could go for. I told him that he wouldn’t need to make a whole lot of his wines, as these were, in my opinion, “premium” wines for serious winers. That is, you would likely sell these in 6-packs rather than cases. That is, they wouldn’t be stacked at the local shop-n-save. And why not? Small, fairly unknown newcomers from areas like Walla Walla are charging an arm and two legs for their wines, and there’s always a market for this combination of power and elegance (Owen Roe anybody?).

I don’t know where Hux Vineyards will land, or if these special wines will even make it to retail. I sure hope so. It would be a shame if more wine lovers never got their lips on these. Dave and family are, fittingly, as down to earth as you get, and in a state teeming with wineries and winemakers full of themselves, this is one Californian label I’ll brag about knowing before they were (really) known.

*    *    *

“Uncle Dave” attending to his babies

It was a real treat to spend some time with Tom, Dave and the rest of the family down in Lodi. I never felt “stuck” there (har-har), and learned quite a bit. My most gracious thanks to the whole “Hux” crew for their hospitality. Lodi wine is a lot more than high-octane zinfandel…

And more fun was had on the drive back to Oregon, as Tom, the leech that he is, hitched a ride with me. I could tell you about our adventures with towering mountains, dragons, rainbows, monster burritos and more, but enough’s enough. Or is it?

With good cheer, always,

Jared

Drinking Old in the New

Scenes from the past in the present

Viva Las Vegas New Mexico.

The Land of Enchantment has a certain desert magic to it with its Latin flair and American Indian roots. Not just a bunch of sand, the state has ski resorts, wilderness areas, and many of the cities have a vibrant art and culinary scene. And the wine! The wine?? O.K. you got me there– the wine’s got a way to go yet, with all the sweet fruit and cheeky labels. But fortune has shined once again upon this lonely traveler and guided me to Vivác Winery, producers of fine New Mexican wines.

An oasis on the road to Santa Fe

Now that may sound like an oxymoron to many wine lovers, but you’ll have to trust me when I say that brothers Chris and Jesse Padberg are doing something pretty special down in the SW. First and foremost, they’ve decided to craft dry wines. In a market where many, if not most folks gravitate towards fruity-tooty wines, the two brothers have gone against the desert grain and created something that might be mistaken for old world Italian wines if you didn’t know better.

Producing wines from dolcetto, nebbiolo and sangiovese outside of Italy is always a gamble; one needs the right type of conditions and vineyard savvy in order to grow these types of grapes and actually make these wines for business purposes. It’s one thing to make a barrel or so of nebbiolo for friends and family, but it’s another thing entirely to sell this as one of your winery brands. In New Mexico.

And guess what? The wines, in my most humble and lip-stained opinion, were great. Not just decent, palatable, or fun. But really solid, serious wines that belong on a table alongside your gourmet meal. The sangiovese had appropriately dusty and fine-grained texture with bright, sour-cherry fruit. The dolcetto was a smack of dark berry and touch of black fig while still remaining medium-bodied and dry. And their nebbiolo, surely the biggest test of them all, had fantastic, layered aromatics (as it should) and tasted maybe not like the wines of Piedmonte (as it shouldn’t), but still true to what this grape is — complex and lingering.

Kudos to this small, family winery in between Taos and Santa Fe. They’re proving that you can make stellar wine in lesser-known wine areas of the world, and I hope the surrounding populations embrace and appreciate this effort. As I tasted and chatted with the rest of the family, a local band played outside on the patio sending sweet sounds into the warm air. May that music — and their home-made chocolate — remain the only sweet thing produced at Vivác Winery.

* * *

And so, the road continues. It seemed fitting that my best wine experience thus far on this cross-country trip be in the sunny and dry confines of NM. After a long time in a cool and damp setting, it was “bright and fine”, as they say in the UK, to sip something a bit more serious in such a place. For many people, the desert is a harsh and unforgiving place. I suppose it is just that at times, but it’s always been good to me, and now I can happily say the same for the wine.

With warm and dry cheers,

Jared

Find out more about this unique winery and their products at www.VivacWinery.com

Roasting…

Run, Jared, Run!!

And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing here in the SW. Of course, roasting isn’t always a bad thing. There’s always roast pork, roasted coffee beans and of course, roasted peppers. And who doesn’t like roasted peppers? HOT, HOT, HOT peppers!

I pulled into Pueblo, CO looking for a quick bite to eat and, luck be a lady, the annual Pueblo Chili Festival was commencing. Local farmers were scrambling to set up their booths and hang their chilis, and I tried my best to stay out of their way and capture some of the sights. And of course, I had to have some flautas and chilis at Papa Jose’s. As a matter of fact, I’ve been eating so much Mexican food lately, my gas mileage has doubled! Sorry…

What a magnificent area of the country — high desserts, snow-capped mountain ranges overlooking small ranch towns, and castles tucked away in national forests. Wait. What? Castles? Correctomundo. Driving through the San Isabel National Forest, I came across the one-man wonder known as Bishop’s Castle. Jim Bishop has been putting together his masterpiece, brick by brick, with his two hands only, for over thirty years now. And he’s had to fight tooth and nail with government officials to continue to do so.

What makes this place so special, aside from the fact that it’s been built, and remains under construction by one individual, is the fact that Jim has continued to do this for so long. The place is one of the coolest, most magical castles I’ve seen, complete with a grand hall, a towering, steel dragon’s head that attacks your vision as you walk up the driveway, and a steel orb, up 120 feet, that you can climb in to get a spectacular panorama of the surrounding area. And by the way, there’s no charge to visit the castle. So what’s his motivation?

“Because I can…,” he quickly replied when I asked why he decided to build a castle in the middle of the Colorado forest. Then he launched into the government, organized religion and anything else that seemed to chap his hide. Jim Bishop will never, ever be accused of not being a passionate man. His hand-painted signs, alerting visitors of a person’s God-given rights, remind you how life can produce feelings and ensuing actions fiery as chili peppers.

I felt a sense of wildness in this guy at first and had to gently, carefully walk away from him, choosing to explore the castle rather than stand and listen to his strong, strong opinions. But after climbing around this byproduct of his passion, his purpose, I found myself back down along the base of the castle with him discussing hot topics like government, religion and other topics inappropriate at the dinner table. He’s got bigger and bolder plans for his masterpiece, including a full moat and reflective glass plates on the orb that will “reflect into space and contact aliens”. I say go for it. Live long, Mr. Bishop, and prosper…

* * *

The road sure does lead to unseen and strange experiences. I feel lucky to have run into Jim Bishop and his project, gathering up new perspectives on what freedom really is and why we should use it (or not). As you climb towards the top of the castle, some of the openings in the tower walls are unchained and a serious hazard should you step too far. I’m assuming he’s hoping people will treat these spaces responsibly and not venture into areas they ought not to. Ironically, in doing just that, he’s created a towering example of just how precarious are freedom really is.

With good cheer and wide open roads,

Jared

“Wylde” wines of Kansas

The sky’s the limit…

Welcome back to the long and winding road. I’m deep in the American SW right now, and I have to say that I’m a bit parched. After being in cool and damp environments throughout the summer, the heat is most definitely kicking my you-know-what. It’s sort of like putting a frozen piece of meat in the oven — it might take a while to thaw out, but eventually, it’s gonna sizzle.

More on that later, though. For now let’s get back to the heartland. Driving through Kansas can be a monster to drive through, full of… nothing. But the weather was fine, the roads clear, and I decided to turn over another one of those pesky rocks. Kansas wine? Why not. I pulled into the parking lot of Wyldewood Cellars winery with an open mind and just pretended the surrounding corn fields were actually vineyards glistening with fully ripened grapes.

All alone in the heartland.

Wyldewood cellars specializes in (drumroll)…. Elderberry wine! Now before you laugh yourself to death, you should know that elderberries have a long and proud history of both medicinal and culinary uses. Got the flu? Have an Elderberry, you’ll feel better. Aches, pains, fever, they all get whooped by these little shrub berries. And the flowers are used as well. In fact the first wine I tried was a light, dry white made from fermented elderflowers and lemon. Sounds weird, huh? It was great! Simple, yet clean and fresh, and who can argue with lemon?

My most patient and excellent host, Megan, educated me on the x’s and o’s of elderberries and even attended to the boo-boo on my pinky (awwww). She explained to me how Kansas and Missouri were once prolific wine producers prior to prohibition. And when I was saying goodbye, she told me that she wanted my job, to which I sheepishly replied “…Ummm, I really don’t have one.”

*    *    *

I’m glad, inspired even, to see families producing wine (they do make a full line-up of vinifera wines as well) in places that you wouldn’t expect to see viticulture. Good for them, and really, good for us. The world of wine, no matter how complex and varied it actually is, can get very predictable and homogenous. It’s a big, big country we live in, with lots of land and people to cater to new and fun wines.

Here’s to thinking — and sipping — outside of the box. And the grape. May our travels and taste buds never get too comfortable.

With good cheer,

Jared

Stop and Smell the Corn

Children of the corn?

In Matt Kramer’s classic book, Making Sense of Wine, he likens the ability to recite and elaborate the information on a wine label to that of a speeding tourist, driving through an area without ever getting out. They may have seen it, but they’ve not been there…

Driving through this big, beautiful country of ours now, I considered this concept as I hurried through states like Ohio, Indiana and Missouri. Really, what is there to see aside from corn fields, the same old-same old stores and restaurants, and farm after farm. I listened to most of the music I had programmed on the iPod and was letting boredom take me into the murky waters of AM talk radio.

Road signs advertising random wineries were popping up every 100 miles or so, and I felt small pangs of guilt for not bothering; although these are the types of places I ought to be exploring, I’ve been burned one too many times by Americana wines, often leaving the winery with a sugar-soaked palate and a strong, strong desire to go Euro-bumming again. Finally, near the border of Missouri and Kansas, my guilt got the better of me as my hands grudgingly turned the wheel to the right and exited I-70.

“Le Bourgeois Vineyards“. That’s what caught my eye. “Oh no they didn’t…,” I thought, smirking at the cheesiness of that name. It was a billboard advertising a winery, tasting room, restaurant, and so on, right off the highway. I pulled up, got out and made a bee-line for the entrance, planning to make a quick taste of three or four likely sweet, bizarre and downright scary wines. But I’ll be damned.

When you walk into a tasting room and see names like “Riverboat Red” and “Pink Fox”, you don’t expect much. I know you should never, ever judge a book by its cover, but that was one hell of a cover. I asked to try their dry wines only, and after the fourth wine, I confessed to the very nice woman behind the counter how surprised I was by the wines –  balanced, dry, interesting and generally good. In Missouri! One of their white wines, a chardonel, was fantastically austere and nutty. I swear, it could have passed for an older white from Burgundy. “Chardonel”, by the way, is a hybrid grape developed by the whiz-kids at Cornell, crossing the native American seyval with chardonnay. She confessed to me that it’s always fun to prove people wrong, and had me drive down the road a bit more to see some good “photo ops”.

I wish I had more pictures for you all, but my camera battery, the ungrateful lous, died after just one shot. But trust me, the grounds were stunning. The restaurant and other tasting room overlooks the Missouri river (where there’s a river, there’s a way?), and there’s another area where an actual A-frame bistro serves up less formal food. The whole thing was just… cool. Imagine a mid-west version of McMenamins Edgefield.

And then there was the town of Rocheport. Population, around 300. Entering Rocheport, MO is like stepping onto a movie set, where everything is just so damned perfect. Historical schoolhouses, B&B’s and small cafes line the streets, giving this small, charming town a feel and look to everything that makes you wonder if time forgot about this place. Which of course gave me the heebie-jeebies. But still, what a charmer…

Surprises are never too far away. And what was supposed to be a quick ten minute detour, turned into an hour and a half. But I’d recommend this place to anyone who happens to be driving through Boone county, MO (hey, you never know). And drive I must. I hit another hidden gem in Kansas, hidden in all that corn, and I’ll tell you more about it next time. Exploration has to be the most profoundly disturbing and enriching activity, yielding both treasures and dangers under all those rocks. I’d rather keep exiting off the highway and overturn a few more…

With many more miles (and hopefully treasures) to go,

Jared

Oh brother…

Welcome back friends and fellow lovers of good wine, tasty bites, and strange travels. It’s been a while since we’ve broke bread, and I write to you now from the not so comfy confines of a grubby hotel room somewhere just west of Indianapolis. The 94% humidity here is oh so refreshing and it breaks my heart to think I’ll be waving goodbye to Indiana at the crack of dawn…

It’s always great to stumble upon a place, dish or wine you’re completely unfamiliar with. Upon re-entering the good ole’ US of A and after a quick breather with family, I set off for some wineries in the Hudson Valley, NY. Admittedly, this in not unfamiliar territory for me, per se, as I grew up in the Hudson Valley. But as a kid, I never paid any attention to the small and scattered wineries around this area, and from what I understand, this has become quite the destination for many wine tourists.

Technically speaking, the Hudson Valley stretches all the way from the border of New York and New Jersey to Albany, NY where the Hudson River flows. But most references to this area are directed at the more northern locales, and it’s incredibly scenic in spots. I’ll comment more on this area later as it relates to viticulture, but for now I’d like to take you on a tour of “America’s Oldest Winery” — Brotherhood Winery.

It’s ironic that the Brotherhood Winery in Washingtonville, NY would be my destination, years removed from ducking through the woods right behind the winery as we would skip high school classes. Or maybe it’s just fitting. Never one to waste an opportunity to miss the mind-numbing rambling (now that’s ironic) of my teachers, I didn’t think twice about this old collection of buildings, and quite frankly, didn’t really buy into the “oldest” claim either. And truthfully, I still wasn’t convinced of this when I pulled into the driveway many years later.

The Brotherhood Winery was established in 1839 after French immigrant Jean Jaque bought a small plot of land in Washingtonville a couple of years earlier, and began digging underground cellars. The same cellars that were used then are used today and they are truly impressive in both size and design. One of the cellars, coined “the long cellar” stretches out a good 50-75′, and has been used in the past for marching band practice. The winery also maintains that they are the first cellar in America to offer tours of their cellars, and you can see why.

It’s important to mention here that the winery claims to be the country’s oldest continuous, commercial winery, and not its  first winery, period. It seems that Cicinnati, OH, of all places, is home to an older commercial winery (established sometime in the mid-1830’s), and there were even older mission style wineries established in California in the 18th century. The key here is that Brotherhood continued its operation during Prohibition, producing sacramental wines, and continued its operation after Repeal.

The tour itself is impressive, full of thorough facts that pertained to the winery’s past and present, and more than enough eye-popping sights underground. Our guide did a great job of providing basic information for wine beginners (hey, we’ve all been there) and more technical aspects of the wine’s production. After about an hour into my visit, I was beginning to wonder why the hell I never came here in the past, and silently thanked the wine Gods that there was still opportunity to experience this living relic.

And then, we went to the tasting room.

Well, the proof is in the pudding, as they say. Unfortunately, the pudding was fairly bad. Sometimes really bad. The winery was purchased by a Chilean wine guru of sorts in the late 80’s and from what I can gather, he has transformed a quaint point of interest in NY into a marketing machine aimed at everybody and anybody. The wines sold there are made from grapes grown in California, Chile, New York, and Texas(!).

Adding to this umbrella effect, many of the wines are labeled as they were back in days prior to Prohibition; care for a NY Burgundy? Have at it. How ’bout a NY Sauterne? Sherry? CHABLIS? It’s all available here in Washingtonville, NY. These were marketing ploys used by early American wineries to attract those wine drinkers who were familiar with and fans of European table wines. But it blatantly ignored the rules and concepts that surround these areas and was corrected after the repeal of Prohibition. Apparently, there is a grandfather clause which allows wineries to use these descriptions now if they used them before Prohibition. That’s like saying “Hey, we used to club seals back in the day when nobody cared, so now we can still batter up!” It was wrong then, regardless of the intentions, and it’s wrong now.

Now I know what you might be thinking at this point: “Oh, get over it Jared- you’re being a Euro-snob because you were just there.” Maybe. But those wines — the whites, sparkling, reds, and “Ports” — were all awkward and confusing. Some were overly sweet. Others were bitter and hollow. The introduction and first impressions of the winery were superb, but the silliness of its products and their labels made you quickly forget about those impressive cellars.

In truth, Brotherhood Winery is a great destination for people; where else in NY can you see, literally walk through, such wine history? The grounds are well-suited and designed for large parties, baby showers, etc. There was even a DJ bumping out hip-hop as I was leaving. You gotta give it to them — the place is a marketing juggernaut. And if it attracts those who might never have entered the world of wine, all the power to them and their NY “Rhineling”.

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It’s time to say good night and fall asleep to the soothing sound of passing tractor-trailers. My apologies for the long delay since my last post, and I promise to be more consistent now that I’m a US citizen again. It really is good to be “home”, even if that means grabbing a quick bite at the gas station and more sleepless nights in the middle of nowhere. Then again, nowhere is sometimes better than everywhere.

With good cheer,

Jared

Jared Wines Down

All good things must come to an end.

In this case, the “good thing” is an incredible trip through parts of Europe, where castles, distilleries, restaurants, vineyards and wineries graciously received me for the past four months. A blink of an eye, really. And while I do wish I could keep going, there’s always something to be said for being satisfied with what your given.

What I’ve been given is an opportunity and experience I’ll not forget any time soon, if ever. The people I’ve met throughout this trip, both abroad and throughout the U.S., have been amazing. I can’t emphasize enough how valuable it is to actually converse with those closest to the passions I write about. Winemakers, chefs, market owners, tour guides, and many, many others have made this trip worth every penny. My inexpressible gratitude goes out to all those who gave this humble visitor time and attention.

Just as important and profound for myself was all the wonderful interaction that took place on this blog. My ever-lasting thanks to all of you who listen to (and sometimes watch) me, read my words, and in general terms, tolerate my long-winded and goofy nature. Without you, -sniffle- I’m nothing! I hope you’ve gained some well-deserved inspiration, new information, or at the very least, amusement from this blog so far.

I have some closing thoughts and realizations I’d like to share with all of you. Some of the more humorous and personal stories never made it into this blog, and that’s probably a good thing, since the focus here is supposed to be food, wine, and travel. But that’s about to change, if only for one post…

And The Award goes to:

The Italians, for being the most annoyingly beautiful people on the planet. In a country full of intensity, they are the also the coolest. Literally and figuratively. It can be 90+ degrees without a puff of breeze in the air, and you won’t see them sweat. Ever. I’ve been there twice now and each time I was blown away by how polished everyone was. While I sweated and grunted around the hill towns, men wearing designer sweaters (!) would breeze by me and look like they just stepped out of a GQ magazine. And the women? My God…

I went to one of Italy’s bigger supermarkets, Il Borgo, and upon entering saw this woman, strikingly beautiful, slowly pacing back and forth just inside the entry-way like a big cat. She had long, black hair and was wearing a pseudo-combat jumpsuit, matching black combat boots, and a firearm on her hip. I am not making this up. It took me a second to realize that this was the store’s security guard. I slowly walked by her trying not to stare and contemplated shoplifting some provolone. She caught me looking at sneered back, resting her hand on her holster. Momma-Mia. Why can’t we have rent-a-cops like that back in the states?

It should be said, however, that the truly beautiful people in Italy seem to be of the older generation. While the younger Italians obviously spend A LOT of time prepping and dressing, there’s a certain class and grace to the seniors that gives one hope for the aging process. Clearly, many people in Italy mirror the process of a wine’s life cycle and just get better with age…

The British, for having the most awkward way of conversing with one another. Let me say first that I’ve been absolutely charmed by the people of Scotland and many of the English people I’ve encountered here as well. They are almost always ultra-polite and helpful. But there is this habit of apologizing, no matter what the context, for whatever scenario you can imagine. I once sat inside a pub and watched this scenario unfold:

Pub owner: (storms out of the back room, looking royally pissed off) “John- do you have a second? I need to speak with you about this new applicant.”

John, who happens to be the bartender on hand: (looks up slowly, obviously irritated that he’s being interrupted from wiping down the bar):

“…what’s the issue?”

Pub owner: “I was just going over the message you left me for her inquiry, and you failed to leave a contact number for her. I’ve no way to reach her…”

At this point, John the grumpier, has set down his bar rag and is now facing the bigger pub owner straight on.

John: “Hmm… (looks at the message) Well, I can tell you that I thought I had written it down. She called, I took the message and that was that.”

Pub owner: (now looking like he’s the one who screwed up and visibly shrinking) “Right, well, sorry to bring this up, but I just want to be able to reach her since we need the help.”

John: “Yeah, right. Sorry about that- don’t know what I was thinking…”

Pub owner: “Well it’s no bother, really, and I am sorry to bring this up, but I just thought I’d ask.”

John: Right, right, of course. Again, sorry ’bout that!”

Pub owner: That’s all right, sorry to bring it up anyway.”

I sat there at my little pub bench, sipping a pint and wondering what the hell all that was about. It was painful to watch and I felt like somebody ought to apologize to me for all of that. Weeks later, I saw and heard the same type of thing on the train to Glasgow. The conductor was apologizing profusely to the guy who didn’t have a ticket. Of course, the passenger was giving it right back to him. Good Lord. You can see this philosophy on many of the signs in shops and restaurants as well. “Regrettably, we do have the right to ask anyone who is suspected of abusing our staff to promptly leave the premises… sorry.” O.K., that last sorry was fictional, but you start to wonder what these people are not sorry for. Milk in their tea, perhaps… sorry.

The Germans, for the most eerily efficient and systematic people in the world. That’s debatable, I suppose, but my experience there was one where I never really felt lost or confused – even though I don’t speak a lick of Deutsch. And not just in the bigger, touristy cities either. Even the little cutesy wine villages out in the country have a certain order about them. It’s at once impressive and unsettling, and it’s no wonder many German tourists (particularly in places like Italy) look so frazzled and disapproving.

And this is why I was so perplexed when I encountered utter chaos in the Cologne airport. We were returning to Scotland, catching an easy-going 11 A.M. flight to Edinburgh. Easy, right? Wrong. It was like Mordor opened the black gate and orcs were running mad. No lines. No clear messages on the slick LCD terminal displays. No clue. Madness ruled the morning and somehow, with maybe the luck of some cosmic Valkyries, we made it onto our plane.

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And so, the adventure across the pond comes to an end. By next week, I’ll be gladly eating burritos and watching the NY Giants lay waste to all comers. And while the glass(es) of wine here must inevitably pour out, so too do more glasses get filled.

The fun doesn’t end here, and I’ll be posting from various states across the good ole’ U.S. of A. The second cross country trip in six months will commence shortly from now- I can’t wait to drink it all in.

With many more toasts ahead of us,

Jared