Winning Walla Walla Wines

Graying boomers, take heart: It’s never too late to become a wino. And you’ll be glad you did.

That seems to be the message delivered in the March issue of American Journal of Medicine, which reports that healthier hearts await those in their mid-40s to mid-60s who decide to take up moderate drinking. Oh wait. I somehow missed the word “moderate.” I withdraw the wino remark.

Seriously . . . even after a lifetime of self-imposed Prohibition, I mean abstention, those who elect to start sipping alcohol will likely demonstrate cardiovascular superiority over their teetotaling brethren. It gets better: Those who wisely select wine as their alcoholic beverage of choice stand less chance of experiencing such pesky troubles as heart attacks or coronary heart disease than beer drinkers or imbibers of spirits.

In your face, wine eschewers!

On a more charitable note, I can think of few occasions more welcoming to the wonderful world of wine than a tasting of what’s on tap at the Amavi and Pepper Bridge wineries, located in the arid valley of Walla Walla, Washington. What a fun mouthful that is! And its vineyard bounty even more so.

Owner Ray Goff was on hand at Cellar Rat to pour the wines, which is cool in and of itself, but also made sense, given that these are limited production wines that command premium prices, and who wants to trust that precious liquid to the possibly heavy hand of an unknown wine store barista?

Actually, Ray poured the perfect amount into our glasses. I usually ask for a smaller-than-average pour at tastings, wuss that I am, but in this instance I happily would have settled for more. In the case of these winners from winemaker Jean Francois Pellet, more is definitely more.

Ray stole, er I mean LURED Jean Francois away from his post at Heitz Cellars, apparently by offering him creative control of the Amavi and Pepper Bridge wines. Also the moon. Jean Francois is a third-generation Swiss winemaker who holds degrees in both enology and viniculture and has trained at wineries in Spain, Switzerland, and California. He looks far too young to be such an accomplished wine artiste.

Every single wine Ray poured was excellent. I haven’t enjoyed a tasting lineup this much since the Earthquake folks were in town from Michael David winery. The Amavi and Pepper Bridge wines are made in a different style than the Earthquakes – they are not as massive and obviously rich – but they share the same silky lushness. They are both complex and completely approachable, soft yet intense, if you catch my drift. The Walla Walla wines are more restrained, complex and textured, more FRENCH, as it were, but the flavor is there. Oh my is it there.

“Amavi” gets its name from the Latin root words for ‘love’ and ‘life.’ This explains a lot, at least to me. It’s more of an explanation for the sheer stellarness (is that a word?) of these wines than that Ray worked for Budweiser for 30 years. Happily, he set aside his pallets of beer and now is in his tenth year of loving life at this small, family-owned winery. http://www.amavicellars.com/

I suspected Kim Tappan and I were in for a rare treat after I obligingly agreed to sample the one white wine in the lineup, the Amavi 2006 Semillon. It’s flat-out delicious, pear and melon and zippy citrus; it has mineral notes but is surprisingly creamy -- and I hope I remember to get some for Laura’s birthday, since only 700 cases were made.

Next up: the Amavi 2005 Syrah, with a nose of blackberries and what Ray calls “smoked meats,” and I might have called “fat.” Ribeye fat. Fat in a good way. A very good way. I was set to buy this wine until we tried the Amavi 2004 Cabernet Sauvignon, which made me want to call my friend Dave*. This scrumptious Cab (90 pts. WS, but I’d give it 91 or 92) is blended with 23% Merlot and 1% Cab Franc. One percent! Jean Francois, genius. (*Dave: my Milwaukee buddy. A big fan of Napa Cabs.)

I am bad at descriptives. This is what the guys who make the Amavi Cab say about it: mixed berries, dark fruit, earth, a whisper of rose petal and coconut shell; flavors of blackberries and cassis; nuances of chocolate, mocha and spice. Complex and well-structured. I don’t disagree. Dave, it’s $28, and worth it! I grabbed one.

But NO, Ray couldn’t leave it at that. He made us step on the Pepper Bridge to heaven and try the PB 2003 Cabernet. The b*st**d. It’s even better. But it’s twice as much. Again with the dark berry and chocolate, but with some added “spicy, smoky, cedar character,” along with a touch of thyme and cassis. Doesn’t that sound like a killer recipe? 92 Wine Advocate points, 2% Merlot, 2% Cab Franc. $52. (French oak, old and new, is used lavishly in the production of these wines. It is expensive. So is the winemaker's predilection for lopping off untold clusters of grapes so as to concentrate flavor in the remaining fruits of the vine.)

The Pepper Bridge 2005 Merlot came too late in the sipping order to impress as fully as the others, although Food & Wine Magazine lists it in its Top 20. Eighty percent Merlot, 9% Cab, 5% Malbec. Rich and lovely, to be sure. And dear, at $52. I’d have bought them all, in multiples, if finances allowed. http://www.pepperbridge.com/

Kimmy Tappan was torn between the Amavi Cab and Syrah, but in the end went Cab. The funny end to this tale of wine bliss is that we were on our way to dinner and ended up drinking a surprisingly quaffable $9 wine, the Salmon Run Petit Noir from Finger Lakes, New York. It’s some Gamay/Merlot blend, I believe, bright and fruity, and a simple pleasure for the palate. Completely different from the long, lingering Amavi/Pepper Bridge magic, but respectably tasty. Here’s to you, New York!

And Walla Walla. Most especially Walla Walla.

It's the math. And the vintage.

I try to like beer. I really do. But except for the occasional lager or raspberry wheat, I am just not interested. I think that’s how many people feel about wine. That is simply a pity for many reasons, not the least of which is the analogies lost to them.

For example: If the admirable Barack Obama were a wine, he’d be one of those unheralded gems that didn’t cost much and was purchased on a whim or a friend’s recommendation – and that turns out to be an incredible value: nuanced yet muscular, with a great attack and long finish. An Italian Rosso, perhaps, comprised of a number of unfamiliar grapes that combine in winning fashion. Or something surprisingly good from a small Sonoma vineyard, a young red that drinks great now and will only get better with time.

Hillary Clinton? Aaaiiiii, as my friend Kirsten says. Hillary is an expensive Napa Cabernet Sauvignon, from a reliably good producer with a solid reputation; unfortunately, she’s a wine one has cellared and later opened with anticipation, only to discover it’s gone bad. I could torture this analogy for days, but let’s just summarize by saying the chief reaction to such an uncorking is disappointment. Hill, we hardly knew ye.

In her obsession with winning no matter the cost, Clinton has crossed a line. She’s knowingly stepped into the shoes the right-wing Clinton-haters crafted for her so long ago – you know, those manipulative, power-hungry, unethical shoes? I don’t like her shoes. I don’t like their style. I hate that they seem to fit her. I hate that I’ve abandoned my wine metaphors for Imelda Marcos analogies.

Hillary is like a sister to me. Not in the sense that she grew up with me or has ever MET me, but in the sense that I don’t like it when she screws up, and I don’t like it when others criticize her. And I am SO disappointed!

‘Tis a pity, but I am no longer interested in drinking her Koolaid; er, wine. Leaving aside the pitiful, victim-y racism of Geraldine Ferraro and the “he’s like Jesse Jackson” line trotted out by Bill, Hillary is blighting the reputation she cultivated so carefully for so many years in her well-established vineyard. She has said, loud and clear, that either she or John McCain would be suitable as Commander-in-Chief, but that her Democratic opponent would not be.

Think about this: She has handed the opposition party a cudgel with which to attack the Democratic nominee. She has done this purposely – both Clintons are too bright to “accidentally” say such things. And so I have come to this painful realization over the past six weeks: that it’s true what I keep reading and concluding. That she would rather McCain won the presidency if she is not the Democratic nominee.

And she CAN’T be the nominee. Not in any honest or fair way. She is too far behind in both pledged delegates and popular vote. To use the more common sports analogy, she’s 10 points down with a minute on the clock and the ball at midfield. The math isn’t on her side. It ain’t gonna happen.

Instead of conceding gracefully, she’s refusing to leave the field. She’s attempting to bribe and intimidate the referees. Failing that, she is instructing her team to break the legs of the opposing quarterback. Translation: Instead of bowing out and getting behind the Democratic nominee, Hillary has turned to attempted cheating, lies about her record, and smears of her opponent. She’s endorsed Rovian fear-mongering, that brand of win-at-any-cost politics that has cost our country so dearly.

For those who attempt to excuse such behavior as merely the stuff of politics, I point to the tragic legacy of George W. Bush – the illegal war in the wrong country, the lies, endorsement of torture and warrantless spying on Americans, the massive red ink and the cratering economy, the corruption and politicization of the Justice Department and the EPA, the continued frightening idealogy of the Supreme Court. Given the damage done to our country under this stubbornly wrong president, there can be no excuse for someone who would have the Democrats snatch defeat from the jaws of victory if she cannot wear the laurel wreath herself. Because Hillary’s race-baiting and attempts to game the race have had an impact: McCain has pulled even with both Democrats in the latest “Who would you pick as President?” poll.

There truly is not much difference in Obama’s and Clinton’s stands on the issues. Except for the little matter of the worst foreign policy blunder of my lifetime, the $2-trillion debacle known as “the war in Iraq.” Obama has been on the record as against the war on Iraq from BEFORE Day One. And Hillary? Not only has she refused to apologize for her vote authorizing that murderous disaster; knowing Bush as we all do now, she voted to give him the same authority to wage war on Iran – did you know that, reader? That was the deal-breaker for me. War on Iran: very bad idea. Giving Bush the power to wage war on Iran: very very very very very very very bad idea.

If health care, the economy or the war in Iraq is a major issue for you, your choice in November is an easy one. Senator McCain, with no mastery of economics and no clue as to how to resolve America’s health care crisis, is the most vocal proponent of the Iraq debacle. Love what we’ve done in Iraq? Vote for McCain. (Vote for McCain and you get a few bonuses: He supports funding for the discredited Bush "abstinence-only" programs; he's opposed to access to birth control and family-planning services; and best of all: He loves him some Samuel Alito and Clarence Thomas. The ick factor is rising exponentially, eh?)

It amazes me that some folks don’t seem to grasp the magnitude of Obama’s primary season feat: He has out-campaigned and out-organized the vaunted Clinton machine. If that doesn’t serve as a wake-up call for those who’ve slept through other proofs of his obvious intellectual prowess and leadership skills. . . consider what his well-thought-out 50-state strategy could mean for our country: Someone who could, possibly, just maybe, re-unite the United States across the red-blue divide! A President who would. . . LEAD!

Yes, I know, I'm dreaming, just as I dream of being handed free, limitless gift cards at KC wine shops. Scorn me for having the audacity to hope. But even Republicans have a hard time disliking this guy, he's so temperate, bright and honest. He's the anti-polarization candidate. These days, he's my house wine.

I can’t think of a wine analogy for Senator McCain. He’s a beer, a decent enough beer, or at least the best beer the Republicans have to offer. But like Hillary these days, he leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Postscript: I just read Obama's speech on black -- and white -- community. You can watch the video, if you prefer: http://my.barackobama.com/page/content/hisownwords If you do, however, you'll vote for the man. If I were a winemaker, I'd name a wine for him.

Big Netflix Love (and an Italian charmer)

I could go on and on and on about Big Love, the HBO series about a polygamist Mormon family living clean in Sandy, Utah. I just love Chloe Sevigny! Bill Paxton is great, too, as is Jeanne Tripplehorn and the young woman who plays Margene. All the main characters are superb actors; it’s well-written, consistently dramatic AND funny; and the one-man, three-wife setup triggers my shite like nobody’s business. If you find yourself yelling at the television screen – hey, that’s a VERY well done production.

Big Love soothes my “must-work-out-to-excellent-shows” treadmill requirement. I do so miss Dead Like Me, and I did enjoy Carnivale, and Six Feet Under and Heroes. And now I have ANOTHER winner I just discovered: Wonderfalls. Stick with it for 20 minutes, and you’re hooked. I shan’t reveal much of the plot, which centers around an Ivy league grad working (barely) at a gift shop in Niagara Falls. Deeply and slacker-ly cynical, lacking a warm-and-fuzzy vibe, Jaye isn’t sure WHAT to think when a plastic-molded figurine of a lion starts talking to her. Just watch it. What fun!

Deadwood is dead-on in its acting, but far too violent for me, never mind the not-so-buff full frontal male nudity. Dexter is horribly bloody, too – the main man is a blood-spatter expert, and a serial killer of serial killers – but Michael C. Hall is so compelling I’m forced to recommend the show (he's the straightlaced, gay brother from Six Feet Under).

Yeah yeah I know, it’s a WINE blog. So okay, here’s my tip of the week: Run out to Costco and snag the Crios Cabernet Sauvignon 2006, another yummalicious winner from Argentinean winemaker Susana Balbo – whose Malbec is my favorite. This Cab is quite a value at $11 (or $13, which is what most wine shops will charge). You'll want to grab several bottles.

Or go to Cellar Rat and get something in the white wine department from the Alcesti winery, whose winemaker is a stainless steel purist, and handsome to boot.

The Alcesti vineyards are in Sicily, and the formally dressed young man responsible for them is named (I think) Gianfranco Paladino. We tried his Isola Blanco, a light, fresh white wine blended from grapes indigenous to Sicily: Grecanico, Catarratto and Ansonica. This makes for a nice change from summer’s golden boy Pinot Grigio, and the names trip playfully from the tongue.

We also tried the Alcesti Grillo Sicilia, another unoaked white that I found downright weird, and that Lisa found funkily interesting ( Grillo means “cricket” – isn’t that cute?). She grabbed a bottle just so our friends could marvel at the unique nose and flavors. But my favorite of the trio of whites may be the Grecanico, the single varietal also getting the stainless steel fermentation treatment of which Gianfranco is so fond. He explains that the Grecanico has flavors of dried fruit and almonds, but I liked it anyway.

The Isola Nero D’Avola was too Pinot-Noir-like for my taste, although that is exactly what causes others to recommend it. The second Alcesti red was my preferred bottling, a Syrah that was deeper and more flavorful than the others. In a charmingly thick accent, Mr. Paladino allowed as how this wine spent six months in oak. Oak, at last! And even better for being poured by the winemaker himself. Did I mention that he’s handsome?

French Medicine

I should have been a doctor.

Mom would have liked that, I’m sure. “You want to be a WRITER?” she said to me around the time of my graduation from William Jewell College (with a major in writing - self-designed – and another major in French, and a minor in mathematics). “But you could be ANYTHING!” Her voice dripped with disappointment and chagrin. Or maybe it was horror. She was aghast, that master of the left-handed compliment. You’d have thought I’d opted for a career in the service industry.

Heh. Yet another Mom story for the ages.

I never wanted to be a doctor. I briefly considered training as a veterinarian, but I knew I loved animals too much. I struggle with detachment – another way of saying I have attachment issues. Like everyone else I know.

Now if only Mom had said, “If you were a DOCTOR, people would give you kickass bottles of wine!”

Apparently that sort of thing happens to doctors. At least doctors like my friend Linda. I try to visit her and Danny in Tucson every year, preferably in February, the month in Kansas City when everyone’s fancy turns lightly to thoughts of wrist slitting. Could it get any colder and grayer?

Tucson turns out blue skies for me, year after year. At least it always seems that way, what with the great company, the desert hikes and the memorable food and wine we share on these visits. This year, Linda outdid herself, which is hard to do, given her consistently high level of grace and generosity.

I don’t know whose life she saved, but SOMEBODY, a patient of hers, was grateful enough to gift her with two bottles of a red Bordeaux blend. Isn’t that nice? I’m sure that’s what Linda thought: “Isn’t that nice?” She mentioned it to me. Yes, yes, it was nice, I assured her, via email. And was grateful that we were chatting online, because I was drooling.

The wine she’d been given was the 2001 Chateau Cos d’Estournel Saint Estephe, a little number it had not been my good fortune to taste but whose name I recalled from my obsessive reading in Wine Spectator. Google, google. . . yep, #37 on the WS 2004 Top 100 Wines of the Year. A 94-pointer. I wiped the saliva from the keyboard and began to daydream about our upcoming sojourn under the Tucson sun.

I don’t drink much French wine. The labels are challenging enough, and the more affordable wines – the Rhones – are essentially GSMs. I much prefer the Bordeaux-style blends, the classic mélange of Cab/Merlot/Cab Franc/Petit Verdot/Malbec. Alas, the Bordeaux wines are simply too expensive to add to my modest cellar. (The irony here is that I studied in Bordeaux in my youth, but was far too callow to appreciate the Bordeaux wines that were offered to me. I want a do-over!)

When I think of wine, I think of food, and vice versa. It’s my credo: good wines deserve good food. So what did we have? The Chateau Cos d’Estournel is a Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot blend. What menu might best showcase the qualities of the wine?

"Don’t get too fancy, Kim," I cautioned myself. "Let the wine speak for itself." The obvious menu choice, something we rarely indulge in, was red meat. I consulted Linda’s cookbooks, and we headed for the market. Turning my wistful eyes from the store’s impressive wine section, I marched stoically to the meat counter.

There, we considered beef tenderloin, but settled for the more modest (and favorite) charms of thick, premium ribyes. Holy cow! I do not exaggerate when I say these were the biggest steaks I’ve ever seen. Staggering under their weight, we headed back to the ranch to prepare dinner.

We pause here to salute Laura Louise, who insisted on springing for the entire gourmet grocery bill, and who further endeared herself by womaning the grill. She did a bang-up job. Those cowboy ribeyes – butterflied and still weighing more than a pound apiece – were grilled to perfection. I’m not saying I didn’t miss the carcinogenic crust of charcoal, but they were the best gas-grilled ANYTHING I’d ever had. (Drizzle with high-quality olive oil; sprinkle liberally with Montreal Steak Seasoning; cook to order.)

We let the wine breathe for an hour, while we rustled up some ‘taters and asparagus. Then it was time, both for the steaks and the vino, which was a deep ruby red, tipping into purple. Gorgeous. A swirl, a sniff, a first sip.

I confess I expected to be disappointed or underwhelmed, as I was with the Far Niente Cab and the Siduri Clos Pepe Pinot Noir – high prices set up high expectations, and this wine retails for $100 to $140.

Lo and behold, it was simply wonderful. It smelled, and tasted, of blackberries. Or maybe boysenberries. Dark berries, at any rate, and herbs. It was full and smooth, with a long, lingering finish. It was . . . many pleasant adjectives, including supple and elegant. It was a pleasure to drink, from start to finish.

A tasting room barista once likened big, jammy Zinfandels to strippers: the charms are up-front and obvious. The Cos d’Estournel is another type of person altogether: someone restrained, deep and quietly intense, somebody whose beauty isn’t in-your-face, a surprisingly lovely and well-built woman you may not have noticed when she first entered the room but on whom your eyes eventually return to, and rest on. An exceptional individual who becomes more beautiful with the passing of the years – just as this wine is supposed to age gracefully for a good 15 years.

The wine got tastier and more impressive with every sip, beautifully complemented by the red meat. I kept pouring very small glasses, letting myself pretend there was an endless supply. The real kicker is that Linda prefers white wines, so she had only a modest amount of the Cos d’Estournel, leaving more for Laura and me. Danny was on call, so she wasn’t drinking. And neither was Andie. Coincidence, or simply the more benign face of Fate?

The lovely libation went very well with our post-dinner nibble of Godiva dark chocolate; interestingly, the milk chocolate didn’t match nearly as well.

Now I still don’t think I’d buy this wine – at least not for myself, or only if I win the lottery. There are just so many tempting wines out there, and it’s just. . . too. . cher, at least for my pocketbook. But oh how I loved trying it, and oh how I’ll love trying it AGAIN in a few years, when it should be even better.

If only we had more . . . that’s the thought that lingers after a memorable wine: If only we had more. Maybe Linda will save someone else’s life, and they’ll get her this wine, only it will be the 2003 (97 points) or the 2005 (98 points!). A girl can dream . . .

Yes, Mom, I should have been a doctor.