A Slow Descent to Sideways...

A Slow Descent to Sideways...

Tim Dwight "| Through the Grapevine | August 27, 2009

To view the article as it appears in Florida Today, click here: http://www.floridatoday.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2009908270303


"We'll let the chef know that you've arrived, Mr. Dwight; welcome to Cyrus".

I'd like to think that we were getting special V.I.P. treatment, but I'd been forewarned that all diners are greeted in like manner.

(Reputedly, when the restaurant first opened a few years' ago, they would even bring a phone along tableside and call the chef to inform him of a guest's arrival).

Nevertheless nonplussed, my traveling companion and I had arrived for an evening of gustatory gluttony at one of the wine countries' top restaurants, taking advantage of the chauffeur service offered by our hosts at Jordan.

"Yes, sir, anywhere you'd like to go for dinner tonight, we'll be happy to drop you off and pick you up later", offered our new friend from Guest Services. "Particularly if you're unfamiliar with some of the local terrain, it can be a little daunting to find your way back here after a big meal; not all of the roads are well marked, and in the dark..."

Had us from 'hello', as they say; the opportunity of not having to drive for our night out couldn't have come at a better time. My friend and I have been planning a meal like this for quite some time; Cyrus is not the sort of restaurant where one just pops in unannounced for dinner. Reservations must be made weeks in advance, and even then, we've just made it off the "wait" list to fill the space of a last minute cancellation.

That probably explains why we're seated between the waiter's station and hostess stand. It has nothing to do with the fact that a trio of well-dressed forty-something women have arrived amidst clouds of competing perfume and non-stop chattering, and they're going to be seated, just as I suspect, at a table about a foot and a half away from our own.

"Hoo-boy", whispered my companion, "there goes the neighborhood".

"Well, maybe they'll be a quick in-and-out", I replied. "I bet too many people don't order the chef's eight-course menu like we have tonight."

"But we've been here for over half an hour and they haven't even brought us the first course yet", noted my friend.

He's right, but we've not been lacking for attention-or food-thus far. In well choreographed orchestration, we've been offered several rounds of canapés and "amuse bouche" as they say in the fine dining trade these days. This last round is particularly profound: a three-tiered platter designed to "awaken all five senses", describes our waiter.

He goes on to explain that each of the micro-sized morsels have been designed to stimulate the taste sensations of salty, sweet, bitter, sour, and umami (savory).

As with most of our meal this evening, the ingredients are both many and complex, and trying to recall exactly what they were, from my vantage point several weeks later, is a bit too daunting for this writer. Suffice to say, I do remember the waiter describing the "salty" offering as the chef's attempt to re-create a Philly-style soft pretzel. Not quite what I remember from my days at the Jersey shore, though as I munch down, I kind of get what he's saying...

After a brief interlude with the Champagne and caviar cart, we opt for the chef's special menu, which changes nightly. Our meal goes on to include such likes as "Tataki of Waygu Beef with Tomatoes, Avocado and Sea Beans"; "Turbot with Corn, Scallions and Radish, Shiso-Ginger Dashi"; "Abalone with Kijiki Noodles and Snap Peas" (and those are just the first three).

"Good thing these portions are small", notes my friend, and fortunately he's right. These artistic creations take much longer to craft in the kitchen than they do to consume; most can be done in one quick bite.

We're just about at the point in our meal when the table next to us has been seated, and the three ladies immediately alter the course of our evening.

"Could you take back our wine and chill it properly this time?" says one of the trio, "this is an expensive chardonnay, after all..." she elucidates unnecessarily to the patient waiter.

(There's not a sliver of doubt in my mind that their wine, like ours, has arrived at the perfect serving temperature, about 45-48 degrees, which is just not ice-box cold as too many folks are used to.)

I exchange a sympathetic smile with the sommelier, who has come over to attend to the desires of the women, but now one of them has caught the subtle exchange, "Stop laughing at us", she grimaces.

"Sorry!", I apologize for the indiscretion, which I immediately blame on my friend. "We're just enjoying our meal, and that's one of my friend's favorite Kistler chardonnays", I offer in a hopefully conciliatory note.

But the damage has been done and there's no getting the jack back in the box at this point. "Say, where are you two guys from anyway?", says one of the ladies; "We live in San Jose, the Silicon Valley, you know. Girl's getaway. We're staying at this cute little B & B down the road. This is one of our favorite restaurants; we were going to go somewhere else but then we thought that this one would remind us of last year when we all went to Paris and had this simply delightful meal at..."

Fortunately, we were saved by the arrival of our next course, "Duck Breast with Sherry Jus; Rosti Potatoes and Peppers". It was also time to move from our opening bottle of white wine, a Savenniere (dry chenin blanc) from the Loire Valley, which I had ferreted out from the restaurant's wine list.

They say that a good sommelier will save a few hidden kisses on his or her wine list for knowing patrons, and at $38 the Savenniere fit the bill; a much friendlier price point than the hundreds of other bottles going for upwards of $100 a shot.

I'd also taken an opportunity to look over the complete list of wine offerings at Cyrus over the internet, as that's a deregueur practice for high end restaurants these days.

Plenty of great wines, but then I also noticed the small print at the bottom stating: "Corkage fee $35". With all of our travels through the wine country, we'd managed to accumulate a few nice bottles; what better opportunity to enjoy a few of them...

By now our (near) dining companions were curious as to what we had brought, wine-wise, and offered to trade some of theirs in return.

"My husband told me I could take anything in his cellar", said one of the women. "But then he decided I should have this bottle of Bordeaux-a Haut Brion."

Impressive, until I looked at the label. It was a Grand Cru all right, but from the unremarkable, even dismal 2002 vintage* .Too young to drink, no matter the provenance; I easily imagine this woman's husband as he condescendingly offered this "special" bottle to his wife, "Just perfect for your night out with the girls, hon."

Next up on the menu was a choice between "Lamb Roulade with Fennel, Garbanzo Beans, and Black Olive", or, the one I couldn't resist, "Cyrus BLT". Being an adventurous sort, I had to see what would inspire the chef to such an offering...

After the obligatory exchange of wine bottles with our neighbors (I confess there wasn't much left in our bottle by the time we switched); we were treated to an extravagant cheese platter. Delectable selections, all hand made by local farms...intoned our waiter.

And all with unpronounceable or forgettable names at this point in our meal. We'd finished our second bottle, and most of our neighbor's Haut Brion as well...isn't it amazing how much better a formerly bad wine can get as an evening wears on? Time for something else; we still had multiple cheeses remaining, and then those two dessert courses as well.

I ordered several glasses from the wine list, and used the lull to explore different parts of the restaurant. After discerning that, "No, we don't have any Averna in stock", from the bartender (anyone recall last spring's column about drinking with Mario Batalli?), I repaired to our table to find my friend locked in heated conversation with the neighbors.

"Well, I'll have you know that my friend here was on the cover of the Wall Street Journal last week", said one of the women.

"Yeah, and so was Bernie Madoff", grumbled my companion.

Our waiter deftly noted that things were beginning to spiral out of control and saved us once again with the dessert course (or courses). "Cherry and Pistachio Ice Cream Sandwich with Cardamon Streusel", and then "Strawberry Rhubarb Bread Pudding".

Fortunately again, tiny bite-size portions, but as with all of our dishes that evening, simply exquisite. Just enough to soothe the savage beast, or at least calm down tensions in our part of the dining room, which we noted, had miraculously begun to clear.

"Well, it is past midnight", offered my friend. "What time did we ask the driver to pick us up?"

Oh, about fifteen minutes ago, I remembered, and sure enough, parked outside the front window was our inscrutable driver.

"Don't let him leave without us", my companion croaked, "I'll get the bill and we can settle up in the morning."

Time to call it a night; there's a slow descent towards sideways...we should have known there's a price to pay for having all that fun!


~ Tim Dwight


*Footnote: Robert Parker's Wine Advocate describes the '02 Haut Brion thusly: "...Lacking the natural ambiance of other vintages...smooth but lacks complexity and depth...reserved and angular..."

Journey to Jordan

Journey to Jordan

Through The Grapevine, By Tim Dwight
August 20, 2009

To view the article as it appears in Florida Today, click here: http://www.floridatoday.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2009908200302


Not even your intrepid travelers could have gotten lost this time.

We've just finished up a tour and tasting at the Ferrari-Carano Winery, located in the northwestern part of Sonoma County in the Dry Creek appellation. It's a quick 15 minute jaunt up and over to the Alexander Valley and this afternoon's destination at Jordan Vineyards & Winery.

For perhaps the first-and only occasion on our trip, we're on time. This serendipity provides an opportunity for us to poke around a little; the Jordan campus (and I use that word precisely), consists of over 1,300 hillside acres and numerous wine buildings all spread out in leisurely fashion.

The main building containing the winery and cellars was first established in May of 1972, and its graceful chateau-styled architecture continues to adorn the labels of the Jordan families' wine. Thoroughly covered with vines, this iconic facility lends credence to the impression of stability and tradition.

John Jordan has taken over the reigns of operation at the winery; fittingly he was born on the same date in 1972 that his father, Tom, received the deed for the original property.

That sort of continuity defies current fashion at the very least, and when you learn that winemaker Rob Davis began his career at Jordan with the very first vintage....well...a visitor just can't help feeling a bit humbled.


We start our tour, which consists of 8 persons, with Guest Services Manager Sean Brosnihan, a loquacious sort eager to share his knowledge.

Sean tells us that the Jordan family philosophy has remained true to the course first established in those early days. Although there has been a certain amount of experimentation over the years, the winery steadfastly continues to produce just one white and one red bottling, a business model that proved extremely controversial, particularly amongst the wineries first financial backers.

Their white wine, a chardonnay, drawn from vineyards in the Russian River area, honors a Burgundian style of wine. The grapes receive a slow, cold fermentation in small 100% French oak barrels, and then age for another 5 to 6 months. Minimal malolactic fermentation allows the juice to retain much of its natural acidity, and supports a clean, crisp, mineral-laden framework. We taste citrus, apple and oak-aided vanilla accents, but this is not a wine for lovers of those buttery, alcoholic efforts that have so dominated the chardonnay landscape for many years.

We also sample the wineries' sole red, a 2005 cabernet sauvignon made from estate vineyards surrounding the property. 76% cabernet sauvignon grapes-remember you need a minimum of 75% to keep that name of the label---are supplemented with a blend that is 19% merlot and 5% petite verdot.

Also intentionally produced in a traditional, left bank-Medoc style, the cab is filled with soft red currant and cherry flavors, the oak nuances of 18 months aging apparent primarily on the wine's lengthy finish.

"We're realistic about these wines, and when most of them will be consumed", says Brosnihan. "Although both the cab--as well as the chard--will reward a little patience, a good proportion will be sold to fine dining restaurants around the country. And that means those corks are coming out sooner rather than later".

As the tasting concludes, my traveling companion and I are separated from the rest of the group, who are being shown up to their quarters-suites-on the second story of the building. We watch the departing guests with jealous glances as we are left standing by the door.

"Surely our reputations haven't preceded ourselves", offers my friend, and we both heave an audible sigh of relief as, instead of being shown the door, we are ushered into a side foyer.

"Diego is going to be your driver this evening; we've got you two up in the cottage at the top of the hill", Brosnihan explains.

Following up a windy, gravel lane we eventually arrive at the Jordan's inimitable version of a "cottage". "This was originally built for one of the Jordan daughters", says our driver. "Now, we use it for lucky guests...", he smiles.

We are amply impressed with our appointed quarters, a tree-house of sorts with more than a few bells and whistles added in. We've got the epitome of wine-country style; a full-and stocked-kitchen; giant flat screen t.v., three bedrooms with surrounding balconies that overlook the Jordan estate...well, you get the picture.

We give our driver a special handshake, as he will be picking us up for our appointed engagement over in Healdsburg at 7 o'clock.

Just our luck to have a chauffeured livery for tonight's dinner at Cyrus, the two-star Michelin restaurant that we've chosen--over Napa's French Laundry--for the culinary pinnacle of our little journey.

I think it's finally time to get Sideways...




~ Tim Dwight

Taking the windy road to Sonoma

Taking the windy road to Sonoma

Tim Dwight | The Grapevine | August 13, 2009

To view this article as it appeared in Florida Today, click here: http://www.floridatoday.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20090813/LIFE/908130307&template=printart



"Looks like this little squiggly line here will get us over to Sonoma," say my friend says.

"Looks pretty small to me," I reply. "Are you sure that's a road and not just a fold in the map?"

For some reason, there's simply no way to get there from here. Going from a mid-point in the Napa Valley to a central location in the adjacent Sonoma Valley is neigh on impossible without having to drive nearly an hour north -- or south -- to skirt the Mayacamas range that severs the two.

Intrepid locals (and foolhardy greenhorns) can find a back-road path that wends its way connecting the Valleys, and that, of course, is where we've gotten a bit lost, apparently.

"This would be a great spot for one of those European-style train tunnels," laments my navigator. "We probably should have turned at that last gravel road." Back up, turn around, try again.

We should have expected no less when the few road signs are labeled, "grade," "divide" and -- worst of all -- "private drive."

But nevertheless, we've managed to succeed as we rumble down a final jungle-like hillside onto the floor of the Sonoma Valley. "Got to admit, that was one beautifully scenic drive," my friend says as we rumble down a final jungle-like hillside onto the floor of the Sonoma Valley.

In contrast to the compact elegance that is the Napa Valley, Sonoma seems random, rural and a bit disorganized. Grapes still represent a huge investment, agriculturally speaking, but Sonoma's farmers rely on growing many other crops as well. Apples, olives, citrus; it's not an uncommon sight to see them growing side by side with the grapevines.

Our next destination in the Dry Creek appellation of Sonoma is certainly no stranger to botanical opulence. The namesake and owner Don Carano made his fortune in the hotel and entertainment business in Reno, and he's spared no expense in creating a winery that can hold its own compared to anything back in Napa.

Dotting the hillside like something out of central casting is Carano's little piece of Tuscany. The views are spectacular. We're only a few minutes late for our appointment with Patrick Mukaida, Ferrari-Carano's director of hospitality.

After a brief inspection of some of the vineyards we tour the winery, cellars and finish in an opulent, underground tasting room. Patrick proves a convivial as well as knowledgeable guide, and he takes us through a tasting of the winery's basic line up of fume blanc, chardonnay, merlot and cabernet sauvignon, before continuing on to the reserves.

There are varietal bottlings of malbec, petite verdot, and cabernet franc along with several meritage-style blends. We've got the drill down pat now: swirl, sniff and swallow . . . make that spit for the last one.

The sun still is high in the cloudless sky above the valley, and we've got to find our way to the site of our next tasting: Jordan Vineyards.

The Napa Sojourn Continues

The Napa Sojourn Continues

Through the Grapevine | By Tim Dwight | July 30, 2009

To view the article as it appears in Florida Today, click here: http://www.floridatoday.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2009907300303.


The sunshine is streaming down from a bright, cloudless sky as we begin our early morning jaunt up to Napa Valley.

We’re departing from Livermore and the Wente Winery, where we’ve enjoyed the hospitality of a fine dinner and some great wines. In particular, one of the “small lot” bottlings, a G-S-M (grenache-syrah-mourvedre) blend from Wente will prove to be one of our trips’ most memorable wines. Probably impossible to find back on the East Coast, but…I’ll do my darndest when I get back.

Now: in the car and back on the freeway; thoughts of yesterday’s horrific traffic still on our mind. Fortunately, it proves much easier heading north behind (to the east) of the large cities that dot the Bay Area. In no time we’re on the 680 breezing past signs for Oakland, Berkeley and the suburban sprawl that reaches out for an hour or so in each direction.

Across the Benicia bridge (and a California-esqe $4 one-way toll), then north through Vallejo and finally: Route 29, and a large “Welcome to the Napa Valley” sign.

We’re starting our Napa visit with perhaps the most impressive stop on our itinerary; Harlan winery, located in the western foothills above Oakville.

General Manager Don Weaver has warned us to pay strict attention to the directions that he’s sent; there are no signs or identifying landmarks that’ll lead to their door. Harlan was founded back in the late 80’s by Bill Harlan, and it quickly became the first and foremost of Napa’s cult wineries. There’s a “waiting list” to get on the waiting list to purchase these wines, driven by repeated scores of “100 point” perfection from critics such as the estimable Robert Parker.

Distribution has never been much of an issue, because simply, there isn’t any, unless you’re fortunate enough to have joined the mailing list sometime back in the early 90’s. To be fair, some of the top restaurants in the world manage to receive a small supply, a case here or there, and if you find yourself lucky enough to be dining in one of these hallowed establishments, be prepared to shell out anywhere from $600 to $1000--a bottle--for the Harlan.

This cabernet-based red wine commands top dollar for a good reason: Bill Harlan along with his founding crew of Don Weaver and winemaker Bob Levy have set the goal of achieving perfection—as in those 100 point scores will attest.

“California wines have never been officially classified as they have been back in Bordeaux”, says Weaver, “but our point of reference has always been to establish the equivalent of a ‘first growth’ in the Napa Valley.”

No question you’ve got to invest some serious money to get to that point, and Harlan’s real estate savvy—he founded San Francisco’s Pacific Union Company back in 1985—has provided the wherewithal to achieve their dream.

“We started small, planting the original vines back in ’85 and ‘86”, Weaver explains, “now we’ve got 240 total acres here, though grapes are only planted on about 40 of them. We’re always looking for the best slopes, the best exposure to the sun.”

“The key to success here is no secret”, Weaver says, “low yields, attention to detail, and the privilege of working these hillside vines. Bill Harlan is committed to doing whatever is necessary to produce Napa’s finest Bordeaux-style blends”.

Much of the credit for the success goes to Weaver, an extremely modest sort who has worked with Harlan for over 25 years. “I’m just ‘the back of the horse’ here now” he opines on one hand, but later admits to “having to drink more of this darn wine than anyone else alive”.

Not bad work is you can get it.

Weaver leads my traveling companion and myself on a tour that begins with a bottle of (French) Champagne, enjoyed on a stone patio overlooking the Valley floor below. “That’s the site known as “Martha’s Vineyard” directly below us”, says Weaver; “I was lucky enough to have started my career with old Joe Heitz back in the ‘70s’”.

And indeed, if Harlan set to follow the success of early wineries back in that day, the legendary bottlings of Heitz’s Martha’s Vineyard were a great place to start. I remember staring wistfully at a bottle of the ’74 in a wine store back when it was originally released—and balking at spending the $40 or so it required for purchase.

Times change, and even in these tough economic straits, $40 won’t get you close to the sticker price of a bottle of Napa’s finest.

“Our yields are less than two tons (of grapes) an acre, and even then we use about ½ of the finished juice”, explains Weaver as we tour the cellars. “And these new French (Taransaud) oak barrels go for about $1,200 each. Our cabernet makes up nearly 90% of the finished product, and winemaker Bob Levy uses new oak for all of the wine.”

There are three vintages resting at various stages in the pristine cellars as we continue our tour.

“The strict selection of the finest juice lead us about a dozen years ago to establish a ‘second’ wine, called the ‘Maiden’. According to Weaver, this ensures that only the wineries’ best barrels go into the making of the flagship Harlan.

At the end of our tour, Weaver leads us into the wineries’ library, where we’re able to sample several vintages of the wine. He pours into several large Riedel glasses, and then sets them aside the ‘dump bucket’ that rests on the table.

One glance between my traveling companion and myself; you’ve gotta’ know there was no way a single drop of that wine was ever going in the bucket!