The Quietest Time

The shortest day of the year is the Winter Solstice.  The fewest hours of daylight which for most means going to work in the dark and coming home still in darkness.  Living here in Tacoma, up north of the 47^th parallel, our days are even shorter, but at least we have long summer nights to look forward to.  But the solstice happens right at the zenith of the Holiday season.  Houses shining over the long nights with thousands of LED lights, casting a warm glow back through the windows to those inside as the temperature drops. 

The darkest night of the year is usually right about the day after the New Year.  Nearly everyone has the day off, and as long as it isn’t raining it is a good day to take down those Christmas lights.  Suddenly all the life and happy colors are gone, wrapped up and balls to be untangled the next year.  Or thrown out and replaced with new lights scooped up at after Christmas clearance sales.  Maybe the porch light gets turned on, but so many houses don’t bother to do that.  The street lights suddenly seem small and ill equipped to handle the darkness.  The night wins.

Just as the holidays started, I lost my job.  It doesn’t matter why, but both my laptop and my phone were not for mine to keep so I had to turn them in.  And with that, I discovered the quietest time of the year.

I hadn’t driven anywhere in at least a decade without the ability to at least call home and tell my wife where I was, how traffic was, or maybe what we should have for dinner.  On that crap of a day I sat in heavy traffic, inching my way homeward along with thousands of drivers.  I can’t be sure but it seemed like every single one of them was either talking on their phone or texting.  And since I was just sitting there driving instead of being distracted like a drunk on the road because they just have to answer that Pavlovian ping and text while driving, I really started to hate every other person.  More so than usual.

The day before I had injured my back handing out Holiday wreaths at our kid’s elementary school.  I wrenched my back so badly that once I made it home from the two plus hours of sitting in the car, I could barely get out of the car, let alone make it up the stairs to our front door.  After finally getting that pill that I couldn’t take before driving, I settled into my chair and spent the next few days with the heating pad, pain meds and TV.

By then it was the weekend, and I have always had the habit of turning off my work phone at day’s end on Friday, and only turn it on if I had to run some errands or when Monday came.  So, It took me a while before I noticed the change.  We still have a home phone, including a beautiful avocado green desk top rotary phone in the basement that rings with real nostalgia in those bells.  I’m not sure why in this day and age we have a land line, but I guess when the power goes out we can still make a phone call in the dark.  But since the cell towers will lose power there will be no one to call. 

December is the busy season, not just for the work I was doing, but for all of us.  And suddenly I disappeared from so many places.  I had relied on my work laptop as our decade old home laptop was on its last legs.  Now Web searches took what seemed like hours to find information on unemployment, health care, bills and job searches.  Emails to former contacts went unanswered for a while as everyone was busy, and my messages came from a new, unfamiliar address.  Several people had tried to text me, but that number wasn’t mine any more.  In the rush and noise of the “most wonderful time of the year”, I had entered a place that was silent. 

I didn’t go very many places, so much of what we can do now days we can do from where ever we want to be.  We bought a new computer to get into the 21^st century again but setting that up and transferring everything took the better part of a week.  And all this time I still was waiting to get a phone. I couldn’t  text my wife when she went to the store.  My teenage daughter couldn’t text me to ask if she could hang out with her friends a little longer.  She actually had to call me and ask me with her voice, using her phone for what it was intended.

The holiday season is also when most of the world uses up vacation time, letting emails pile up in the inbox to be gone through when they return.  Reaching out to contacts and friends was often met with out-of-office replies or often nothing at all.  Even the electronic world was silent.

In the dark of the new year, with cold dark days and nights, the silence was magnified.  I heard my house creaking in the wind, the clock’s ticking, the clicking of the keyboard and mouse as I searched the world. 

A fellow parent asked how could I survive without a phone.  I don’t have a computer in my pocket to answer questions, I guess I have to either know something or find out later.  I don’t have a calendar, email access or the ability to play music. I can do those things at home. 

I know that I will get a new phone soon, and once I’m back at work I will need it and all its conveniences.  But I have liked this small vacation from the need for the attention and devotion that our little electronic masters have of us.  I have enjoyed the silence.

The plane trip...from 2006

another one from my archive, from mid 2006.

The flight from Paris to Cincinnati takes about 8 hours on a good day.  Plus I’d need four more to get to Seattle. We’d been sitting on the ground at Charles de Gaulle airport for almost two hours now.

As the plane filled up, I worried about who would sit next to me.  I am 6’ 6” tall and need all the space I can get. The worst thing someone my size can get is someone the same size sitting next to them.

This time it was the opposite. A French African woman with three kids filled the three seats left in my row. The boy is about five, the girl about three and a baby girl not even one. They spoke French. I did not; I have enough trouble with English. It was clear to me that this could be a long flight.

I was just ending a very quick wine trip through many parts of France. It was six days of food and wine with no real sleep. Not that someone my size can even sleep plane in coach very well, but I thought just maybe I could try.

As the baby began to fuss for a feeding, I thought of my own wife, and wondered what some other stranger would do in this same situation. Our daughter was two and a half years old and we were due with another in less than two months.

The girl was small and shy, with bright eyes and a sweet smile.  She looked at me with reservations, this giant, albeit tired, American. Her brother wasn’t shy at all. He had no concerns of taking to me and touching my pale white skin with his fingers. This fascinated him, his tiny dark finger pressing on my big pasty arm.  I didn’t understand a word he said, except when he counted: “un, deux, trois, quatre, neuf, dix;” 1,2,3,4,9,10. Just like my daughter singing the “ABC” song over and over again.  He kept up his counting for a few minutes as we waited to taxi out of the gate.  His mother smiled at me. I think she knows that I have kids too, sometimes you can just tell.

The boy and girl finally fell asleep. The chair that I barely fit in was gigantic to them.  Finally we taxied out onto the rain soaked tarmac and prepared to take off into the dark grey sky.  They slept right through the takeoff and a good while longer until it was time for lunch.  The mom was holding the baby on her lap, and had to stack her tray on top of the girls just to be able to eat. The boy was still asleep, so I let the flight attendant stack his atop of mine. I tried to eat before he woke.  I almost finished and he sat up and looked at my food. He stuck his finger into my dessert and his mother said “non!”

There is no way the mom could help to get him his food. She was holding the baby on her lap and had the girl beside her. I was sure the boy would feed himself, I just didn’t know if he could open up the packaging they put airline food in.  I looked over at the mother and I smiled the way I hope translated to “Don’t worry, I understand.” I decided helping is better than not.  I did what I hope everyone would do. I couldn’t tell him much more than “oui” or “non”, but I helped get his food uncovered, water opened, and silverware out.  I had, for a few moments, a new family to take care of at 35000 feet.  Just one that I couldn’t even talk to.

            With a little help we made it through the meal.  And, of course, his tray ended up stacked on mine in no time.  Little boys from every country need to squirm sooner or later. I tried to read, to watch some video, but the boy was in full squirm and kick the seat mode.  I politely told him “non”, and smiled at the mother, as if to say, “I understand, kids are a handful.”

            I thought I heard her talk about Seattle, but then my French in nonexistent so I couldn’t be too sure. They could have been on the next leg of the journey with me.  I hoped that whoever they sat next to would at least try to help out.  I thought that’s what I’d been doing; trying.

            After all, boys will squirm, girls will shyly smile and babies need to be held and fed.  Kids are kids in every language, and all parents should be there to help when another parent is in need.

a trip back in time to a trip to Napa, Alexander and Sonoma Valleys

Found this one in my archive while moving files to a new computer...a trip to Northern California wine country back when I worked for Unique Wine Co., a distributor in Washington.  From 2005.

Cabernet, Cheese, and Shiny New Tanks

Making wine is simple. Grow some grapes, crush them up and let the juice go crazy for a while in a tank or barrel.  Stick it in a bottle and sell it.  Anyone can do it.  Of course the grapes have to be good, from a good vineyard, and you can’t let them go off in a wrong direction.  Barrels are expensive, and so is all the equipment you need to keep your precious juice from going off.  And then there are labels, corks, bottles, capsules, boxes, vineyard maintenance, market research, loads of corkscrews and hats with your name on them, entry fees, taxes, hiring a sales person, more taxes, posting issues, label approval, more taxes, loans to pay, and the like. It is a wonder anyone can make a good bottle for less than a thousand dollars.

We have the fortune of selling this marvelous elixir, pushing grape juice in bars and bistros, stores and shops from B-Ham to B-Vue, Olympia to the Olympic Mountains and all small spots in between.  Luckily, every year or two we get the pleasure of traveling down to one of the sources of fine wines to see, firsthand, how the magic happens.  Late April in the Napa and Sonoma Valleys is just before the buds turn to flowers.  Grape vines are just beginning to stretch out their tendrils to the sun.  The tourists might be around for the weekend, or spring break, but it is mostly a time to see the locals.  These are not big towns, this is still farm country.  Warm enough some days to wear shorts, but you should be smart enough to bring a coat for the cool evenings.  Twenty-Two salespeople descended from the wet northwest on the two valleys. This is our story, and it begins at an In-N-Out.

Wednesday Morning, just outside Sacramento.

We missed it last time, and, by God, Phil wouldn’t let that happen again.  Like pilgrims to Mecca, we had to stop at the home of the Double-Double.  A constant stream of cars in the In-N-Out drive-thru is a testament to the marketing power and money making genius that has turned a simple menu with only three items into a phenomenon.  Nothing satisfies the hunger left from a fine in flight meal of pretzels like a “number one”: double-double, fries and a coke.  Of course, a few had to have two burgers; little did they know that hunger would not be a problem on this trip.  But it was good to build a foundation for the coming assault on our stomach, liver, and palate.

Caves and Art.

The concrete and chain stores of the central valley slowly give way to the rolling hills of Napa Valley.  The meandering farms with cows and sheep change to well defined, striped rows of vines stretching from the industrial park of the south, home to barrel makers, cork suppliers, warehouses and bulk producers, up north past familiar names that have made Napa what it is in the public’s eye today.  Driving up the eastern edge of the valley to the edge of the Stag’s Leap District, we came upon a familiar place, but not like we last left it.  We were in fact late, but we had to feed the In-N-Out urge, and I must point out that it was the only time that we were actually late.  A familiar face greeted us at the newly recreated Cliff Lede Vineyards.  Our old friend Michael Updegraff was waiting to show us what had become of the old S. Anderson facility, now redesigned as a homage to Art, luxury, and Stag’s Leap wines.  When the Anderson family sold their tiny Bubbly producer, Vancouver, B.C. wine lover Cliff Lede found the perfect place to make the Bordeaux style wines he loved.  A Canadian who loved the French wines, but somehow didn’t speak French, he decided that Stag’s Leap would have to do. 

The old champagne caves were damp and musty, empty of the riddling racks that used to fill them.  They waited refurbishing to bring them up to the level of the much larger addition to the caves that drove straight back into the hill behind the new winery.  These were state of the art caves, even having sprinklers.  Cutting down on those common caves fires is really important to Californians.  New caves, new winery and a new, young winemaking “hedonist” named Michelle Edwards showed us that Cliff Lede is serious about making world class wines. Think “luxury lifestyle”, these wines are Rolls Royces in a bottle.  The reds are dark and intense, graceful and elegant.  The Sauvignon Blanc is like Audrey Hepburn in a white dress, classic.  Needless to say, the place was way too nice for a lot like us, so after we ate our first batch of cheese, we had to move on.

Taking the Cabernet Challenge.

Dinner was at a new winery, to us, called Rutherford Ranch.  The same winemaker that brought us Pepperwood Grove, (when it was still good)  Bob Broman, is now creating great value Napa Valley wines, as well as value California wines under the Round Hill label.  Tasting the Napa wines side by side with well known wines like Cakebread Chardonnay and Jordan Cabernet, certainly made those wines seem overpriced, and the Rutherford Ranch wines seem like a steal.  A fine meal of cheeses, olives, greens, and a big juicy steak topped it off.  A certain veggie in our group didn’t want to cause a scene by asking for a different plate.  But once that big hunk of meat showed up, she quickly decided to ask for a different dish with less flesh, more twigs and gravel. We headed back to the hotel; it was a much nicer place than we were used to.  On past trips the Kelseyville Motel was right up our alley.  We are either getting more sophisticated, or old.  Or both.  But some of us still felt young, and Morgan Zaninovich, whose family owns the winery, convinced us to join him for a few drinks at the hot and happening local hangout in Napa called Downtown Joes. Morgan’s family is huge in the table grape business as well. The odds are better than most that if you have eaten a grape from California or Chile, including the Organic ones, that you have eaten some of their grapes. The crowd at Joe’s was definitely younger than us, but Napa isn’t San Francisco, and there are not a lot of places to go. We didn’t exactly close the place down, but not for lack of trying.  Besides, a breakfast of hearty Zinfandel was waiting.

Thursday Morning, standing outside our armada of minivans.

Nine A.M. came fast and loud and we were soon standing in the driveway of Aldo’s house, in front of the Black Chicken vineyard.  Bob Biale and Dave Pramuk were there to take us on a tour of some of the best Napa Valley Zinfandel Vineyards.  There is something special about standing amongst the knotty old vines of Aldo’s Vineyard and drinking the wine from those vines that make it all seem clear.  Normally I wouldn’t drink a high octane monster Zin before lunch, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices.  We also stopped to see the Grande Vineyard, drink some more Zin, and revel in the grace and power that is Robert Biale wines.  Even with the extraction and depth, the vineyards really do shine through in the wines.  It’s also a testament to Bob that people like the owners of the Grande Vineyard call him to have their fruit.  These are wines that reflect the old vineyards of Napa, farms that have been there for generations as the specter of encroaching progress pushes against their borders.  There’s nothing quite like the dedication of keeping and preserving old gnarly Zin vines that grow right next to housing developments filled with $800,000 McMansions. 

Biale has a new winery; they finally have their own little place to tend to their wines. Al Perry will make the wine here, too, as soon as the fire department gives their final approval.  These are wines that express the vineyards; I would call them elegant power.  So refined on the surface, but boiling with depth and extraction underneath. Thankfully there was no cheese course here, just some delicious spinach frittata that Bob’s mom made just for our visit.

Lunch on the Right Bank of Napa.

Driving up highway 29, we turned down a small road that is next to the Temple of Bob, the excessive palace that is Opus One.  We crossed over the Napa River, which is unlike the benches to the west.  It is more alluvial from the flooding of the river over the years.  Andre Tchelistcheff told Clarke Swanson that this was land for Merlot.  Even though famous Neighbors like Silver Oak and Groth were growing Cabernet.  He must have known something about this “Right Bank” of the Napa River.

 The Swanson Oakville vineyard is planted mostly to the Merlot that is their main bottling.  Lunch this day was going to be a relaxed affair under the shade of the oak trees on the lawn, surrounded by vineyards.  A nice meal of lasagna and the most amazing walnut and olive bread was just perfect.  We met the new winemaker, Chris Phelps, who came from stints at Caymus and Dominus.  We also had the chance to drive over and see the Schmidt Ranch vineyard, home of the Cabernet and Syrah blend called “Alexis”, as well as see the Pennsylvania Oak staves seasoning in the sun, waiting years before they are made into barrels.  They have enough “barrel kits: some assembly required” for the next four years, having just sent a load off to be transformed.  Chris isn’t sure if they will always use this type of oak, he is playing with some French as well, but there certainly is a commitment to the process.  The wines show that they have chosen the right grapes for the vineyards.  The Merlot is all plums and cocoa, very elegant and smooth.  The Pinot Grigio might be the best in America, certainly the most interesting and refined.  The Alexis is powerful and deep.  The Schmidt Ranch used to be the home of the Thackery Orion wines, and you can taste the vineyard in this wine. 

It was hard to get up from the table after drinking and eating such wonderful things, but there is no rest on wine trips.

And now for something completely different.

We were promised a surprise.  We were also promised that it wouldn’t be a stop to drink port and ice wine after drinking lots of other wine.  A brief respite from all the eating and drinking was awaiting us at the Yountville Bocce courts.  Michael Hutchinson, of Olé Imports, was standing, with a bottle of Cava in one hand and a set of Petánque balls in the other.  Pilling out of the vans, we all shared in a toast to our newest Spanish importer and the great wines we just received. 

It would be fair to say that the games that followed did get a little competitive.  Bocce balls are bigger than Petánque, and the court is a bit longer.  But even though some people didn’t really know all the rules, a spirited competition was soon underway.  I won’t say who won, but I will say that Scott’s team lost in the finals.  Ro and Charlene were understandably uninterested in joining the testosterone filled competition.  Our tournament ended too soon, but we had to go to the mountain.

Going to the Mountain.

Twisting and turning up a steep road, past ranches with horses and llamas, and a smattering of vineyards, we only got lost once.  But eventually we wound our way up a small road that led us to the mountaintop home of Robert Craig winery.  Spreading out before us from this Howell Mountain perch was a breathtaking view of the entire Napa Valley.  We had come to the mountain to live and love the Cabernet that mountain fruit can create.  Our beloved wine loving madman Elton Sloan was just getting off his BMW motorcycle to welcome us.  He introduced us to Robert himself, as well as the young winemaker Chad Alexander. 

We sat around and marveled at the awesome view, and shivered in the strong winds as we tasted the fantastic Durell Chardonnay, and their Zin and Syrah.  But this is a winery that is all about Cab.  We had the chance to enjoy the Affinity Cab from the floor of the valley. The Affinity is bright and juicy, really solid and certainly a fan favorite type of Cab.  Then we dove into the two mountain cabs; the equally intense and seductive Mt. Veeder and Howell Mountain bottlings.  If you really want to show off, grab a mountain cab.  Either one will do, the “screaming good” (Elton said that) Mt Veeder, or the darker and deeper Howell Mountain.  These wines are like the above motorbike screaming down a winding mountain road.  One is red, one is black. You just have to pick one. 

Our last trip to the valleys was concentrated in Sonoma, and we said that all we ate was Lamb, and cheese, to feed the lamb.  But in Napa, it’s about the beef.  And some cheese, too.  Great food, with some more glasses of great wines (including a barrel sample of the ’02 Howell Mountain Cab), made a wonderful evening.  Only the brave were sitting outside under the heaters so we could watch the sun go down over the hills.  It wasn’t that cold. But then we got to climb into our heated vans, and Elton had to drive his bike down the mountain in the cold, dark night.

We did get cold enough that we needed to stop at the store on the way back to the hotel to stock up on beer, crown royal and munchies for the night.  We took over the patio and fire pit at the hotel, as we seem to do most places, and enjoyed a nice cigar and a stiff drink.  These trips are such hard work.

Not just Napa.

This trip was about Cabernet and new wineries.  But not just about the Napa Valley.  We woke up early on Friday and set off, driving up through the valley to the place where a glacier had closed off and redirected the Russian River that formed Napa.  The people in Napa don’t like to talk about how there valley was created by that river in Sonoma, but geology doesn’t lie.  The Napa River isn’t big enough to carve out a gulley, much less a valley.

Over the pass lies the Alexander Valley.  It is long and narrow, with a diverse set of microclimates. The south is cooler, more suited to Merlot, Chardonnay and even Pinot Noir.  The middle and northern parts are much warmer, home to Cabernet. 

Geyser Peak has been in the Alexander Valley since 1880, though it is not a small, quaint facility with rustic presses and old barrels in the courtyard.  This winery is on the cutting edge of quality, even the big boys have come up to see the rotary fermenters and bladder presses.  Rotary fermenting works faster than regular, but you do have to make sure that fermentation is done before you move it to tanks; especially those without air locks.  This was illustrated nicely by the tank that looked like it had exploded from the inside, without bursting.  Kind of like a beer can left too long in the freezer. 

Aussie native Mick Schroeter is the head winemaker here, and he showed us about as we tasted through some of their wines.  The clear winner here is the Sauvignon Blanc.  It’s almost like a Kiwi wine, but at a much better price.  It was very refreshing to drink out on the new patio as we sat down with a bunch of winery folks for lunch of lamb (finally!) and chicken.  We also drank a few of the reserve reds, though the temperature was much hotter than other days, so it was tough to put down the Sauvignon Blanc.  We did manage to talk them into a taste of sparkling Shiraz, which sadly is only available at the winery. 

I won’t bother to write about the effect the heat had on Brent and his stomach, as it isn’t nearly as funny as the time when Ro lost it coming back from Steele.  But needless to say, Brent was hurting.  Though it should be noted that he was raring to go by dinnertime.

Coffee and vineyards.

By God we needed coffee.  You can take the North Westerner out of the Northwest, but you better give them coffee.  The poor woman in the Italian restaurant in Geyserville (population about 1400) was probably terrified out of her mind to have all these coffee snobs descend on her small espresso maker asking for drinks no Californian has ever ordered correctly.  Properly caffeinated, we made the arduous drive a whole mile to our next stop, at a vineyard perched overlooking the town. 

Our old friend John Helfrick was waiting to introduce us to winemaker Nick Goldschmidt and his wife Yolyn.  Nick has traveled the world making wines, and now has a new project that brings that experience in focus.  A long table, covered in white linen, sat beside rows of vines.  A small table of cheese (Yay!) and a large bucket of ice to keep the wines cool was beside the easel that announced that class was in session.  In a short hour or so, we learned more about taste, grapes, wine, vineyards, and sheep jokes about Australians from our New Zealand born Professor Nick than we expected.  Apparently, all the jokes about sheep involve Australians; it seems to be the national kiwi sport.

The wines of Forefathers include and zingy New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, and powerful McLaren Vale Shiraz, and a Cabernet from the Alexander Valley vineyard right next to our seats.  Also, under the Goldschmidt Vineyards label, is a pair of reserve Cabernets from the Alexander and Napa Valleys.

I would personally recommend that you never buy a car from a rental agency.  Not because they aren’t a good deal.  But because more than likely someone like me has gone off roading down a vineyard access road at speeds that even brand new minivans should not be driven.  But you can go ahead and buy one if you like, just stay away from the gold Chevy Uplander that smells like cheese and wine. It turns out those minivans aren’t as wimpy as they seem.

A storm is a coming.

The day had started out clear and warm. The Alexander Valley is pretty toasty, and we all enjoyed the A/C as we headed down into the Sonoma Valley.  But the weather was taking a turn for the worst.  Clouds were rolling in from the San Francisco Bay and over the Coastal range.  We were headed to the Russian River area to visit Paul Hobbs. 

When we last visited the winery, Paul had just planted the vines, and all that was there was a small rambler of a house that would look at home in any subdivision in America.  The vines were much larger now, and the house was still there this time, but it was up on blocks at the entrance to the driveway looking ready to be moved or trashed.  It turns out a neighbor wanted the house.  But after three years, it’s still sitting there. 

We missed out seeing Paul; he is a busy man making wine in two hemispheres.  But we did get to see the new winery. It’s not a Château or Estate, but a solid example of how to build a winery for the wine, and for the place.  Three small buildings that had a modern look them, one for crushing and fermenting, one for barrels, and one for storage and offices.

As usual, it was a treat to taste his Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and Cabernet, both the current releases and barrel samples.  The wines are so well crafted, so extracted and juicy.  Amazing and seductive, these are wines of great class. 

But the storm was coming, and we sadly had to say good bye.

Sausages

It should be noted at this point that the group divided up.  Most drove back through an unbelievable torrential downpour to the hotel, where many ended up going out for Mexican food.  We had had enough meat, cheese and meat, and thought we should have meat, cheese, beans and chips.  That and we needed a margarita.

We followed that up with another night out at Downtown Joe’s. It looked like the same crowd, plus their parents. We watched some tourists from Seattle (what are the chances?) who made fools of themselves on the dance floor.  Plus the constant parade of overconfident guys in their matching Friday-Night-Shirts making vain attempts at scoring with the lady in the pink shirt who was slowly getting wasted on white Zin.

A few others went to visit our old friend Lance Cutler for an evening of way too much food and wine. They say they ate too many sausages, but why did the guys stop at a taco truck to get more food?  This makes no sense. But what happens in the valleys, stays in the valleys.  Including most of what Sketch ate.  On the side of the van. 

He did say that he felt much better than the others did the next day.

Sonoma or bust.

Saturday morning we dragged our aching bodies over to see our friends at Gundlach Bundschu.  Diana and Susan were there waiting to show us the newly remodeled tasting room, when hiking down with a backpack full of umbrellas came the one and only Jeff Bundschu, and his much better half, Liz.

Our plan was to hike up the mountain behind the winery, but Jeff was afraid the rains might come again.  We had to tell him that real Washingtonians don’t use umbrellas.  We just buy more sunglasses than anyone else because we lose them in the long gaps between the sunny days.

A nice tasting of the Block 13 wines in the almost finished tasting room, with some fantastic Sonoma goat cheese, was our refueling for the hike.  Some of the more “seasoned”, “old” and “still sick” members of our troupe decided to be driven up the hill.  But most of us set off on a hike up the access road above the 145 year old Rhinefarm Estate.  At our first stop, we stood at a clearing and overlooked the lower part of the vineyard where the Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and Gewürztraminer grow.  Then we tasted the two zingy whites and snacked on some more cheese.  We continued to hike up the hill that would not end, drinking lots of water along the way, until we reached the top. A nice breakfast spread of Oregon blue cheese, Sonoma Chévre and fresh fruits was waiting to be enjoyed with a tasting of the Gun Bun reds, including the fantastic 2001 Vintage Reserve Cabernet.  Jim Bundschu buzzed us twice in his small plane as we stood atop the hill surveying the breadth of Sonoma. 

You could see the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance, and the variation of the Sonoma Valley below.  From the cool Carneros to the warmer mountainsides, Sonoma is much more varied than Napa.  Rhinefarm itself is a microcosm of the valley.  Carneros like conditions in the lower vineyards, and warmer Bordeaux varietal areas above the fog line.

It is always good to see the Bundschus, and share their fantastic wines.

A visit to the “Cathedral”.

We drove through the town of Sonoma, past the houses and stores, up the side of the mountain to the home of the best Chardonnay and Pinot Noir in the new world.  Hanzell has been producing these incredible wines since the 1950’s at their estate that is modeled after Clos de Vougeot.  This is Burgundy in California, wines of amazing elegance and complexity.  Hanzell wines age for decades.  They are one of the few wineries in California that not only can say that, but have bottles to prove it. 

Good friend of the Bundschus and son of longtime winemaker Bob Sessions, Ben Sessions was waiting with National Sales Educator Armen Khacheturian to show us around.  A brand new winery, with custom made “tanquitos” (little 300 gallon tanks), and a long monastic cave with a chandelier made from a barrel that you have to see to describe, were the technical side of the tour. 

But it was the visit to the library that really got us excited.  Although on this trip we wouldn’t taste older vintages, to see racks with bottles of Chardonnay and Pinot Noir going back to the 50’s was awe inspiring.  It was like going to church.

In a surprising twist on tasting their wines, we sat down before our lunch and tasted the current releases of Hanzell beside a grand cru Burgundy and a Corton-Charlemagne.  It would be impossible to pick any of the wines as the best; they were all ethereal and beautiful.  But it illustrated that Hanzell belongs in the class of fine Burgundy, at a much more realistic price.  They are still expensive, but they are worth it.

Drinking fine Burgundy and Hanzell with our lunch, which ended with a great cheese course, was the epitome of why we do what we do.  Living is good, and wine brings people together to live and share.  Once again, it is hard to beat a visit to Hanzell.

Hanging on by a thread.

Thankfully, we didn’t try to top Hanzell.  We had a nice break scheduled to allow us to relax.  Most went back to the hotel, though some of us stopped in Sonoma to get a nice refreshing beer.  On a wine trip, beer is better than coffee.  It perks you up just enough, and really cleans the palate.

We were almost late to our last stop of the day; service was slow getting us our second beer.  But down in American Canyon we pulled up to a large warehouse with a small sign on the door.  We had no idea how impressive and huge the winery inside would be.  Cartlidge and Brown is a great value brand made here by winemaker Paul Moser.  What really brought home the message about the quality was the chance to barrel taste some of the components of the Cabernet, as well as to taste some of Paul’s abilities in the tasty Durell Vineyard Pinot Noir he had off in a spare tank.  The wines are solid across the board, and it was really nice to meet the people who bring the wines to us, and share a nice dinner in the barrel room.  What we do is so different than what winery people do, and the exchange of ideas was refreshing; it allowed us to understand them, and allowed them to understand what we have to do to get their product out to the public.

It should also be noted that they do lots of custom crush and bottling for other wineries.  This warehouse was huge, well over 100,000 square feet.  And I have never seen so much wine stacked so high.  Picture a stack of 4 palates of wine, without the palates, just shrink wrapped.  Now picture a row about 150 feet long.  Now picture 10 rows.  This was just one bottling of Barefoot they were doing.  And distributors always complains that they have lots of wine in their warehouse.

Slipping away.

I don’t think very many of us went out that night.  Too much wine and cheese.  I retreated to my room to finish off some of the extra cab we brought back from Hobbs and Goldschmidt and watched the Sonics give the Sacramento Queens a good thrashing.  A fairly early night for most of us, I guess we are getting old.

Breakfast was at the hotel with our good friend Jeff Dye.  Jeff now brings us Oak Grove and Oak Hurst.  After the loss of our good friend Frank Corey, we are very happy to know that these great brands that are important to Unique are in the hands of someone we know.

The trip always ends with a whimper, by the time we stopped for a lunch of In-N-Out; most of us couldn’t handle a double-double again, and retreated to Del Taco for something lighter, all except Jerome and his 2 pound burrito.  After we gassed up the vans as well, it was off to the excitement of waiting for our plane to be delayed so we could go home.

We did what?

These trips to the wine country are about connecting with the people and the places that make the wine what it is in the bottle.  This trip was not just about Cabernet and Cheese; it was seeing new wineries and meeting new people.  But it was also a great chance to understand what these wines really are, and who these people are that bring this joy to our life.  Every trip we learn something new, even at places we have seen before. 

Just let me lose a few pounds gained this trip, and I am ready to go back.

More Wine!