It’s been too long since I dined at Rossoblu, an Italian restaurant located in Los Angeles’ Arts District. The food is commendable, the restaurant’s interior is well designed and comfortable, and the wine list contains lots of quality.
At the end of this month I’ll visit Rossoblu again, for Taste of Italy: Ancient Rome, a family-style meal with wine pairings selected and led by Jeremy Parzen. I met Jeremy Parzen back in 2013 or 2014 in Houston, and it’s also been too long since I’ve seen him.
Steve Samson, Rossoblu’s chef.
Steve Samson, the chef at Rossoblu, has put together a menu steeped in history, and here’s what you’ll eat on July 31 if you make a reservation for the dinner:
Columella salad: fresh greens and herbs, pecorino cheese, soft-boiled egg, garum and pine nut dressing
Puls Tractogalata: farro pasta circles with roasted lamb
Stuffed porchetta: sausage and fig, honey sauce, coriander lentils
Savillum: ancient Roman cheesecake with bay leaves and honey
Parzen says he is keeping the cost of the wine pairing as low as possible. “The menu is very reasonably priced and the wine pairing (including generous pours) is priced aggressively so as to make it accessible to all. It’s a great deal and I have some awesome wines lined up,” he writes.
In my head, Trimalchio’s dinner is coming to life … toga optional.
Want a seat at the table: Here’s a link to the dinner, and I hope to see you there.
Palomino. Carnelian. Souzao. If you read those words and think, “grape varieties,” I applaud you. If, however, the words are unfamiliar, I suggest you get a ticket to The Festival of Forgotten Grapes, which will take place in Los Angeles on June 29. (If you are in the former group, you, too, should attend this event, because it’s a great opportunity to sample and purchase an outstanding and diverse lineup of wines from California producers at a great price.)
First, I know that many of you know from Dornfelder and Nebbiolo (which are both on the Forgotten Grapes Wine Club’s – the organization behind the festival – list of forgotten varieties). It’s important to note that by “forgotten” we are not talking about wine grapes that have been lost to humans in the mist of time. No, what Allison Levine and Chris Kern mean by the word are grapes that aren’t widely grown in the state. As they write, “More than 100 different grape varieties make up only 7 percent of the total planting in California.” Those grapes are the focus of the festival.
An exciting feature of this festival is the number of wineries that will be pouring their wares (click here for the full list); it’s a cornucopia of producers from the state, including San Rucci Winery, Tansy Wines, Tres Sabores Winery, and Unti Vineyards. Taste, talk to the producers about their wines, and order bottles that you like. If you live locally the Forgotten Grapes team will deliver your selections for a low fee ($15), and for those of you who reside in other locales your wine will be shipped at an economical price.
I love the idea that most of the wines that will be poured at the festival are made either from varieties planted during the settling of California, the early days of the state’s wine industry, or before the Judgment of Paris. This means you’ll taste history and take some home with you.
The Festival of Forgotten Grapes takes place at Frankie in downtown Los Angeles. VIP check-in begins at 11:30 am – I recommend going the VIP route, because the perks are worthwhile, including early admittance; a pre-tasting discussion with Wes Hagen titled “How Forgotten Grapes Became Forgotten: The Changing Landscape of California Wine Since Prohibition;” free delivery of wines that you order at the festival; and discounts on purchases of 6, 12, 24, or more bottles. VIP tickets are $75, and general admission passes are $59. (A portion of ticket proceeds will benefit Minds Matter Southern California.)
Adam Robson Chew (apt name), the head chef at Cape Lodge, is in Malibu this week, where he is teaming with Joshua Balague, executive chef at Malibu Beach Inn, in “West Coast to West Coast,” a seafood-centric dinner series that aims to highlight the culinary influences of the two locales.
Adam Robson Chew
Western Australia’s Cape Lodge, which opened in 1992, is a 22-room property in the Margaret River region – great wines are produced there – while Malibu Beach Inn’s 47 rooms hold a prime spot on the Pacific Ocean. Both lodgings are situated in beautiful environs, surroundings sure to complement meals served at the establishments’ tables.
Cape Lodge
A room at Malibu Beach Inn.
Robson Chew, who is from the United Kingdom, had worked at a number of restaurants, including Oscillate Wildly and Nomad, prior to joining the kitchen brigade at Cape Lodge. Balague, meanwhile, who credits his grandmother with sparking his passion for cooking, began working in restaurant kitchens at 16 and graduated from Cordon Bleu Pasadena in 2008. He had stints at Napa Valley’s Oenotri and in kitchens in the Bay Area and the Pacific Northwest previous to his appointment at Carbon Beach Club, Malibu Beach Inn’s restaurant.
Joshua Balague
The chefs are collaborating beginning today through June 16, and I had the opportunity to sample their wares at a preview dinner this week. My take: If you enjoy dining well above the beach on a sublime strip of the Pacific Ocean, get a reservation for the series (OpenTable is the place to book a seat).
Here’s the menu:
Amuse Bouche: Sea urchin uni on toast Baby lettuce and bottarga (Ashbrook Estate Verdelho)
First Course: Spot prawn carpaccio with heirloom tomato and spiced watermelon (2021 Cape Mentelle Sauvignon Blanc/Sémillon)
Second Course: Razor clam, green shallot, and linguine (2021 Cape Mentelle Sauvignon Blanc/Sémillon)
Third Course: Monkfish with mussel béarnaise and purslane (2021 Vasse Felix “Premier” Chardonnay)
Fourth Course: Necartarine with salted macadamia cake and blood plum granita (Ashbrook Estate Verdelho)
Fifth Course: Selection of local cheeses (2018 Cape Mentelle Cabernet Sauvignon)
The chefs told me that it took them about an hour to come up with the menu, and the uni was an inspired choice, as it began the meal in a great manner. To my palate, the monkfish dish was the highlight of the meal, and I hope only that the chefs plate a tad more monkfish than that served at the preview dinner. I’ve no doubt that the staging event allowed them to iron out the wrinkles they discovered, and the debut meal was engaging and full of flavorful touches – the fried prawn head was satisfyingly earthy.
The wines were apt and suitable, and though I was partial to the Vasse Felix Chardonnay, all paired well with the courses.
The evening will cost you $90 per person, and $50 gets you the wine pairings listed above.
If the fathers in your life love wine, you should do right by them and give them what they want on Father’s Day, no? That means bottles and books (because there are so many great books out there about wine) are in order, and I’ve put together a selection of reds, white, and sparkling wines – plus two of my favorite works on wine – that any father would appreciate receiving. It’s my 2024 Father’s Day Gift Guide, and you can read it here.
My tasting agenda has swung into high gear since my return from France (more on that soon), and the bottles are calling to me (except for a certain Riesling that’s raising its voice in a persistent manner): “Let’s go,” they say. “It’s getting crowded in here.”
Two wines that impressed me recently were made by Eric Johnson at Talley Vineyards, a family-owned winery located in the San Luis Obispo region of California’s Central Coast. I’m referring to the 2022 Estate Vineyard Pinot Noir and the 2022 Estate Vineyard Chardonnay, both of which I found stellar (and the dishes I paired them with were definitely improved by my doing so). A trip to the SLO region is on my planning calendar and I look forward to visiting and touring Talley.
When one sleeps surrounded by Chardonnay and Pinot Noir vines the essence of the fruit seems to slip into the subconscious. A final glance at the vineyard outside my room before retiring for the evening, moonlight allowing a view of the young light-green leaves, the cold air and ground working to strengthen the vines. Last night’s temperature fell to around 46. I closed the window and slept, warm under down.
Early morning mist fades away as the sun rises and warms the surroundings. The vines, the leaves, the tendrils – the tops of the trunks low to the ground, perhaps 1 foot or so in height where the green begins – appear fresh, confident even, their color uniform across the parcel. Buds are present, small, tight, promising. (Smudge pots and other weaponry against the dangers of frost abound – it’s late April in Burgundy, and though next week is forecast to bring warmer temperatures, farmers are worried.)
These vines are promise. And our tastings of various vintages this week bring to life the effort and fears and work and dreams that have been deposited into the surrounding vineyards. A 2020 Aligoté lively and fresh, a 2019 Pinot Noir flirtatious and tempting. A premier grand cru that made one’s eyes close with pleasure. That’s the promise.
“He’s gone,” my sister Julie’s words came from the phone, and in that second, on that night, it struck me: April is the cruelest month.
I looked at Angela, and I cried.
Since that night, April 12, I’ve attempted to keep my mind and heart silent and still about my father. This was — is — a reflex, an unconscious reaction, because it seems I am not able to bear thinking of him in his hospice-room bed, unable to move, or smile, or talk. I’ve not been fully successful in keeping my mind, or heart, still.
I last spoke to my father about a week before he died. He was unable to form the words he wanted to communicate, and that tore.
My father was a singer of songs. If he was awake, he was humming or whistling or singing. Some of my earliest memories are of those sounds. He had a beautiful voice.
For the past several years his songs have been silent to others, in his head only. I am certain he was singing there. That’s one thing he never stopped.
The final time I sang with my father was several years ago, shortly before he entered a nursing facility. I was helping him get to the bedroom he shared with my mother, so she could undress him and prepare him for sleep. He was using a walker then, and it was necessary for someone to accompany him. He was always in a hurry and would move so fast that the walker would roll too far in front of him, and he would fall. As I was helping him we began belting out “I Got You (I Feel Good”) as loudly as we could. His voice was weak, faltering, but the rhythm was still there, and the happiness singing always gave him was vibrantly alive in his eyes and on his face.
Knowing I’ll never again hear his beautiful voice or see the smile in his eyes makes me sad. It’s the hardest part.
My father, James Brock, Sr., was a good man. He was actually a good man. I never heard anyone — friend, colleague, relative — say anything bad about him. All of my childhood friends thought he was cool. He was cool.
There is so much more I want to write about him and his life and what he meant to so many, and I will write it, all of it, about the way he loved his wife — June 30 would have been the 60th anniversary of their wedding — and his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and how he cut a record for his mother’s birthday when he was a teenager, how he took us to Alaska and Germany and so many other places and opened the world to me … I’ll write all of it.
I miss being in the Loire Valley. I want to return to Chinon soon. I miss the air, the food, the castles, the gardens and their plants and flowers. I also miss treading upon ground once inhabited by Jeanne d’Arc and Leonardo.
And the wine there. I share a love of Cabernet Franc with Rabelais, and with Cardinal Richelieu, who had it planted it at Saint-Nicolas-de-Bourgueil. Lively and full of red fruit — cherry and raspberry — when young, and, in the best examples, so complex and sophisticated when older.
She had visions.
I’ve poured many glasses of Breton, as inhabitants of the Loire call Cabernet Franc. Abbott Breton, a monk at Bourgueil Abbey, or Abbaye Saint-Pierre de Bourgueil-en-Vallée in French, was partial to the grape and planted it on the grounds of the monastery. His care for the vines impressed the area’s inhabitants, and they wanted some of their own. The rest is delicious history.
I recently tasted a Cabernet Franc from Cakebread Cellars (2019 vintage), and a certain hilltop castle came to mind. It’s in Chinon, and one fair spring day three companions and I dined well on that hilltop among the ruins of the castle. There was cheese, perhaps Brie and Mimolette, a loaf of bread, some butter and sausage. And with the food, a bottle of Cabernet Franc.
Rabelais would have enjoyed this wine.
Cakebread’s wine is 76 percent Cab Franc, 19 percent Merlot, and 5 percent Syrah. (You can find it at your favorite merchant, or on the Cakebread site, where it is sold for $75.) It’s a lovely wine, aged 17 months in 60 percent new French oak and 40 percent neutral oak. You’ll find the typical violet notes on the aroma, something that everyone should experience and appreciate. I drank this with pork and beef meatballs … know that Cabernet Franc’s acidity makes it a suitable pairing with many foods, never a bad thing.
Drink this now, or put it aside for a few years in a cool place.
Do you know Sannio? Some of you might, but for those who have never heard the word I’d like to provide a primer and recommend some wines from the Italian region, which lies north of Naples and offers lots of value, whether one is discussing wine, travel, food, or real estate.
Perhaps the first thing to know is that Sannio is located in Campania, in Italy’s southwest. It’s a land of hills, and the soils that produce Sannio’s wine grapes are mostly limestone and sandstone beneath gravel and stone, along with some volcanic soils, which were deposited by the region’s many active, dormant and extinct volcanoes.
One interesting and notable fact about Campania’s (and Sannio’s) place in the wine world is that it is home to an astoundingly large number of native cultivars, a treasure that all lovers of wine should appreciate. Forastera, Piedirosso, Sciascinoso and Coda di Volpe Bianca are but four of the region’s grapes that deserve more exposure to the outside world. (The poverty in the region was one reason that farmers did not pull out their “old” vines and replace them with more popular and profitable names, such as merlot and cabernet sauvignon. Simply put, farmers in the area did not have the money to rip out their traditional vines.)
I tasted through a few wines from Sannio recently at a lunch sponsored by the Sannio Consorzio Tutela Vini, an organization that supports the area’s viticulture, and was impressed with the lineup. The quality on display left me with no choice but to recommend all of the following bottles to anyone looking for everyday selections at great prices. A case of any of these wines would be a welcome addition to any party or gathering.
A sparkling wine from Sannio, one that would suit nearly any occasion. (Courtesy Corte Normanna Società Agricola)
We’ll begin our Sannio tour with a sparkling wine, the Corte Normanna Società Agricola Falanghina Brut. It is made by the Charmat method, and one can find it for around $10 a bottle. The perlage here is fine and persistent, which adds to the pleasure of drinking. You’ll enjoy pairing a bottle with salade niçoise — the olives will love this sparkling — or goat cheese and a baguette. Serve chilled, of course, and be sure to have at least two extra bottles on hand, because your guests will want more than one glass.
Falanghina For You
We’ll stay with Falanghina for our next wine. It’s a grape that has a long and storied history. Some posit that it is the source of the fabled Falernian, which you might recall reading about in the Satyricon. (Others give Aglianico the nod, but no matter.) Falernian was popular in the classical Roman period, and it was a strong drink. Pliny the Elder was familiar with it, and in the 14th book of Naturalis Historia noted its high alcohol content: “It is the only wine that takes light when a flame is applied to it.”
Falanghina, an ancient grape that offers great value and taste. (Courtesy Cantina Sociale La Guardiense)
Our second bottle is from Cantina Sociale La Guardiense, a cooperative that produces a wide variety of wines, including Aglianico, Fiano, Greco and a very good Falanghina, all part of its Janare program, which was instituted to “safeguard and improve local grape varieties.” (I spent some time in Campania a few years ago and was impressed with the stewardship shown by winemakers for their indigenous plants.)
The Janare Falanghina offers tremendous value for its $11 suggested retail price, and it is remarkably friendly with food. Want to serve a white wine with aged provolone? Looking for a great pairing for baked rockfish with olives and garlic? This Falanghina is a perfect option for both scenarios.
It’s dry, possesses remarkable acidity, and leaves nothing but pleasure. (I love a good ratatouille, and look forward to popping the cork on a bottle of this wine next time I make the dish.)
A third Falanghina was on the tasting agenda during my lunch, and it was from Azienda Olivinicola Terre Stregate. If the phrase “Tre Bicchieri” means anything to you, you’ll be happy to hear that this Falanghina, named “Svelato” by the producer, has been awarded that accolade for seven years in a row. I’ve tasted previous vintages of this wine, and I am pleased to report that the quality has been maintained with this bottling. (A recent search located it for sale at K&L for $19.99.)
This wine has earned an impressive number of accolades, and deservedly so. (Courtesy Azienda Olivinicola Terre Stregate)
I love wines that offer exciting minerality, and this one has that quality in abundance. Apple, pineapple and hints of jasmine are all obvious on the nose, and you’ll appreciate the honeysuckle and lemon once you take a sip of this commendable wine. I will pair this bottle with roast chicken or mushroom pâté.
Finishing With a Red
The final wine I tasted during the Sannio seminar was from Fattoria La Rivolta — and it had the distinction of being the sole red we tasted. Aglianico del Taburno is a DOCG (Denominazione di Origine Controllata e Garantita) designation for grapes grown around Mount Taburno, and the La Rivolta offering is 100 percent Aglianico, one of Italy’s finest wine grapes, an opinion I share with Ian D’Agata — who in Native Wine Grapes of Italy, a must-have for any lover of Italian wines, writes: “Aglianico is one of the world’s great red grapes, one that is finally carving a place in mainstream wine-drinking consciousness. Along with Nebbiolo and Sangiovese, it is generally believed to be one of Italy’s three best wine grapes, but in my opinion, it is far more. At the very least, it’s one of the world’s dozen or so best wine grapes.”
Pair this beautiful wine with grilled lamb, and you will not regret the decision. (Courtesy Fattoria La Rivolta)
The La Rivolta Aglianico, in addition to being the only red wine poured at the lunch session, was also the most expensive wine of the day — the 2017 vintage is available on Wine.com for $24.99 — but it is worth that price, and, according to my palate, will reward a few years of patient aging. Drink this with grilled lamb, pastas with tomato sauce and sausage, or eggplant baked with cheese and tomatoes. It’s a robust and full-bodied wine with gorgeous fruit undergirding impressive structure.
One of the pleasures of navigating the world of wine is tasting around the globe, trying things unfamiliar to you. I urge you to become familiar with Sannio and the excellence it offers.
Poaching a whole chicken is a simple process, and the outcome is, even if one is a novice cook, always satisfying. Water, some herbs and vegetables and spices, and a bird, plus a little time, and you’re set.
I prepare a chicken in this manner perhaps once or twice a month, on average, and a week or so ago decided to add some dumplings to the mix. My grandmother, and her mother and mother-in-law, made this dish, and those meals were magical for the younger version of me, whether the kitchen and dining table were in Savannah or in the country in Collins, Georgia.
The other inspiration for the dumplings last week was Edna Lewis, a woman I wish I had known. A cake she made is one of my favorites, and her pastry-like dumplings were just as delicious.
A simple dough.
Don’t stress over the design, but if you wish, diamond shapes are a nice touch.
Hard-boiled eggs are a nice touch, and are in Lewis’ recipe, and I added spinach to the broth at the end. Kale would work, too.
Spinach and eggs, and a broth from poached chicken.
My grandmothers would have been proud.
I poached the chicken on a Wednesday, and we made tacos that night. I reduced the stock for five or six hours, and Thursday night we had chicken and dumplings.
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