Mise en Place

Month: December 2017

This list is small, but it's packed with interesting bottles.

First Impressions: Nobie’s Has Some Good Stuff Going On

December 26, 2017 / / 0 Comments

A busy and inviting bar, suitable lighting — neither too bright or jarring, nor too dark so as to cause discomfort— a small but considerable wine list, and a menu created with thought. All good things, yes?

I experienced all that, and more, this past week in Houston, at Nobie’s, a welcoming (and, on the evening of my visit, my first to the restaurant, bustling) place set up in a former residence in a neighborhood street off of Kirby. It opened in the fall of 2016, so all things should be firing well, and based on my meal, they are.

I arrived earlier than my date, so took a stool at the bar. It was a Thursday, and all bottles of sparking wines are half off on that day. I ordered a Spumante (100 percent Arneis) from Malvira and was glad the bartender poured it into a wine stem. Light and fizzy, aromas of peach and white flowers, and pleasantly dry — no residual sugar here. Most of the seats at the bar were occupied, some guests with plates of food before them, others drinking only. Go to this bar, and if whisky is your thing, go on Wednesday, when all whiskies are half off.

Shrimp and grits at Nobie’s

We sat outside to dine, and began with a dish they’ve named “Bohemian Radishy.” Yes, there are lots of radishes on the plate, perhaps too many for the amount of crab dip served. (I write that because I loved the crab dip, all speckled with trout roe, and wanted more.)

Next came “Bang Bang Shrimp & Grits” and “Surf n’ Swine.” The former’s grits were definitely the stoneground variety, rich and creamy and dotted with hot sauce. The crustaceans were not overdone, something I encounter far too often in these parts, and I liked the crunchy texture provided by their shells.

The seafood and pork dish was served in a small cast-iron cocotte, and the clam and chorizo played off of one another marvelously. The pork was smoky and tender and reminded me of my great-grandmother’s ham and peas. What’s better than that?

This pie: Oreo crust, and a salty, rich peanut butter, plus fresh whipped cream

Well, our dessert came close. A pie with an Oreo crust (minus the white filling of the cookie, thank goodness) topped with a decadently creamy and slightly salty peanut butter. Share this with someone you like.

Sara Stayer (Courtesy Nobie’s)

Martin Stayer (Courtesy Nobie’s)

First impressions matter, of course, and I’ll return to Nobie’s soon. Martin Stayer, who’s done the rounds of some fine kitchens in Chicago, runs the back of the house, and Sara Stayer, to whom he is married, has the front of the house under relaxed but professional control. The menu changes often, so consult it before you go. But do go.

Nobie’s is at 2048 Colquitt Street.

Christmas Eve Cooking: This Year, It’s Bok Choy, Pork, and Rice Noodles

December 24, 2017 / / 2 Comments

I come from a long line of Southern cooks (that’s that terribly interesting and crazy and beautiful and frustrating region in the United States of America that’s produced some of the best writers known to man, along with some of the best food and cooks anywhere) who begin planning their Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts every year on December 26, people who never miss a date with a giant pot of black-eyed peas and collard greens on New Year’s Day. Tradition, spiced up by something new every year, a recipe or dish that my mother wanted to make, was the comforting norm, and that is a good thing. I taste still my grandmother Ida’s cornbread stuffing, and it’s been 15 years since I’ve actually put a spoonful of it in my mouth.

This year is going to be a bit different, however. Christmas Eve dinner’s main course will star pork and rice noodles and lots of bok choy (plus garlic and ginger and Thai chiles and cilantro and scallions and a good bottle or two of Riesling). Angela and I will be cooking with a friend who lost her mother this year; she also dealt with the death of her dog. Loss is everywhere all the time, of course, but this woman, whom I met only recently, is full of life and spirit and hope. It’s a lesson to me, her determination to tackle her grief while at the same time saying “yes” to life, embracing and respecting the sadness but pushing for communion and solace. She invited Angela and me into her home to cook and share a meal, and that’s as good a tradition as any.

I’m missing my parents this year — I spent Christmas with them last year — and making the distance worse is the reality that my father is dealing with a disease that has forced him to use a walker. He doesn’t sing any longer, but the songs are still in his smiling eyes. I’ll travel down to Florida next year to be with them in December, and I hope to start planning the meal with my mother soon. I want to recreate one of our holiday meals of yore, with all the trimmings. And I’ll bake the best chocolate cake that’s ever existed.

Here’s the recipe for the pork and rice noodles, if you want to make your own. I based it on one I found in The New York Times.

Ingredients: 

5 heads baby bok choy
2 ounces ginger root (choose one that fills the palm of your hand)
10 ounces thick rice noodles
3 tablespoons peanut oil
1.5 pounds ground pork
1.5 cups soy sauce
3 tablespoons rice wine vinegar
3/4 cup sliced scallions
4 garlic cloves sliced thinly (so one can see through them)
1 thai chile, stemmed and seeded (or 2 chilis, if you prefer if hotter)
3 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds
2 tablespoons (or more) sesame oil
cilantro or basil, torn
black vinegar (feel free to use balsamic vinegar as a substitute)

How to cook it:

Wash bok choy thoroughly, and shake off excess water. Cut green leaves from the stalks, then slice the stems thinly (discard the woody, thick bottoms of the stalks). Peel a good chunk of the ginger, perhaps 2 ounces of it, and finely chop half of it and matchstick the rest.

Heat half of the oil in a large skillet over medium heat, then add pork and cook until browned and cooked through, using a fork or spoon to break it into small pieces. Season with salt, 2 tablespoons of soy sauce, and 1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar. Stir well and taste, then remove mixture to a bowl.

Bowl water in a kettle; put rice noodles in a large bowl (heat it first in water if you are worried about the heat cracking it). Pour bowling water over noodles and stir, then let them sit for one minute. Drain the noodles, then rinse them in cold water and let them drain again, well.

Pour the remaining peanut oil into the skillet and turn heat to medium. Next, add half of the scallions, the garlic, the chile, and the chopped ginger. Cook for 2 minutes or so, allowing the flavors to mingle and intensify. Now’s when you add the bok choy stalks, and more oil if desired. Cook the stalks until they begin to soften, 2-3 minutes. Next, add the bok choy leaves and the pork to the skillet, and stir and cook all a few minutes longer.

Add the noodles to the skillet a bit at a time, so they untangle, along with the remainder of the soy sauce and  the rice wine vinegar. Heat through gently, taste for salt, and season as you desire. (I add more soy and rice wine vinegar, most of the time.)

When the mixture is hot, pour it into a large serving bowl, then toss the torn cilantro or basil on top and bring to table. Lay the ginger matchsticks in a small bowl and pour the black or (balsamic) vinegar over them, put the scallions in a small bowl, and sit down. Pour more wine, and enjoy.

Whatever you are cooking and drinking this year for the holidays, do it with love and share it all with good people.

The Paratha-dilla: I can't get enough of it.

Eat This Today (In Houston): The Paratha-dilla Stuffed With Lamb at Himalaya

December 22, 2017 / / 1 Comment

Yes, there are still plenty of people (unfortunate souls) who have not experienced the (almost aways) excellence that is Himalaya, Kaiser Lashkari’s restaurant that features plastic-covered tables and valiant but often-frustrating service, but some of the best food in the sprawling region that is the Houston metropolitan area. It is, to my palate, the best Indian-(Pakistani) restaurant around, and the righteousness of my opinion was again confirmed about a week ago.

I’ve had most everything on Lashkari’s menu, including the masala fried chicken and the chicken fried steak, both of which are excellent dishes, as well as the saag paneer and any number of varieties of biryani. I’ll continue to order those. But now I’m raving about something I had never had before until a week or so ago, and that is the Paratha-dilla made with lamb. Raves are not sufficient for this. It is, with no exaggeration, one of the best things I’ve eaten in a restaurant this year.

Parathas are unleavened flatbreads indigenous to the Indian subcontinent — from the words “parat” and “atta” … or “layers of cooked dough” in English — and they can be wonderful when made by a skilled person, or leaden and dull when made by sloppy hands. I’ve had many of both types, and the one at Himalaya is decidedly in the former group. Light in texture, yet substantial; flaky as opposed to dense and doughy. In short, comfort food at its best. But at Himalaya, they’ve been combined with the “dilla” of “quesadilla” and transformed into something altogether miraculous.

The Paratha-dilla with lamb, ground and full of spices, and served with onions and masala sauce and tomatoes and cilantro, hits all of the senses with aplomb and confidence. The flaky and moist bread almost melts into the lamb, and a bite including the onions and tomato and cilantro and sour cream? It’s a thing of beauty, in the most sensual sense of the word.

Lashkari loves a good mash-up — he’s got a Smoked Brisket Masala and Shrimp Masala and Grits rotating on his menu now, among other creations — and the Paratha-dilla is one of his best. (And for anyone who doesn’t know, Himalaya is BYOB, so drink well.)

Last Night I Dreamed About Charlie Trotter — Then the Morning Became Odder

December 21, 2017 / / 0 Comments

I have phases during which I vividly recall my dreams, and I’m in one now. I wake up, and the images and action and scenes and dialog seem burned into my synapses. I retell the “stories” to myself and write them down in a notebook, and I also, from time to time, think I figure out why I dreamed what I did. Just as often, I cannot fathom the reason for the dreams, and simply enjoy the mise-en-scène. I am doing that as I write this, and Charlie Trotter is on my mind.

You see, last night I dreamed a Chicago dream, and Charlie Trotter and I hung out and ate and drank together, and we walked up and down sidewalks and streets and ended up at his townhome, late in the evening. We sat in his kitchen — as I imagined it … I never set foot in Trotter’s kitchen, or his home for that matter — and the hours passed and the conversation flowed. We cooked breakfast as the sun rose.

What did we talk about? I can remember France, and a trip down a canal on a barge, a pet Trotter had as a child, his father’s car, and the wallpaper of a hotel room in Paris. Earlier in the dream — it was winter, a Chicago winter — the steam coming from our mouths and nostrils as we stood under a streetlight and talked seemed especially visceral, though I have not the faintest idea why. Also, the condensation on his eyeglasses sticks in my mind.

The overall feeling of the dream is comfort, despite Trotter’s infamous personality. We apparently were friends, as we discussed trips we had been on together, wines we had shared. It was, as opposed to many dreams I have, unencumbered by the slightest sense of anxiety or angst or conflict. It left me feeling warm and part of a network of grace and kindness.

In 2009, I met Charlie Trotter in Abu Dhabi at a dinner he prepared.

Why, or how, did the morning become odder, odder than the dream itself? Because, in what seems a Jungian shadow-happening, the first email message I clicked on this morning while giving a few minutes to the ongoing process of clearing out my inbox included two photos of Charlie Trotter and me, taken in 2009 in Abu Dhabi. I decided to delete emails with the .ae suffix, and the message containing those images — which I had forgotten about — was the first one on the resultant search list. I opened it, unaware of the attached photos, and sat and pondered.

I’m not sure why it happened, and I don’t have a lot of time right now to figure it out. Nor do I know why I dreamed about Trotter and hanging out with him in Chicago. Perhaps reading about the closing of Grace was the impetus? Who knows … Dreams are mysterious, their meanings can be evasive and perplexing. I’ll figure this one out, eventually. Until then, I’ll relish those feelings of grace and warmth, and the sensual experiences of cooking, drinking, and eating with the departed chef.

The Petaluma Gap AVA was born on December 7, 2017. (Courtesy Petaluma Gap Winegrowers Alliance)

Welcome to the World, Petaluma Gap AVA!

December 20, 2017 / / 0 Comments

It happened earlier this month, and in celebration of the event I opened a bottle of Pfendler Chardonnay, an appropriate and worthy choice. I’m talking about the official recognition of the Petaluma Gap American Viticultural Area (AVA), and the people who’ve spearheaded the move deserve a round of applause. (For those of you who don’t know what an AVA is, click here.)

The Petaluma Gap AVA comprises 4,000 acres of vineyards and 200,000 acres of land; 75 percent of those vines produce Pinot Noir, while Syrah and Chardonnay make up most of the remaining plantings (other grape varieties come in at less than 1 percent of the total in the AVA). The area is known for the wind and fog that visit it daily, and generally slower ripening times, which can result in the development of some fine flavors and the preservation of natural acidity, something good for everyone.

Eighty or so winegrowers, along with nine wineries, call the AVA home, and one of them is Pfendler Vineyards, the producer of the bottle I opened to celebrate the AVA’s birth. Kimberly Pfendler, the founder of the winery, sent me some thoughts about the recognition of the area:

I’ve long called the Petaluma Gap the most exciting emerging wine region in California, and the AVA recognition is a big step towards building awareness for our wines. My late-husband Peter Pfendler was one of the original pioneers of the Petaluma Gap, and began planning grapes here as early as 1992 and was the first to plant what is now known as the Gap’s Crown. Unfortunately, our signature fog and wind, which make the Petaluma Gap so interesting, were not a good fit for the Cabernet vines he planted. When I started Pfendler Vineyards 10 years ago I made it our goal to capture the Petaluma Gap’s distinct cool climate in elegant-style Chardonnay and Pinot Noir wines. We farm three estate vineyards on the western slopes of Sonoma Mountain. The combination of sun and fog results in wines with beautiful freshness and layers of nuanced flavors. 

Pfendler Vineyards, the source of some very good Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. (Courtesy Pfendler Vineyards)

Pfendler is right about the flavors and freshness; the celebratory Chardonnay I tasted, the 2015 vintage ($38, 14.3 percent alcohol, 400 cases, Clone 4 and Hyde-Wente) is a fetching golden yellow in hue, and offers a bouquet of bright apple and gentle spice. Peach, lemon, and a slight toasty quality round out the taste. The aforementioned acidity is satisfyingly present, leading to a balanced finish. Drink this with a good cheese, say, a Camembert or an aged Cheddar, or pair with crab cakes, as I did.

Up next, tasting the 2015 Pinot Noir from Pfendler.

Want more wine? Check out these pieces:

The Perfect White Wine For Your Holiday Festivities
A California Cab Made By an Englishman
Peat is Neat
Distinctive Whisky Enters a New Era
A Whisky Legend Visits Houston
A Rare Cask, Indeed
Austin Whisky, Strange Name
A Merlot That Your Snob Friend Will Love
French Couple Make a Sauvignon Blanc in California
A Perfect Afternoon Chardonnay
Terry Theise Talks Riesling
A New Wine Wonderland
Paris Wine Goddess Tells All
Rice Village Wine Bar Has a Cleveland Touch
A Texas White Blend for Your Table
A Pinot Noir Full of Flavor
This Pinot Gris From Oregon Pairs Well With Cheese
Willamette, Dammit!
A Value Rioja
Drink Pink!
Underbelly Veteran Goes for Grenache
A Man of Letters and Wine
Ms. Champagne Wants a Nebuchadnezzar
The Wine Artist Goes for Chardonnay
This American Loves Spain and Its Wines
Houston’s Wine Whisperer Has a Soft Touch
Blackberry Farm’s Somm Pours in Splendor
Mr. Pinot Noir: Donald Patz of Patz & Hall
A Cork Dork Wants to Spend More Time in Tuscany
Sommelier Turned Restaurateur Daringly Goes Greek
Texas Master Sommelier Debunks Wine Geeks
A Bottle From Gigondas Changed This Houston Man’s Life
Oil Man Falls in Love, and the Rest is Good-Taste History
Ryan Cooper of Camerata is a Riesling Man
Mixing It Up With Jeremy Parzen, an Ambassador of Italy
Sommelier at One of Houston’s Top Wine Bars Loves Underdogs

Katherine and her boys

The Ghost of Loss Has Gotten Into Me: Farewell, Katherine Reed

December 17, 2017 / / 12 Comments

“Katherine passed away a few moments ago.”

The message came to me at 8:54 a.m. on Saturday morning. I read it twice, then put down the phone and closed my eyes. I summoned her forth in my mind, an exercise I could carry out with ease; though I have not seen Katherine Reed since 2012, she’s been in my thoughts many times since. Her voice and spirit and smile and passion come to me at unexpected times, when I hear Patsy Cline singing “Crazy,” or as I’m preparing a beef roast for the oven. And if an Adele song enters my ears, that’s it. Katherine is there.

Katherine Reed

You see, Katherine had a beautiful voice, and she loved to cook and eat and entertain. (She also loved to play poker, and I’ll never forget the evening in Dubai during which she vanquished the rest of us at the table. There were four or five players, and one by one she took ownership of our chips. At the end, she and I alone remained, both competitive, both wanting to win. Katherine wanted it more.)

Katherine and her parents, Clive and Jana Reed

Angela and I spent many an evening with Katherine and her husband, Lee McGorie, and their son Ryan at their home in Dubai, and the kitchen was always full of activity. Katherine would never do a meal halfway, and the counters groaned under the weight of spices and jars and bottles. Everywhere were cutting boards full of onions and carrots, pots and pans and baking sheets ready for the oven and stovetop. We ate well in that home.

Lee and I were colleagues at a newspaper in Abu Dhabi, and I liked him immediately. A quiet and kind man, sensitive, caring, a Geordie who loved Katherine with a profound and deep emotion. He and I would sit over beers and discuss football or journalism, or office comings and goings, the usual things friends talk about, but nary a conversation was had that didn’t include mention (at least) of Katherine. Lee admired her, truly admired and loved and desired her, and he lived to make her happy.

Back to the night of the poker game. I think it was the first time I had met Katherine. Seamus (another colleague at the newspaper) and I had driven up from Abu Dhabi that afternoon, at the invitation of Lee. The plan was to have dinner with them at their home and open some wine, enjoy a weekend evening. I recall that Katherine cooked pasta, and there was a salad of some sort. It was delicious food, and I recognized right away that she thoroughly enjoyed hosting people, making people feel at home. It’s an art, and a soulful and graceful thing to do. The knowledge that I’ll never again sit down to a meal made by her hands and heart makes life less bright.

Lee McGorie and Katherine Reed, along with Jana and Clive Reed

On that evening, I was also introduced to Katherine’s love of dogs. They had two at the time, rescue dogs. She volunteered for an animal society, and heaven help the person mistreating an animal around her. Katherine’s heart was big when it came to her loves. She loved her family, was proud of her parents, Clive and Jana, and the day she introduced them to me was a good one. She loved Lee and Ryan with ferocity. I grieve for them.

Katherine fell ill earlier this year, and she left this earth far too early. Goddamn it, she was 38.

When I read Lee’s note yesterday morning, after I got up from the chair in which I was sitting, a few lines of a poem came to mind. I’d heard them on an episode of “On Being,” and their mystical vision has stayed with me since.

And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets into you …

I’ve been thinking about Katherine a lot this weekend, and I wish I had reached out to her and Lee more often in the years since I left Dubai. I will make up for that now with Lee and Ryan.

I’ve written the complete poem here, and I dedicate it to all of those in pain, everyone who’s missing Katherine right now. We are less without her.

“Beannacht”
By John O’Donohue
From To Bless The Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings

On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.

And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets into you,
May a flock of colours,
Indigo, red, green
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
In the currach of thought
And a stain of ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the waters
A path of yellow moonlight
To bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
Wind work these words
Of love around you,
An invisible cloak
To mind your life.

Katherine and her sister, Amanda Reed-Kelly

If you want great food, go to Himalaya, a gem in Houston.

NPR Shows Some Love to Himalaya, One of Houston’s Culinary Jewels

December 10, 2017 / / 3 Comments

You’ve all read about my visits to Kaiser Lashkari’s little restaurant in a strip mall off of busy Interstate 59; Himalaya is one of my favorite restaurants in Houston, and if I don’t have my fix of saag paneer and masala fried chicken — not to mention chicken hara masala, goat biryani, and chicken fried steak — at least once every three weeks or so, the withdrawal symptoms get bad. The saag paneer is, bar none, the best I’ve had anywhere, including versions served to me in several cities in India and any number cooked by Indian mothers. Himalaya is on The Brockhaus’ Top Restaurants in the World List, and is nearer the top of that roster than it is the bottom. It is the real thing.

National Public Radio has now joined the Himalaya bandwagon, and on Sunday morning aired a visit by Lulu Garcia-Vavarro to the restaurant. If you have not had the pleasure of tasting Kaiser’s food or hearing him hold forth on food and business and life, give the NPR segment a listen by clicking here. Then, take a drive to the Hillcroft area and sit down to some of the best food in Texas. Tell Kaiser I sent you. (And if you don’t know, Himalaya is BYOB, so chill some Riesling and make it a feast.)

E.M. Forster would have a place at my table. (Kurt Hutton/Picture Post/Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

What I’m Drinking (and Reading) Now: The Balvenie Peat Week and DoubleWood 12, Plus Wines For Holiday Parties

December 5, 2017 / / 0 Comments

An ideal way to spend an hour or so on a December evening: Re-reading Howards End, sipping The Balvenie DoubleWood 12, and attempting to quell thoughts about recent news events. Helena Bonham Carter (who is the face and embodiment of Helen Schlegel for me now) and theosophy are certainly more pleasant to contemplate than are Charlie Rose, John Hockenberry, James Levine, Roy Moore, et al, and the tax legislation before the United States Congress, and the beautiful taste of the DoubleWood helps me sublimate the angst I feel about North Korea, Foggy Bottom, the Oval Office, and the sclerotic political response to the deteriorating infrastructure and educational standards in the U.S. Doing away with tax deductions for graduate students, for money they will actually never see, but giving Betsy DeVos special treatment? Heaven help us.

Yes, E.M. Forster’s masterpiece is giving me much solace, as is The Balvenie.

“It will be generally admitted that Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony is the most sublime noise that has ever penetrated into the ear of man,” speaks a character in the novel. Is The Balvenie DoubleWood 12 the most sublime spirit that has ever passed my lips? I don’t know that I can state that, though a reliable source has told me that it’s the favorite dram of the inestimable David Stewart, the Malt Master at William Grant & Sons. I’m honored to share his preference.

This man is Scottish, and he loves a good whisky.

Speaking of reliable sources, I had the pleasure of meeting Mitch Bechard, a brand ambassador for Glenfiddich, at a special tasting this past Saturday at Costco, and I have to say that William Grant has good taste when it comes to its personnel. Bechard’s relaxed manner and jocularity, not to mention his knowledge and obvious passion for spirits, meshes well with the personalities that are Jonathan Wingo and David Laird, two ambassadors for The Balvenie (Gleniddich and The Balvenie are owned by William Grant), and the three gentleman are engaging, lively, and thoughtful representatives, and they’re fun to drink with to boot.

Brechard, who lives in North Carolina, opened the following bottles — prices listed were special to the tasting; check your favorite merchant for yours — at the event, and if you want to buy something special for the holidays, go for the Ghosted Reserve. You’ll remember each sip for a long time.

Here’s how William Grant’s team describes what I and the other participants tasted:

Ladyburn Single Malt 42 Year Old – Among Scotch collectors, few Lowland distilleries are held in the same regard as the long shuttered Ladyburn. It was open only between the years of 1966 and 1975, and few bottlings of what was produced there as standalone single malts exist. Tastings notes: very soft with notes of apricots and honey. A spicy and toasty palate – quite mouth-watering. Good length with a grassy and slight almond finish. ($1,400)

Ghosted Reserve 26 Year Old – a blended Scotch from the Ladyburn and Inverleven distilleries. Interleven was “Ghosted” in 1991 and Ladyburn being closed back in 1975. It is truly one of a kind Scotch, limited to bottles on hand, never to be reproduced. Tasting notes: rich and creamy with notes of citrus and almond. ($350)

Girvan Patent Still Single Grain 25 Year Old – the original Girvan Patent Still was built by William Grant’s great-grandson, Charles Gordon, in 1963. After distillation, this whisky was aged for an incredible 25 years. Tasting notes: complex velvety smooth with an incredibly sweet flavour. With time, the flavour evolves into deeper, richer notes including chocolate orange and bake apple pie. ($270)

Glenfiddich Single Malt 21 Year Old – Using casks that once contained our own premium Caribbean rum, this expression spends its final months finishing in these Rum casks selected by our Malt Master. Tasting notes: peppery with a touch of smoke, oak, lime, ginger, and spices. ($130)

The Balvenie Port Wood 21 Year Old – The flagship single malt from The Balvenie’s little group of Port Wood whiskies. This bottle was finished in thirty year old port pipes and is a veritable masterclass in poise and balance. Tasting notes: dried red fruits, floral heather, nuts andd wood spices. ($160)

The Balvenie Single Barrel 25 Year Old – Introduced to The Balvenie single malt Scotch whisky range in 2014. Released in batches, each bottle is one of no more than 300 drawn from a single cask. The casks that Malt Master David Stewart selected for this release are chosen for having the richly spiced, sweetly honeyed character. Tasting notes: great combination of subtle spice and honeyed sweetness. ($400)

Returning to my solace, The Peat Week is another Brockhaus selection from The Balvenie. Back in November, I had lunch with Wingo and Laird, and we sampled the peaty drink from The Balvenie … read about The Peat Week here, and if you like subtle smoke, pick up a bottle for yourself or for the whisky lover on your gift list.

“Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer.” That’s a rather famous sentence of Forster’s, from the novel nearest to my hand now, and when I read it again I thought of the way many of us will connect this month, at parties celebrating birth and renewal and friendship. Do connect. And if you are looking for a white wine for your parties, I’m recommending a great one: the 2016 Cantina Riff Pinot Grigio. It’ll cost you $10 or so, and it’s versatile and delicious. Read about it here, and get your party dress ready.

Want more wine and spirits? Check out these stories:

A California Cab Made By an Englishman
Peat is Neat
Distinctive Whisky Enters a New Era
A Whisky Legend Visits Houston
A Rare Cask, Indeed
Austin Whisky, Strange Name
A Merlot That Your Snob Friend Will Love
French Couple Make a Sauvignon Blanc in California
A Perfect Afternoon Chardonnay
Terry Theise Talks Riesling
A New Wine Wonderland
Paris Wine Goddess Tells All
Rice Village Wine Bar Has a Cleveland Touch
A Texas White Blend for Your Table
A Pinot Noir Full of Flavor
This Pinot Gris From Oregon Pairs Well With Cheese
Willamette, Dammit!
A Value Rioja
Drink Pink!
Underbelly Veteran Goes for Grenache
A Man of Letters and Wine
Ms. Champagne Wants a Nebuchadnezzar
The Wine Artist Goes for Chardonnay
This American Loves Spain and Its Wines
Houston’s Wine Whisperer Has a Soft Touch
Blackberry Farm’s Somm Pours in Splendor
Mr. Pinot Noir: Donald Patz of Patz & Hall
A Cork Dork Wants to Spend More Time in Tuscany
Sommelier Turned Restaurateur Daringly Goes Greek
Texas Master Sommelier Debunks Wine Geeks
A Bottle From Gigondas Changed This Houston Man’s Life
Oil Man Falls in Love, and the Rest is Good-Taste History
Ryan Cooper of Camerata is a Riesling Man
Mixing It Up With Jeremy Parzen, an Ambassador of Italy
Sommelier at One of Houston’s Top Wine Bars Loves Underdogs

© 2024 Mise en Place

Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑