Tag: Camerata

Grace Amid Discord and Despair: We Talk Ramey, Cline, ‘Sideways’, Riesling, Zinfandel, Syrah, and More

Fires out west, Twitterreah in D.C., and collapsing infrastructure in Genoa: The woes continue unabated (it’s always been that way, of course), and as summer progresses toward the autumnal equinox, despair and dismay seem the manners of the day. What to do?

Well, once you’ve checked on your friends and acquaintances in wine country, those dealing with the deadly fires, once you’ve donated to relief efforts there, after you’ve made sure your friend in Genoa is OK, after you’ve read the latest piece from Maggie Haberman about the goings-on in the White House (has there ever been a leakier bunch at 1600 Pennsylvania?), it’s time to cook and drink and eat and give thanks for the solace that can be had in those activities.

A few weeks ago, I was at State of Grace in Houston, drinking Rosé and enjoying some oysters. Matt Crawford, the restaurant’s general manager and beverage director, stopped by and poured us a Mezcal, and we talked briefly. Matt’s a great guy, and he just happens to be the subject of my latest Wine Talk. Give it a read, and next time you decide on oysters, pair them with Mezcal.

Drink Mezcal with your oysters. (Brockhaus photo)

Briny heaven (Brockhaus photo)

Continuing with wine, we move to Germany (my favorite wine country), and a great cause. (Drink Riesling every day!) But first, let’s hear from Mark Twain on Deutschland:

My philological studies have satisfied me that a gifted person ought to learn English (barring spelling and pronouncing) in thirty hours, French in thirty days, and German in thirty years. It seems manifest, then, that the latter tongue ought to be trimmed down and repaired. If it is to remain as it is, it ought to be gently and reverently set aside among the dead languages, for only the dead have time to learn it.
– “That Awful German Language,” Appendix D of A Tramp Abroad

Whenever the literary German dives into a sentence, that is the last you are going to see of him till he emerges on the other side of his Atlantic with his verb in his mouth.
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court

…mastery of the art and spirit of the Germanic language enables a man to travel all day in one sentence without changing cars.
Christian Science

A dream…I was trying to explain to St. Peter, and was doing it in the German tongue, because I didn’t want to be too explicit.
Mark Twain’s Speeches, 1923

The Germans are exceedingly fond of Rhine wines; they are put up in tall, slender bottles, and are considered a pleasant beverage. One tells them from vinegar by the label.
A Tramp Abroad

Twain’s sarcasm and humor set aside, if you read this today (Sunday, the 19th of August, 2018) before 4 o’clock in the afternoon or so, and if you are in Houston, Texas, hightail it to Camerata and drink some fine German wines and contribute to a good cause. (Click here for more details.)

All of this talk about German wines takes me back to a fine summer day a few years ago; my friend Holger and I took a journey that included a stop at Schloss Vollrads. We drank and ate well.

A fine setting for Riesling.

I enjoy a Riesling at Schloss Vollrads.

Drinking Rielsing with Holger on the Rhine near Bingen.

Finally, there’s Zinfandel and Syrah, and Cline and Ramey. Two bottles we opened recently, two vintages that I recommend highly and that will pair with everything from hamburgers to beef stew and grilled ribeye or lamb. David Ramey and Nancy and Fred Cline are the names behind these two bottles, and you’ll want to add both wines to your inventory.

Zinfandel from old vines is in this bottle.

A Perfect Day For a Tamalada, and Friends and Wine and Food

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There are days that not only seem perfect, but are perfect. Yesterday was one of them. Sun was out, air was cool(er), light angled just so, slicing through the air with a briskness that spoke quietly of ease. On those type of days all I require is to be near good people and good food and wine. Simple, and honest. Nourishment for soul and body.

You don’t know how good homemade tamales are? Never made any? Angela and I did yesterday. She did. I watched and observed. We joined in a tamalada at Sylvia’s. Sylvia Casares, AKA Enchilada Queen, shared her method with us, told us stories of her days spent working in a lab for the Mars corporation, how a stranger on a plane gave her the final push she needed to follow her dreams and how she opened her first restaurant and how it feels to now operate three and what she felt like when the bullet entered her abdomen and she knew she would not die in that way. Not that way.

A woman of taste and substance.

Sylvia Casares, a woman of taste and substance.

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A pork butt and a guisado were cooking, their aromas filling the room. Masa was being mixed, husks were steaming. You know those scents? They have the ability to make one happy. The masa was delivered to our table and Angela and Jack and Sally set to making tamales. It was a tamalada, and Sylvia told us about her father and the recipes her grandmother passed down.

Angela makes a mean tamale.

Angela makes a mean tamale.

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Masa is putty in their hands.

Masa is putty in their hands.

The day continued and Angela and I sat in the sun and drank some rosé and talked and watched people live their lives and go back and forth toward their happiness and desires.

Judy smiles at Brockhaus.

Judy smiles at Brockhaus.

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Jack mesmerizes the Brockhaus table.

We had been invited to a dinner that evening by Russ and Judy, two people with whom Angela and I share a passion for food, wine, and travel. I was not aware that it was a 10-course meal with wine pairings, for 10, but I certainly did not mind when I discovered it was so. We had scallops and duck and foie gras mousse and some Catena and Hunt Cellars (a 2000 Cabernet Sauvignon that Russ had given Angela for her birthday). We spoke of empanadas and Brockhaus and heard a tale about a tasting of some 1945s. We toasted Russ and Judy and left the table happy and sated.

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Duck sofrito …

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A scallop is never a bad thing.

One final venue made the evening complete. Russ and Judy had never been to Camerata, so we took them there and shared a bottle of my favorite wine (favorite now and for about the past year). You can see a photo of the bottle at the beginning of the tale of a perfect day.

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