Aboard the Bernina Express...

Just a couple hours ago, after a most unwritable journey down the Alps of Engadin (St. Moritz) on the Bernina Express into the Italian border town of Torino, Jonathan and I strolled our suitcases about a half mile or so from the station to a little restaurant, La Botte, where we were recommended to eat just next to the grand Basilica della Madonna. Here, we would find the ‘tipico’ food from the region, their pasta specialty called pizzoccheri as well as their dried, thin meat called bresaola. A sucker for regional dishes, we were there as soon as our feet hit the Tirano ground. La Botte sadly was closed. But we went to the restaurant next door which seemed promising, Albergo Altavilla. There we saw the travelers who were on board with us down the slope. They were from northern Illinois. Jonathan called that one within 12 seconds of a sharing a panoramic view car with them on the train. He called them ‘my people’. I laughed, because they were very much like me: chatty (I swear, they couldn’t let 2 seconds pass in silence), jolly and hypochondriatic (if that’s even a word). Go ahead and listen to someone in and around northern Illinois or southern Wisconsin just once. With age, we talk about our bodies, illnesses and diseases more each year. We can diagnose better than any doctor around and suggest medicine for it as well. After a couple hours of listening to walleye fishing stories and Barbara’s inevitable looming divorce (with the obligatory ‘I hate to gossip, but…’), we had much fun imitating on the walk to lunch.

The famous Brusio Viaduct.

We sat down at Albergo Altavilla and ordered the 4-course regional lunch, which would give us our pizzocheri noodles and bresaola (like beef prosciutto). We overheard the midwesterners order pizza, extremely disappointed and shocked to hear that these (northern) Italians hadn’t caught on to what made their country such a great hit. Alas, they ordered regular pasta with red sauce–a safe alternative.

Our demi-bottle of Valtellina Nebbiolo, a wonderfully silky textured, fruity red (nothing at all like Piemonte’s version) seemed a perfect choice with what was to come. We had just seen some vineyards outside town, so the choice was a no brainer (not that there were many more to be honest). We dug into the first course: Chiscioi Tiranesi con Cicoria, a kind of fried breaded cheese patty with a side salad. There were three of them. I wolfed down two in a matter of seconds. I was starving. Meanwhile, I noticed my partner clear his throat and get that look in his eye.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask with trepidation…

‘Nothing… I think.’ He clears his throat again, heavy in thought.

‘?’

‘Well,’ he explains, “There may be a little buckwheat in this breading. Probably not, but…My tongue is starting to tingle…”

See, we are both quite allergic to the black, deadly flour. I begin to panic as I look down and see my near demolished plate. We frantically google ‘Tirano buckwheat food’ and there it is. Countless sights discussing this region’s famous Alpine dishes, such as pizzoccheri and chiscioi, made with hearty, buckwheat flour: ‘For hardcore buckwheat lovers ONLY!’

Shit.

First he goes to, well, rid himself of the infestation in the bathroom before it gets too bad. Then it is my turn. We cancel our order for lethal pizzoccheri and opt instead for plain, potato gnocchi with red sauce, a safe choice. The staff was wonderful and very responsive, confirming that yes indeed there is a lot of buckwheat in their cuisine and of course they would accommodate.

My throat is still suffering from the experience, the black flour having penetrated its sides and swollen it within minutes. We were so fortunate he called it so soon. Even as I write this, I can scarcely swallow well. It is the only allergy I have that is so severe. I break into hives, fall asleep, swell up. And Jonathan is arguably worse. A strange star-crossed syndrome we both somehow share.

Death on a platter.

Our highly anticipated lunch became sparkling water, Benadryl  and gnocchi, followed by a hazy train ride to Milan. But even with that, we found a way to laugh about our high maintenance, wussy allergies, complete with a backdrop of beautiful lake Como.

We spend our last full day here in St. Moritz exploring a new area for nordic skiing: Val Roseg in and around Pontresina (only about 5 min drive from St. Moritz in the next town over). This 14k trail is a slow, steady climb to a restaurant in the middle of nowhere Morteratch (its isolation making me wonder at the prefix of that name)…

It is my third day cross-country skiing in a row. It is my third day cross-country skiing…ever. In a word (or three), I am sore. Reaching the restaurant is like climbing a fourteener. My mind is in overdrive coaxing one foot in front of the next. When I sit down to order, I realize I am famished. I have a salad and bolognese with a glass of cannonau (aka grenache) from Sardinia. It tastes just like my aunt’s spaghetti we used to have on summer nights in northwoods Wisconsin. It is soothing and nostalgic. Free of frills or pretense. An unassuming bite in the middle of the mountains.

I feel lucky. So damn lucky sometimes.

I feel even luckier as I start the descent. Sure, it involves a few tumbly falls. They don’t call me ‘Crashley’ for nothing. But it is downhill. It takes a third of the time as the ascent. I am relieved and tired.

random abandoned house along the way...

We hop on a bus that winds up taking us through every last town that side of St. Moritz then back again to where we got on forty-five minutes earlier. Only then does it go on to our final destination forty-five more minutes (or 5 miles) further. To say Jonathan and I were a wee bit over it by the time we got back is a slight understatement. But the sauna and warm tub (not so much ‘hot’) feels all the better.

As we shift our peepers away from what has to be the 8th geriatric penis in 24 hours, we laugh silently with our eyes at the contrast as a tall, hot German (Swiss?) in a string bikini slips into the tub. I turn to my partner and say, “It’s never the ones you want to undress, eh?” We migrate to the sauna for a final fry, when German babe follows five minutes later. Bikini-less.

I have never been in a room with a significant other and a naked person of the opposite sex, let alone with my fiancee and a young woman that happens to have killer abs, a tight butt and perky boobs. I wonder at this moment if it is super awkward for him. I almost want to laugh out loud as we carry on with our discussion of dinner and tomorrow’s events. But I refrain and ignore the rather sexy elephant in our sizzling hot room. Get over it, I tell myself–it’s Europe. But still… you are talking to someone who used to change in the bathroom stall in high school (in my underwear for God’s sake) and never, ever been to so much as a topless beach. What a prude.

We make our way back to the room, shower and snuggle in for some down time before dinner in an hour or so. And I think to myself, as he lays here beside me now taking a nap… what a perfect gentleman.

Oh these traveling moments. Priceless.

It began with a horrid transatlantic flight, where babies were screaming, a fifteen pound bag fell on my head, the earphones were blasting to a high volume every 45 min or so to be sure I was sufficiently damaged by arrival and a couple sleeping pills that not only failed at their only purpose in life but  rather left me extremely anxious searching for the nearest exit when at once I remembered I was 5 miles high for the next seven hours. Tap, tap, tap…

Two hours of sleep and a transfer in London, I arrived in Milan a sight to sore eyes. But I could care less. There is no amount of awful travel that will keep me from an adventure. Really, it wouldn’t feel as gratifying if it were so easy. Right?

We hit up one of Jonathan’s favorite Italian restaurants the first night: Dal Bolognese. It was right next door to our hotel: Principe di Savoia. Walking in, you might have thought it wasn’t such a brilliant find. We were there alone in an overstaffed restaurant. Music was nonexistent. The waiters watched like hawks for our next move. ‘You ready is order?’ ‘You need a water?’ ‘You are have question?’ Yeesh. I was paranoid while eating my caprese to use the funny looking balsamic vinegar pourer-thingy for fear I would pour it incorrectly or too much… and they would see it and correct this ugly american.The caprese was mediocre at best this time of year, but I should have known better. For one thing, the waiter gave a disapproving look, yet couldn’t find a way to explain. For another, who has heard of fresh tomatoes in January. For the life of me, though, I couldn’t read their menu! And they could scarcely translate. It was safe.

By the time the next course arrived–their famous tagliatelle bolognese–I understood why it was Jonathan’s favorite. Wow. It was amazing. Perfect proportion of meat to sauce to noodle. Deliciously al dente. I looked up and saw that, as if with the snap of a finger, the large room was full of people. Many business men in suits carrying on their meetings with a meal as well as couples, girlfriends, etc. It was a happening place. Now, I couldn’t wave down a waiter if I was topless.

We washed it all down with a 2006 Castello Romitorio Brunello di Montalcino. It had been a long time since we had wine from this lovely Tuscan region. A hearty Sangiovese seemed like a perfect idea with our hearty bolognese. And it was. Though it smelled of infanticide with a hint of potential first thing out of the bottle, it opened up a bit with some time bringing on alpine notes of red berry fruit, a medicinal throw nack to luden’s cherry cough drops and even a little minty. This and the likely suspects of leathery, tart cherry, cocoa dust.

Day 2

At the Gare Centrale di Milano, we waited for the train to Geneva and munched on a ham and cheese sandwich at the cafe. It was 7:30a and coffee was a non-negotiable. A few bites in, I politely reminded the server of my coffee. But he had not forgotten. It was apparently not appropriate with my savory option, so I had to wait until I finished. I wolfed it down fairly fast. However, my sweet fiancee took his sweet time (he is NOT a coffee addict). Apparently, I also had to wait until he was done as well. So all I succeeded in doing was getting a belly ache and a disgusted look from the staff. Alas, I was finally given my heroine.

We passed by some incredible little towns. One of which, Stresa, I have concluded I must return to one day. It was a quaint hillside village overlooking the alps and Lake Maggiore. Apparently it is home to some noteworthy jazz festivals, gardens and religious monuments.

Coming up on Geneva, with Lac Leman off to the left, I saw a lonely swan floating along. What was she doing there? I searched, suddenly determined to find its mate. But there was no other. A little research, and I learned most swans, the largest of the duck family, travel in flocks. Not this one.

A light lunch at the world’s weirdest hotel out by the airport and near the large sports expo center–The Starling–and I learned the meaning of the expression ‘wine is cheaper than water in Europe’, as I begrudgingly handed over $46 for a salad, a cup of soup and water (the water alone at $7). Yep, at an airport hotel.

Walking to dinner, we passed through an awesome little street in downtown Geneva–Rue Chapponiere. If you should ever visit this grand city, I recommend you check it out. I know I surely will! A little wine shop and delicatessen with meats hung high sits on the corner. It is called Il Monte Bianco. And it is my dream shop. If only we could sell meat and wine under one retail roof in Denver without all the rigamaroo. Across the street is an adorable regional restaurant called Au Petite Chalet. A couple doors down we watched some people dig into some traditional grub at La Trois Fondue, and we eye-balled the yummy fare at Post Cafe. An idyllic street we were happy to stumble upon.

We decided to play fancy and have a cocktail at the Four Seasons. Fancy it was. I decided it needed 2002 Laurent Perrier to pair the moment. Heavy laden with wood, diamond-covered women and Patek Phillipe watches on wrists (hell, even the dogs wore fur), it was candyland for the untrained eye.

We went to one of our favorite spots for a bite: Bistrot du Boeuf Rouge to get back to reality and find that the sub $50 wine bottle still exists. We enjoyed oysters, beef tips and perch from Lac du Monde. This is a cozy place full of black-rimmed intellectuals, laughter and laid-back hearty fare.

Follow me to St. Moritz in upcoming blogs…

Taken from: http://headfullofbooks.blogspot.com/2011/12/2011-year-in-review.html

Best Overall: 1990 Lopez de Heredia Bosconia Gran Reserva ($175)–I mean, come on. Give me any wine in the world right now within reason, this is the one I will want to drink this one. Why? This winery always manages to beat everyone else, for it has the power to transfer you to another place and time. Wine is no longer made like this anymore. Like time stopped in 1889, these wines are haunting, saddled with stories, mysteries and family legend. They have a most unusual, identifiable aroma to them. I am at once nostalgic for what I cannot articulate. Sensational and moving, these wines evade a clear definition. They are the most memorable I have ever experienced. These wines, in fact, are an experience in themselves. I guess that’s the definition.

Best Old World Red: 2003 i Clivi Merlot ($26)–If this doesn’t redeem the ever-fallen Merlot varietal, I don’t know what will. I craved this wine often this year with a variety of foods, as it went perfectly with game, duck, rustic casseroles, pot roast, or simple cheese plates. Ripe, concentrated red fruits, spice and a respectful nod to the great wines of the right bank of Bordeaux, this Friulian find has been in the front line of recommendations for me. Rustic and wholesome, an uncompromising wine in its focused agenda to please yet be taken seriously.

Best New World Red: 2007 Bonny Doon Cigare Volant ($35)–A tired choice to some? Perhaps. But in all seriousness, trying it again this year a couple of times reminded me that it is truly an outstanding wine in so many ways. Incredibly complex for the price and indicating that bottle age will only unravel more facets, this Rhone blend is an outstanding wine from one of our country’s most gifted vintners.

Best Old World White: 2010 Patrick Piuze Petit Chablis ($21)–An absolute rockstar to keep an eye on, Piuze is like the soil whisperer. He has a way to take a region that already enjoys fame for its minerality and take it to an ever more pronounced level in his wines. No better way to prove it than with his entry level Petit– a region that is greatly overlooked for its lesser glorified Portlandian soil, he manages to give it an admirable face lift.

Best New World White: 2008 Pyramid Valley Vineyards Riverbrooke Riesling ($29)–I seldom bring in New Zealand Riesling, let alone higher end selections. They are a hard sell. This one had to, though. It is hard to put into words. I don’t worry that it might sit. It will only get better with time.

Best Champagne: 2002 Gaston Chiquet Special Club ($72)--How people can drop $175 for Dom when a 1er Cru Vintage can be had for more than half the price less is beyond me. A simply superb buy from a true farmer, from the vine to the bottle.

Best Bubbles: Camille Braun Cremant d’Alsace Rose ($25)– A remarkable new addition to the Denver market, this rose has provoked more of a response from my customers (and myself) than any bubbly ever has. It is stunning. Near flawless. Only 300 cases made. And that is evident on the palate.

Most Eccentric: 2008 Penalba Cruz Bianco of Tempranillo/Sauvignon Blanc ($21)–An incredibly intriguing wine, for they remove skins from the red Tempranillo grape, blend it with Sauv Blanc then leave it in barrel to become a most unusual, profound substance. Delightfully rich and multidimensional.

Best Value: 2008 Chateau Valcombe Cote du Ventoux ($15)–An old favorite, this red has the rusticity of the Rhone with the finesse of Burgundy. Delicate layers and hidden aromatics will have you sniffing for hours.

Most Surprising Gem: 2004 Crooked Creek Meritage ($13)–Wow. Blindfold me, and I was guessing a well made, mid-priced ($25ish?) aged Cab from California, only to find it had a fair amount of Cab Franc from where else but Creede Colorado! Outstanding little blend.

Best Conversation Starter: 2008 Casalone Freisa ($17)–A winery that has been elevating every varietal in Piemonte other than Nebbiolo since the 1700s, including the rare Freisa grape. A light froth on this purple liquid might have you thinking sweet lambrusco, but you will find a savory sensation that is dying for cured meats and cheese to really shine.

Best Weekly Standby: 2008 Damiano Ciolli Silene Cesanese ($20)–Anyone who had me to dinner this year has probably tried this fascinating varietal from just outside Rome in the region of Lazio. This grower is bringing Cesanese back and showing everyone that it can be extremely complex. I cannot get enough.

Best Label Design: Lini 910 Lambrusco Bianco ($17)–If this were a place, it would be Williamsburg. Hip and edgy, it is pushing the envelope by refusing to be confined to a predictable definition. Dry, crisp, white and complex, this bubbly will have you scratching your head if you ever beheld Reunite.

Best Book on Wine: Reading Between the wines by Terry Theise ($20)–It doesn’t even take a wine lover to slip into this memoir. Terry Theise is a lover of language and his ability to arrange it in beautiful shapes is both refreshing and inspiring. A different way to consider wine.

Best Wine List in Town: Table 6–Best is Best. Whether I recommend them all the time or not. Come on Denver. Give them some competition. Bigger is not better. It’s the thoughtfulness that counts.

Best Night Cap: Vajra Chinato ($80)–An old recipe from Piemonte, it isn’t difficult to imagine this was an apothecary liquid to cure winter born illness. Christmas spices will warm you from the base of your body on up to your brain. A soothing voice manifests itself in this Barolo kissed digestif.

Best Aperitif: Carpano Antica Formula Vermouth ($35)– On one massive rock with a twist of orange, and you just might start to hear an old jazz standard playing in the background of each sip.

Best of the Eco-Friendly: 2009 Nikolaihof ‘Hefeabzug’ Gruner Veltliner ($24)–2010 still a little too jazzed. This vintage is drinking perfectly from the oldest estate in Europe, first to be Demeter biodynamic certified.

Best of the Boxes: Caves de Pomerols Picpoul de Pinet ($22)–This is just one of those gems I will never tire of, as it proves that a wine need not be pricey to impress an entire room of novices and know-it-alls alike. Fresh, zippy and playful.

Sabrage, an awesome vocab word they never put in my GRE flashcards, dates back to Napoleanic times when the soldiers wouldn’t have the dexterity to open a bottle while riding a horse back to their bases. They would pull out their sword and have at it in order to celebrate (or mourn) the battle outcome. Nowadays, it is merely a tactic to impress friends, out-cool your colleagues or get laid (good luck with that).

First and foremost: Saber at your OWN risk. This is potentially very dangerous and could put out more than an eye if done incorrectly. It is only for the very courageous.

You will need:

• A very, very cold bottle of bubbles (go cheap while practicing); do not freeze the bottle. Just don’t let it sit out for long.

• A saber or butcher’s knife. We will be using the dull side of the knife. This is about pressure, not actually cutting the glass with a sharp knife.

• Protective eyewear if you are smart and don’t care about people pointing and laughing at you.

• A place outside that you can launch a cork thousands of miles per hour.

• Lack of a conscience, as you might take out a small family of birds in the process.

Okay, here we go.

Step 1: Remove the foil entirely, you need a clean edge to slide the blade.

Step 2: Remove the cage, sure to keep the bottle ALWAYS pointed away from you and your audience, who should stay behind you at all times, we don’t want you to blind anyone or, God forbid, behead someone by accident with your blade.

Step 3: Find the most dominant vertical seam in the bottle. This is the vulnerable point.

Step 4: Hold at a 45degree angle and note the little rim, that will be where you want to hit the bottle with the dull side of the knife.

Step 5: You want to do this in one forward follow through motion. Just hit that point with little force and follow through.

Step 6: Before attempting any of this, watch some YouTube videos for motivation and visual aids.

Step 7: Enjoy being a total badass.

We got a little taste of tradition on this past visit to Wisconsin. We hadn’t long, but here are a few recommendations if you are looking to get back to a simpler time, or at least, an approximation.

Jackson Grill: We left the supper club choice up to our friends, and they scored big. This restaurant was plopped on the corner of some seemingly random street not far from the Milwaukee Brewer Stadium in the middle of a residential neighborhood. One lit tree, golden old school block address stickers above the door and a simple sign told us we were there. Inside, the atmosphere was warm. It was dim, old Christmas carols were playing, a string of lights made the wooden bar feel festive, and we were seated in a room of about 7 tables with massive snowflakes dangling from the ceiling. The walls were some kind of wood or cork, we couldn’t decipher. Here, there is no wine list. You get an old fashioned, a manhattan, a beer, red or white wine. Everything we ordered was delicious, but my friend and I were eyeing our partner’s choices: pork chop and baby back ribs (oh my God, these were good). Never mind the bartender massaging the chef’s shoulders on your way to the bathroom. They are, uhhh, family here?

(photo borrowed from: http://www.planet99.com/milwaukee/restaurants/jackson_grill.html)

Milwaukee Street Traders: Tucked down a Lang-lined side street in old downtown Delafield, ‘Traders’, as the locals call it, always seems to be bustling with people of all ages, no matter what time of day. They seem to do it just right for a quaint cafe. They have a lovely offering of homemade quiches, muffins, oatmeal, sandwiches and soups. The surroundings recall old school midwestern paraphernalia, books and board games. It is comfortable. It’s just the places I would go after sledding all day for a hot cocoa.

Red Circle Inn: Word has it this was where the first bar was built in Wisconsin, as it dates back to 1848. We were saddened to find that the ancient bar was removed, parceled and its remnants were to be found in the upper level for private events. Saddened at the white acrylic looking bar (this was to make customers feel it was more ‘in the now’—uhhhh, right), we ordered our cocktails. A one man show was singing old jazz standards who went by the name “Back in the Day Dan”. He was our saving grace. He had an awesome voice, and they made some tasty drinks. Overall, it was really fun, and we would go back.

LeDucs: This is my standby whenever I go back home. They make the best custard vanilla malts for miles. In my humble opinion, better than even the all-famous Kopp’s. I learned this time ’round that they have a pretty mean fish fry everyday of the week as well. Battered in beer like a good ‘sconi cod, we were happier than fat kids at Willy Wonka’s factory with this lunch.

Lapham Peak: Unfortunately, we are not invincible to the calories found in custard, fish fries, baby back ribs and eggnog. We went on an awesome run at this local park run by the Department of Natural Resources. The area is noted for its deep kettles and high moraines, hence my high school was Kettle Moraine. We felt it for sure, but it was just what we needed. If you want to go on leisurely walk, there are numerous trail options, a lovely pond at Hawk’s Hollow, you can hike up to the Tower, which serves to be the higher point in Waukesha County–an outstanding view in Autumn! Also, if you like Nordic skiing or mountain biking, this region offers some of the best!

How to make a damn fine ol’ fashioned: Before heading to the supper club, we met for old fashioneds at my friends’ mid-century modern home in Wauwatosa. Their furniture fit the mold perfectly. It was one of the best homes I have seen in a while. They made me the best Brandy Old Fashioned I have ever had. Honestly. And they even shared the recipe…

4 ice cubes in a double old fashioned glass

3 dashes of bitters (they prefer Fee Brothers, made in Rotchester NY)

1 or 2 splashes or Grenadine or cherry juice from the jar

A squirt of a fresh orange slice

2 shots of Brandy (higher quality the better)

Top off with 7-up. THIS IS CRUCIAL. Not sprite. Not sierra mist. Only 7-up.

Garnish with cherries and orange slice (addition of a olive optional).

You read it correctly. No sugar my friends. Trust me on this.

Actually, I was amazed at how the olive balanced the cocktail’s sweetness. I love the addition and now find it necessary.

(Photo borrowed from: blogs.thatsthespirit.com)

Lift your head a little higher. What follows is a guide that allows you to get your shopping done in minutes, while still giving a gift that says more than ‘have a drink, grandma.’ These are thoughtfully selected, unique wines that won’t have your friends and family thinking you just popped your head in the local liquor shop 1 block from the party. All these wines are available at my shop, Little’s Wine & Spirits, and we gladly ship to most states!

For the Holiday Party: 2010 Allamand Malbec ($12) or 2010 Le Grand Ballon Sauvignon Blanc ($13)– These inexpensive picks will have people thinking you spent at least $15-20 a bottle on your selections. They may be on opposite ends of the earth (Mendoza, Argentina and Loire, France), but they share a few things in common: small, hand-crafted family production, pure expression of the land they come from, both over-deliver for the price, and both are universally loved by all who taste them!  Favorites in my shop!

For the Camper: Yellow + Blue Malbec or Sauv Blanc ($13)–The Tetra-pak’ed sippers make it easy to bring along any backpacking trip. They are light, eco-friendly, and give you a whole Liter of liquid to get you through those chilly alpine nights.

For the Brown-Noser: 2009 Ass Kisser Red ($12)–I refuse to bring in gimicky wines, unless they got a good thing going for them. With good reason this Grenache, Syrah and Mourvedre blend made it to the Top 100 Wine Enthusiast Best Buy list this year. Smooth, easy and a hilarious, an inexpensive addition to any present.

For the Cryptic type: 2009 Sinister Hand Syrah ($23)–Owen Roe is a producer every wine enthusiast should try at some point. He has a bit of a cult following, and with one sip of this decadent Syrah, you will likely know why. The graphic bloody hand on the label tells a most peculiar, haunting story for those who are into that sort of thing…

For those who play it safe: 2008 Ghostwriter Pinot Noir ($42)–A little pricey, sure. But I will bet you that if you try it once, you will again with no hesitation. This is hands down the most gorgeous Pinot Noir under $50 coming out of California! No hyperbole. Just the facts. The best gift for that Pinot person you need to buy for.

For those who like a gamble: For those who are more adventurous, pick something with a little age on it, like an old vintage port. It’s not really making a huge gamble, as they can age for decades, but it would certainly impress anyone on your list who has possibly never had an one. At Little’s we can go back to the 80′s. In fact, if you want to try something really different, go for a Primitivo Quiles Fondillon Gran Reserva Monastrell ($50) from Alicante drawn from soleras dating back to 1948.

For those who swear they only like red wine: 2010 Arndorfer Gruner Veltliner ($20)– Really, any Gruner will do, but this is one of the best for the money out there. This dry white has a lot going for it. It works perfectly with hard to pair food such as artichokes and asparagus, plus it has a mysterious way of gaining the trust of those who thought they’d never like white wine again. And, come on… it’s fun to say.

For those who enjoy the narrative of wine: 2000 Lopez de Heredia Tondonia Reserva ($43)– The story of a man who sought out Rioja in the 1870′s and fell in love with the land. Four generations later, this family hardly changes a thing about how these wines are made. They make their own barrels. They have moved writers, critics and sommeliers in ways that no other producer ever has. Give a wine that is truly capable of transporting one back in time.

For the farmer in your life: NV Chartogne-Taillet 1er Cru ($44)–Go with farmer fizz all the way. This is the cute term for serious, grower Champagne. In a land where over 80% of the wine made is by those who only own about 12% of the land, it is refereshing to taste the difference in quality by those who make bubbles starting with the vine all they way through the production in the bottle. Plus, you are getting Premier Cru at about the same price as the ever-variable Yellow Label Veuve.

For the uber eco-friendly friend: 2010 Nikolaihoff Gruner Veltliner ($24)– I know, I already discussed one Gruner. But seriously, it’s worth it to have two on the list. This wine comes from the oldest European winery–almost 2,000 years old! Nikolaihoff was also the first to be certified biodynamic by Demeter. All things considered, this is a smoking deal for what’s inside. A beautful, linear, elegant white that will surely keep you guessing at the unusual, terroir-driven aromatics on the nose.

For the KJ Chard person you want to convert: 2009 Cannonball Chardonnay ($14)– Don’t let the general label of ‘Sonoma Coast’ deceive you. In 2009, over 80% of this fruit was sourced from the Russian River, making this the steal of the century. Great for that Chard drinker who is trying to find something new, but has trouble with change.

For the Future Wine Collector who still has no money: 2009 Chateau Courroneau Bordeaux ($17)– It’s no lie, 2009 has proven itself to be one of the best in years, possibly even several decades. Some are comparing it to ’82, ’61 and ’47. This is perfect for someone who is just getting into collecting, but doesn’t want to spend a ton. It will easily age a good 6-10 years.

For the know-it-all who has tried every grape on earth: You’ve had it with the comments, the criticisms, the commentary. For once, you wish you’d just shut that person up who has something to say about every wine under the sun! Or do they? Here are a few curve balls you could throw your smart aleck’s way this season:

2005 Movia Pinot Nero ($40)– Sure they’ve have Pinot Noir, but have they ever tasted one from this highly respected Slovenian producer?

2008 Wild Hog Carignane ($23)– A popular choice varietal in the south of France, but one of the only of its kind in Cali. Perfect for anyone who prefers big burly Cabs, Malbecs or Bordeaux.

1996 Kalin Cellars Chardonnay ($35)– For the money, you are staring down the barrel of one of the best tasting, aged Chards from Sonoma Coast on the market. This is perfect if your gift recipient hasn’t much experience with mature California Chardonnay. A true gem.

2008 IBY Zweigelt  or Blaufrankish ($19)– Watch the omnicient try and wrap their head around this one. These are the freshest reds to come onto the market out of Austria. Zippy, peppery and somewhat related to Pinot Noir, these take it up a notch in weight and spunk. Great if said recipient is really into grilling.

For the socially responsible: 2008 Walden Cotes de Roussillon ($15)– A fair trade collaboration by several small farms in the Roussillon region of south France, Walden is a project under the leadership of former sommelier Herve Bezeul who is motivate by the ethical project Mr. Thoreau used as guidance in his writings at Walden Pond. He uses those inspirational words as a compass in his own career. There are a lot of easy-drinking, smooth reds on the market, but few with such personality as this. Youthful and mischevious, this spicy, zesty red is up to something. It breathes new life into a region that I typically am drawn to for the old, rustic style of reds. Bright fruit, fun and playful.

For the coupon cutter: 2007 Domaine le Sang des Cailloux Blanc ($30)– Everybody loves a deal. But for those who are particularly passionate about savings, consider this curvy, voluptuous white blend from Vacqueryas. Typically selling for $50-70, this is an incredible deal for a wine that is made on a mere hectare of land. It has the potential to age for years to come.

For the Wall Street type: 2006 Rivetto Serralunga Barolo ($55)–Stick to the Speculator Top 100 to appease this aficionado by having him or her try a beautiful Barolo on for size. Collectors are quick to grab Bordeaux, Burgundy and Napa for the cellar, but they overlook the most bombproof varietal of all: Nebbiolo, which has no better home to thrive than Barolo in Piedmont, Italy. Dried roses are a classic aromatic people associate with this hardy little grape. I’d say that’s just the beginning of a lifelong friendship between Nebbiolo and your nose.

For the Literary type: 2009 Chateau d’Issan Margaux Bordeaux ($75-100)– Sipping this wine, you might understand why Ernest Hemingway’s protagonist Jake in The Sun Also Rises was so infatuated: “I drank a bottle of wine for company. It was a Chateau Margaux. It was pleasant to be drinking slowly and to be tasting the wine and to be drinking alone. A bottle of wine was good company.” By all means, if you have a few extra hundred bucks, really wow your bookworm with the first growth Chateau Margaux, but if you are looking to stay under a $100, this is your guy. It has years to go until it’s really ready to drink (in fact, it should age a good 25 years no problem). Only one tip… perhaps have your bookworm share it with someone (preferably you.)

Sunday started quite swell, unaware was I that the universe was in the mood to play pranks. I went for a morning jog, baked a delicious quiche from scratch (beginner’s luck), had brunch with some friends over Camille Braun Cremant d’Alsace, then got a brief taste of Christmas by going to the mall for a few knit leg warmers and St. Nick gifts. It all started out so idyllic.

That should have been first sign.

But no, actually the first sign started with the meal itself– the meal that began the previous night with the purchase of short ribs. I shared the recipe I was eyeing to the butcher, to be sure he’d cut it correctly. Then as I went to marinade the meat in a bottle of wine and spices, it was all wrong. We had to return it for the proper cut. In the fridge and on my way, it wasn’t until the next afternoon—the ill-fated Sunday afternoon—about twenty minutes before I was to initiate braising, when it occurred to me: I forgot to turn the meat over in the entire 24 hour period it was marinating. Seriously? What a rookie mistake. I read up online about how awful this was for a thick, chewy cut like short ribs. But it was too late. I gave it a half hour on the other side and crossed my fingers.

I was cooking for my future parents-in-law. Two people who spent their first years of marriage eating short ribs for supper near nightly due to cost and availability. They knew how to make it in their sleep. I hadn’t even put it in the oven, and already it wasn’t looking good. You should know, I mysteriously screw up every meal they come over to eat. It’s incredible actually. It has become a self-fulfilling prophecy perhaps.

Alas, I placed it in the oven and proceeded to prep the side dish: Aligot. This French-inspired regional dish of the southern Massif Central, is one of my fiancée‘s absolute favorites. He was begging for me to make it, so I looked up the recipe. I then felt my arteries clog as I read the ingredients. A few cups of Cantal cheese (substitute sharp cheddar), a couple cups of crème fraiche, a half stick of butter… All for a recipe that makes about 6 servings. ‘That’s it!’, he exclaimed, “That’s the recipe!” Alrighty then. In the name of love. Good grief. (Though I admit, my inner fat kid was cheering!)

After peeling the potatoes into the sink, I slowly put them down the disposal when all of a sudden… it stopped. Flash forward fifteen minutes, we were shoving the plunger down the drain. We then tried chemicals that put Drain-O to shame. Finally, flash forward thirty more minutes, the tough meat braising in the background, the water went down. It was clear! Hooray! What a relief.

But then…

Not one minute later, while rejoicing and reviewing the next step on the recipe, we noticed a small flood of water falling from the cupboard below. Shit.

We quickly removed everything we could, changed clothes to avoid touching the chemicals just poured down the now burst pipes, and began sopping up the potato skin mess that had blown through. At this point, I was wondering if JV was reconsidering the proposal, focusing instead on the ‘crash’ part of my nickname: crashley. I told him, I come with a disclaimer. But only then do I think he realized it.

We finally got the sink pipes working properly, so I went on with the meal. Transferring the meat from the casserole to the baking dish, draining off the fat, and pouring it back on top for the final glaze gravy, I was in the home stretch. By the handfuls I mounded the cheese on the whipped potatoes, and I ignored that I just spent 3 days eating turkey dinner and leftovers nonstop before this decadent meal. I checked on the broil braised short ribs, turning them once as it said, licking my chops. I had the feeling all the worry was in vain. This meal was pointing to a success after all. And I was satisfied.

I was whipping away, admiring the fatty potatoes, when all of a sudden a loud sound cracked the silence in the room. What the…??? The oven door blew open on my feet, smoke filled the room and glass shards skated across the floor. Oh… my… God. I instantly knew what happened. The Pyrex exploded. Just a minute earlier my face was a couple inches from the pan.

JV was quick to salvage the meat—’Give me the tongs! I can save it! I got this!’ I furiously beat the potatoes, refusing to acknowledge the disaster below me. Refusing to mess up the Aligot as well. Are you serious, God?

JV scooped out the meat, sure it was unharmed by the hundreds of pieces of glass. HIs mom slowly shook her head, insisting that it was not safe.

As we sat down to eat our potatoes and brussel sprouts, JV munched away at the gravy-less short ribs, grinning wildly and exclaiming how great it tasted! I, out of sheer stubborn will, put myself on the line and forked out a piece. It was quite good, in fact. And there was no crunch that told me I was about to die.

Within a few minutes, we actually all put ourselves on the line. He and his folks munched through the remnants of the explosion. And I was touched, as I put a lot into the meal. That said, I also learned that I need to let go sometimes. I put such high expectations on a piece of cheap meat (relatively speaking). And not only that. It’s everything. I think we all tend to do that. We focus on the little parts of our day that fall apart, forgetting that it began with a jog, friends and a damn good quiche.

As we took the last couple sips of the 03 i Clivi Merlot and said goodbye to his folks (after extensive research and evidence of other pyrex kitchen catastrophes), we looked at one another, exhausted and certain we needed to walk away from the kitchen and end the night on a good note. We headed to the new speakeasy in town: Williams and Graham.

This Highlands hideaway was just the ticket. Just behind the bookshelf was a world that took you back in time. We enjoyed a Pisco Sour and an El Diablo. Damn, they tasted good. We had a nice laugh and reflected on the odds. Even a couple days later, I can say it already provokes a smile in hindsight. Life’s imperfections tend to make a greater impression sometimes.

But I am staying away from the oven for at least a week.

And so began my most memorable trip to New York City—new shoes (Paul Smith), my old roommates and their husbands, a bottle of bubbles… and a marriage proposal.

I have imagined this moment since the days of playing with Barbie dolls. But it didn’t prepare me for my reaction when I was finally on the receiving end. I was in a state that is foreign to me: I was without words. I didn’t cry or faint. But I smiled ‘til it hurt. I was paralyzed for a moment. And when I went to call my dad, I was so out of sorts, I called my fiancé instead. We laughed. I tried again… and I accidentally dialed him once more. I was a flustered mess.

A deliriously happy flustered mess.

A dinner followed at Peasant. You may recall this was where I went after my marathon this time last year. The food is some of my favorite, but I remembered their weak stemware, so this time no Giacosa. We went for wine we could smell from the undersized goblets. Everything was near perfect. Pinot Bianco from Alto Adige, Vino Nobile de Montalcino from Tuscany and Schioppettino from Friuli were a lovely accompaniment to vast spread we shared communally from burrata, baked aquid, and suckling pig head to pizzas and pasta with fresh white truffles shaved on top. Baked pies and panna cotta were compliments of the chef for the celebration.

We met up with another friend at the bar inside the Bowery Hotel for a nightcap of Amaro and Calvados. We watched as B list actors and singers lingered with one another on velvety couches in the thickly robed interior of the lounge. The fabric and elaborate details make this locale a real throwback to the turn of the century. It has always been my favorite hotel in all of NYC.

Hardly time to come up for air over the next few days in preparation for my first two of six total WSET Dipoma exams, we managed to make it to a couple other great spots before heading to Philly for the big testing day. While my beau was at some business meetings in Greenwich Village, I ducked around the corner to a most adorable find: Jeffrey’s Grocery. I snacked on a scrambler with baguette while I saw so many other delicious bites come out all afternoon. Most of the food was under $12, they had great coffee and what looked to be a well sculpted albeit tiny wine list of mostly Dressner, Martine’s, Kermit and Rosenthal import wines. Very traditional, but at least they can’t be blamed for one bad bottle on the list. Very knowledgeable people worked at this small, lively café on the corner. I now know where to go for the best place to read the paper while grabbing a bite for breakfast or lunch next time…

We dined at Saxon + Parole for dinner—a place we couldn’t help but constantly compare to our own local Colt + Gray. For God’s sake, it Colt’s very own doppelganger! Our instinct was right on to try it out, though. Like Colt, Saxon was fantastic! It’s down on the Bowery at Bleeker. We began with strange concoctions. Mine involved fresh beets (the ‘beetnik’) with reposado tequila, mezcal, vanilla, fresh ginger and BEET! Very refreshing, earthy and slightly confusing for my palate…in a good way. We shared many starters, but my favorite was the Portabella Mouse with Parole Whisky and Truffle Jelly. It was like the best butter that’s not butter at all! Slather it on toast, and you’re good to go. We all ordered lobster as the celebration continued. It was prepared on the grill and not suffocating in butter. It didn’t need it. This lobster was insane. Save up your cushion coins and go at once.

The next day’s lunch took us to the best deal in town: Batali and Bastianich’s Del Posto in the meatpacking district. Three courses (and inter-course teasers! Wow, that sounds kinda dirty…) for $29. True gourmet, high end, white tablecloth service at a price just about anyone can afford. An old fashioned piano plays 1930’s standards in the background. The food is fancy, but they manage to make it not so stuffy.

That night we convened with our buddies at The John Dory—a famous little seafood restaurant in the NoMad district (north of the Flatiron District and Madison Square Park). I had some reservations, as I am a fair-weather seafood consumer, but I couldn’t help but love this place. The food was off the hook and the wine list—also quite small (that seemed to be the trend—goodbye wine bibles)—was ridiculous. We enjoyed a ’95 Kirchmayr Gruner Veltliner to start (haunting and calculated with linear focus yet encase in curves and hips, notes of herbaceous, asparagus, basil and grass), followed by the ’09 Knoll Smaragd Riesling from the Wachau (opulent yet elbowy, this wine was dry but wanted to be sweet with its rather pronounced presence all over the palate—a testament to a very open, inviting vintage).

As we moved on to Philadelphia the next day (a brief 1 hour express train and you’re there), I began to get excited on our walk. It was buzzing with foodie energy. Tons of little restaurants were packed with locals, corner pastrami delis had it going on, Philly cheesesteak stops smelled heavenly and French brasseries were busting at the seams. This city seemed to get it. And I hadn’t had so much as one bite yet to confirm this suspicion.

We went to The Dandelion Pub, for we had seen a special on the nation’s best fish and chips. A Friday night fishfry Wisconsin girl with Catholic blood… I was there in a Milwaukee minute. The ambiance was one of the best I had ever witnessed. To say it was textured and intricate hardly scratched the surface. I couldn’t stop looking at all the detail that had been infused in this old Victorian downtown three-level space. Pieces of antique furniture, old needlepoint stitchings framed on the wall, mismatched well-toned upholstery, real wood burning fires, separated rooms for eating space, tin, wood, jars, stained glass… There was so much to take in (check out the website!). Oh yes, and the fish and chips? Sorry, ‘sconnies. They have you beat.

Post-exam the next day, I unwound at Parc, a French brasserie that never seemed to see a dull moment. For such a large space, it was always packed, even at 3p when you’d think the lunch crowd was slowing down on a weekday. We shared a few oysters (correction: my guy did), a beet salad and French Onion Soup. I am not kidding when I say that the soup was the best I have ever had—including France’s and my own. The onions must have been caramelized for eons, the broth reduced for hours on end. It was dense, flavorful, and not too salty. Any depression that occurred an hour earlier walking out of the Sofitel exam room was erased with a couple bites of that soup.

In between, we ventured off to see the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall–a must-see if you care at all about the formation of this democratic nation. I didn’t think it would be as moving as it was. Very cool (especially since I just watch the John Adams series…).

Our final evening brought us to one of the most talked about eateries in town: Vetri, a quaint Italian restaurant with 10 or so tables off a dark little side street in the heart of Philly. Many chefs and critics have claimed that is one of the best Italian restaurants in America. In many ways, it reminded me of Frasca in a much smaller, more rustic and intimate setting. The food prep and presentation was very similar. It focused on food textures, balance and creative combinations with pure, simple ingredients.

I could go on about each course, but it would not matter. Should you ever be in Philly and go to Vetri (and you should, but be sure to make reservations a month in advance!), you will be held to the chef’s tasting menu. It was interesting. Both my fiancé and I were delivered different items for each course, which made it extra fun as we could pick off each other’s plate and get a great idea for the scope and talent in the kitchen. They also paired each selection with different wines. It was a tasty, curious adventure never knowing what was next!

Vetri was one of those places that doesn’t seem overly remarkable perhaps on the spot. Don’t get me wrong, the food is indisputably outstanding, but after a week of awesome meals, it can just seem like another great place at first. What set it apart, however, was that I found myself thinking about the meal throughout different parts of my day the week after. It has left such an impression on my senses, that only now do I fully understand its hype. Vetri was head and shoulders above the other places we went to over the week in terms of its staying power. It was such a unique experience. They truly work to help you form a memory when you dine there. It IS worth the hype, the money and the long wait reservation.

And so, that concludes possibly the best trip ever. I thank everyone for all the encouragement I received in preparation my first round of exams! Thank God that’s over. Now, back to hitting the books for the next exams…

Cost: $52.80 per person / Special discount available for DU community $45, enter code at check-out: DUVIN11″

More information can be found on:   http://duvinfestival.com/2011/10/grand-tasting/