The Joe Head cake, created for an art director at Campbell-Ewald

Sometime over the summer, I got a little ahead of myself and had an “audition” at a local, well-known bakery just to have the experience and see what happened.  I’d say it was an ambitious move on my part, because up until my recent decision to take culinary courses at OCC in Farmington, I was a self-taught baker and kind of took pride in the fact that I knew enough to have gotten a little baking business started.  However, I found out that wasn’t quite enough to work in a bakery.

For one thing, I couldn’t do buttercream roses, which is a staple in traditional bakeries such as the one I found myself in that summer morning.  I’d never been asked to, I explained to the owner, who quickly showed me how to do one and then pretty much dismissed me for the day.  I went home, having learned my lesson and looked forward to my next class at OCC, which was to cover basic cake decorating skills.

Oh, if only that bakery ad had been after I took this course.  After five weeks I had made not only buttercream roses, but royal icing flowers galore.  I was also happy to discover that I had actually figured out how to do some things correctly on my own, but there were still a lot of neat tricks that I learned in that brief time.  It was fun, and exciting to gain new and practical knowledge that I could apply to my business.

But there were a couple of things during this course that didn’t really fly with me. The class, I soon discovered, was meant to teach traditional ideas – as in things you’d find at your typical market or corner bakery.  Stuff your mother or grandmother would fawn over, like pastel roses with trailing vines, and perhaps some delicately piped garlands.  I think it was the garlands that upset me.  They’re so…I don’t know, 1955.  For some reason, they irritated me like Steve Allen and his completely unfunny sense of humor.  I believe they make me want to punch someone.

There were also some things the chef instructor commented on regarding my work that I just didn’t agree with.  Colors, she insisted, had to be on the intense side – reds the color of tacky nail polish, blues the shade of a gumball.  Yes, all appropriate on children’s cakes and the like, but not my style at all.  I complained to my commercial interior designer husband one afternoon about theses outlandish expectations, and he responded with some good advice:  Take what they teach you, and make it your own.

I took his words to heart.   Once I got through the damn course with its garish greens and over-stimulated oranges, I’d use my new skills to further my designs and hopefully make myself more noticeable in the market and, ideally, successful in what I do.  And I know I ain’t gonna get rich from it, but anyone who has a creative outlet knows the joy of being in that zone and just letting what’s inside come out and have a day in the sun.  And that, I know, is something they can’t teach.

In the classic French use for the word (derived from “chief”, by the way), it refers specifically to the leader of a professional kitchen. Not even the other cooks in the same kitchen fit this title, only the boss. The other cooks (again, in the classic French brigade system) all have their own titles. Garde manger, saucier, patisier, ect.. Time has changed the meaning, however. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that. I do think the definition could be expanded to include dedicated professionals. Those of us that consciously try to become better at what we do everyday, and have been doing it for longer than 10 years or so. Formal education, i.e. college/culinary school, doesn’t always help, either. I’ve met more than a couple kids right outa culinary school that were nearly worthless in a restaurant kitchen. This seems to be a person to person occurrence, however. Everyone takes away something different from schooling, and some that go to culinary school only go because they think it’ll be, pardon the pun, a cakewalk. The industry shakes these people off pretty quickly, however, when they get into the real world and are confronted with the stress, working conditions, hours, and the band of not-so-merry mercenaries they have to work with. Regardless, this is a title that I have worked very hard to attain. I’ve earned my stripes, done my time, paid my dues, and it wasn’t easy. Several times I was ready to walk away from professional cooking and not look back, but this is all I know. Anyway, I could never survive the regular 9-5 Officespace world. That would end very poorly, to say the least…

In my mind (and this might just be me, but I doubt it) “chef” is a title that is earned through hard work, dedication, blood, sweat, tears, and countless burns. I get shivers, and somewhat agitated, when I hear someone say they are a chef that doesn’t even work in a kitchen. It also makes me want to slap the piss out of someone that calls them self a chef and follows it with “I work at Red Lobster”. You’re not a chef, dude, your a cook…. and there’s nothing wrong with that! Just accept it! You’re a cook! Don’t try to make yourself feel better by pasting a title on yourself that you didn’t earn. I find it demeaning to my efforts and hard work when the word chef is thrown around lightly. I don’t go around calling myself a doctor just because I have a decent knowledge of human anatomy, and you’re not a chef!

I HAVE encountered a few that I let slide on this issue, however. The rest of the guys here at R.E. for instance. Currently there are only two of us that cook professionally. The others get a pass, and not just because I can tolerate being in the same room with them for longer than 10 minutes, but because they are very dedicated and have great intuition regarding food and drink. My knee-jerk reaction is still to cringe when I hear it, though.

So, maybe the term could stand to be re-defined, but it’s still gonna be a touchy subject with me. Then again, there are a lot of those…

Jack

“Pickled WHAT?” I grabbed the mouse and dragged the video back a minute to watch again. Pickled grapes. My mind reeled. I’d never even conceived a thought of such a thing. How would it work? What would it taste like? I watched the remainder of the episode hoping for a clue. Afterhours is pretty light on technique, so the mystery remained. I began searching and found few mentions, but one site looked reputable and offered a basic recipe.

A shopping list made, and off to the produce market. I was in luck, they had 5 varieties of grapes, including black grapes which I’d never tasted before. Back to the kitchen and ready to work, I decided on straying from the path of the base recipe immediately, as it looked a bit tame for my tastes. After a few hours, I had five jars filled with five variations. Below are the recipes for my two favorites.

For both recpies, mix ingredients and bring just to a boil in a saucepan, then remove from heat. allow the pickling solution to cool before adding it to the jars. This will prevent your grapes from wrinkling and losing their crunch. Use a pairing knife to slice the caps off the grapes for a clean appearance and add as many as possible to a mason jar without crushing. any grapes will do – however I found that the seedless reds held their crunch best and presented the most appealing color. Pour the cooled pickling solution to fill the jar, cap tightly and refrigerate for no less than 24 hours, preferably longer. I found my test subjects were best after 72 hours. Each recipe will fill 1 mason jar loaded with average sized grapes.

Pickled Grapes – Rogue Estate Method #1

This batch was light, sweet with a hint of the mustard’s tartness.

• 40-60 grapes, washed, plucked and capped
• 1 c White Wine Vinegar
• 3/4 c Water
• 1 c Sugar
• 1 Cinnamon Stick
• 1 tsp Black Pepper
• 1 tsp Brown Mustard Seeds
• 1 tsp Allspice Powder
• 1 Arbol Pepper (dried)
• 6 Juniper Berries

Pickled Grapes – Rogue Estate Method #3

These are slightly sweeter than #1, with a subtle warmth in their finish thanks to the Aleppo.

• 40-60 Grapes, washed, plucked and capped.
• 1/2 c White Wine Vinegar
• 1/2 c Red Wine Vinegar
• 1 c water
• 1 c Sugar
• 1/2 tsp Salt
• 1 tsp Aleppo Pepper
• 10 Juniper Berries
• 10 Allspice Pods

As with any of the recipes published on the Rogue Estate, we welcome your variations and pairings in the comments.

Enjoy,

-///

Let me start by saying just because they’re dried doesn’t mean they last forever. That jar of tarragon sitting in the back of the cupboard that you got from mom 10 years ago should be thrown out…. In restaurants we go through these jars pretty quick, but at home they tend to sit around for a while. Any dried herb that’s been sitting on your spice rack for six months or more is pretty much garbage. Spices last a bit longer, but more than a year old, pitch it.

The best approach to these very different forms is primarily in the timing, when to use them in a recipe to get the best results. Using both dry and fresh herbs of the same variety in the same recipe can create multiple layers of flavor from the same plant. For instance, a pizza sauce with oregano, or a marinara with basil will be greatly enhanced by using both forms. For my examples I’ll be citing mostly sauce making processes, as this is the best application for dried herbs. Dried herbs are generally best used in the begining of the cooking process, while fresh is usually the last thing added to a sauce.

Some herbs lend themselves to being dried better than others. Tarragon, basil, and oregano are the best of the dried herb family. They all get a woody character from the drying process. Please do me a personal favor and NEVER buy dried parsley! There’s no flavor left in parsley after it’s been dried unless you dry it yourself and use it immediately, in which case what was the point in drying it to begin with? Just use fresh! Seriously! Don’t make me hunt you down!

As I said, dried herbs are best used at the begining of the preparation. Keep in mind that the flavor is much more intense than fresh and it’s easy to overdo it, which will also leave whatever you’re cooking with a gritty mouth feel. With most herbs the ratio to keep in mind is 3 or 4 to 1. Meaning 3 or 4 times more fresh than dry should be used to get the same intensity. The flavor left in dried herbs is primarily in the oils in the leaves so toasting them breifly in the oil or fat used in the first steps of flavor layering is the way to go. When I make marinara, the first thing I do is saute my onions low and slow WITH a bit of dried basil and half as much dried oregano and also a pinch of crushed red pepper. When you go to add the dry herbs pinch them tightly between your fingers while you’re sprinkling them into whatever it is you’re cooking. This grinding motion will help release those oils.

Fresh herbs are used in a completely different way, and it’s much more difficult to over use fresh (think of tabouley, almost entirely chopped parsley). When I was training on the pasta station at my first fine dining restaurant the sous chef told me, “don’t be affraid to use a lot” when refering to adding the herbs to the pasta right before plating the dish. I was more concerned at the time with the fact that prepping the fresh herbs was the biggest time sink when setting up my mise en place, so conservation was more what I was thinking! The less I use, the more time I have to set up the rest of my station because I don’t have to prep as much! Now, years later, I understand that it is time well spent.

For sauces the fresh herbs are always the last thing that goes in. The more you cook a fresh herb the duller it’s flavor gets, so a thirty second steep is generally the best approach to release the flavor and aroma and preserve that bright freshness. For marinades fresh is the ONLY thing I’ll use. If you coat a piece of meat with a marinade utilizing dried herbs the finished dish usually ends up with a mouth feel akin to chewing on lawnmower clippings. But if that’s your thing….

Some fresh herbs need to be treated with care so not to bruise them during preparation. Parsley you can chop until it’s almost powder, but basil needs a lighter touch, like a chiffonade, gentle rough chop, or just tearing it apart with your fingers. Because fresh basil is so supple it will bruise and brown and be generally unappealing if treated too roughly, and be sure to use the sharpest knife in the kitchen when (and if) you cut it to make sure you don’t just crush it. The general rule of thumb is ANY greens or herbs with soft leaves should be treated gently or it will bruise and turn brown. This rule applies to the softer lettuces and spinach as well as fresh basil.

Storing fresh herbs is something I should also cover. Basically the leaves are still alive, still “breathing” and metabolizing so putting them in a ziplock bag is the worst thing you can do! Get a very damp (almost dripping, but not quite) paper towel and wrap small bundles of the herbs with it. Store these in a container with a tight fitting, but not air tight lid and keep them in the humid part of the ‘fridge. You’ll be surprised how long some fresh herbs will last this way. At work we had a batch of fresh shiso leaves last a month one time!

If you have any questions or there is something you’d like me to elaborate on, just ask in the comments. Until next time, live well and eat better!

Jack

http://www.epicurious.com/articlesguides/seasonalcooking/farmtotable/visualguidefreshherbs?mbid=epilf

http://ger-nis.com/recipes/fresh_herb_guide

I think it said something like “We must talk of a certain matter which is of interest to you” and it was from my former co-worker and longtime foodie friend, Ian.  I expected instructions to follow involving a discreet location and knocking out the shave-and-a-haircut code in a darkened doorway.  But no such luck. 

Instead, it was an invitation to join forces with those who were as passionate about finding the perfect morel mushroom as I was.  Menus would be discussed, a theme finalized and I would participate with a dessert and another entrée if I had time. Who was I to pass up such an opportunity?  Besides, I’d heard there was going to be longanisa, so I had to come.

For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s the Filipino equivalent to a Smoky Link, but tastier.   I had introduced my friend Ian to it many years ago at a barbecue, and it became his personal mission to come up with other uses for the beloved Filipino sausage.  I was intrigued to see what he was going to do with it this time.

I was also intrigued by what the evening was going to bring.  The menu looked extraordinary enough, and I was hoping to be able to pull my weight amongst the individuals that had been described to me.  I mean, I cook, and I do it well, but making food for people I hadn’t met whose palates I wasn’t familiar with seemed a bit scary.  But like all new adventures, I went for it.  Because sometimes, you just have to consider the possibilities and say damn the torpedoes.

The evening produced a variety of “firsts”.  All of us ate or drank something we’d never had before, and after feasting we concluded that the evening was a huge success.  Now, had I decided that I wanted to live a safe and uneventful life and decline Ian’s invitation to join the Rogue Estate for an evening of food, camaraderie and boozing, then I would have missed several opportunities.  I wouldn’t have tasted two beers that I enjoyed immensely (and that I can still taste if I think on it hard enough), or goyoza with pea sprouts and crab, or softshell crab cooked over pecan wood.  Oh, and let’s not forget the longanisa, skewered with shrimp and green onion and barbecued to perfection.  Meat candy, I believe my husband called it.

So, here’s to more “firsts”.  And I hope you, the reader, will be inspired to experience some as well.  Taking a chance can prove quite delicious.

For the “guts”:

1/2 pound of shrimp, peeled, shells reserved and roughly chopped into bite-size pieces

3/4 pound of Red Snapper fillet cut into 3/4 inch cubes

14 oz. dry Udon

2 oz. Celery heart sliced thin on a bias

2 oz. Leek white, sliced thin

3 oz. baby heirloom Carrots of mixed color or standard baby Carrots, sliced thin on a bias

2 oz. Scallion, sliced thin

2 oz. (3 spears) Asparagus, sliced thin on a bias

1/2 cup Sake or Dry White Vermouth

For the broth:

2 quarts water

2 oz. or 56 grams shaved Katsuo (bonito) or 2 tablespoons instant Dashi

a 4inch length of Konbu, wiped clean

1 cup light Mirin

1/2 cup Soy Sauce

Juice of 1 Lemon

Juice of 1 Lime

6 thin slices of fresh Ginger

1 teaspoon minced Garlic

reserved Shrimp shells

To start:

Add the water to a large pot with the Konbu and bring to a simmer. In another large pot bring 3 quarts of salted water (it should taste like sea water) to a boil. Once the Konbu has come to a simmer, add the rest of the broth ingredients and bring back to a simmer. Allow this to steep on low heat for 20-30 minutes and strain, return the liquid to the pot and discard the solids (or make a “second Dashi” by steeping the solids again with the addition of another 1/2 oz. of Katsuobushi, and chill or freeze for use within a month).

Coat the bottom of a large saute pan with a small amount of soy or canola oil and place over medium heat. Once heated, add the Leeks, Celery and Carrots and lightly salt, cook over medium heat until the carrots are soft but not thoroughly cooked. Deglaze with the Sake and reduce until the pan is almost dry. At this point add half the Dashi stock to the pan and bring back to a simmer.

While that comes back up to a simmer, your other pot of salted water should be boiling. Add the Udon to the water and cook until the Udon is just past el dente. Strain and rinse the noodles under hot water if serving right away, or under cold water to reserve for later use and lightly oil the noodles for storage. All the while keeping an eye on the broth to make sure it doesn’t come to a full boil.

To finish:

Divide the noodles among 4-5 bowls. Add the Shrimp, Red Snapper, and Asparagus to the simmering broth and bring back to a simmer, then kill the heat. Allow this to steep for 3-4 minutes to cook the meats, they won’t take long and if cooked on high heat the Shrimp will get rubbery and the fish will fall apart. Divide this evenly into the bowls containing the noodles, top off with a little more of the left over Dashi stock if the noodles aren’t almost fully submerged. Sprinkle a generous amount of sliced scallions over the top of each bowl and serve with chopsticks. Place a small bowl of Chili/Garlic paste in the center of the table with a small spoon for guests to use at their discretion. I used Shiso leaves to garnish for the picture, but that’s optional, or Lime leaves would be a good substitute.

If the three soup recipes I’ve posted weren’t a clue, I am a huge fan of soups, especially Asian soups, and this one came out great. The key is in not overcooking anything so their natural flavors shine through bright and clear.

I have a few other great soups in my repertoire, so expect to see those eventually. Until next time, live well and eat better!

Jack

Seared Salmon with Strawberry Beurre Rouge

I’ll be discussing three variants, particularly. Beurre Blanc, Beurre Rouge, and Beurre Nantais. The differences being Beurre Blanc (literally translated from French meaning “white butter”) is made with white wine, Beurre Rouge (red butter) is made with red wine, and Beurre Nantais (named so after the town of Nantes in France) utilizes cream as a stabilizer. Monter Au Beurre, or mounting a sauce with butter (again with the fancy French terms, but is essentially what a Beurre Blanc is, a mounted sauce), simply means emulsifying butter into it, most commonly done with pan sauces (see my post about pan sauces here) the term applies to any sauce that has butter emulsified into it at the last step. While Hollandaise does have butter emulsified into it, it doesn’t fall into the same category as a “mounted” sauce. Because of the presence of egg yolks and the butter is clarified it’s more akin to a cooked mayonnaise, but that’s a different article entirely.

I’ll start with Beurre Blanc. A classic French sauce that goes well with fish, shellfish, chicken, or any mild flavor that has little to no fat content of it’s own. This is a very tricky sauce, however, and does not reheat well without alteration, so be sure the recipe you use will yield the quantity you will require for the meal with little to spare. More on reheating in a minute.

The basic Beurre Blanc is really nothing more than white wine, a little vinegar, herbs, and butter. So why all the fuss? It’s the way these ingredients are combined, the technique, that will make or, quite literally, break the sauce. So here’s a basic recipe for Beurre Blanc (Beurre Rouge is made exactly the same, just substitute red wine for white):

1 750 ml bottle semi-dry white wine, Chardonnay works best

1 cup good gelatinous chicken stock (optional, but if chosen don’t use anything prepackaged, homemade or not at all is the way to go)

2 tablespoons vinegar, tarragon vinegar is killer for this, champagne or standard white wine vinegars work well too, simple white vinegar need not apply.

1 teaspoon Tabasco (not generally used in the “classic” method, but I like the little added zing it provides)

2 shallots sliced fairly thin

1 tablespoon crushed garlic

5-6 thyme stems, whole

2-3 bay leaves, depending on size

1 tablespoon whole black pepper corns

1 pound butter, unsalted, cut into 1/2 inch cubes and well chilled

Salt to taste

Yield:

2.25 cups, or 18 oz., standard portion size for a dinner plate around 2oz.

Begin by coating the bottom of a heavy sauce or saute pan with a little oil and heating over medium heat. Sweat the shallots until very soft, but not browned and add the garlic, pepper corns and bay leaves. Crank the heat up a little and saute this until the garlic is fragrant and deglaze with the whole bottle of wine (remember to have the wine uncorked and close at hand lest the garlic brown you you have to start over). With the wine, add the vinegar, Tabasco, and herbs. Reduce this on high heat until the pan is nearly dry, down to about 2-3 tablespoons total volume. If using the chicken stock, add that and reduce again. Cut the heat back to medium and slowly start whisking in the chilled butter cubes. This is the tricky part. You need to maintain a constant temperature to get the proper emulsification. Just under, but not quite boiling. If it boils it breaks, and you’re left with a puddle of melted butter and acid. Adding the cold butter to the reduction will drop the temperature significantly at the beginning when the total volume is very small. So go slowly, adding one or two cubes at a time and whisking until almost fully incorporated. As the volume of the sauce increases with the addition of more butter, so too does it’s ability to absorb the thermal shock of adding the cold butter to the hot sauce, so gradually increase the speed at which you add it. When all of the butter is fully incorporated, kill the heat and run the sauce through a fine mesh strainer. Hold in a hot, but not boiling, double boiler until needed.

If done right, you will be able to hold the finished sauce for quite a while at nearly boiling without it separating or “breaking”. The key is maintaining the temperature at just under a boil. If the sauce does break on you, there is little you can do to save it.

Beurre Nantais is nearly identical to Beurre Blanc with the addition of cream as a stabilizer. After the wine is reduced simply add 1 pint of heavy cream (as per that recipe above) and reduce that down to about 1/2 cup total volume before whisking in the butter. This increases the stability so well that a lot of restaurants will add cream to all of their butter sauces that need to be held hot for hours on end. I, personally, despise this…. If the cook in charge of making the sauce in the first place is taught proper technique and doesn’t rush through it there’s absolutely no need to add cream to a Beurre Blanc, turning it into a Beurre Nantais. The flavor and texture of a proper Beurre Blanc, or Beurre Rouge, is like satin. It glides off the tongue and leaves a very clean finish. Beurre Nantais, because of the added cream, does not. Not that I’m against Beurre Nantais, it just needs to be used differently. Most applications for Beurre Blanc require that smoother texture and cleaner finish.

If your first attempt at making Beurre Blanc fails (and most of the time the first attempt does) there is a way to salvage the effort, though it won’t hold for long at all and isn’t always successful. Dip a spoon in it several times over the course of whipping in the butter, if it doesn’t coat the back evenly, it’s starting to break. If you notice this before you finish adding the butter, pull it off the heat immediately. In a separate pan, start reducing the pint of cream used in the Beurre Nantais recipe. When reduced to 1/2 cup start whipping the remainder of the cold butter into it, slowly as before. When you’ve run out of butter, slowly drizzle in the broken Beurre Blanc and add a little more salt to make up for the added fat content, effectively making a Beurre Nantais. Strain as before and use ASAP.

If you do end up with left-over Beurre Blanc, you can chill it and reheat it for later use. However it involves the same process for fixing a broken sauce, again, turning it into a Beurre Nantais. Simply reduce your cream, as before, and treat the left-over, chilled sauce as you would the cold butter in the original recipe, whipping it in slowly then adjusting the seasoning.

Steamed Mussels in Beer Blanc

Jack

I was intimately familiar with the pie:  bacon, an obscene amount of onions, Gruyere, and custard.  This is the nexus of flavors from the area where Switzerland, Germany and France approach each other (north of Basel, past Colmar, to Strasbourg).  I’ve been there and had only one choice–Alsatian Pinot Gris.

It paired perfectly.  The best option locally was Trimbach’s Pinot Gris 2002 Reserve.

Trimbach Pinot Gris Reserve 2002

Classic citrus and melon flavors clean the palette, but the Alsatian slate and herby notes make this so much more interesting than similar California or Italian options.  Red wine drinkers: this is your white (especially with cheese).  Trust me.  It even stood up well to the vinaigrette, but only because John had the foresight to demand enough mustard and bacon.  About $18.

So, what do we do with a braised pork belly?  I opted to punt, and picked a local sparkler, a Michigan Rose in fact.

L. Mawby's Sex Brut Rose

L. Mawby makes one that they named “M. Lawrence SEX”.  About $14.  Bacon and sex?   Yes, please.  The bubbles and acidity helped, but there just wasn’t enough going on otherwise to recommend the pair.  But like they say, sex is like pizza—even when it’s bad…

I’m eager to move on to reds, cheap and rich.  Is it barbecue season yet?

Spring Pea Soup:

3 pounds fresh Peas, without husks

1 bottle semi-dry white wine (Chardonay, Pinot Grigio, Sauvignon Blanc, ect.)

1 tablespoon fresh mint leaves, roughly chopped

Juice of 2 lemons

4oz. butter, cut into 1/2 inch cubes

Ramp stalks, sliced very thin

Salt to taste

Water

Procedure:

Start by reducing all but 4oz. of the wine in a 1.5-2 gallon heavy bottomed pot over high heat, reserve the remainder of the wine. When reduced by 3/4 add the peas and enough water to cover them by an inch or so and bring to a simmer. Reduce heat to medium and cook until the peas are soft, 15-20 minutes after a simmer is reached. Kill the heat and add the mint. Pour into a kitchen blender (in batches if needed) and puree until smooth, or to the desired consistency. We left ours just a little chunky, but that’s a point of preference. Were I making this in a restaurant I would have made it as smooth as possible and then ran it through a fine sieve to get a satin smooth texture.

Finishing with butter.

Ready to eat!

Wash the Ramp greens and cut across into 1/2 inch strips. Dredge in corn starch and deep fry until just crisp. Season with a pinch of salt as soon as they leave the hot oil.

Saute some fresh Morels in butter until soft. Add the sliced Ramp stalks and cook for another 2 minutes. Then add the Ramp greens (cut as for the previous suggestion) and cook for another minute. Season with a pinch of salt.

Delicate cooking and simplicity are the key to this recipe. I would normally use stock instead of just water but for this soup it would have dulled the impact of the star ingredient, the fresh peas. The whole idea of this dish was to showcase their freshness at the height of the season, leaving their flavor as bright, vivid, unobscured and fresh as possible. The result is a recipe that even a retarded monkey could pull off successfully, and a soup that’s worthy of any fine dining restaurant menu.

Until next time, live well and eat better!
Jack

But I’m no wine expert. I know, everyone says that in their first post to try and sound like a “regular guy”, not some kind of wine Einstein. Wine can be intimidating. There’s too much to know out there, ever. Even if you were the expert of experts, there’s always some crafty vineyard owner working in his lab to perfect a new blend, or breed a new varietal, or bring something new to the party. That’s what makes wine fun…an endless variety of sensations, and endless invention. There’s always something more to learn and new curiosities along the way, like Alice’s rabbit hole.

I’ve had no wine training, and I’ve only been to a few informal tastings. But what I do have (on top of my fascination) is practice. Malcolm Gladwell made a popular observation that the difference between proficiency and mastery of anything we do is about 10,000 hours of practice. I’m pretty sure I’ve logged well over that amount with my nose shoved deep into a half-full glass…

So you can understand that I was happy to be invited into the Rogue Estate’s inner circle of epicurean miscreants…if just to share a little of that enthusiasm with them, and with you.

For my first Rogue’s dinner, I offered to pair a couple bottles to the menu, which was described to me simply thus:

“1st course:
Littleneck clams on the half-shell w/ cold Ramp green puree

Soup course:
Fresh Pea soup, Ramp white garnish

Main course:
Seared Salmon, Strawberry Beurre Rouge, Balsamic Roasted Asparagus, Lemon-Ramp Rice”

Here’s what I showed up with and a few tasting notes.

A to Z Oregon Pinot Gris

http://www.atozwineworks.com/pgris.html

Willamette Valley Pinot Gris are what I usually reach for when there’s shellfish in front of me. Extremely light in color–think straw with a faint green/grey hue. Supple citrus flavors dominate, mostly lime, with a background of honeysuckle and honeydew. A great palate cleanser, and suited to simple mild flavors–light cheeses, vegetables and a hit with littlenecks on the half-shell. About $13.

La Vieille Ferme Rose

http://www.lavieilleferme.com/rose.php?langue=en

Lovely color–a bright pink with just a hint of amber.. Consistently receiving a score in the upper 80s by most reviewers this wine represents a serious value. Bright strawberry notes and a watermelon freshness that’s irresistible (lack of oak helps here). A hint of caramel on the moderate finish. A great foil for fresh spring vegetables and fish. Just enough acidity to stand up to Jack’s beurre rouge. About $8.

Picking a good wine to pair with a dish is fun, but not something I’ve done a lot of. I expect that there will be good nights and bad nights. I encourage you to ditch the rulebook and remember that the best wine to drink with anything is the one that tastes good to you.

Now, are you interested in coming along with me to see how deep this rabbit hole goes?

- Ian