Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Japan's Original KOSHU

Last March, I received e-mail from my former boss Roger, whom I had not been in contact for quite sometime. With a curiosity, I opened the message.

"I thought you might enjoy this article.
Happy Spring! Roger"

The article attached was Jancis Robinson's Purple Page, titled "Koshu gets a passport", which was about wines made from Japan's original Koshu grape getting ready to hit an international market.

Despite I knew Japan was making wines from grape, I was not aware of its quality nor status. I mean to a point to be written by one of the world's most famous wine authorities and wines good and competitive enough to be exported to overseas?
Reading the article over and over, I knew I had to go to Japan and see and taste these Koshu wines in person. However Japan is on the other side of the planet with 12-14 hour flight, which does not usually come with a reasonable price tag. In order to get approval from the people around me, I had to find other excuses to pursue my mission and also learn more about Koshu.

With over 1,300 years in history, Koshu is a Japan's original Vitis Vinifera white grape variety with thick pink skin. Its origin is the Caucasus and traveled via the Silk Road with Buddhism and it made its home in Yamanashi, where more than 95% of Koshu is cultivated.

Located at the foot of Mt. Fuji, Yamanashi is a mountainous area with well-drained volcanic soils. Extremes of heat and cold, plus long day's summer sunlight make this region ideal for cultivation of Koshu as well as other fruits (notably peach).

The vines were initially planted for producing table grape and overhead pergolas has been the traditional training method, however many growers are now experimenting with vertical shoot training to produce grape more suitable for wine making. Due to the region's 800 mm average annual rain, each grape bunch is covered by rain protective parchment paper, labor intensive work done by hand.

In terms of vinification, several methods are used:
- Stainless steel fermentation
- Stainless steel fermentation + sur lie
- Stainless steel/ barrel fermentation + barrel ageing
* Besides still dry white wine, Koshu is also made into semi-sweet and sparkling styles

Perfect opportunity came along in the early summer. I got a position to work for Japan Wine Challenge for 5 days. I booked a ticket, packed my bag and took off. Once the competition was over, 1 & 1/2 hour fast train ride took me to Yamanashi in a very hot day. My Koshu Expert picked me up at the station and then she guided me to an area called Toriibira, a hillside area known to produce some of the best Koshu grape. With a picturesque view of Yamanashi and vineyard in the background, she explained Koshu's history, viticulture, vinification, and current production overview. 

Gold medal winner for Japanese Wine category for 2010 Japan Wine Challenge was Haramo Wine, which was our first stop. Established in 1924, traditional Japanese architecture of the property is more than 130 years old. "Hara" loosely translates to "field" and that was the area around where the winery stands, thus the name of the property. Today Haramo Wine is run by father and son team of Furuya family and the day we visited, the son, Shintaro welcomed us in the tasting room. 

What makes Haramo Koshu truly unique is its strength. In general, wine's strength is often associated with alcohol, tannin, intensity and concentration of flavor, and/or degree of oak usage. Haramo Koshu is only 12% in alcohol and it is pale in color with lemon tint. Its strength is very different from "up in your face" kind but more of tenacity, which comes within as a form of persistence and complexity. I also enjoyed its "Jekyll & Hyde" like personality featuring famine side with delicate nuances of fruit and elegant floral quality and its powerful masculinity showing smokiness, white pepper-like spiciness, and structure.

Second place we visited was Yamanashi Wine, another historical property run by 4th generation winemaker of Mr. Nozawa. Young and talented Mr. Nozawa decided to continue his family business of wine making after living in France, where he fell in love with wine. Trained in Burgundy, he employs some of biodynamic viticulture practices though it is not always easy to execute in Japan's humid climate. "Natural" is the approach here at Yamanashi Wine and he even vinifies Koshu with all natural yeast and the wine is called "Sol Oriens" meaning sunrise. It has a distinctive character with poached pear and apple fruit, followed by hints of yuzu (Japanese lime), honey, and floral note.

What impressed me was his skillful usage of oak in the "Four Seasons", another Koshu which won a silver medal from International Wine Challenge. After slow temperature controlled fermentation, the wine is blended with a portion, which spends time in oak barrel. I did not taste much oak on the palate but instead there was touch of toasty notes, depth and structure from the barrel. These quality were beautifully integrated with fresh citrus fruit and apple flavors of Koshu.

About 10 minutes car ride brought us to Fujiclaire Winery, owned by a well-known food product company in Japan. This company learned a lot about food from the history and they applied the same approach to the wine making - to look at the history. The winemaker Mr. Amamiya greeted us in a sunny tasting room overlooking the vineyard. Sitting across the table, I could feel his passion for wine and his job making wine. This was confirmed by his meticulously organized notebook recording grape's sugar level from different vineyard sites.

Limited 3,500 bottle annual production Fujiclaire Koshu Sur Lie is made from free-run juice fermented in low temperature. Just like Mr. Amamiya's personality, this wine is soft and gentle with fruit of citrus and stone fruit of pear and peach, which comes with a smell of sea breeze like brininess. I was thinking it would be wonderful to pair with seafood dishes as well as with hard-to-pair seaweed. Also because of its forward fruit quality and weight, I think it will be delicious with Japanese fried dish of tempura, especially shrimp.

The last stop in Yamanashi was Grace Winery. One of the reasons why I really wanted to visit there was that it was the winery mentioned over and over while I was researching Koshu. Born in the very heart of Koshu production Kastunuma, President Misawa is the 4th generation of Grace Winery and his dream is to see Koshu recognized for its quality in the world. Sharing his dream alongside is his young and bright daughter/winemaker Ayana, who has trained at the University of Bordeaux, wine making school often referred as the Harvard in the industry.

Multiple-award winning Grace Koshu is their flagship wine. Made in "sur lie" style, the wine spends 5 months with lees, or yeast sediment. This process is known to add extra dimension, texture and flavor to the final product. Delicate yet complex Grace Koshu showed citrus fruit, mineral quality, balanced by clean acidity. There is amazing purity expressed on the palate as flavor but also as texture.

            *   *   *   *   *   *   *

After visiting these four producers talking and tasting, I began to see a picture of Koshu. I've noticed there are three attributes making Koshu stands out and these are:
 
1: Koshu benefits from airtime
When you just pull a cork, Koshu can be shy and may even be muted. However after 3-4 hours, it starts to show layers of delicate citrus and stone fruit along with hints of tropical fruit as well as floral, spicy, and mineral character. White wine in general tends to fall apart after opening a bottle for a day or two but Koshu almost benefits from air and time. I wonder if this has anything to do with its thick skin.

2. Purity
Detected on the palate as flavor and texture, Koshu presents crystal-clear mineral quality, which I would like to use the word "purity" to describe. I've experienced similar sensation on the palate when I was tasting wines from French alpine region of Savoie, bordering Switzerland. Since Yamanashi is also surrounded by mountains, I suspect the soil composition of mountainous region as well as water quality has something to do with Koshu's purity. (Yamanashi is known for its high water quality, bottling over 40% of water sold in Japan)

3. Umami
Often found in foods such as bacon, cheese, broth and mushroom, the Japanese word umami means "good flavor/taste". It is the 5th basic taste we detect on our tongue along with sweet, salty, bitter, and sour. According to the Wikipedia, umami consists of the carboxylate anion of glutamic acid, a naturally occurring amino acid .  Although I do not know how umami makes its way into a bottle of wine, I've detected on the palate time to time in some Pinot Noir and many Champagne, which spends time on lees and so do many of Koshu made in "sur lie" style.


After a day in Yamanashi, I was impressed by history and quality of Koshu. But more than anything, I was touched by hardworking people's passion and determination to produce and improve great unique wine original of Japan. I look forward to a day when people in different parts of the world recognize and get to enjoy this delightful wine and my guess is that day is not too far ahead in the future.

I would like to send many thanks to the producers and my Koshu Expert who took their time to make my wish come true.

Koshu was recently featured in The New York Times. To read the article, please click here.  

Thursday, December 9, 2010

RM for Real Magic: Champagne from Recoltant-Manipulant

Trying to read Champagne label sometimes is like scene James Bond de-codes secret password in 007 movies but one of the key terms worth remembering is RM, which stands for Recoltant-Manipulant, meaning grower producer, who owns the vineyard and makes own Champagne.

I recently tasted three RM Champagne of Aubry, Gaston Chiquet and Pierre Peters. All three are small production and well-made, each expressing its individual personality.

Aubry
"Earthy", "natural" and "rustic" come to my mind every time I taste Champagne from Aubry. Established in 1790, Aubry is located in the Petit Montagne de Reims and it is run by twin brothers of Pierre and Philippe. It is a small property but full of innovation. Majority of base wine is from low-yield vineyards and vinified in old 205 liter oak barrels. This is also one of very few producers who still make Champagne from ancient varieties of Pinot Gris, Arbanne and Petit Meslier.

The one I tasted was the "Classic"(40% Pinot Meunier/30% Pinot Noir/ 30% Chardonnay) from the Premier Cru site of Jouy-les-Reims. It was golden in color with copper/brassy tint with nose of baked pear and apple, citrus with nutmeg, white pepper and a touch of nutty/ caramely maple syrup note. On the palate, the aromas found on the nose were expressed with granny smith apple-like lively acidity with great depth and earthiness.

I often find hints of mushroom and dried leaf in Champagne of Aubry and it reminds me of mushroom hunting in a forest stepping on dry leaves in the fall.

Gaston Chiquet
Claude Chiquet and his two sons manage this property, which holds vineyards in Dizy, Ay, Cumieres and Hautvillers. Gaston Chiquet is known for its Blanc de Blancs (100% Chardonnay) from Ay, the village famous for Pinot Noir. (another property I know who does something so radical is Henri Giraud, also located in Ay)

The fruit for NV Traditional (45% Pinot Meunier/ 35% Chardonnay/ 30% Pinot Noir) is from the Premier Cru village of Dizy, bordering Ay with south-west exposure and altitude of 100-200 meters. Rich fruit consists of apple, pear and Meyer lemon, followed by hints of honey, toasty and creamy notes of hazelnut as well as fresh note of very gentle leafy herbal twist. It is beautifully balanced by good amount of fresh acidity on the palate. This Champagne presents clean forward fruit with a class.


Pierre Peters
Pierre Peters is located in one of the 17 Grand Cru villages of Mesnil-sur-Oger, the area known to produce top quality Chardonnay. When young, the wine from this village shows notes of herb, lemon and chalk and with age, it evolves to mocha and nuts. Because of its strong personality, the base wine is generally used for blending with other villages. However 6th generation of Pierre Peters only uses Chardonnay producing impressive collection of Blanc de Blancs (100% Chardonnay)from vineyards of Mesnil-sur-Oger, Oger, Avize, and Cramant (all Grand Cru villages located in the Cote des Blancs)

"Cuvee Reserve" exhibited great elegance featuring clean citrus fruit with hints of delicate white flower, chalky mineral, followed by crisp lemon fruit and focused acidity on the palate partnered by creamy soft texture. On the back palate, I tasted hints of honey, acacia, candied ginger and white pepper. Since there is big contrast from fresh citrus fruit on the front palate and more of rich and warm toasty notes on back palate, it created a kind of illusion like experience.


I drank this with take-out sushi, which is one of my absolute favorite pairings (other favorite parings includes: oysters, especially kumamoto, caviar and Cape Cod potato chips) Bite of sesame seeds echoed beautifully with nuttiness and toastiness of Champagne, crisp acidity cut the fishiness and saltiness of tobiko (tiny fish eggs) and chalky minerality complemented its flavors. Creamy texture matched the fattiness of avocado. Fresh citrus fruit brought out the sweetness in soft shell crab tempura, which came inside Spider maki. I have also read in somewhere the quality Champagne acquires from ageing process both on less (or yeast autolysis) and in the bottle complements the flavor of soy sauce, which is also a product of fermentation.


One thing I found common in these three high quality Champagne besides they are all from RM, is that they also indicated the date of disgorgement (process of removing the yeast sediment from the bottle) Despite many people have told me non-vintage Champagne does not improve after the disgorgement process and should be consumed as soon as possible, many of the producers I met in Champagne told me the opposite.

Well, it is really a matter of personal taste but if you prefer fresh fruit with crisp acidity, then enjoy a bottle as soon as you purchase but if you prefer more mature fruit with toasty and nutty quality, then choose the one with more time (or hold if you have combination of time, patience and good cellaring environment). However finding the date of disgorgement is very unlikely in mass-produced big name Champagne. On the other hand, there are quality conscious producers like these three I tasted, who take time and care to indicate the date on each back label. Other producers who also mention the disgorgement date are: Bruno Paillard, Phillipponnat and Egly-Ouriet.


It is not always easy to find RM here in "brand-driven" US Champagne market but if you see a bottle, try it instead of reaching over to the usual suspects, for example the one with a bright yellow label or initial DP. I hope you get to discover and experience the real magic of RM Champagne this holiday season. A votre sante!

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Cheek to Cheek

Caravaggio's Bacchus

Anyone who’s known me for more than a minute has probably heard me say that the Italians just got everything right. As an art history major, I have a soft spot for all things Renaissance, as well as ardent infatuations with Caravaggio, Bernini, Botticelli, and Michelangelo (despite the latter’s rumored sexual preferences- apparently 450 years ain’t the only thing keeping us apart…). As a cook and a voracious eater of all cuisines, if I had to choose only one to sustain me for the rest of my life, it would be Italian. I think I could happily exist on ciabatta, prosciutto, and various cheeses alone, with a few tomatoes thrown in for health purposes (tomatoes drenched with olive oil, of course). As a wine enthusiast and frequent imbiber, I always find myself going back to Italian wines; there are countless regions with drastically different styles, arcane grapes that would take me years to get straight, and a rustic, dusty style redolent of cedar and cherries that permeates and imbues the wines with a sense of earth and age. I could go on and on (another thing that becomes obvious when you’ve known me for more than a minute), but another thing that the Italians have down to an art is how to confuse the shit out of even the most seemingly simple things, and turn them into matters of pride. Now, I don’t say this with disdain- as someone for whom nothing in life remains simple for long, I think the Italian penchant for churning the waters makes life more interesting (I’ve often considered how much more lively my family gathering would be if I were born into a big Italian brood, instead of the waspy New Englander hand I was dealt). This phenomenon was brought to my attention recently as I was preparing to cook up a meal of pasta all’Amatriciana, a dish which I had been vaguely familiar with but had never attempted myself. Browsing recipes online, I found a number that called for onions and bucatini, and some in which the allium was notably absent, and the noodle of choice was spaghetti. Now, I’m used to recipe variation, even in what is ostensibly a long-established dish, but my curiosity revealed that in this case, it was more than just random.
The town of Amatrice
Originally, there was a dish called gricia, from the village of Grisciano, of course, which contained pepper, cheese, and guanciale. What is guanciale? Oooh, my friends, we’ll get to that. After the introduction of tomatoes and the resulting sauces to Italy, a dish developed in the town of Amatrice in Lazio which utilized the base ingredients of gricia, but added a tomato-based sauce. Being that Amatrice was primarily a shepherds’ town, the food was basic, peasant food, and contained no onions, garlic, or herbs. What was this dish called? Amatriciana, of course. (That whole Italian pride thing starting to make sense?) Contacts between Rome and Amatrice meant that the dish was soon adopted by the capital city, where it became known as ‘matriciana’, apparently due to the tendency in the Romanesque dialect to drop sounds from the beginning of words. (Although proud Amatrice-dwellers might tell you that it was Rome’s attempt to phonetically sever the dish from its city of origin, thereby making it their own- sounds logical, right?) Whatever the reason, this pasta dish branched off into two distinct entities: the Roman version, which added onion and sometimes garlic, and used bucatini (long, tubular noodles) as a base, and the eponymous city’s version, lacking onion and garlic and commonly served over spaghetti.
Quarrelsome Italian towns and their pasta sauce-centered egos aside, there’s one common denominator that not even Rome and Amatrice could find a bone of contention with- cured pork jowl. That’s right, the aforementioned guanciale is like a fattier, un-smoked version of bacon or pancetta prepared with a pig’s cheek (guancia means cheek in Italian). For reasons unbeknownst to me, it’s nearly impossible to find in the United States, but is revered enough in central Italy to bring two neighboring towns together in pork-fueled culinary accord- kinda makes you wonder if bacon could bring about world peace…anyway, since I am very decidedly (and unfortunately) nowhere near Italy, central or otherwise, you might be wondering how I planned on cooking up this historically-charged pasta repast. This is where having foodie friends comes in handy, and having Italian foodie friends is damn near priceless. Having recently received the gift of a cured jowl from just such a friend, I set out to make pasta all’Amatriciana.
Luckily, there were no Romans or Amatricians in my kitchen that evening, so I could shamelessly deviate from both versions with no fear of consequence. I decided to include onion and garlic simply because…well, they’re tasty (sorry Amatrician shepherds). I also decided that I was going to make my own pasta, so bucatini was out, (take that, Rome!) and for the sake of neutrality, I went with linguine. I whirred 2 cups of AP flour and 3 eggs in the food processor, kneaded by hand for a few minutes, and then let it rest while I chopped garlic (about 4 cloves), onion (I used half of a Vidalia, sliced thin), and- ooooohhh- guanciale. My jowl had been in the back of my fridge for a couple weeks awaiting a worthy occasion, and emerged firm and fragrant, flecked with thyme leaves and still attached to a scrap of string that had been used to hang it while it cured. Burgundy flesh streaked the creamy fat, and I sliced about half the cheek into lardons, approximately ¼-by-¼-by-1 inch, but any size will do. The pork hit the skillet and sizzled until it rendered most of its fat and became deep brown and crispy. A bed of paper towels received the dripping bits and held them until they were needed again (lucky paper towels) and the garlic hit the hot pork fat in the pan. Next came onions and red pepper flakes (about ½ teaspoon). The fond begged for deglazing, but not having any opened white wine (and not wanting to waste a splash of the Friulian merlot that was to accompany dinner), I reached for the bottle of Lillet Blanc that had gone into our pre-dinner corpse reviver #2s and added a splash. A large (28-oz) can of whole San 
Marzano tomatoes followed, crushed by hand in transit from can to skillet. This concoction bubbled for a few minutes while the pasta water- heavily salted, of course- came to a boil and the freshly hand-cranked strands of linguine were dropped in. After a few minutes, I transferred the noodles to the sauce along with the guanciale, some freshly ground pepper, a splash of the pasta water, and a generous grating of pecorino. After hitting the plate, another flurry of cheese and we were ready to go. Slightly spicy, rich with mellow porkiness and the tang of aged sheep’s milk cheese- I could see why multiple locales strove to claim the dish as their own. With the smooth Friulian red in our glasses, the controversy of distant European cities melted even further away. I think the Romans and the Amatricians both would have been proud, since if there’s one thing most Italians can agree on- besides cured meats, that is- it’s that no matter what’s being disputed, when the food hits the table, you shut up and eat.



Thursday, November 11, 2010

Precious Hidden Gem: Rose des Riceys Part-1


I first discovered Rose des Riceys somewhere in my out of print Champagne book collection about 3 years ago. Because I knew nothing about it, I opened the Oxford Companion. 10-line short entry read,  “Rare, still, pink wine made in the commune of Ricey’s in the Aube department, the southern end of the Champagne region…. It can be one of France’s most serious roses”


The words “rare” and “serious” caught my attention and since then I have been on a mission to find and taste this wine. Every time when I see a wine shop, I went in looking for the bottle. I asked countless people in the industry, including people who have lived in France as well as people who were studying for Masters of Wine to see if they have tasted this mythical rose, or at least give me some kind of clue about it. But only the answer I was getting was “NO”
 
Rose des Riceys is a still rose made by saignee method using Pinot Noir grapes, grown on the steepest slopes with the best aspect and exposure in the Riceys. The appellation consists of 3 villages of Ricey-Haut, Ricey-Haut-Rive and Ricey-Bas and there are only about 20 producers. One of the reasons why it is so hard to find (even in Paris) is that the total production, which bears appellation Rose des Riceys is about 70,000 bottles a year, only if the vintage is exceptional. When the vintage is not up to the standard, those Pinot Noir grapes are destined to the production of Champagne.


One of the legendary fans of this wine was King Louis XIV. During the construction of the Versailles, the King saw the workers enjoying this wine and tasted it and got hooked on. If the King, who had access to all the wonderful wines and liked this one, it must have been very good. Another reason why I became so intrigued by this wine is its unique attribute of ageing capability. Unlike rose wines in general, which are recommended for immediate consumption with a slogan “the fresher the better”, Rose des Riceys can age up to 20 years according to some producers.


A break in the case came last July while I was in hot and humid Tokyo. As I was making a routine stop at my favorite wine store, which specializes in French wines especially Burgundy and small production grower Champagne. I found my Champagne Expert, Mr. Hirama the day I walked in. Despite his young age, Mr. Hirama has amazing wine knowledge and I always look forward to seeing him when I am in Tokyo. Besides working at the store, he also goes to France for buying trips and since he was telling me he just came back from Champagne, I thought he may have some lead and I asked the question. “Have you ever seen or tasted Rose des Riceys?” He looked at me as if I was asking him a name of his Math teacher from high school and said, “Yes. It’s tart…” I held my breath and waited for the next word. Nothing. I looked at him harder with my widened eyes wishing another word to follow. He opened his mouth and said, “It’s tart.”


The mystery bottle I spent 3 years looking for was described in one short word of “tart”. However I was still determined to taste it for myself to see if it is still just “tart”. When I was getting ready for the harvest work in September, on the top of things to do list in Champagne, I wrote: To find a bottle of Rose des Riceys.

To be continued…



Sunday, October 31, 2010

The eye- and mouth- of the beholder.

As with every overseas jaunt I embark on, half the fun of my recent trip to Spain was in planning and anticipating. I know there’s something to be said for spontaneity, and I embrace it whenever possible, but with all the information out there on the Internet, why not indulge my inner geek and do a little research? When an intriguing piece on Bilbao’s food scene from the New York Times fell into my lap, I knew I had to add Restaurant Guggenheim to my list of hopefuls. Not only is it in the Guggenheim Museum, which already hovered near the top of my non-culinary agenda, but it showcases the cuisine of Josean Martínez Alija, who trained at both El Bulli and Mugaritz (two establishments that wouldn’t even make it onto my most optimistic wish list) and is known for his cucina novella style.
Laying eyes on Senor Gehry’s creation was shiver-inducing in the way of all things truly revolutionary. It may not be my style, but the stark beauty, sheer size, and evident artistry involved in its creation are inspiring. The fact that this bizarre building with its bosomy, gleaming undulations was the brainchild of one man just boggles my mind; what twist of the imagination, what dreamlike inspiration compels someone to build such a contrivance? With practicality and functionality so clearly playing second fiddle, it is a true testament to creativity. Only after walking around the structure, retracing our steps, and mounting several flights of alternatively shallow and vertiginous flights of stairs did we finally find the entrance, and with such exertions behind us, we decided to head straight for the café.
The bright, modern space that welcomed us is as aptly suited to the exterior of the building as it is to the cuisine we were about to experience. We opted for the prix fixe, and despite only four choices for each of three courses, the decisions were excruciating. After promising to share bites, we related our orders to the waiter, and were rewarded with a diminutive goblet of pumpkin soup topped with basil oil. Already I was captivated by the delicate balance of aesthetic beauty with a sincere culinary approach. The swirl of garish green suspended in soft orange belied the intensely fresh aromas of pesto and earthy squash, and the deep flavors that followed. 

No sooner had we knocked back these initial offerings, and taken our first few sips of the bottle of txakoli we had ordered, than our first courses arrived. For him, a lightly baked egg with the most electric yolk I had ever seen atop a pillow of silky potato puree was showered tableside with a crystal-clear ‘red onion soup’- like a fragrant distillation of caramelized onions. A nudge to the egg unleashed that most lovely yolk, and a spoonful of the resulting amalgam was both simple and decadent. For me, roasted eggplant. What appeared to be an entire half eggplant, face down on my plate, concealed a bed of mushrooms beneath. The most apparent aspect, however, was the color; a purple hue usually reserved to denote grape-flavored confections shone on the skin of the vegetable, and when transferred to the white plate was truly arresting. The tender flesh was an homage to the aubergine in its purity of flavor, and a slightly indulgent, if artistic, swoosh of vibrant tomato sauce added zing.

In this moment, I began to think that the insipid Food Network hostesses who justify some clichéd garnish by crowing that we ‘eat with our eyes first’ might actually be onto something. Was my dish tasty? Sure. But if it had been served to me as a drab pile of vegetables that tasted the same, I would have thought it unremarkable- pleasant, but unremarkable. Food is about flavor, this goes without saying, but it is also an art form. If gazing upon a beautiful woman can titillate, if taking in an ocean view can relax, if looking down from a mountaintop can thrill, then why can’t seeing what we are about to ingest in a visually exciting way add to our enjoyment of that flavor experience? I might be opening myself up for criticism on this next point, but it’s the same with people. I do believe that it’s what’s inside that counts, but at the end of the day we cannot separate our overall impression from what we experience visually- it’s all one package. Anyway, the bottom line is that when it comes to food, flavor is king- just as when it comes to people, substance wins every time- but most functioning human beings have both the sense of taste and the sense of sight, and I’m not sure if compartmentalizing the two is possible.
With that tangential pondering behind me, lets move on to the second course. A large white dish coaxed a bed of jet-black squid-ink risotto into a perfect circle that echoed the plump red tomato it supported. Cutting into the buxom little vegetable (technically a fruit, I know) exposed a stuffing of tender baby squid with a subtle brininess that played well with the sweet yet acidic tomato flesh. On the other side of the table, Iberian pork cheeks were meaty, well seasoned, and complemented by a silken puree of celery root, with just the merest suggestion of vanilla running through.




And dessert. Usually the single downfall of the whole prix fixe concept for a diner like me whose sweet tooth is perilously underactive, here it was truly on par with the courses that had preceded. Both plates were a study of the monochromatic: white on white. An incredibly velvety crème caramel burst with fresh orange flavor, beside it what looked like orange pulp was teeming with floral, orange blossom aromas, and an elegant quenelle of ‘iced cheese’ was like a lightened-up version of cheesecake in frozen form. The same icy accompaniment graced my plate, along with cubes of chewy ‘rice cake’, the toasted edges of which added textural interest, and almost made it look like seared foie…very pale seared foie. The star of the dish, however, ran down the middle of the plate: a dead ringer for rice pudding, a sweep of the spoon revealed the ‘rice’ to be pockets of air amid a foam of cinnamon cream that was like a whiff of heady mulled cider.
 Combining all three components in one bite was illuminating; the formerly abrupt aspects of each became coherent in combination, and no one flavor or texture dominated. In short, it worked. A few last sips of txakoli, a demitasse of bitter espresso, and there was no more to be had. What could follow such a repast, if not a stroll around the galleries of the eminent museum that already housed us.
Much like the building that made this restaurant possible, the 
food served makes a mockery of practicality in its complete opposition to the ‘eat to live’ school of thought. It is sustenance, but this food is fun, and it was clearly conceptualized in the depths of a highly active and engaged mind. It’s certainly not for everyone, nor for everyday consumption, but I take heart in this evidence that creativity, whether a behemoth of glass and metal or an ephemeris of cinnamon cream, has a place. It was a memorable lunch indeed; would it have been the same if it weren’t within the walls of Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim museum in Bilbao? If I hadn’t begun to taste the meal weeks earlier while reading an article at my desk in Boston? No, but just as we cannot separate taste from sight, or sight from perception, this food was enjoyed as the apogee of an experience, and as the product of its place and time. Next time I cut into an eggplant or a tomato will likely disappoint, but I’d say that’s a small price to pay.

Friday, October 22, 2010

House with a Style: Champagne Alfred Gratien


I’ve been going to the Annual Champagne Tasting at the Christie’s in New York for the past two years and been captivated by Champagne Alfred Gratien, especially their "Cuvee Paradis". I decided to see how one of my favorite Champagne is made and paid a visit on my first day in Epernay.

All I knew was that I had a "rendez-vous" at the house and I was told be there at 2PM when everyone comes back from the lunch break. When I arrived bit early, there was no sign of a single person in the property, so I sat on one of the steps in the courtyard and waited. At 3 minutes to 2PM, all the cars started to arrive in the employee parking space. As I was impressed by French people's punctuality, a young man in a black sweater, dark blue jeans and stylish black sneakers came out of a white van with Champagne Alfred Gratien logo. "Bonjour" he shook my hand and I introduced myself. This French man is Nicolas Jaeger, the Chef de Caves of the house.

Despite Alfred Gratien’s well-recognized international status, the house is relatively small with only 7 workers with Nicolas and the property consists of two separate buildings with a courtyard in the middle. Nicolas took me inside one of the buildings, where it was half filled with barrels after barrels of wines from different villages, all organized by each village with its initials stenciled on. The room smelt a combination of sweet fresh grape juice and warm oak notes from the barrels. He pulled a top of one of the barrels and told me to “ecoute”. When I put my ear close to it, I could hear the fermenting wine making a small noise. Nicolas described it as ‘wine is talking to you’. We left this part of the building with more traditional wine making equipments and entered the other side, which looked very contemporary with impeccably clean shinny stainless steel tanks. These are used for blending the wines as well as to hold the reserved wines.

We walked across the courtyard to enter the other building and took an elevator down to the underground cave made out of chalk, traditional of Champagne region. It is dark, cool and the humidity is pretty high (average 80%) and I could see the water drop shining on the white chalk wall like a little star. This is the place where the wine goes for the second fermentation to create its bubbles and also the place to rest and age to develop more complex flavors.

When we came back to the ground level, he showed me the line of disgorgement to the corking procedure, the final stage of the production. Next, it was time to taste! We went upstairs to the tasting room. Many pictures were hanging on the wall and I observed each like a Sherlock Holmes. In one of them, I found young Nicolas with two other older men. When I asked, he told me they are his father and grandfather who had also worked as a Chef de Caves. I wonder what it was like to grow up in the family of winemakers. Did he get to taste all the wines in the cellar since he was like 5 years old? Did he have to describe how each dish taste on the table during the family meals as a part of sensory education to become a Chef de Caves?


While I was imaging all the unique things he got to learn growing up in his family, Nicolas opened a bottle of the NV Brut and handed me a glass. As I was finding notes of vanilla and hazelnuts, Nicolas continued and said “yes, things you find in café; caramel, nutmeg, brioche…” These unique aromas are from the oak barrels used for the first fermentation and fresh pear and citrus fruit nicely balanced it with good amount of acidity to make it pleasing on the palate.

He then smiled and asked me if I would like to taste "Cuvee Paradis". How can I say no to that offer! This is Alfred Gratien’s 'Tete de Cuvee' made from Chardonnay and Pinot Noir only from Grand Crus. The time it spends on the lees is much longer than the traditional NV and this drink like a top end white Burgundy. So many layers of harmonious soft pear, apple and quince fruit along with well-defined acidity, are beautifully complemented by warm and gentle notes of creamy hazelnut, nutmeg and candied ginger. All these delicate yet persistent flavors echoes on the palate for a long time and then disappears quietly. The style is extremely elegant with a great finesse and it made me speechless for a moment. Nicolas commented, "I take time to make 'Cuvee Paradis' for those who love and know how to appreciate good quality Champagne."

As I was saying “merci et au revoir” to Nicolas, he said “our house is very small and as a Chef de Caves, I have to run back and forth doing a lot of things and that is the reason why I have these sneakers on. No tie, no suits and no dress shoes, you know.” 

Dear Nicolas - I really like your style, in terms of fashion and in terms of Champagne you craft.