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Day #2 of getting up in the grills of Burgundy vineyards.  Romanée-Conti & Le Montrachet had no idea we were coming.  Snuck up like ninjas.

Chinon at the witching hour

The alarm went off too damn early.  Way, way too early.

If the jet lag didn’t get us the night before, the vino would follow up with the one-two punch.  It was time to leave Paris.  After four nights, we were headed to the Loire Valley (see photo slideshow below).

We made our way through the drizzle of morning rain, hopped the metro and headed to Montparnasse Gare.  The TGV bullet train awaited.  (When I say this train is fast, double it in your mind, and then half what you think it would feel like to ride.  This thing’s smoother than a newborn’s right buttox (not the left though; nothing is smoother than that).

The Loire Valley

Arriving in Nantes on the west coast—where the Loire Valley meets the Atlantic Ocean—at 11 am, we found the car rental shop.  When we actually had a reservation waiting, I could have kissed the hungover saleswoman.  Trying to rent a car in a foreign country less than 24 hours before for a Sunday pickup is like wearing a Sunderland jersey into a pub in Newcastle.  At the bare minimum, you’ll get a tooth knocked out and a pint glass shattered over your noggin.  And that’s if you’re lucky.

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Escargots on our pizza?  Why yes, yes we will.

What do you get when you mix jet lag, Quasimodo and Belgian beer all into a baguette?  Well, it would probably look something like this…

Just before we packed up our bags to move on to our next journey, we made a little ode to the city of Paris.

 

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Sacre bleu!  Having a Heineken at the Sacre Cour!

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Just stumbled across this strange radio tower in Paris

There it stood. The cathedral of Notre Dame.

A foreboding, massive block of granite with ornately carved details covering every inch. Stone figures and vicious gargoyles festoon the walls, looking down on the ever-changing face of Paris over the centuries.

We had just stepped out of the train station and she was our first sight. We were in awe. After running on pure adrenaline for the past few days, our European journey had finally begun.

As the plane descended into Paris, we hit numerous patches of turbulence.  It was like the astronauts of Apollo 13 re-entering the atmosphere after a harrowing journey of obstacle after obstacle. Finally, after countless hoops we had to jump through, we had finally bounded through the last one.

Yesterday, as we sat in a cafe, looking out on the rainy streets, we toasted over a 50 cl pichet of St Nicolas de Bourgueil. As the rain continued, we ordered another. And a Negroni (it was happy hour and we’re budget travelers, what would you expect?).

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Bonjour, Paris

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Houston, the Eagle has landed.  Where is this? First right answer wins a glass of absinthe.

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It’s on.

The Route (click to enlarge)

Years in the making.  Countless hours of dreaming and scheming.  At long last, the portal is within sight.  It’s time for launch.

After seeing the idea evolve from kernel to foggy plan, and now from foggy plan to sharpened reality, we are oh so close.  In eight days time, Kat and I board a plane from NYC to Paris.  On March 30th, we step foot in Western Europe to begin a 3-month journey.

It will be an adventure in traveling, an adventure in culinary and beverage exploration and an adventure of the unknown.  It will be two young souls and their packs.  Armed with a toolbox of maps, we will wind our way through eight countries.  By plane, train, automobile (and a boat thrown in for good measure), we will transition into nomad mode.

Along the the way, we’ll tap into our favorite wine and beer regions, meet some of our favorite producers face-to-face, taste their wares and share a tale or two.

The Itinerary

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Esporão Verdelho ’10, Ebenauer Grüner ’09 and Gumphof Weißburgunder ’09.  This makes me happy.

Where beers go to transcend the mortal coil

There’s nothing like beer straight out of the barrel.

This past Monday, I found myself back at Kelso Brewing Company, shooting some video with Kelly Taylor, Brooklyn’s beer maestro.

After we shorted-out our camera by sticking it in a steaming brew tank while I was inside power-washing grain like I was actually helping, we retired to the other side of the warehouse to lick our wounds.  It was just around midnight, when Kelly turned into a gleeful child and showed us around his barrel experiments.

Recent additions to the brewery, he had former Tuthilltown whiskey barrels, Jack Daniels bourbon barrels, Heaven Hill bourbon barrels and brandy barrels filled with various beers.  We chased him around with cups as he plunged his beer thief into the bung holes—see diagram above, you sick bastard—and pulled out a range of beer delights.

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In a stunning reversal, Paul Grieco sends a Riesling acid-stinger into David Flaherty's hop-filled grill

The knives are being sharpened.  The glasses polished.  The joints taped up.  And the shit-talking practiced.

On Monday, March 14th at 7:00 pm, 28 guests will sit down to a communal table at Hearth restaurant where history will be made.  And YOU can be there to determine which beverage reigns supreme in it’s food-pairing prowess.

Ladies and gentlemen, we’re proud to announce: Hearth’s
Beer vs Wine Dinner: A Cage Match of Matching Abilities.

Beer and wine greats like Founders, Rudi Pichler, Birrifico Bruton and Hermann Wiemer will be uncorked and uncapped.  The menu is epic —Housemade Merguez Sausage, Spicy Mayan Prawns and Beef Tartar with Quail Egg — and worthy of a moment of warrior’s reflection.

With an arsenal of some of my favorite beers in my holster, I’ll meet wine-wunderkind Paul Grieco and his vinous weapons in a battle where you’ll decide which is the ultimate food pairing: grape or grain (full menu below).

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Go on...you know you want to eat the apple.

There was a duel this weekend between two artists. They came armed to the teeth with ammunition.

It was an epic battle fought in honor of the sacred apple. They, at times, swung for the fences; they danced; they harmonized; and, by the end, they had given all. The carnage of dirty dishes and empty bottles filled the arena.

In one corner: Farnum Hill Ciders. In the other: Chef Rachael Mamane of the Bonhomie Supper Club. It was not a battle to the death. It was a battle for synergy. And they were victorious.  This last Saturday and Sunday, Farnum Hill hosted two cider dinners at a quirky loft in Brooklyn (photo slideshow below).

Farnum Hill is, perhaps, the most maniacally authentic makers of hard apple cider in the country. With laser-sharp focus, their goal is to perfect the art of transferring the solid apple into it’s liquid expression.  Growing a huge range of rare apples (click HERE for a guide)—and like great winemakers—their focus is in the vineyard. Man’s job after that? Stay the hell out of the way, and let the apples speak for themselves.

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Human excess.  Sheer spectacle.  The “world’s largest,” the “world’s most expensive,” the “world’s prettiest,” the “world’s _____.”  Yep, you get it.  Bring on the superlatives, people, cause it’s Vegas, baby, Vegas.

After being oddly obsessed with it since my childhood—I mean have you seen ‘Bugsy’?  Yowza, that on-screen romance between Warren Beatty and Annette Bening was some hot shit—I finally made it out to the bizarre mirage in the desert.

I made this video to document my time there.  (Lo and behold, a touch of my Colorado home sent a tremor of comfort through my troubled soul).  I give you my latest episode:

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