Well, its now official.  The twelve crafty wine fakers have gotten the French gavel and its off to prison for some and hefty fines for others.  As I wrote last week, E&J Gallo was sold a ridiculous amount of fake Pinot which was passed off on the world as Red Bicyclette Pinot Noir, which was in fact anything but.  After a year of investigations, the twelve culprits faced the music this week.

All in all, its thought that 18 million bottles of fake Pinot hit the market, mostly in the US.  The profits were huge for the swindlers, who are estimated to have reaped a combined profit of 7 million euros (approx. $9.5 million).  The odd thing?  Not a single US consumer complained.

Who's in the stocks? Gallo or the fakers?

But those in the Languedoc are angry; especially the judge, who declared, “the scale of the fraud caused severe damage for the wines of Languedoc for which the United States is an important outlet.”

Fines range from approximately $2,000 to $250,000 and some will spend one month to six months in jail.  The damage to the Red Bicyclette brand is pretty catastrophic and I’m curious to see Gallo’s next move.  According the their website, they are “deeply disappointed.”  Yeah.  That’s the understatement of the year.

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In what may be a massive raping and pillaging of the great Gallo’s wallet and operations in France, the French are investigating whether E&J Gallo was sold fake Pinot Noir.  And incredible amounts of it:  3.57 million gallons, to be precise.

Fueled by greed and the ever-flowing dollar that Gallo provides, some Languedoc vignerons may have packaged their cheap swill with a ‘Pinot’ label and slipped it off on Gallo, who then slipped it off on the world as Red Bicyclette Pinot Noir 2007.

Now I gotta be honest, when I first read this, I chuckled a bit.  Oh, silly Gallo, looks like you bit off more than you can chew on your French field trip when you were led into a dark alley and sold a trunk full of fake Rolexes.  But really, millions of gallons?  How is that possible?

Languedoc-Roussillon

The Languedoc-Roussillon region of France is immense, and holds the title as the largest wine-producing region in the world.  A third of the volume of all of France’s wine flows from here, most of it being of the Vin de Pays (“country wine”) designation.

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Dunkelweizen, Spaten-Franziskaner-Bräu, München, Germany

(5.0% alc)

You gotta love it when your friends prepare to move and unload their stuff on you.  Especially when its their booze.

A good friend of mine, Tamara, has just moved to London to begin a new adventure overseas.  The fortunate thing for me is that she had amassed quite a wine and beer collection here in the old NYC and obviously couldn’t tote all those feckin bottles across the Atlantic.  Poor thing.  So, like the jolly good friend I am, I offered to take it off her hands and met her at the wineshop where she was working to pick up my booty.

The stash was a score.  Some sparkling from Dr Konstantin Frank in the Finger Lakes, a bottle of my prized Pliny the Elder (double score), a bottle of Han Soju (Asian vokda), a few random tidbits and a couple of Franziskaner Dunkelweizens.  The monk was calling.  And you can’t deny a monk, can you?  So I poured me a glass…

The word “dunkel” means “dark” and is most often used for two main categories of beer:  dark wheat beers and dark lagers.  They get their color from darker roasted malts and take on a distinctive taste.  In fact, all lagers were dark until the 1840’s when the golden lagers emerged from Pilsen (in what is now the Czech Republic).  The word “weizen” means “wheat” and the main difference between the two styles is that lagers are bottom-fermenting while wheat beers are top-fermenting (ales). Continue Reading »

FX Matt Brewing Company

Many beers we know and love are actually brewed by “contract brewers”, who can be hundreds of miles or even entire states away.

“What?! What?!”, you say, “but that’s my hometown beer!”

Now, I hear you and I was surprised to learn this too, but its actually quite common.

A brewery that hires another is called a “contract brewing company”, while the one hired to do the brewing is called the “producer-brewery”.  There are a number of reasons to hire a contract brewer, but its mostly because of the large production demands that cannot be met by small craft breweries.

In New York, the FX Matt Brewing Company (Saranac) brews a number of beer brands we’re familiar with.  Based in the Adirondack Mountains of Utica, NY, they are the fourth oldest family-owned brewery in the country.

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“So, I know this underground Sake bar nearby…wanna go?”

“Hmm…I never really got into the stuff.  The process is interesting but the taste is pretty rough,” I said.  “But an underground Sake bar, you say?”

My fearless guide was my friend, Taylor, an actor turned doctor who somehow manages to know more cool restaurants and bars than I do.  Somewhere between suturing stab wounds and pulling 90 hour weeks, he manages to slip in a Bo Ssam at Momofuku or a specialty cocktail at Angel’s Share.  Maybe he’s just been lying to me about the whole doctor thing?  (Oh, nope, that story about inserting a catheter was way too vivid to be a fib).  So bring it, Dr T.

Photo: Malcolm Brown (nycgo.com)

We made our way to 9th street in the East Village, where a wooden, non-descript archway stood over a staircase leading below the street to Decibel.  Was I being led into Jack the Rippers lair?  Was this some strange sex club from Eyes Wide Shut?  What that basement held, I really had no idea.  We opened the door and entered a new world (you gotta love that about NYC; you never know what world lies behind a closed door).

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Principio (100% Ciliegiolo), Antonio Camillo, 2008, Tuscany

(13.5% Alc)

“Hey, after you go in search of God, can you bring me back some vines?”

And so it was that an obscure grape varietal named Ciliegiolo left its home in Spain and came to rest in Tuscany.  Or so its rumored…and only God knows the truth.

Walking the pilgrimage from Italy to Spain is hot.  Brutally hot.  Your feet are covered in blisters.  All along the rocky path, you see people in various states of prayer, some half-conscious, others chanting quietly (sort of akin to a Grateful Dead show’s whirling denizens in various states of transcendence).  And then, out of nowhere, a mad hermit, with a look of possessed reverance bordering on the maniacal, hands you a vine with the instructions, “spread the love”.  And with that, he is gone.

You look down to see a scraggly grapevine in your palm, seemingly just ripped from the earth.  You have no choice.  It is now your mission.  You carefully pack it in your knapsack and continue the long pilgrimage.  A couple of weeks later, your body many pounds lighter, you pull the vine from your bag.  Barely alive and in need of some serious prayer, you plant it in the earth outside your home.  And thus, Ciliegiolo finds a new home in a new country.

The Cathedral at the end of the line

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“The Mondavi Chardonnay?  Yes, its on Aisle 312 next to the Weber Twin-Propane Tank, Stainless Steel, Mega Wild-Game Grill.”

All across New York State, legislators and the wineries and wine shop owners they represent are in a heated debate.  Should New York grocery stores be allowed to sell wine or should it remain the sole domain of specialty wine shops?

It’s frankly a bit of a morass where no one quite knows what effects will follow should the gates fly open and the Costcos and the Gristedes be free to set the juice loose next to the WonderBread and Cap’n Crunch.

The essential debate:

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Just before Christmas Eve dinner, the guests of the Royal Family retire to the Saloon to enjoy gin and tonics with the Queen (who drinks a dry Martini).  Afterwards, the guests are seated at 8:30 pm for a splendid, candlelit meal that unfolds in rehearsed waves of grandeur.  White wine is served with the hors d’oeuvres, Claret with the entrees and Champagne with dessert.

For the Brits, structure, tradition and ritual are all intertwined with the food and drink.  In fact, this is the way most of Europe dines and a way we Americans have often neglected.  And that’s a shame, because great food is often incomplete without great drink.

Fit for the Queen

What the hell am I rambling about, you ask?  Well, for me, it was a very British Christmas.  A British Christmas in Rochester, that is.  For four days, I was inducted into my in-laws ways and made an honorary Englishman (although I still prefer my turkey sannies warmed up in the microwave and WITHOUT the Branston Pickle).

The food and drink were superb, and the rituals and traditions unfolded around me like clockwork.  I left satiated and, despite the onslaught of tasty delights, hungry for more.  Well, that is except for one dish.  A dish that is still wrecking havoc on my tempermental Irish bowels…but more on that later…

More scrapies?

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Priority: Priorat

Lone Traveler

“Dude, get your ass to Priorat!”

And so it was that I received this text message from my friend who’s currently gallivanting through Europe on a journey to see the wines and vineyards of the world (rough, I know).  Apparently, as my ass was slaving away in the mines of the East Village, he was “sitting on the balcony of my hotel room in Gratallops (central Priorat), drinking a bottle of PRIORAT!”

scaladei, priorat

And, yet, as I sat there on the floor of our subterraneous wine room in the bowels of NYC, I felt oddly close to my fair, traveling friend.  Because a quick glance revealed that only a few feet away sat numerous bottles of Priorat’s finest juice.  And in some, strange cosmic way, we were connected across the oceans.

Priorat Map

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Baltic Porter, Oy Sinebrychoff Ab, Kerava, Finland

(7.2% alc)

SinebrychoffI hereby declare that all of our soldiers be supplied with the latest in body armor technology, lightweight night-vision goggles and Camelbak drinking systems filled with Imperial Porter.

In an attempt to fill out my beer list at Hearth and Terroir with some eclectic, international styles of Porter, I stumbled into the great white north of Finland.  Frankly, I knew nothing about Finnish beer, and frankly I still have only cracked the surface.  But what lies bubbling underneath is a rich brewing history.

Katharina-II-von-Russland

Katharina + Porter = Love

So what’s this about troops being supplied with beer?  Well, in the 18th century, Empress Katharina of Russia became enamored by the high-alcohol, roasted malts of Imperial Porters.  So much so that she decreed all her troops be supplied with it.

(Honestly, after tasting some of these huge, sometimes heavy beers, its clear that Katharina was a Russian badass.  I’m sure her parties were pretty wild and, no doubt, involved bejeweled beer bongs made from reindeer horns and ended in mass sex romps on polar bear skin rugs–well, at least that’s how I imagine it).

Finland Sky

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Barrel ManWhat’s life without the barrel?

It seems that everywhere I look these days, my favorite breweries are releasing tricked-out, new barrel-aged beers.

Port barrels, whisky barrels, sherry casks, madeira casks, wine barrels.  Its kind of dizzying.

What’s next?  Monkey barrels?  Fish barrels?  Oil drums?  (Who knows, perhaps an Exxon Light Crude Porter would pair beautifully with my grilled Rib Eye steak.  Mmm, fossil fuels…delicious).

But what may seem like a new partnering is far from that—at least in the overall picture of our favorite drinks.  I mean, the barrel and our bevies are more tried and true partners than peanut butter and jelly.

White Burgundy is nothing like its stellar self without aging in French oak.  Sherry is but a bizarre and funky wine before it travels through the towering, wooden solera.  And what’s Scotch without maturation in old whisky barrels?  It is only when our precious liquids and the wood come together that magic truly happens.

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Vine Thief

Chanhassen, Minnesota.  University of Minnesota test fields.  Dead of night.

A chill and a hush descended over the grapevines.  Not even a bird could be heard warbling, nor a nematode nipping at the roots in the soil.  The moon beams glistened on the small berries and you could practically smell the grapes in the air.  But all was not well…

Silently, and with delicate footsteps, an intruder entered the vineyard.  A glint of moonlight caught a piece of metal, and for a moment the vines collectively breathed a nervous inhalation.  With the precision and knowledge of a regular on this plot of land, the figure in black stealthily made its way to the vines on the outer perimeter.

vine shearsPausing for a moment, he met eye to plant with his prey and then, he too, breathed a quick, nervous inhalation.  There was no turning back now.  And after giving a quick look over the shoulder, the thief expertly wielded a pair of pruning shears, and with the skill of an assassin, quickly removed five to six cuttings from the prized victims.

With another quick move, the cuttings were stashed in a knapsack, the shears were sheathed and the intruder had hopped the fence.  In an instant, it was over.  And a vineyard lie violated by an unseen, unknown botanist ninja.

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Airline stewardesses blowing kisses

So, there I am reading the NY Times over a cup of coffee, when I see an article about Singapore Airlines hiring Master Sommeliers to help them select wines.  What? I thought.  Are you frickin serious?!  I mean, we all know the airlines are scrimping and saving in every damn corner of this industry, and now they’re dabbling in fine Bordeauxs?  But then I thought about it some more…

Let’s say I’m a well-heeled jet-setter zipping around Asia in first class.  I want my glass of bubbly when I sit down, and I want my Roasted Venison Loin for my mid-afternoon snack.  And you know if I don’t get my satin pillow and fur sleep mask, I’m gonna be a mean SOB at that board meeting in Tokyo.

airline food

I was kind of intrigued; what was this all about?  So I started doing some digging, and what I found is a multi-billion dollar segment of the industry, complete with crack tasting panels, shrewd buyers and even their own awards categories.

Airplane food used to suck (and, yes, okay, for many of us in coach, it still does.  Frankly, I often debate whether to eat the “Gourmet Chicken Sandwich” thats been microwaved within mere inches of edibility, or just to gnaw on my hand until I arrive at my destination).

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Apple cider

Autumn is the bite of a harvest apple. Christina Petrowsky

All hail the glorious apple.  Man’s relationship with this versatile and forbidden fruit goes back thousands of years.  Today, there are over 55 million tons of apples produced worldwide each year…now that’s some serious fanaticism.

I was tasked to bring in 6-8 new ciders for our restaurant and wine bar…shit, I thought, I know nothing about ciders.  In fact, I’d only drank the low-end, horrible stuff while living in England and NOT had good experiences.  But I went to work, and was stoked at what I found.  This is some serious stuff that deserves a taste and a look.

The history of hard apple cider is interesting.  Somewhere along the line, some ingenious soul stumbled upon the mysterious art of fermentation when they squashed a bushel of their orchard’s finest, left it outside (where natural yeasts went to work) and a few weeks later discovered a magical elixir.  Thus, cider was born.

Today, there are over a hundred different varieties of apples grown specifically to make cider; you could travel the world on a quest for different styles and endless incarnations and never come up with an empty glass.

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ClipboardSometimes you gotta do your homework.  And when it comes to beer drinking, this ain’t homework you’ll go into kicking and screaming.

In an attempt to further my beer education, I caught a ride to Brooklyn’s Bierkraft and began grabbing single bottles of anything that looked unfamiliar or whispered my name in a sweet Irish brogue as I walked by it on the shelf (“Psst, O’Flaherty, you wee bastard, pick me…free me from my shelfish prison…”).  I ended up with mostly an array of bizarre Belgian, Italian and French beauties.

But I also focused on two styles in particular:  Porters and Pilsners.  Admittedly, and somewhat surprisingly, I rarely find myself ordering up a pint of these two types of beer.  And so it was, that I walked out on a fine Friday afternoon with 24 random beers, including 4 Pilsners and 3 Porters.

The mission?  Get savvy on the history and nuances of these styles to better understand them and then declare a winner.  (Note:  all winners will be gloriously displayed on my kitchen table for 48 hours and will get a silent nod of acknowledgement as I pass by).  The beers were poured by my trusty co-brewer (aka my wife) while I was in the other room, so I would be completely objective in the tasting.  Now, let the homework begin.

PILSNERS

PilsnerFirst brewed in the Czech town of Pilsen in Bohemia, Pilsner is one of the most popular styles of lager beers in Germany, and in many other countries (you ever heard of Budweiser?  Yep, an “American-Style Lager” which is a lighter version of the original Czech Pilsner).  Classic German Pilsners are light straw to golden yellow in color with a nice dense and rich head.  They are generously hopped with a spicy herbal and floral aroma and flavor with a bitter, dry finish.

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