A Cave FYI.

The Cave computer gave it up yesterday before I got the chance to back up all the files. Also, lease renewals were to be done this weekend, you lucky June people. Until we figure this one out, The Cave phone is 818-242-5192.

Kirkland Wine

This one went out today, 2000 Chateau Mouton Rothschild. A rare exception to the artists label series, this year featured a gold enamel relief reproduced from the Augsburg Ram, a 16th century silver-gilt drinking vessel and Mouton emblem, housed in their museum of wine and art.

In the course of conversation, the gentleman taking this bottle out mentioned what he was selling this bottle for. Holy Expletive, I thought. The gentleman added he'd originally bought it at Costco. Holy Expletive Exclamation Mark, I further thought. Costco? Really?

While I can't find a link to their wine offerings, here's a twitter link for them. And a blog link for them. Finally, here's a comment thread on Costco's signature Kirkland brand.

Next up: 7-11 wine versus Trader Joe's.

Crazy is as crazy does.

A story was brought into the Cave today, and by way of this story I've decided crazy stops being crazy if you can convert it into something minimally utilitarian. Sometimes crazy transforms into the sublime, but then which comes first, the crazy or the sublime; is a certain amount of out-of-the-ordinary necessary to achieve an out of the ordinary result? A whole additional set of sentences can be strung along this line, like should those who achieve extraordinary be measured against the same standards as the ordinary, accountable to the same actions, same rules? But for the sake of this story, we'll call it at one sentence back.

Doesn't this just look crazy? This is one of the wines produced by Frank Cornelisson on top of Mt. Etna there in Italy. Good thing it's not Mt. Etna there in Iceland, or Frank would be crostini. Take a moment to read his farming philosophy, echoed in most articles written about him. One blog even utilized the description of "Madman," something he may have been assigned over the few years he's made an impression on the wine/world. Really? Mad to think you are a guest on earth? Mad to think food came to us perfectly intact with no further need whatsoever to tamper with it? Mad to adapt to the nature of the beast rather than to tame or slay the beast? Should we all be so mad.

In Wine Spectator, Matt Kramer's question is about whether different wine is necessarily great wine, acknowledging the consensus that Mr. Cornelisson's product is at least different.

Later today, a non-wine aficionado stopped in, a gentleman who came to us by way of essentially inheriting his wine, now trying to learn his way through it. In our brief conversation he offered the idea of what establishes our baseline of memory and how all wines that follow are measured to that baseline.

So that: have we evolved into such a narrow or precise definition of great, any other offerings are merely adjuncts-experiments-flings?

(Slow Cave day.)

Coming up Roses

I had the fortunate opportunity to try something I've never had before, a rose, as in ros-ay, since there is no accent aigu on my keyboard. Small aside: what do keyboards look like in other languages? Oh, well, I just answered my own question; turns out you can Google that, too. Is there nothing Google can't do!?

I read about Rose wines on blogs with mild interest because I have an ancient prejudice about the whole matter, and that is that Roses are not very serious in the scheme of wine. They're similar to wine what umbrella drinks are to liquor, what frappuccinos are to coffee, and what Thomas Kinkade is to art. But if you've been hanging out here at all becoming less ignorant is one of my favorite pastimes, and, I confess, wildly lucrative...what with so much to work with.

Today I became less ignorant via a very pleasant moment with good company and Chateau Margui. The website presents the wine "with grilled meats, as a very original aperitive, or perfect alongside an asian cuisine. The nose offers white fruit and lime scents, which merge into a rich wood berries and garrigue (thyme, cists) finish." For me it was original and layered like nothing I've had. There was a brief sweetness of the dessert wines, but that was quickly whisked away by a crisp, clean acidity (?) - or just crispy things - trying my vocabulary there to questionable end - ultimately very intriguing.

Tannin - ball.

I come to wine from coffee and when it comes to understanding wine I merely apply what I already understand about coffee, for better or worse. While acidity is a discussed component in coffee, tannins are not and for the year now I've failed to comprehend the difference between the two.

Every once in awhile when time allows I continue to search the plethora of offerings via Google, and after enough confusion and frustration sets in I give up until next round. This takes about four minutes as I'm not horribly complicated and really just want to know the conceptual difference between these two things minus perusing dissertations of chemistry.

In coffee, it's easy. I used to teach it: Lower Lingers Longer. The higher the acidity, the more effervescent the coffee would seem, and the quicker it would leave the palate, like most Central American coffees. The heavier, fuller coffees with low acidity are the Indonesians.

I finally came across two or three places that put it the same way: Acidity will make your mouth water. Tannins leave your mouth dry. Oooohhhhh...I get that! Of course I'm sure it's more nuanced that that, but that's the place I was looking to start from. I also read somewhere that acidity was towards the front of the palate and tannins at the back.

All of this came in very handy all of a sudden when, by way of the grande path of bewildering generosity, I was given the opportunity to open this one recently. (Nice label...) I must say, my first thought was, wow, good thing I learned what tannins are, because this is a big bowl of it. The next day I did some poking around about it and two comments on Cellar Tracker were tannin-centric. The others were lying. BUT. the second night things calmed down a bit and by the third night I was rather enjoying this wine as the tannins softened and the fruit caught up with it.

The Dean Seal of Approval

Last weekend Dean wandered in and he hasn't left since. And I really need to go to the bathroom.

Dean cellars here but lives in Indiana. We have a lot of that, people who probably once lived here with their wine but left it behind when they moved to places like San Francisco, Nevada, Utah, Texas, Minnesota, New York, Montana, Hawaii. There are also the people who live in Hong Kong, Denmark, and the Philippines...and of course that really far off land of Beverly Hills. Like Dean they come visit LA once in awhile and stop in to raid the goods.

Dean came in last Sunday evening and asked me about a restaurant I'd blogged. Someone reads the blog? Great, now I need to behave. He thought the restaurant should post its wine list like Wolfgang Puck does at Spago Beverly Hills. We pulled up the Spago wine list assembled by award winning sommelier Christopher Miller and it's over 100 pages long! That's just crazy.

It just so happened the restaurant guy came in later that night and I told him Dean's suggestion.

Thursday, both happened to be here at the same time. I introduced them: Oh, right, you're both here. This is the guy with the restaurant. This is the guy who thinks you should post your wine list. Then I got out of the way. What followed was the biggest wine-nerd conversation ever to grace this space in my tenure and it was great!

I love it when winos diss other winos. It's funny. One guy here makes fun of a co-worker who also cellars here. "He's into the big label stuff," he scoffs. Like that. Funny.

So these guys got into the whole of it, the politics of wine lists, the politics of wineries who will only sell through restaurants versus retail, how some restaurants shut out others from carrying certain wines, etc. It somehow wove into things like Kermit Lynch versus the grey market. For a novice it was a really interesting conversation to be privy to. Dean has spent a good part of the week attempting to make me less ignorant about all things wine, and I appreciate his effort.

So, now that Dean scoped me out for a week and gave me the Dean Seal of Approval, he left me with a key to his locker. Though not quite the best new sommelier award from Wine and Spirits Magazine, I'll take it: now he knows it's a good situation for him to ship stuff here if he wants, and equally I can ship stuff to him. While I myself don't have a shipping license, Red Carpet up the street there does, so I can take it there.

Shelves

Ooooh, shelves, how exciting.

I'm by no means a carpenter but I can put two pieces of wood together and sometimes they're not even crooked. We had a 200-case walk in that had a shelf already in it. It was around the perimeter of the room, was a bit high, and had a few pieces of wood jimmied under it to hold it up. So when I rented it out recently I told the guy if he gave me the keys I'd work on it and also not steal his wine. I did both, and though it took a month it's finally done. I put all new uprights in (leaving the tops a bit extended so we can later use them for earthquake proofing), added a second shelf around the perimeter, and also threw a double shelf in the center, accessible from either side. It's hard to photograph, but here are a few from the doorway.

L'chaim

It's been unusually busy here at The Cave and will continue to be so as projects continue, hence the dearth in recent posts.

After a year, compliments on the remodel continue. I was asked recently if I'd ever read Poe's story, The Cask of Amontillado because The Cave reminded her of it. So I pulled it up later that day and loved the comparison. 'Skulls!' I thought, 'That's exactly what this place needs.' So, if anyone has about a hundred human skulls they need to unload, I have the perfect wall for them.

I remain convinced I have one of the better jobs on the planet and I'm fortunate to have inherited a decent enough customer base. What I love about them is they are overwhelmingly clued into this thing called life. While I'm a bit of a recluse, as troglodytes are, they cultivate life. Our mere and brief pleasantries somehow assure me that all is right with the world, the world is on track, when I myself don't always believe it.

A gentleman I'd not seen in awhile walked in one day to get some wine and he said, "life is short," an unusual statement. When he came out of the lockers I asked if someone had died, and yes, in fact, a few of his friends. He said, "I am going to drink up all my wine with friends." (as opposed to storing it for a day that may never come, I gathered.) I said, "I like your style," and I do.

Another guy came in recently, and I asked how it was going. He said he was tired, he's stayed up all night drinking with friends. That's exactly right, I said. There isn't enough of that anymore.

This certainly did not happen at The Cave: Within thirty seconds, a guy with a cold finishes a cherry lozenge, opens this wine, tastes it, swears like a sailor, declares it corked, and hands me the bottle. The second night, it was delicious.

Webkinz is bookmarked on my favorites list. How did that happen? I had no free will in this at all, I assure you, my position and any dubious authority therein hijacked by a little puntable-sized rug rat who may as well be named Pavlov for the way I get out of her way on cue. She seems like a nice kid, but while her father disappears into the lockers she gives me that coy look that has me apologizing for not moving out of her way fast enough. Watch out for those kids, they're just waiting for us to slip up so they can take over the world.

Around the time The Cave showed up on Facebook, someone suggested I do Twitter as well. I'd thought about that, but the wine pretty much just sits there, not quite the stuff of Twitter, (though little is). But that's not quite right, either. The wine just sits there, but every time someone comes in for a bottle, that bottle is a story about to happen. That bottle is a group of friends about to get together, a daughter visiting for the weekend, a couple of pals trying to stump each others palates, every bottle an accompaniment to life. My job is I get to witness these stories every day. How lucky am I ?