I've long known that if I needed to "be creative" the best thing to do was to take 1) a shower, 2) a napa 3) a walk. Best, but not necessary, would be to do all three. In the words Daniel Goleman, author of Emotional Intelligence we need times of "open awareness" to be receptive to seemingly unrelated ideas.
I came home from a fantastic New Year's Eve yesterday with big plans to Get Things Done. Instead, I took a nap, ate a year's worth of chips and salsa and binged on The Killing, Season 3.
My only regret was that it took me till halfway through the chips and salsa before I decided to just go with it and not feel guilty. Do as I say not as I do, go for it, even if that means A Big Long Rest.
It’s Edith Head’s birthday. I know because Google told me so.
The reason I know who Edith Head is, and just about every millennial does not is that she was 1) the creator of stupendous fashion for movies in the black and white era and 2) she made herself into a brand, the first and perhaps the only movie costume designer to do so.
Her designs for To Catch A Thief make me catch my breath every time Grace Kelly entered the frame. But without Head's savvy branding her costume designs would be merely pretty dresses, not Edith Head.
Her round glasses, her icy critiques and her frequent appearances on talk shows like Merv Griffin and the Tonight Show made “Edith Head” a known quantity. But without the quality of her designs she would have been just an early Kardashian, a brand in search of substance.
Note: this was first published in the Vacaville Reporter on Sept. 24, 2013.
One of the best things about living in wine country is the newspaper headlines, especially at this time of year.Murder and political malfeasance are not the stuff of our breaking news. What do we care about? Grapes! “Growers Expect Early Harvest,” “Wine Grape Harvest Could Be Biggest In Years,” “Grape Harvest Accelerates,” who knew there was so much to report about grapes?
The articles that accompany those harvest headlines invariably quote winemakers who have been walking the vineyards for weeks, sussing out the ideal levels of sugar, acid and color. They calculate the logistics of vineyard crews, cellar tanks and “hang time,” ever vigilant for the heat wave or rain shower that could ruin everything. When everything is as good as it can be they “call the pick” and harvest is underway.
No matter what the challenges of the vintage year, these winemakers are media savvy; each year their quotes indicate that THIS harvest is “one of the best.” Rarely do they publicly worry that a freak rainstorm will turn their crop to rot or a hot spell will bake their grapes into raisins. The standard comment about a late season rainstorm, as typical as “it’s an honor to be nominated” from an Oscar loser, is “No problem, the rain was just enough to wash the dust off the grapes.” Vineyard full of baked cabernet? “The yields may be off but overall the quality of the grapes is outstanding.”
The winemakers are not so sanguine in the cellar. Their art involves many choices: yeast strains, fermentation temperatures, pressing techniques, and barrel choices, but the quality of the grapes is paramount. They’d rather enhance the flavors created by a playful Bacchus than the fix problems wrought by a cranky Mother Nature.
For everyone in the wine industry it’s an exciting time of year, like final exams and graduation. The work of a season culminates in long and anxious hours, with the promise of leisure once it is all over. People like me, for whom the industry is a spectator sport, see the signs and get excited too. The lights in the vineyards before dawn, the yeasty aromas in the air, the cellar worker in the coffee line, bleary-eyed and still in his rubber boots, all signal that harvest is here.
Harvest is a time when we, in our world of freeways, reality TV, and shrink-wrapped vegetables, can reach back to the ancients and celebrate the elemental pleasures served up by earth and sun. When the daylight is waning, the hills are brown, and even the crape myrtles seem melancholy, it is cheering to see the vineyards. There we see bunch upon bunch of fat, round berries, full of juice and ripening before our very eyes.
I look forward to the day that Solano’s emerging wine industry shoves those joyless headlines off our newspapers in favor or our own harvest news. For now I can enjoy more immediate pleasures: turning leaves, an orange moon, and wines of earlier harvests.
Note: This article first appeared in the Vacaville Reporter on August 27, 2013 under the title, Toast: Our Wine Pioneers: In their own words.
It smells good in here. Usually I say that when I enter a winery.
This time I'm talking virtual aromas. If we could smell through the Internet (it's just a matter of time, isn't it?) the Bancroft Library's oral histories of wine pioneers would smell of cedar cigar boxes, a hint of grandpa's aftershave and wine, of course.
The introduction to the collection explains oral history as "a spoken account, offered by the interviewee in response to questioning, and as such it is reflective, partisan, deeply involved, and irreplaceable."
Yes, it is exactly that, deeply involved and personal. The kind of thing you would hear at the knee of a favorite uncle, when you grab the nuggets of what you want to know from what he wants to tell you.
All the names are here: Gallo the behemoth of Modesto; Mondavi the restless innovator; Winiarski -- political theorist turned winemaker; and others (admittedly almost all white and male) who made California wine a product of pride for all Americans.
Most of the histories are from winemakers and growers, but a few of the pithier accounts are from a sharp lawyer named Horace Lanza, who recognized prohibition as a business opportunity. "Well, I was one that didn't believe in Prohibition anyway, and I didn't do anything to get in trouble with the government, but if I saw that you bought for sacramental purposes but went around the corner and drank it yourself, I didn't care a darn ... "
Miljenko Grgich relates the frustration of making wine in post-Prohibition Napa, when the industry was starting again, almost from scratch. "White wines were mainly dry sauterne and chablis -- very poor quality. Those wines would be good for six months on the shelf, and then they would oxidize and be worthless." Twenty years later, Grgich made a wine that changed California wine forever, when in a blind tasting, henceforth known as the "1976 Judgment of Paris," French judges chose his chardonnay over those of their own country, which until then had been unthinkable.
The evolution of California wine may best be illustrated in the contrast between two Martinis, father and son, both named Louis.
The younger Martini, educated in enology at U.C. Davis, discusses his interest in microclimate research, sales strategies and the Napa Valley Agricultural Preserve.
In an earlier chapter of the same account, his father remembers the San Francisco earthquake, his loyalty to the "paisani" -- fellow immigrants from the Liguria region of Italy -- and the wine he sold from a clam wagon.
When asked about the kind of grapes he bought, he replied, ""Zinfandel, anything."
And the wine he made? "We made white wine and red wine, put it that way."
What a difference a generation makes.
You'll find the stories of more than 90 wine pioneers at UC Berkeley's Bancroft Library's Regional Oral History Office online at http://bancroft.berkeley.edu/ROHO/projects/food_wine/wine.html.
This is old-fashioned reading -- these oral histories are not easily scanned.
But like the reminisces of a favorite uncle, they are stories you will never forget.