Ummm...

The Today Show reported this morning that women who consume at least one alcoholic drink a day - beer, wine or liquor - have a 10% increased risk in developing breast cancer.

Awesome.

Read the full story here, if you feel like it. And try not to become depressed and paranoid.

Things I learned at Black Tie & Boots

Being the wine columnist for the mildly popular Richmond.com comes with one perk a year. I get invited to the Black Tie & Boots ball, because I agree to write about it in upcoming columns. It is the annual kick off event for the Virginia State Fair where they announce the Best in Show for the Virginia State Fair wine competition and charge $100 for all-you-can-drink Virginia wine and all-you-can-tolerate live and silent auctions. Live animals and Richmonders with too much money to burn co-habitate in this evening of catered food and bright lighting, and my friend (who pretended to be my photographer) and I ate it up. Well, all of it except for the weird cheese dip - that we left for the plebeians in the tuxedos and cowboy boots.

Having attended said event earlier tonight, here is a list of things that I learned:

1. Pigs have lots of teets.

2. People will bid on some weird shit (like a day of Shad Roasting, and artistic depictions of Harleys).

3. Scoring a glass of wine often comes with having to hear the winemaker talk about his "slightly oaked" Pinot Gris.

4. Mediocre wine and fair rides just don't mix. (So thanks a lot you Aussie pieces of shit who thought it would be cute to keep me on the tilt-a-ride for three entire turns while my friend held my purse and watched my face turn green.) ((No, I did not actually throw up. But I did need help walking afterwards.))

Stay tuned for the upcoming column about the event. It'll take a great deal of self-restraint to not complain about the lack of funnel cake.

(Wine, being dressed up, and farm animals basically sums up the evening.)

The Story of Falling in Love with White Merlot, aka - How I Lost My Napa Virginity

Labor Day weekend, 2001

"Are we there yet? I'm ready to start drinking! I mean, uh... tasting."

I think it's safe to assume that a similar battle cry is often uttered by those making the forty-five minute journey from San Francisco to Napa Valley. Especially when said travellers are right out of college and visiting the West Coast for the first time.

Unbeknownst to Jason, Heather and I, this would be our first trip of many to Napa Valley, and we were excited to learn a little bit about wine - a beverage that we were just starting to enjoy now that we were full blown adults. I mean, we had our own health insurance and everything. Clearly it was time to start appreciating the finer things in life.

So, naturally, our first stop was Beringer. Established in 1876, the property includes a huge, old-looking house with the a gift shop, and specializes in taking newbies like us on elaborate tours of the facilities to get you all psyched up before you honker down for the tasting.

After we were cattle-prodded through the barrel room and part of the vineyards, the tour spit us out right into the tasting room. We elbowed our way up to the bar, proudly flashed our IDs, and started drinking - ahem - tasting, the wine. After going through about eight or so, there was no question as to which one was my runaway favorite - the White Merlot. It was light pink in color, and sweet-ish with a little bit of acidity and ripe strawberry on the finish.

We journeyed on to a few others, riding the tram at Sterling, hesitantly sipping La Crema at their tasting room, lamenting that Silver Oak was closed on Saturdays because that meant we wouldn't be able to score a free wine glass that they were rumored to give out (clearly we had no idea what Silver Oak signified)... But I just didn't find anything else that suited me like that White Merlot. Reds were still to tannic, and whites often seemed bitter. My palate just hadn't gotten there yet.

So alas, my inaugural trip to Napa concluded with me lugging three bottles of Beringer White Merlot back with me on the plane. I was proud of my find and excited to share the wine with family when I returned home over a plate of pasta and amidst stories about my first trip to the city by the bay.

You see, this is why I don't judge people who drink wines that many of us consider to be, let's say "entry level", and go to pains to make them feel justified and excited about their choices. Because I think that all of us have a little bit of White Merlot in our past, and hopefully special memories to go along with it.

April 16: Virginia Tech Remembers

On a completely non-wine related note...

All of us were struck by the tragedy at Virginia Tech this past April. Especially for those of us who are alumni of that amazing institution, it was incredibly surreal to think that such awful events could take place on such a peaceful, beautiful campus.

Some of us sent emails to cope. Some of us did a blog entry. My friend's husband, Neal, trumped us all. He wrote a book about it.

April 16: Virginia Tech Remembers is a collaboration by several Virginia Tech journalism students that chronicles the events leading up to the tragedy, and the aftermath, not only for the students and families, but what it was like for the sleepy town of Blacksburg to have been decended on by the media.

It is currently available for sale on Amazon.com, and at most major bookstores. All of the proceeds go to families of the victims.

I'm not saying you have to buy one...

Generosity

Last night at the wine tasting I had a pretty good line-up, so I dutifully poured for the customers, chatted with regulars, and did my best to explain the virtues of the wines. (Which is incredibly easy to do when you are pouring Langmeil.)

A few minutes after the tasting started, the owner emerged from the back of the store with another bottle.

"Here, try this," he said pointing the neck towards my tasting glass.

"What is it?"

"Oh, just something I found in my cellar at home and realized it was time to drink. So I brought it in."

I snuck a look at the label. 1990 Silver Oak Cabernet Sauvignon.

For the next hour and a half I watched as his customers' eyes lit up when they were done with my tasting and he offered them a sip of his treat. Many of these people have never had a chance to taste the legendary Silver Oak, and come on, how many of us get to taste a vintage that old very often? Not me.

The wine was definitely showing its age. The hue was a burnt red, and the flavors weren't dancing in the glass like they might have five years ago, but no one cared. We all oooh-ed and aaah-ed, smiled at each other and marveled at our random luck of the evening.

As I swirled my glass, I looked around and made a point to drink in the scene.

Because this is why I'm in the wine industry. People who are truly into wine love to share. He wasn't trying to sell it. He simply wanted people to share in the experience with him.

This is why people come into his store. Because he is a quiet, unassuming man who loves wine and is always offering great things to his customers, whether it is a knockout $9 Spanish white, the perfect Chateauneuf to go with Thanksgiving dinner, a Wine 101 class, a gorgeous $15 Australian Shiraz, or just a sip of a legendary wine from his own collection. People who are wine snobs and wine novices are all comfortable around him, and trust what he is saying.

So as the late afternoon slipped into an early fall evening, and the strangers who were in the store dug noses into glasses, we breathed a collective sigh of content and bonded with our good fortune.

And that feeling of random luck and shared generosity is why I do it. This is what the wine industry is all about.

Polar packing

I spent last weekend gallivanting around New York City - trying new restaurants, sipping on Arneis and Barbera, relaxing in various parks, sipping lattes at Joe in the West Village, shopping at Bloomingdales, and catching up with friends. It was a weekend that made me feel powerful, sophisticated, and alive. Not to mention, broke. Let's just say that plastic was flying from my wallet on a regular basis.

This coming weekend I'll be returning to Blacksburg, Virginia to visit my Alma Mater for the first time in six years. I'll be going to a football game, crashing tailgates, visiting campus and reliving memories as a Theatre Arts major, eating at Macado's, downing $2 Miller Lites, and catching up with friends. It will be a weekend that will make me feel silly, young, and alive. Not to mention, rich. I am planning to bring $30 in cash and genuinely expect it to last me the entire two days.

But in thinking about the two weekends, I think it's interesting that my packing strategies will be completely different for each one.

To go to New York, I neatly folded everything in my chic brown carry-on suitcase and rolled it easily through the airport. To go to Blacksburg, I'll be shoving everything in my Vera Bradley duffel bag and tossing it into the back of my friend's Honda.

For New York I packed high heels. For Blacksburg I'm packing cute sneakers.

I brought a cocktail dress to New York. I'm bringing a jean skirt to Blacksburg.

My going out purse in New York was Coach. My going out purse in Blacksburg will mean shoving my ID and cash into the back pocket of my jeans.

For New York I made sure I packed my entire makeup bag so that I could have smoky black-rimmed eyes. For Blacksburg we might get Hokie decals for our cheeks.

Pre-New York, I double-checked that I had included my straightening iron. Pre-Blacksburg, I'll make sure I have more than one ponytail holder.

Looking at the dichotomies, I honestly can't say which weekend I would prefer. I had a great time last weekend in New York, and I can't wait for this Friday to roll around so that I can hit the road for Blacksburg. Diversity is great.

Top Ten Restaurants Series: Babbo

December, 2006

When I lived in New York, I remember the GM of my restaurant talking about how when she got off of work she would shoot down to the West Village and go grab dinner at the bar at Babbo with her fabulous litany of friends. Incredibly chic, stylish, and fierce about work (not to mention a complete coke addict, but aren't they all?), this woman knew the restaurant scene inside and out, and after hearing her describe Babbo, I determined that it was the kind of place that I would love. I had to go at some point.

Life happened. Even though I'd been to two of his others, I just never quite got around to Mario Batali's most famous restaurant. It was always in the back of my mind, though, how much I wanted to go there. So when my mother and I started planning a trip to New York for December, 2006, I knew that this would be the perfect time to go. We booked our table for four a month in advance, and invited two of my favorite people in the world to join us - my friends Blake and Trey.

Tucked away on one of those quaint side streets in the West Village, the exterior of Babbo is unassuming to the point of being almost hard to find. When we walked in at 8:00 on a Sunday night, the bar area was so crowded we could hardly navigate our way to the hostess stand. The atmosphere was a perfect blend of warm and trendy, and while you immediately felt that you were in a very special place, there was no cause to be intimidated by your surroundings. Perfecto.

The four of us settled in and the wine list was promptly shoved in my direction by everyone at the table. After giving me just a few minutes to peruse, the wine steward confidently, but not intrusively, approached and asked if I had any questions. I had been scanning the Barberas, and asked if he had one to recommend in the price range of the number that I gestured to on the page. His eyes lit up - not because my price range was extravagant, but because he is good at his job and excited about all of his wines - and he named a new bottle on the list. When the wine came it was beautifully served and blew us all away. I cannot stress enough how ridiculously on-point I considered this aspect of the meal. In my mind, the sommelier should be there to assist and excite, not to intimidate. Bravo.

I don't remember everything we ate. Three courses each - an appetizer, pasta dish, and dessert. I could probably figure it out if I looked at the menu on the website, but that's ok. I don't need that sort of obsessive recollection, or a play-by-play of every bite. I'd rather remember the aura, the laughter that we four shared, whilst frequently moaning at how fabulous everything tasted. I'd rather remember random little details of service that made the meal truly unforgettable, like the constantly refilled basket of fresh bread, and the way that they brought out four different kinds of grated cheese with the pasta, and only offered each of us the one that was specifically intended to compliment with the dish in front of us. I'd rather remember how our forks did not even pretend to stay on our own plates, and how we liberally shared everything around, in the way that only people who fell complete ease and happiness with their company can.

This being said, there is one detail that will never get hazy in my mind - the exact look on Trey's face when halfway through the meal he sat up very straight for a second, looked to his right severely and only with his eyes for a moment, and then leaned forward to us.

"Um, guys," he mumbled/whispered out of the side of his mouth, "I think Gwyneth Paltrow is sitting over there."

After several gasps of excitement, we all did our best to look without staring and confirmed that, indeed, we seemed to be dining with an Oscar winner and her rock star husband a mere ten feet away. Priceless. And certainly my most impressive celeb-sighting to date. (By the way - she was luminous.)

So that's it. We left with our bellies stuffed, lots of laughs under our belt, my craving for the restaurant satiated, and great memories. Memories of great wine, conversation, and much happiness tucked away in the West Village.

Winery Crush

BEEP.

"Hi Dan, it's Erin ... I was just callin' to get all of the details set for our wine dinner tomorrow. Give me a call back!" was how my coy sing-songy message went yesterday afternoon.

I assume that when most people talk about winery crushes, they are talking about the time in the fall when all of the grapes are picked and squished into wine. Not me. I'm referring to how damn cute the son of the owner of the winery is, and how excited I am that we are doing a wine dinner together tonight. He totally knows how cute he is too, which makes him fun to flirt with (and impossible to date).

When my phone rang later that afternoon, I looked down to see who it was and a sly grin creeped onto my face as I picked up.

"Hellooooo???"

"Hi is this Erin Mar-tinnnn??"

"Yessss... Is this Dan?"

"Are we gonna sell a million cases tomorrow night?" I can practically feel the dimples forming on his cheeks through the phone.

"Hmmm... weeellll, maybe not when you see how much the Country Club insists on charging for your wine."

"Are they charging a miilllliooonnn dollars for it?"

"Basically... but I figure we can completely whore you out, exploit your dad and his relationship with the Doobie Brothers, you know, really pull out all the stops. Then we'll sell a miiilllliiooonnn cases to the blue hairs." Grins abound on either side of the phone lines.

"Awesome. I'm totally all for that."

"Purrrrfect... So I'll pick you up tomorrow at five?"

"Yay. See you then."

"Bye-eee!"

Should be an interesting night.

Excuses for why I haven't written much this week:

• Girl's dinner at my house on Monday
• Worked with our Epicurean rep on Tuesday and entertained clients until 10pm
• Dinner with Favorite Foodie Friend on Wednesday
• Busting my butt making sure my clients are covered with their favorite products since a huge closeout list came out yesterday. (We finally decided to stop working with a certain shady importer and are getting rid of their products. Unfortunately, some of the wines are really good, so I have to get my clients to stock up and then figure out replacements.)
• First wine dinner with a very posh client, featuring B.R. Cohn wines, on Thursday. The owner's son, Dan, is actually coming into town to speak at the dinner, so I'm busy coordinating schedules with him.
• All the while finalizing details for a fabulous weekend in New York, which I leave for on Friday morning (details to follow)

So in the meantime, hop on over to Richmond.com and check out the article that I wrote for them this week. Anyone have any more wine book suggestions?

I saw it with my OWN EYES

Each year I anxiously await one sure-fire sign that fall is upon us, and this year it snuck up on me. Waiting in line at Starbucks this weekend get my normal summertime iced-fix, my eyes drifted to the side of the register and on the chalk board I saw an announcement that made me feel like this:








The Pumpkin Spiced Latte is here! Sure, it's still in the mid-90's every day and the leaves haven't started changing color yet. So what if I ordered mine iced?

As far as I'm concerned, fall has arrived.

Totally loving...

...this site dedicated to educating people about Petite Sirah!

I'm definitely going to have to make the meatloaf once the weather cools down a bit here in the hot, hot South. Bring on the red lips.

R.I.P. Solitude Winery

Since I started working for my company a little over a year ago, I have become a huge fan of Solitude Winery. Based in Santa Rosa, owner and winemaker Richard Litsch seems to have chosen the name for his venture aptly. From what I understand, not only is he the sole owner and winemaker, but he takes care of all of the marketing, selling, working with distributors, and even makes deliveries to restaurants and wine stores in California.

His first vintage was in 1986, and he produces about 5000 cases per year - only Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. The wines are gorgeous, and the Pinot usually disappears within a few months of release. I've had clients clamoring for the all year, and several of us have been eagerly awaiting the release of the new vintage, which we thought was coming in October.

Good thing no one was holding their breath.

A few days ago, my company got a letter (a letter, not an email) from Mr. Litsch informing all of his distributors that he has been trying to sell the winery with no success, that he was currently out of product, and closing down the winery. The stock that we currently had of Chardonnay was it - the last of the Solitude we would ever see.

"What?!" I gasped out loud when I got the email from my boss. Not only was I a huge fan of the wines, but I had several clients who were hooked on them as well. I frantically checked our inventory - 17 cases left. Not a lot.

After I gave myself about thirty seconds to mourn the loss of this great winery, I picked up my cell phone and started dialing frantically. My mission was to make sure that all of my clients who were fans of the product could stock up before it was all gone. (I'm such a customer service freak, the thought of having a client trying to order it from me down the line and not having been warned that it was going out of stock makes my hands clammy.)

Thirty minutes later, I swear there was smoke coming out of my phone. Eight cases had been sold, and I was satisfied that those customers who needed to had been fairly warned.

Now all that is left to do it put in an order for myself before it is all gone. Glad the current release of Chard will age nicely - I have a feeling I'll want to hang on to it for a while.

My Fifteen Minutes

Check out this article in the RTD about the different places to get buffalo wings around town. I was one of the - ahem - distinguished tasters.

Special thanks to my Favorite Foodie Friend for asking me to participate!

Two conversations, one wine

With the customers at the tasting:
"Ok, here's the really special one tonight. I'm sure you've had some of the McManis wines before - well this is the first time they've ever done a Pinot Noir. So, since Pinot is tricky they only made a little bit their first time out. Which is smart - the only bad thing is we don't get a lot of it to sell. So we only got sixty cases for the entire state of Virginia! Luckily, the owner of this store was smart and snapped some up, but it won't be around forever, so if it becomes one of your favorites, you'll want to act fast. I mean, how often do you find a good Pinot Noir that retails for $12? Mmm-hmm... lots of dark fruit, cherry, blackberry - and don't you love that smoke on the finish? Yeah..."

With the sister of the owner, who has worked in the shop for years:
"Here, taste the McManis Pinot Noir."

"Is it good?"

"Well, it tastes nothing like Pinot, but the thing is, it's actually really yummy."

"Laced with Syrah?"

"Probably. But hey, it's a $12 Pinot."

"Totally. We'll sell the crap out of that one."

"Sweet."

Decadence in Liver

Last week, one of my clients expressed his excitement at having only a single bottle left of one of his favorite wines, and mentioned that he needed to open it soon before it passed its peak.

"You're just waiting for us to come in again, aren't you?" I said, half teasing. (The last time my Favorite Foodie Friend and I had paid him a visit resulted in a virtual orgy of cheese and wine, and the evening ended with the three of us drinking Champagne in his restaurant until about two in the morning.)

His eyes perked up. "Yes, that's perfect! You girls get yourself in here again and I'll open this sucker up."

No need to tell me twice. Five minutes later I was out in my car texting my FFF, and we were making plans to descend on the bar of the fancy French restaurant once again.

So around 8:30 last night, after a light snack of sushi and Sauvignon Blanc, we pulled open the doors and crept into the quiet dining room. The bartender, who we had only met once before, greeted us like old friends and poured us each a glass of Chateauneuf-du-Pape. We knew that the owner would still be cooking, and parked ourselves down to enjoy the wine and a delicious cheese plate while we waited for him to be done with the shift and come out into the bar to gossip and drink with us.

After we lingered over and savored our cheese plate for about an hour, it was cleared away and new silverware was set down. We looked at each other with curious excitement - we knew we hadn't ordered anything else, but it looked like someone had plans for our palates.

A few minutes later, a heaping plate of buttery fois gras was set down in front of us, and our eyes practically teared as the realization of our treasure sunk in. The bartender poured two generous glasses of Sauternes, and we dug in.

It was perfectly cooked, seared on the outside and medium-rare inside, with dark macerated cherries and figs on the plate. The Sauternes danced on my tongue - the racy acidity and sweetness slicing through the rich fois gras beautifully.

When the chef was done cooking, he opened his treasured bottle of Cabernet and shared it not only with us, but with the two servers who were still there. We continued to sit at the bar and shared food stories, gossiped about other restaurants, and in general had a great time.

We couldn't believe how lucky we were. What a perfect way to end the hectic week. Totally worth the small headache the next morning.

Getting out of the tasting

Sweet, 7:27. Three more minutes and I am out of here.... I'll be right on time for our reservation. I'm starving...

A man then walks into the store as I busy myself with tidying up the tasting area and getting my purse.

Crap, he sees me. And he clearly knows that there is a tasting going on. I'll make this quick...

"Sir, would you like to taste? Tonight we are featuring great everyday-priced wines from California!"

Please say no, please say no, please say no...

"Of course I do. Now which company do you work for?"

Ugh. I do not need to be the subject of a lonely 50-something man getting his Friday night kicks by chatting up a girl young enough to be his daughter.

Unfortunately, ten minutes later (7:37), that is exactly what I had become. At this point he was grilling me not only about the wines I was pouring, but our company's entire portfolio. Every attempt on my part to wrap up our conversation so that I could make it to dinner with friends was met with another inane question. I was completely torn between my growling stomach and my tendency towards thorough customer service.

"Now, Erin... which of these Pinot Noirs on the wall are from you?"

Bah!!! Stop talking to me you old fart. There is no way I will make it to dinner on time now. Three people will be sitting around waiting for me to arrive.

"Well, we do the Castle Rock, Cartlidge and Browne, and Silver Ridge lines from California. The only one of our Oregon Pinots on the wall is from Walnut City Wine Works."

I wonder if my smile looks totally tense and fake?

"Really... Now this Castle Rock wine says Willammette Valley on it. What does that mean?

Grrrrr.....

"Well, Castle Rock is based in California, but they source their fruit from different areas of the West Coast and always label the bottle with the region that they got the fruit from. So it's a California winery, but they are using fruit from Oregon."

Is this a difficult concept? He looks confused. Or like he's going to make me explain it again just to stall for time.

"Oh.... Now while we're over here, show me which New Zealand wines are yours. You were saying that they have some great Pinots too, huh?"

"Yes, sir. They sure do." Sigh. "Right over here."

Twenty minutes later I was finally out the door and speeding towards the restaurant. I arrived just as our shared appetizer was being delivered.

Don't get me wrong - I love doing my job. But there is nothing better than sinking down at a table with good friends at the end of the day.

Getting out of the tasting

Sweet, 7:27. Three more minutes and I am out of here.... I'll be right on time for our reservation. I'm starving...

A man then walks into the store as I busy myself with tidying up the tasting area and getting my purse.

Crap, he sees me. And he clearly knows that there is a tasting going on. I'll make this quick...

"Sir, would you like to taste? Tonight we are featuring great everyday-priced wines from California!"

Please say no, please say no, please say no...

"Of course I do. Now which company do you work for?"

Ugh. I do not need to be the subject of a lonely 50-something man getting his Friday night kicks by chatting up a girl young enough to be his daughter.

Unfortunately, ten minutes later (7:37), that is exactly what I had become. At this point he was grilling me not only about the wines I was pouring, but our company's entire portfolio. Every attempt on my part to wrap up our conversation so that I could make it to dinner with friends was met with another inane question. I was completely torn between my growling stomach and my tendency towards thorough customer service.

"Now, Erin... which of these Pinot Noirs on the wall are from you?"

Bah!!! Stop talking to me you old fart. There is no way I will make it to dinner on time now. Three people will be sitting around waiting for me to arrive.

"Well, we do the Castle Rock, Cartlidge and Browne, and Silver Ridge lines from California. The only one of our Oregon Pinots on the wall is from Walnut City Wine Works."

I wonder if my smile looks totally tense and fake?

"Really... Now this Castle Rock wine says Willammette Valley on it. What does that mean?

Grrrrr.....

"Well, Castle Rock is based in California, but they source their fruit from different areas of the West Coast and always label the bottle with the region that they got the fruit from. So it's a California winery, but they are using fruit from Oregon."

Is this a difficult concept? He looks confused. Or like he's going to make me explain it again just to stall for time.

"Oh.... Now while we're over here, show me which New Zealand wines are yours. You were saying that they have some great Pinots too, huh?"

"Yes, sir. They sure do." Sigh. "Right over here."

Twenty minutes later I was finally out the door and speeding towards the restaurant. I arrived just as our shared appetizer was being delivered.

Don't get me wrong - I love doing my job. But there is nothing better than sinking down at a table with good friends at the end of the day.