1. the Cloisters
2. my dentist
3. the meat department at Fairway
4. Clo wine bar

The Cloisters are an obvious choice (two words: unicorn tapestries). My dentist? An accident of insurance. And the meat department at Fairway simply needs to be seen to be believed… But Clo? Why would a downtown die-hard ever venture above 14th street when the need to get her drink on strikes? Put simply, at Clo I can sample some of the worlds greatest wines at a fraction of the cost.

Clo wine bar is not a new concept, but it elevates the idea to a novel and elegant height. It’s founded on Enomatic technology– the darling new plaything of wine bars and stores worldwide. Enomatics are Italian machines that allow a wine to remain open for up to 3 weeks by maintaining a layer of inert gas (in this case, Argon) over the wine’s surface within an opened bottle.

Allow me to elaborate: oxygen is the enemy of wine. When you open a bottle and do not finish it, it is contact with the air that spoils your remains. Argon is heavier than oxygen and when injected into a bottle forms a protective layer over the exposed wine, preventing spoilage. The Enomatics take this one step further by siphoning said wine out from beneath the layer of gas, never disturbing the surface, and dispensing it into your waiting glass.

This allows Clo to offer extremely rare and expensive wines by the glass, sparing nerds like me hundreds of dollars on what would otherwise be a total bottle commitment. But instead of just having one of these machines, Clo (a play on ‘clos’), is walled in by them. With by-the-glass selections numbering over 100 and a state-of-the-art light-projection interactive system to shepherd you through them, Clo is not only one of the most unique settings in which to enjoy a glass of wine, it is also an invaluable tool for industry professional and burgeoning collector alike.

Described aloud, Clo could easily sound unapproachably modern but in reality is actually quite cozy and friendly inside. Hours pass as folks from all walks of life glide around enjoying anything from Portuguese table wine to ancient Madeira. Sexy and mod enough to seem an ideal romantic destination, the family-style seating quickly (and hilariously) turns your date into a public affair. I have interacted with more people in an hour at Clo than I am generally comfortable with. Pile on the inevitable members of the New York wine intelligentsia, running back and forth pressing pour buttons like mice on crack levers, and it’s a full night indeed. Ever a fan of efficiency, I just hope those guys check the suggestion box and install a syringe extension to the argon tubing for those of us Clo-junkies…

So. Self-service enomatic machines… interactive educational light display… for a bar whose aim seems to be the annihilation of the sommelier, they sure do have a lot of them kickin’ around. And this is where Clo gets ridiculous. Beyond the meticulous selection, beyond, even, the high-tech interface, lies a collective of some of the nation’s top sommeliers. A veritable boy band of professional winos—Scott Brenner, Andrew Bradbury, Keith Goldston MS, Brian Smith, and Darius Allyn MS form a kind of hunky brain trust that together helped guide this stark Kubrickian kiosk to its landing pad in the 4th floor of the Time Warner Center. A handy staff indeed especially if, say, Fairway closes early that day and one still requires an eyeful of beef. Now if they could only throw in a couple of horned horsies and some local anesthesia, my New York like could officially cap at 59th st!

(For those inquiring… Yes, the Time Warner Center is a mall so, by extension, Clo is in a mall. Don’t hold it against them. I find that it helps if one thinks of it as a kind of adults-only Orange Julius stand.)

Oh, and one last thing. In your rush to the wine counter, do not forget to pause and peruse the peripheral wall. Here you will find a daring and stylish selection of high-end wine accessories that range from the sublime to the bizarre, carefully curated by super-wife Brooke Bradbury. All I know is that whomever I con/bribe/blackmail into marrying me better be pouring my wedding-day wine out of an orange skull decanter ($1000, Esque Studio in Portland). This twisted little heart wouldn’t have it any other way.

(Photo by Kfir Ziv, KZNY Studio)

Given my penchant for braggadocio, anyone who’s spent more than five minutes with me learns a couple things: 1, that I worked a crush in Burgundy and 2, that once upon a time I was in a band that played the Knitting Factory – two huge highpoints in my little life. So it was with a hiccupping heart that I, last Friday night, found myself at City Winery hosing freshly pressed Cabernet skins off a sorting table alongside Michael Dorf, owner and founder of the Knitting Factory and now owner and founder of Manhattan’s only winery.

City Winery is an actual wine-making facility located on Varick street at Vandam in SoHo, specializing in custom barrel production for consumers and groups. Let me reemphasize: this is an Actual Winery in MANHATTAN. You can take the SUBWAY there.

The idea behind CW is elegant in its simplicity: they circumvent existing wineries and work directly with the vineyards (just California and Oregon thus far), purchasing fruit and shipping it in meticulously temperature controlled trucks. The grapes arrive in pristine shape in the same tiny crates that workers laid them into 4-5 days prior. These crates are then unloaded onto a sorting table where, as a consumer, you can sift through your own berries, discarding the unripe and Reagan-shaped alike. Then, under the supervision of head winemaker David Lecomte (a Rhône-native whose resume includes Chapoutier and Herzog), it’s off to the crusher-destemmer followed by tank or barrel– wherever your variety of choice is destined to matriculate.

When my friend Alyson started working there I confess I was a bit skeptical. Big deal, I thought, someone’s making wine in New York. There have been far too many social situations wherein someone’s uncle finds out I’m in the wine industry and suddenly I’m hearing all about his bathtub Zinfandel and would I like a bottle? So I envisioned an upscale New York version of that—some business man’s Basement Merlot glory project. In my mind I imagined they were purchasing juice or must, stirring in some dried brewer’s yeast, and sitting back bobbing their heads to the rhythmic thwacking of a back well-patted.

But that was before I stepped foot in the place.

City Winery is not necessarily a new concept. It seems that as recently as the year 2000 there was a kosher winery (Kedem) in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The novelty lies in the totality of the vision. Given Dorf’s lauded musical past, it naturally follows that the winery would be attached to an events space that looks, in all its raw and sawdust-coated glory, like it will rival the most established downtown venue. I got a sneak peak at the tentative performance line-up for 2009 and it is nothing short of star-studded. Even if there wasn’t a fully-functional winery behind door number one, you would still find my fanny regularly parked on one of the many curvilinear booths (VIP, surely) that demarcate the stage area.

And now we arrive at the point of the whole darn thing. After years and years of washing down great music with cheap beer and Jack Daniels, Dorf, a long-time wine fanatic, just wanted a place where, when the music stopped, the libation could share the ovation. Couple that with a mind wired towards the creative process and voila: City Winery is born.

In addition to a world-class stage and sound system, the space will also include a restaurant with a comprehensive wine list and a long, winding Murray’s cheese bar. Illuminated behind the VIP area is a glass-enclosed barrel room where expectant parents can pat swollen oaken bellies and listen to the crooning yeast between sets.

But, you may argue, its one thing to dazzle the Professional Dabblers of the Ultra-Elite, but what about us die-hard wine snobs? What about us brutes of the restaurant industry whose sweat-blinded eyes can barely read the labels of the 82 Bordeaux that pass from our hands to these same potential barrel-owners? How will you impress us? What about localism and Small is Beautiful and nerdy indigenous varieties and our right to hate anything that smacks of accidental entrepreneurialism? I know many a wine professional who, upon hearing of City Winery, dismissed it out of hand with a shrug and a roll of the eyes. I know, because I was one of them. But no one who’s actually spent a minute inside the place has walked away with anything other than a sense of awe. It feels like a winery, it smells and sounds like a winery, and if you stand around dumbly for long enough you WILL get yelled at in French….

…which brings me back to Friday last. I entered the winery innocently enough, intending simply to pick up said friend Alyson, maybe to go out and get a few drinks, some pizza…. Next thing I know the two of us are pushing grape skins around the concrete floor in shoes that, properly ebayed, could buy and sell the whole crop a few times over. My attention was split between avoiding the spray of the power-washer and attempting to choke down the chicken bone of hero-worship caught in my throat when Michael Dorf, ghost writer of so many of my favorite New York nights (no matter which side of the guitar monitors I found myself on), turns to me hands-out and demands my instrument. Confused and thinking I had perhaps failed some sort of manual labor exam, I wondered aloud as to why the progenitor of such an operation would require my mop mid-task. He faced me squarely and explained,

“Because I LIKE to squeegee.”

————————————————————————

This is not just a blog post, this is an invitation!

Please join me this coming Wednesday from 10pm- 12am for a midnight crush at CITY WINERY. This event is specifically organized to help you wine professionals get your hands dirty. We will be crushing two different batches of Cabernet Sauvignon grapes from Napa Valley. First will be a Kosher Krush (yes there will be a Rabbi on hand!) from the Bertinelli vineyards in Oakville followed by Atlas Peak’s Haystack vineyards.

You can read more about the vineyards mentioned at http://www.citywinery.com/barrelowners/vineyards.html

I hope to see you there!

City Winery
143 Varick Street • New York, NY 10013 • 212-608-0555 • info@citywinery.com

My body is a sensitive machine powered by a complex engine requiring specific fuel to run at peak performance (no ethanol jokes, please). Things like fruit, yogurt, coffee, the occasional bottle of Champagne… What it does NOT crave are deep-fried minor parts of minor animals, trundled about on carts and thrust in your face like so many Canal street handbags. Ah, the obligatory New York dim sum experience – just one of many things (cross-country skiing comes to mind) for which the appeal escapes only me.

Despite all that, last Sunday at the unholy hour of 11am, I marched over to Oriental Garden on Elizabeth St, dodging parasols and little red plastic bags at every turn. Why? Because Michael Simkin told me to.

Michael J. Simkin is one of the top minds in saké in New York. More than one A-list NY sommelier credits him with their saké education. I met him a few years back and have been enthralled ever since (largely due to his absolutely frenetic energy… also his potty mouth). There is little I enjoy more than a night out with MJS as he whisks me about the city, ducking into underground dumpling holes in Chinatown, overcrowded Korea-town night clubs and secret Tudor City kateidyori bars…

So when the chance came up to join him and his wacky friends for brunch I could hardly decline. Joining us at the table was a graphic designer, a marketing guru, a woman best described as half corporate spy/half human search engine and a fervent Big Head Todd and the Monsters Fan.

Never one to miss a chance at self-promotion, I steered conversation to my brand-new blog. Perhaps organic saké might make a tasty topic?, I ventured, walking my chop sticks through an assortment of greasy inscrutables. Michael frowned. “Well, to be honest, I don’t really think there are too many organic sakés floating around the U.S. yet… it’s a bit complicated.”

Michael was right. Straining my brain, I could only come up with one known organic producer, the wonderful Yuki No Bosha (Cabin In The Snow) brewery that my friend Russell represented for one hot minute several years ago. (imported by Joto Saké, newly distributed through Southern).

Yuki No Bosha is located in the prestigious northern Akita prefecture and is one of my all-time favorite saké producers. Their “basic” junmai daiginjo sets the high-water mark by which I measure all competitors. The brewery holds the added distinction of being (to my knowledge) the only USDA-approved organic saké of Japanese origin.

A google search later yielded SakéOne, an Oregon-based company that offers a selection of sakés made from certified organic Sacramento valley rice. SakéOne is one of only 5 domestic saké breweries– all owned or, in this case, advised by, successful Japanese companies transplanted onto American soil.

But why so few? How in the wide world of saké, and in such a health-conscious cultural time, could there be only two organic sakés? Two quick phone calls, one to Henry Sidel, president of Joto Saké, and one to Ami Nakanishi of the NY Mutual Trading Co., helped to clarify.

According to both, the largest obstacle is that JAS (Japanese Agricultural Standards) rulings are not automatically recognized by the USDA, requiring any brewery recognized as organic by JAS to undergo re-certification under an American board and by American standards. Contrast this to France wherein whatever is considered organic in France can be exported to the U.S. and marketed as organic, no questions asked.

If there’s one thing my eight years in the wine industry has taught me is that the line dividing an organic producer from a CERTIFIED organic producer is drawn in red tape. By and large, certification is an invasive, laborious, and costly process with dubious (marketing) benefit at best. Most Japanese breweries are small, family-run affairs without the surplus cash to throw around in an attempt to legitimize a product which, as a whole, is highly natural to begin with.

There is an illuminating article in John Gauntner’s Saké World that explains the Japanese certification process in great detail. I will attempt to summarize it here. In order to be certified organic, a saké must be comprised of at least 95% JAS-certified organic rice (yukimai). For the rice to achieve certification, the paddies in question can not have come into contact with agricultural chemicals in three years. The rub is that the very topography of the land combined with the irrigation practices of the rice farmers makes this incredibly difficult to control. Often, one farmer’s paddy is flood-irrigated with the run-off from another paddy, leading Ami Nakanishi to joke that the only way to be certain of a rice field’s organic standing is if it is grown at the top of a mountain.

But stepping back from all this, the biggest question of all is perhaps: Is there even a point to this line of inquiry?? If by ‘organic’ we mean ‘natural,’ then talking about organic saké is like talking about round circles. In the world of wine, there are giant commercial wineries that rape and pillage their soils, slathering on agro-chemicals like Crisco on a watermelon. They are, it can be argued, declining in number and favor but still, they’re out there. In Japan, this has never been an issue. They don’t need organics and biodynamics to reawaken their soils after the Dupontific ‘50s. Their limited agricultural landscape has been, and remains, largely untouched by the greedy hand of mass-production.

In fact, saké contains ZERO sulphites and far fewer hangover-causing congeners than is found in wine! Of course, consume enough of anything and it will mess with you (take my word for it, my father once nearly overdosed on Echinacea tea!), but there is a lot more room for Responsible Hedonism with this particular libation than with many of its counterparts.

In the end, with all the facts examined and stones overturned, I propose that those of us truly concerned with what we put in our bodies (while unwilling to put down the bottle) consider the following permanent exchange: that complete Riedel glassware array you received last birthday for a nice set of porcelain ochoko.

It’ll certainly fit a lot better into my little slice of New York real estate.

Links from the article:

www.sakeone.com
www.yukinobousha.jp
www.nymtc.com
www.jotosake.com
www.mjssakeselections.com

FOR INSTANCE….

…this past Sunday found me stomping around downtown with Wine Yenta and all-around-lovely L. Alyson Careaga who wriggled her nose, crossed her arms, and blinked us into the cute and cozy inner sanctum of renowned wine-writer Alice Feiring. Alice, a fervent naturalist and fellow natural redhead, was doing research for an upcoming piece on gamay.

For the occasion Alice invited a dozen or so close friends (and one hanger-on burgeoning blogger!) to her 4th floor Soho walkup, prepared a dazzling vegetarian feast, and divided 30 Gamays from around the world into four geographically distinct flights.

Now, I don’t generally truck with the strict-herbivore set. When asked, I proudly rattle off the parts of animals I indulge in as a dedicated traveler displays his passport stamps. Though if I had Alice Feiring as my personal cook, it might take a while for me to notice that meat was missing from my diet.

The apartment was warm and perfect and fit the hostess like a favorite sweater. All wines were tremendously well-wrapped– tiny Christmas packages complete with military corners. The attendees spanned both age and occupation, including a winemaker, his daughter, an importer, an actor from The Wire and the obligatory New York Video Artist.

Excited to help explore a grape for which I already knew I had a deep love, I plucked a glass from the table and dove right in– only to be slapped in the face by a sour saccharine nightmare! 12 wines came and went (the whole first flight) and not a winner in the bunch. No investigative treatise on Chiroubles, this was nothing more than a tedious domestic starting lineup! Surely this was some sort of cruel hazing ritual designed to alienate the new girl. But no, Alice’s intentions were pure; this was merely an example of the trials and tribulations of research meticulously wrought.

The next flight, my favorite of the night, featured gamay from the Loire. This was followed by Brouilly+Fleurie, with Morgon (plus one sneak-attack Rhone) bringing up the rear.

Gamay is a grape that I adore. Arguably best when young, it is bouncy and bright and light (when done right), has interesting aromatics, edgy acidity, funky earth, and great food applicability. So it was sad to see so many fluffy ho-hum gamays dominating the selections. This is not to say that there weren’t any shining stars…

For me, the two most winningest wines were:

2007 Clos Roche Blanche (Touraine, Loire)– a beautiful pink peppercorn and spicy radish nose. In the mouth, the bright blue raspberry fruit was perfectly balanced by a brilliant acidity and a sense of freshly grated clove dominated the finish.
2005 Domaine Romaneaux-Destezet “La Souteronne” Gamay D’Ardeche (Rhone)– a lean, mean, herbal machine. Dried thyme, black cherry and that lovely gamay pepperiness combined to form a perfect match for the epoisse bread I was stuffing my face with… I mean delicately sampling.

Also amazing:
2004 100% Julien Courtois (Touraine, Loire)
2006 Laurent Martray Corentin (Brouilly, Beaujolais)

…After these 4 highlights, 23 of the remaining wines drunkenly walked the mediocrity median, ranging from the almost-really-good to the nearly-terrible. Of the whole tasting, 3 (and only 3) wines were truly terrible and they were ALL FROM GEORGES DUBOEUF. Big and fruity and ghastly and confected… Not only does the emperor have no clothes, he has a giant banana where his codpiece should be!

(for those missing the inside joke, google “banana yeast”+Duboeuf for the reference)

After the identity of all the wines were revealed and discussed, our hostess, her tribe, and the drinkable wines retired to the kitchen where plates were heaped and thirsts, thus far academically tantalized, were slaked.

Then suddenly, from the buzzing chatter of mingling strangers, burst the sweet school-marmish throat-clearing of one Alice Feiring. Urged on by relentlessly inquiring mind AC, studiously shy Alice transformed into a bespectacled whirling dervish of literary enthusiasm! Pirouetting her fingers through the pages of several favorite Philip Roth novels, AF read aloud to an audience as excited by the chance to experience this unplumbed side of their hostess and friend as to marvel over the fine fiction stylings of Mr. Roth. And then, like a spent match, and seemingly startled by her own outburst, Alice retreated to the comforts of wine, opening a gorgeous bottle of 2006 Clos de la Roilette (Fleurie) and busied herself with the kissing of goodbyes.