(I know, I know: it is a miracle that I have been able to date any woman, much less be engaged to one.)
Since just about every wine trade tasting is in the City and since most of those tastings in the City are in Fort Mason, which Tre Bicchieri was, natch, that meant I would have to do BART, cabs, MUNI, the whole deal.
I have not hailed many cabs and every time I am called upon to do it I get a little scared. It seems like such an adult ritual or gesture and in many ways (e.g. not driving!, etc, ... ) I am certainly not an adult. I hailed two cabs in the City that day (the first was kind of a cheat, I did it right in front of the St Francis Hotel) and by the time I was nestled in my BART car, whooshing home after a v long day, I was happy to note that I had conquered my cab-hailing fears. In fact, I loved hailing cabs. I want to go right back to the City as soon as I can and hail a bunch more. But that will have to wait.
Enough with the prologue, our story begins here:
Renee and I received a letter from PG&E that our power would be turned off at around nine a.m. that morning due to some work being done on our cross street. (Turns out our power was not turned off; we were not affected by the work being done.) That meant that I would have to leave a little bit earlier than necessary to make my first destination and I would prob have some time to kill. Me being the old, non-driving, public transport, time killing pro that I am (for those of us who do not drive, time killing is a discipline that must be mastered and let it be known that I am a black belt time killer) I knew that the smartest plan was to get to the original destination first, so there is no chance of my being late, for sure, and I would not be rushed or overcome with anxiety, having to get to my destination at the last minute. Essentially, it is better to kill time closer to your destination than farther away.
(You can always tell the folks that take public transport: they are the ones standing alone, reading or smoking, in front of the meeting place. It is the folks that drive who are always late.)
Anyhoo, my game plan was to take a County Connection bus (the #7) to Walnut Creek BART and then take the SFO/Millbrae line to the Powell Street station. From there I would hail a cab to 2300 Chestnut in the Marina, my first destination, Ristobar, where Young's Market was hosting a pre-tasting event. I decided that I would wing it after Ristobar.
When I went out to catch my bus at 8:50 a.m. it was cold and raining. Not a good omen for the day ahead. It was not the normal No. California type of Winter rain, either. It was coming down fairly hard, fairly sideways. I chose not to plug in to my iPod but instead tried to read my small book, Sontag & Kael, Opposites Attract Me by Craig Seligman. One woman ran to my side at the sheltered bus stop right before the bus arrived.
I bought an eight dollar BART ticket at Walnut Creek and boarded my train. Luckily, I did not have to stand. There were a few seats available. I sidled up next to a woman who proceeded to curl her small body as close to the window and as far as possible away from me as she could. At either the Lafayette or Orinda stop a petite woman boarded and sat across from me in the aisle. She had a horsey face but exquisite stockings and super shiny black pumps. She got off at Embarcadero, the first stop in the City.
A couple of stops later I alighted on to Market and Powell streets. Looks like the BART fares have gone up. I looked at my ticket and realized I would have to add to my ticket for my return trip. Like I always do when traveling, I sized up the situation and asked myself, "Can I walk to my destination?" The answer to that question was, "Yes, I could make it in time," but I did not have the energy to attack those hills right then. Plus, I wanted to hail a cab, tell the driver, "The Marina, please, and step on it."
I walked up Powell St, on the look out for taxis heading west. The rain clouds had vanished. It was sunny and if not warm, it was not cold. Right in front of the St Francis Hotel I saw a cab pull up. I raised my right arm, got the driver's attention and felt like Cary Grant as I slid in to the back seat, "The Marina, please," I said, "Twenty three hundred Chestnut, and step on it!" I am kidding, I did not say, "Step on it."
That took about ten minutes and cost me about twelve dollars. I knew it would be no problem killing time there. Ristobar is across the street from one of my all-time fave restaurants, A16. I knew there would not be a bunch of cool bookstores (bookstores are the professional time killers' valhalla) but there would be breakfast places, coffee shops, overpriced boutiques, whathaveyou, ...
Sure enough, I arrived about an hour and a half before the pre-tasting event. There was a Starbuck's, natch, and a Peet's. I hate coffee shops and I do not much like coffee. I prefer bar culture, as messy, and loud, and as ugly as it can get, over coffee shop culture any day of the week. I noticed there was a funky breakfast/lunch cafe called The Grove. I decided to eat there. It is a counter restaurant. You order your food at a counter, get a "flag" to signify your order, and someone brings your order to you and takes your "flag" back home. I ordered the basic jack & cheddar omelet, which comes with hash browns and their "special" thick-cut toast.
The place is not that great. It is like an over-blown coffee shop. Everyone had their Macs plugged in to special outlets or they were reading on their iPads instead. The omelet was okay, the hash browns had rosemary in them (weird) and the toast was barely buttered and lame. But their iced tea was v good. I had two of those, read my book, and watched the Macintosh-folks do their hip Marina/Fillmore thing.
I went down a side street and had a cigarette, came back up towards Ristobar and noticed folks setting up for the event. There were men in suits on cell-phones, standing in front of Ristobar. These guys were from Young's Market, you could tell. I crossed the street to check out the A16 lunch menu. A16 runs my favorite wine program in the Bay Area. Shelly Lindgren only pours southern Italian wines there. No Brunello, Chianti, or Barolo there. In honor of Tre Bicchieri her list for that day was only wines that would be poured at Tre Bicchieri later.
I bumped in to one of my old reps, Stefano. He did not remember me. But he was polite. Later, I learned that he does not work for Young's Market anymore and runs his own Italian wine import business. Some of the wines he reps had made Tre Bicchieri and were poured at the event at Fort Mason.
Noon came around and I went to the pre-tasting event. I hated it. I thought it was going to be a much smaller, more exclusive, little lunch-y type of thing. It was the normal over-crowded trade tasting that makes folks like me hate trade tastings. The retail folks like myself were heavily out-numbered by the wholesale, Young's folks, which made me look pathetically under-dressed. (I wore black Jack Purcell trainers; black socks with pink skull and crossbones on them; my supersmart, sexy Gap 1969 brown cords; an undershirt; a red button down shirt; and (the big crime) my Stax hoodie. No one gave a shit at the actual event but at this Young's Market thing-y, I definitely got some looks and frowns. Fuck 'em.)
(I know, I know: wine trade tastings sound like they are a lot of fun to folks outside the industry but they are not. There is a lot of shoving, jostling for position, and pretentious posturing at the producer's table. Plus, many folks treat it like a fucking mixer and get horribly loaded and start leering at prospective "dates.")
It was near impossible to try the wines at Ristobar. The Young's folks did a lot of back-slapping and celebrating, happy their event seemed such a hit. But was it? It seemed like it was just a lot of grey and blue suited Young's reps doing a victory lap and then preaching to the choir.
Still, it was nice to see some Young's folks: Sean (who used to be a Whole Foods wine buyer), Mark G., and Erin, who got me my ticket to Tre Bicchieri. (Thanks.)
But now it was time to go to the real event, at last. I raised my right hand and hailed a westbound taxi on Chestnut, "Take me to Fort Mason, please." The driver laughed and I asked why. He said he had just taken a cabful of Italian folks there. I told him there was a big wine-tasting event. As we pulled in to Fort Mason it was my turn to laugh. He asked, "What's so funny?" "I coulda walked," I said as I settled the fare and headed towards Tre Bicchieri 2011.
Of course, I was early. I took my place in the queue, got my ticket ready, and people-watched. Even if there was not a queue it was v easy to tell the wine producers from the retail tradesfolk. The producers were ninety per cent men, wearing fabulous silk or wool suits with amazing Italian shoes. The producers spoke Italian, natch, most of the time on to their cell phones, and smoked furiously whilst doing so.
The tradesfolk did not smoke, wore trainers, cords, and jeans; hoodies, windcheaters, and jumpers. They took lots of pictures with their cell phones.
I am v glad I got there early. Angelo from Vinity greeted me as I walked in, got my program and my cool Tre Bicchieri neck bag (to hold your glass in if you need to free your hands for anything.) Angelo was giving away complimentary 100 mil bottles of grappa. Hello!
The other good thing about getting there early was I could hit all my friends' tables without having to fight anyone for a taste or a chance to spit. (Yes, folks, I spat the entire time until I knew I was going to leave.)
I was most impressed by the white wines I tasted. There was a Barolo I particularly liked, Ettore Germano Barolo Cerretta '06, and a Nero d'Avola that is a bit pricey, Firriato Harmonium '08, but it was the whites that shone brightest.
I tried Sassacaia ('07) and Cabreo just because I had not tasted them in a while but I was not impressed. I stayed away from the super-tuscans, the blockbuster cab/merlot/sangiovese blends that earn all the points and cost a mint. When I first got in to the "industry", I loved those wines but I would much rather have a reasonably priced Nero d'Avola or Montepulciano d'Abruzzo these days. They are much better with good food.
Here are the whites that I absolutely loved: Cantina Produttori San Michele Appiano A.A. Sauvignon St. Valentin '09 (I sell at my store the same producer's Pinot Grigio and Pinot Bianco); Elena Walch A.A Gewurztraminer Kastelaz '09; Sergio Mottura Grechetto Poggio della Costa '09; Cantine Lunae Bosoni Colli di Luni Vermentino Lunae Et. Nera '09.
The thing about these great white wines, and there were others that are not leaping straight to my mind as I write now, was how crisp and refreshing they were. The are all perfect for seafood, natch, (which I do not particularly care for) but they are so lively, unfussy, and fun. They are total porch-sipping wines. The acidity is such that they encourage you to drink more. They are not heavy, high-alcohol wines that weigh like a ton of bricks on you, like a Napa Chard. They are elegant yet spirited. Mischievous and classy, all at the same time. They are like the super smart tom boy sister at the wedding, running amok and amongst the stuffy, overdressed, overbearing, blowhard Uncles (that would be the Sassacaias and Cabreos, the super-tuscans.) Those whites were a breath of fresh air at this event.
I saw Tom, Julian, Raphael, and got to meet the guy who runs the wine program at Postino, a v nice restaurant in my neck of the woods, Lafayette.
Julian and I tried a v pricey but lovely Prosecco from a v small hill that is part of the new DOCG Prosecco classification. And then I decided it was time to go home.
And who woulda thunk it? The best part of my whole day was the trip home.
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| Saint Etienne lounge at home |
MUNI drivers are notorious for being cranky bastards. I was considering hailing another cab to take me to the Powell St station but I bumped in to this lovely, v good-looking British couple who had just been to Tre Bicchieri themselves, still wearing their neck bags, who were talking a v sweet MUNI driver about the best way to get downtown. We all boarded his MUNI and got transfer tickets and he told us where to get off so as to make it home. We were to board the 30 Stockton. The MUNI stop was barely a "stop" at all, it was an unsheltered street corner with yellow paint on the street light the only thing indicating that we were at a "stop".
We did not have long to wait. This MUNI driver was cranky. I offered him my transfer ticket and he waved me in disgustedly. Ah, now that is more like it. Though busy, once again I was able to sit down. I sat down in the second half of the train, right behind the back side exit. I had the seat to myself until a business man sat next to me. I finally pulled out my iPod and started to listening to Saint Etienne.
Saint Etienne are a fab group whenever but their music, especially their 4/4 discotheque songs are perfect for taveling by train, car, whathaveyou. The trip was beautiful if a little on the long side. After the Marina we did North Beach and passed right by the Italian restaurant that I went to with Dawn Walter the night the 'Niners won the Super Bowl and the City went ballistic. Then suddenly we were going through Chinatown and all the crowds at the vendors' tables were four of five people thick, the City hopping and electric on a regular Wednesday early evening.
I got to Powell, added on to my ticket and boarded another v busy train. Once again I was able to sit down, miraculously. The woman beside me was thumbing through a Martha Stewart Good Food magazine, then she started revisiting a hand-written letter in a notebook, then started reading a glossy pink novel, and then she finally went to sleep. The woman in front of me was reading a Virginia Woolf novel on her kindle.
Saint Etienne kept pumping along. Stoned to Say the Least, Urban Clearway, Hug My Soul, Like a Motorway, Cool Kids of Death. Glorious.
I arrived back at Walnut Creek and began my walk home. I tried unsuccessfully to break in to my bottle of grappa. As I made the turn at the bottom of The Hill and Cool Kids of Death kicked in nice and loud I noticed that I was walking up the hill I was walking straight towards the full moon. It was as if I was walking a ramp that would take me straight to the moon itself. Magical.
Here is the playlist for my travels home (all tracks by Saint Etienne):
1. London Belongs to Me
2. Kiss and Make Up
3. Primrose Hill
4. Mario's Cafe
5. Railway Jam
6. You're in a Bad Way
7. Memo to Pricey
8. Hobart Paving
9. Here Come the Clown Feet
10. Urban Clearway
11. Chicken Soup
12. Join Our Club
13. Hug My Soul
14. Former Lover
15. Like a Motorway
16. On the Shore
17. Marble Lions
18. Cool Kids of Death
19. I Was Born on Christmas Day
I love you all, mwah!
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