Over the new year holidays, our friends presented us a bottle of Shiraz. My impression of shiraz prior to this was that of a full bodied wine, perhaps even stronger that a cabernet, that might even have a harsh after taste (I must have been downing some cheap wine all this time!). When MK and I got around to opening this bottle of shiraz, it was a pleasant surprise – closer to a delicate pinot noir.
As I sipped the wine and watched in melancholy the Eagles self-destruct against the Saints in the NFC conference, I wondered how it is that I not only have grown so fond of wine (and melancholy!) but also explicitly enjoyed it.
As I thought back, I realized that my first contact with wine was more than 30 years ago. And that contact was not with my taste-buds, but with my foot...
Please allow me to explain.
I. 1975
Dr. S was my father’s best buddy. I can count nearly 300 Fridays from the 1970s through the 1980s when they would hang out in the evening to celebrate the end of the week at our house and converse in merriment along with their other best buddy, whom we called ‘Doctor Uncle’.
One evening in 1975, Dr. S, perhaps slightly under the influence, with a gleam in his eye,said, “Ennayya RVK...”
Uh Oh! That meant a wacky idea was on its way.
My mother raised her eyebrow. She instinctively knew that her kitchen was going to be taken over. My brother and I exchanged happy glances. Wacky ideas were fun – especially if they came from our parents. This way we would have fun, yet not get into trouble.
“Ennayya RVK .... why don’t we make our own wine?”
You see the few years that Dr. S spent getting his PhD in Mech Engg in Glasgow, Scotland and my father in Physics in Baltimore, Maryland, qualified them to become experts in wine making!
Within a couple of weeks we had a whole bunch of grapes in the kitchen. And it was my brother’s and my task to walk over those grapes in our washed bare feet to crush them. We had procured a few large glass jars from the Chemical Distributor up our street and then did a process of distillation and fermentation.
Several months later, we watched our dad and Dr.S and Doctor Uncle partake of this ‘wine’. Doctor Uncle was disgusted. Our dad and Dr. S insisted that it was fine wine (they did get intoxicated). My brother and I we not allowed to partake, so we only watched. (Both Dr. S and Doctor Uncle have passed away – I lament their loss and indeed think of our nearly 300 Friday’s quite fondly)
II. 1992
I decided to sign up for a bicycle tour in France with 10 other strangers in the summer of 1992. It was called the ‘Blue Marble Tour Company’. We landed in Paris and rented our bicycles and helmets and put away our luggage in storage. All we took with us was one change of clothes, one tie, that we put in a bag that we slung over the back of the bicycle (called a pannier). I also carried a bottle of Priya Tomato Pickle, unbeknownst to my American fellow riders (just in case, you see...). We set off from Paris on the TGV train for Dijon. At Dijon we got off and started pedaling. Pedaling through Burgundy valley! Home to the world famous Burgundy wines.
Let me confess, right here, right now. Apart from the foot stomping in 1975, at that moment I had no clue what wine really was – let along know anything I Burgundy. I did not know anything even about alcohol – save for a few sips of gin I had had when in the final year in college.
But here I was, on my bike, with my helmet on, my one tie and my one bottle of Priya Tomato pickle in my panier looking at the wonderfully scenic Burgundy valley that lay before me in an unending vista beyond the horizon.
We started pedaling. The drill was that we biked 50 KM every day. And there was a vineyard approximately every 10 KM. So we visited approximately 4 – 6 vineyards per day. And we did that for 5 days till we left Burgundy and rode along the Rhone river into Switzerland. At each vineyard we would taste 2-3 types of wines and pedal to the next. By the time we got to the 3rd vineyard in a day, we would be rather wobbly on our bikes. Through all the 20+ vineyards we visited, one vineyard and one wine sticks out in my mind to this day – Aloxe Corton. This was a delicate, subtle aromatic wine that its character stood out inspite of my wobbly, intoxicated exhaustion. I shipped a case of Aloxe Corton back home. We finished the last of that shipment in 2004, a full 12 I later.
III. 1996
My brother and I got into golf in the 1990-92 time frame. As we got more comfortable with the game, we started venturing beyond the municipal course in our town. When our friend from Philadelphia moved to San Franscisco, we said, “why not golf in Napa Valley?”. If you think drinking wine and biking makes you wobbly, let me tell you – swinging a club at a small white ball, while under the influence is quite tricky!
Ten years ago, Napa Valley felt like an upstart compared to the rich centuries old traditions of wine making in the Burgundy Valley. But hey, we had clubs in our hands, we were ‘happy’ – so we did not complain. Over the years, and after many a trip to Napa Valley, that place has grown on me and most recently, I have noticed a dsintinct maturity in their offerings also. (p.s. – the 9 hole Domain Chandone golf course is an absolute must)
IV. 2001
“How many of you can name an Italian wine”?
We were at a professionally organized wine tasting session arranged by the sponsor at a conference in Scotsdale, Arizona. The person who ran the wine tasting session, Sergio, was the owner of an Italian Wine shop called Italian Wine Merchants in New York City.
All hands shot up at that question. Someone said, “Chianti”.
“Great”, said Sergio. “Now, name another.” No hands went up.
Thus began my introduction to a whole new world of Italian wines that I never knew existed – Montalcino, Borolo, Barbaresco etc. I have become a fan of Sergio’s shop. If you are in New York City – I urge you to visit his shop. He also has a kitchen next door and serves lovely food on I, along with classes.
(ps – now that I think of it – there is amazing golf in Scotsdale, Arizona also – and I was swinging clubs there too while under the influence!)
V. 2006
I was sitting with my friend, RL, a Britisher, and a wine afficianado and collector. We were in this very fancy restaurant in Washinton Square in New York. There were barely 20 people in the restaurant. It was a wine auction. Most people in the room were representatives of the real buyers. The buyers were on the phone and were placing orders through their representatives.
RL and I (his sidekick) were maybe one of half a dozen people who were physically there to buy wine. RL had his strategy all mapped out of what labels, varietals and price points he was looking for. I was both impressed at RL’s skill in participating in the auction and his knowledge not only of the wines he wanted but everthing that was being sold in general in the auction.
Afterward we went to a popular Chinese restaurant in Mid-Town New York and had great food and wine. (But understandably, not the stuff he bought at the auction!)
VI. Summary
As I was swishing the shiraz that my friends presented to us over the New Year, as I felt my taste-buds savoring in the aroma, I felt knowledge meet experience meet curiosity about the wonder of how a purple or a green fruit globule can be turned into a fluid so delicate, so subtle, yet so full of personality that not only drove an immediate sensual delight, but also an awareness that this world indeed is a wonderful treasure trove of sight, sound, taste and smell.
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