Betwixt Hunger and Frustration

Yes, I left again. Apparently wine trumps car fatigue.

After having just gotten back from the beach yesterday, here I was using my E-Z pass again to drive west to Powhatan for "Dinner of the Grape," a wine dinner to kick off next month's Powhatan Festival of the Grape.

Don't let the intent fool you; I'm getting tired of the inside of a vehicle. But it sounded like fun.

Up and coming chef Travis Milton (he of the not-yet-open Shovel and Pick) was sharing cooking duties with Joe Downes of the County Seat, and while the County Seat is a place I've eaten before (because I was in the area), it's also easily the unlikeliest place I've journeyed to for a wine dinner.

But Travis runs a small farm on his parents' land in Powhatan, allowing him to source some of his ingredients there and I had a place to stay in that neck of the woods, so off I went.

The check-in line on the restaurant's large front porch was already long when I arrived half an hour before the 6:00 start time. Walking across the gravel parking lot, I passed a woman who smiled and exclaimed, "Gorgeous!" I thought she meant the weather (which was), but her response was, "No, you!" (must have been the hot pink dress). I couldn't have asked for a better start to my night.

Better I didn't know then where the evening was going from there.

Because they'd sold 175 tickets (or so I overheard) and were only seating complete parties, check-in took quite a while. My date and I ended up at a community table, fine by us since strangers can be fun. At our table were two couples, one younger living downtown and the other older living in the West End.

It didn't take long before we were all chatting and sipping what tasted like apple juice, confusing since the first pour was listed as Cardinal Point Winery Hopped Chardonnay and clearly this wasn't that.

But we all drank it as we chatted about favorite restaurants old and new and watching the bike race, noticing as table after table got their first course and we didn't.

A woman went over to the stage area and put some music on - an instrumental version of "Peace Train" was the first song - which pleased me no end since listening to other people eat while we had nothing seemed cruel.

But I'm an optimist, a Pollyanna even, so I kept the faith.

Finally, at 6:45, our first course arrived. Billed as a salad of pickled Albemarle peaches with Manakintowne arugula, pea shoots, charred cushaw squash, Caramont Farms Esmontonian cheese, Virginia peanuts and a Nehi peach vinaigrette, it was a tad underwhelming.

First, it was so small it would have made a house salad look generous. But then, the salads were also absent any peaches (hello, pickled PEACH salad?) or pea shoots. In barely four bites we were each finished and looking at each other wondering if this was a sign of things to come.

The pragmatist thought yes, but I held firm.

When a server came to pour the next wine, Blenheim table white, she explained that the first and fourth course wines had been switched at the last second, which was why we'd begun with Old Hill Betwixt cider. Okay.

Served family style, crab cake baguettes arrived at the table and everyone eagerly took their two pieces of sliced baguette with a mini crabcake atop each, grateful for something to eat. Since we were among the last few tables served again, we saw other tables having their plates cleared while we took our first bites.

Meanwhile, "Peace Train" came on for the second time.

By this point, we were beginning to joke about our redheaded stepchild status, but we took heart when we saw the gorgeous Autumn Olive Farms bone-in pork chops with butterbean and Appalachian blue barley miso, braised broccoli greens and smokey red peas going by. The chops looked thick and meaty and, frankly, we were all more than a little hungry by this point.

Blenheim table red wine was poured in anticipation of our chops arriving and we tried not to inhale it before our pig showed up, which it finally did at 8:00, as nearby tables were having their plates cleared.

Only problem was what showed up in no way resembled what other tables had been served. Instead, we got pork loin end pieces, cool to the touch and so dry as to be off-putting, except that we were starving and had no choice.

When I asked a server, she insisted that this was still pork chops, just without the bone. Meanwhile, braised broccoli greens were nowhere to be found on any of our plates.

It was when "Peace Train" started up again for the third time that I knew we had reached Dante's third circle of hell.

Before we even began choking down our dried-out pork, we'd noticed that people were already in the dessert buffet line, helping themselves. The menu had promised mini caramel cakes with roasted pecans, chocolate chess pie and fresh fruit cobbler but when we'd been seated, there had been many other desserts on the table.

All six of us immediately knew we'd have minimal dessert choices by the time we got over there. The non-dessert eaters took it in stride while the sweet tooths like me felt cheated. Again.

By the time we got up there, what was left was the dregs of peach cobbler (I'm allergic to peaches), a couple of cakes that had clearly been bought frozen and some cookies.

I never got to the Cardinal Point Winery Hopped Chardonnay for the dessert course, fine by me since the Blenheim Red was better with my black and white cake anyway. But that's not how it should have been.

When finally offered the wine, I said no, what I wanted had been a bone-in pork chop like I was promised and like most of the other tables got. And I didn't want a picked-over dessert table, I wanted the trio of three mini-desserts my date had paid for.

My disappointment must have been conveyed to the kitchen because six small take-out boxes arrived and although the server claimed they held the bone-in chops we'd been denied, it was just boxes of more dried out loin.

At that point, the six of us felt utterly defeated. The guy sitting next to me, also hungry and disappointed, summed it up best.

"Well, it sure did happen," he lamented with a wry smile.

I give him credit - that's about the kindest spin anyone at our table could have put on that debacle of a meal

Oh, peace train, take this table
Come take us home again...

Knee Deep in Fried Rabbit

In the spirit of Columbus, I went exploring today.

Driving out 64, the thrill of a day away devoted to pure fun was matched only by the thrill of seeing patches of blue sky in between clouds the further west we drove.

After nine days of gray and rain, it was liked heading toward the promised land.

A fueling stop was the initial order of business and pulling into Blue Mountain Brewery, a full parking lot was the first indicator that we hadn't gone far enough afield.

Inside, the place was crawling with families and children.

Toddlers shrieking, sullen pre-teens slumped at tables, babes in arms. It seemed so off, I asked our server about it.

"It's like it's take your kid to Blue Mountain day or something," he said wearily.

Honestly, who wants to day drink surrounded by children?

But it was a pit stop, so I ordered the A.M. fog burger (mushrooms, caramelized onions and swiss and named after the A.M. Fog Market barely a quarter of a mile down the road) and a glass of Cardinal Point Quattro, the better to deal with the nursery school that was the dining room.

Fortunately, the food came quickly, we wolfed it down and got the hell out of Dodge.

It wasn't my first time at Blue Mountain but if today's clientele was any indication, I'm not sure I need to go back since I'm not a beer drinker anyway.

From there we went to Cardinal Point winery, a place I've not only visited several times, but have also poured for twice at the annual Virginia wine expo.

There we found a much more civilized atmosphere, did a tasting that included the unique IPC hopped Chardonnay, the perfect wine for those who straddle the beer geek/wine geek line.

John, I'm looking at you.

I was taken with their 2012 Green, a Chardonnay and Petit Manseng blend, inspired by the Portuguese vino verdes I so enjoy, so we got what tasted like green apples in a glass and went outside to the patio to enjoy our glasses with a view of the vineyards, the weather station and ever-increasing blue skies.

One of the winery dogs strolled by nonchalantly with a dead squirrel in her mouth, not once, not twice, but three times, making sure we saw.

What's the point in killing it if you can't show it off?

Our next landing was uncharted territory, Flying Fox Vineyard, a place we hadn't even heard of.

Despite a lack of familiarity, we found an agreeable pourer, the sister of one of the owners, and a couple of men tasting next to us, one local and one from Tennessee.

It didn't take long for them to invite us to join their tent at a local upcoming oyster roast, that's how friendly they were.

After tasting through, we decided on glasses of the 2012 Rose, a lovely dry wine perfect for us to take to the yellow rocking chairs on the front porch and watch the endless parade of school buses turning off the main road.

We'd discovered some pretty agreeable territory, so much so that we lingered almost too long, pulling into Albemarle Ciderworks as the staff was heading to their cars to leave.

Oops. Their tasting room isn't open on Mondays, but they took pity on weary travelers and invited us inside for a tasting.

Our pourer had her sister with her because it was the girl's 21st birthday and they were going out to celebrate.

The newly legal one pulled from her pocket a list of the things she intended to drink tonight -margarita, old fashioned, mojito - to go with her determined attitude.

I can't imagine she's going to feel too well tomorrow, but you only turn 21 once.

For now, she watched as we drank. I got a kick out of tasting Jupiter's Legacy because the blend contained black twig apples, an heirloom variety I'd picked a few weeks ago but had never tasted in cider.

We finished with glasses of Old Virginia Winesap, tasting like a baked apple with a hint of lemon, a cider that would be terrific with a country ham sandwich from Adam's Country Store.

I do love my sweet and salty.

We asked the sisters for a dinner recommendation and the first thing one said was Whiskey Jar, a place I had also heard good things about.

So it was onward to the downtown mall where we found a busy restaurant with its front open to the mall and people in and out eating.

For a place that claims to source and make food that their great-grandmothers would recognize, I had to wonder if Great Grandma would approve of the sullen attitude our server gave us.

Probably not.

They were out of the fried quail appetizer we wanted, so we instead ordered a roasted beet salad with homemade farmer's cheese and fried onions and fried green tomatoes so salty even Grandma would look askance.

My grilled pork chops over house-baked beans would have been okay had I not had such magnificent heirloom pork chops a few weeks ago.

Unlike the marbling in those beauties, tonight's were lean and kind of dry.  I have been spoiled by Berkshire/Tamworth chops from Fred and Wilma's progeny.

After a quick stop at the Blue Light Grill, a place I hadn't been to since Chef Lee Gregory was cooking there, we made our way to our ultimate destination for the day: the Jefferson.

Tickets for tonight's Frightened Rabbit show had been procured back in July so I'd been anticipating hearing this Scottish band for months.

They wasted no time kicking into high gear and it was clear what stellar musicians they were from the first song.

"Last time we were here was four or five years ago," lead singer Scott said. "Then we were playing upstairs at a tapas bar."

The funny part was he pronounced it tap-ass, adding to the comedic value of an already-extremely thick Scottish accent.

That accent, like the song lyrics about life's difficult moments - being alone, drinking more than you should, being with the wrong person- are just part of the Scottish identity, ergo Frightened Rabbit's.

Or, as a friend misheard when I told her who I was going to see, Fried Rabbit.

For a misery-focused band, the songs really rocked and eventually I even saw a kid crowd-surfing, not the kind of thing I ever expected to see at this show.

But you never know what you're going to find when you go exploring and, Hornitos in hand, I was open to pretty much whatever happened.

We're talking about a band who writes gloriously melancholy lyrics like, "You're the shit and I'm knee-deep in it."

If that doesn't sum up life and love, you haven't headed out to explore the right places, my friend.

Oatmeal Before Wine but Barely

Carpe diem, especially when it involves wine in the morning.

I'd been invited to a wine tasting at 11 a.m. and while that's a tad early to start drinking, I've actually been at wineries at that hour before, so it's not completely unheard of for me.

We were going to be swinging between France and Virginia, making for an interesting tasting.

First up was Chateau Lestrille Entre-Deux-Mers, an easy drinking Sauvignon Blanc clearly made by a winemaker who'd visited New Zealand and brought back a few lessons learned.

More to my taste was the Prieure Saint-Hippolyte Languedoc Rose, a medium-bodied beauty tasting of  currant and raspberry, but with just a hint of herbs.

Of course my enthusiasm for drinking pink became the topic of conversation, as we discussed how great it would be to live in a world where roses were available year-round.

From there, we moved across the pond to Cardinal Point, a winery I know well since I've poured for them at the annual wine expo twice now.

We were tasting their Viognier, with its lovely floral nose and delicate peach and pineapple notes. I've gone through many bottles of this wine the past few summers, so I knew what it was all about.

When we moved on to Gabrielle Rausse's wines, it was with great anticipation.

The man in charge of plant propagation for the gardens at Monticello is known for making some beautiful European-style wines and we were eager to taste them.

The Rosso, a red table wine blend, was a light red color and, having had no exposure to oak, was the kind of red that even white wine-only types might enjoy.

It was a wine that could even pair well with a meatless meal (not that I have many of those).

I was more into Rausse's Merlot, appreciating that it didn't disappoint in that way that merlot can sometimes.

But the finale was the Rausse Nebbiolo Reserve, an understated beauty with hints of fig and prune and just enough oak (although nothing like an oak monster), to put it firmly in the "Oh my, yes, let's have a bottle of this with dinner" category if I saw it on a list.

The only disappointing part was learning that Gabrielle Rausse has no tasting room on his small farm winery, although we may be fortunate enough to be able to make an appointment to do a full tasting soon.

And you know what? Forget 11:00 in the morning, if he wants us there at 9 a.m. to taste, I'm there.

I can carpe diem any time of the night or day. Just make me the right offer.

Pouring for the Drunk at the VA Wine Expo

Because volunteering once already this weekend wasn't enough, I did it again today only for a radically different event than the Handmade Bike Show. Today I poured at the Virginia Wine Expo, also at the Convention Center, but full of inebriated people instead of awed bike geeks.

It's fascinating pouring wine for people at an event like this (I did it for Cardinal Point Winery at least year's event, too) because the attendees run the gamut form wine snobs to novices and everything in between. And the later in the afternoon it gets, the less people care about what they're drinking or learning. The increasingly frequent sound of a wine glass crashing on the concrete floor brings up cheers every time it happens.

Three different people came up and asked if they could sample the wine to erase the taste of burnt rice in their mouth (apparently a nearby food table had overcooked the rice and palates everywhere were suffering for it). One girl walked up, put her hand on her hip and asked me, "What have you got with at least 2% sugar?" Clearly she knew her palate and wanted no part of tasting beyond that.

One guy came up to the table, called a friend and told him where he was. After liberal use of colorful language, he hung up and apologized. "Sorry, but I love dropping the f-bomb. And I'm inebriated, so I really like dropping the f-bomb." He then introduced himself to me and the other pourers and even an innocent bystander.

My favorite was the group of five who definitely had a buzz on and were greatly enjoying tasting and shooting the breeze with each other. I had to keep reminding them what we were doing and bringing them back to the moment. Finally, one woman looked at her friends and, clearly perplexed, asked them,"How ARE we getting back to Powhatan anyway?

Ma'am, I don't even want to think about that.

Sparkles and Flies

I know Labor Day is traditionally a day for family get togethers and backyard barbecues, although what that has to do with labor is beyond me.

In any case, being one of those people not engaged in labor at the moment, I decided instead to celebrate National Salami Day today by doing some winery hopping out past Charlottesville.

I chose as my companion a friend with a much better developed palate than I.

He even offered to drive, thereby relieving me of any effort on my part beyond swilling and passing the drive dreaming of salami.

We began at Afton Mountain Winery since it had recently changed hands.

The new owner and his son were pleasant enough considering the wines they were pouring were not of their own making.

Next up was Veritas and good god, what a lot of money those people must have.

Forget standing at the bar to taste like the common people do; we were seated at a table by ourselves and the pourer came to us.

We took a short break to tour the winery and returned to the taxing task of tasting 14 wines.

My favorites were the Viognier (big surprise, huh?) and the Claret, so I felt compelled to buy.

By now food was in order, so, as planned, we lunched at the Blue Mountain Brewing Company which was most enjoyable.

The view was stellar and made for a good excuse to linger.

As a perk, I was able to pick up a six-pack of the Full Nelson Virginia Pale Ale (in cans! how cool is that?) for my beer geek friend.

Our last stop was Cardinal Point Winery, where I know the winemakers, Sarah and Tim, and have even poured for them on a couple of occasions.

I know their wines pretty well, but they had a new rose which was interesting and two new dessert wines, named for their dearly-departed winery dogs, Tess and Sophie.

Obie, their present pooch, came out to sniff the beagle scent I carry and laid down to nap nearby.

We made record time getting home, despite 64 crawling with cops pulling over speeders.

But instead of dreaming of salami, I was thinking about what would have made a boring drive like that much more enjoyable and the answer is the right person's hand on my thigh for the drive (I mean, my friend is a great guy and all, but we're not like that).

That doesn't seem like too much to ask and even if it is, I want it anyway.

Wine Me Up

The Virginia Wine Expo got a new volunteer this year when a friend suggested I help out at the Cardinal Point Winery table Saturday afternoon. Sure, why not? After all, we unemployed types have no reason not to volunteer some of our abundance of free time. Well, that and I would be paid in wine.

The expo opened at 11:00, but only for those in the trade, which meant it was extremely slow for the first two hours. But holy crap, Batman, once the public was allowed in at 1:00, we were slammed. It didn't help that Cardinal Point's Cabernet Franc Reserve had won the Gold Cup the night before, but a surprising number of people who stopped by the table told me that they had been to the winery and had liked every single wine. Quite a testimonial.

So, I got a crash course in CP's wine offerings and began to pour and talk like I knew what I was doing. The A6? A blend of 61% oak-aged viognier and 39% steel-aged chardonnay. The Rockfish Red? A summer wine, an easy-drinking Beaujolais style picnic wine that might even woo some white wine drinkers. And so on.

Many tasters were wine novices and then there were the really obnoxious wine snobs. My favorite was dressed like a woman, but she sure came cross like a man in a leopard-print blouse and informed me that one wine was "accessible...for the uninformed." Give me a break! Then there were the husbands and boyfriends who would flirt with me as their women stood behind them sipping. A couple of them even winked as they left, like we'd made some sort of intimate connection.

After 5 hours smiling and pouring, I left with 4 bottles of wine and probably all kinds of new smile lines. But I had been too busy to focus on all the crap that's been going on in my life lately, so, in some ways, it was the ideal way to spend an afternoon. And plenty of wine for the future...