The Big Night

It was a night for wine, women and song.

Secco was hosting a night in Venice wine party and since I've yet to visit the actual Venice, a proxy evening seemed like just the ticket.

I walked in and staked my territory at the bar, awaiting the arrival of my evening's companion, Roxy.

She soon arrived and we stationed ourselves at the corner of the bar with a view of everything while the music was set to the Italian cafe station on Pandora. As one woman noted, it sounded like the soundtrack to "The Big Night."

Our starting libation was a Venetian spritz of Adami Prosecco "Garbel" with Cappelletti, a slightly bitter wine equivalent of Aperol, making for a refreshing way to begin the evening, even more so when enjoyed with an aged and salty cheese.

There were no gondolas, but we were off to a fine start.

The overwhelmingly estrogen-based population of the bar was soon jarred by the arrival of a strapping, young man who had wandered into the Venetian fray.

When the evening's plan was revealed, he gamely agreed to buy into it, despite this being a first date and an"almost blind" one at that.

I advised him that a first date where there were four courses and five wines would separate the girls from the women and he took my advice and paid for two in advance.

Now I had a front row seat to a first date.

Roxy and I chatted about her favorite Riesling and Champagne (both available on the chalkboard) and about how much she misses her people in San Jose. So much so she will soon move back.

Where she reminded me, she will pay $850 more for an apartment that is 300 square feet smaller than her  beautiful Miller & Rhoads condo.

I have a sentimental attachment to San Jose since my best friend from college was born and raised in San Jose, making Roxy and I practically blood sisters.

Once everyone was ensconced at tables and bar, we were served Dal Maso 2012 Gambellara Ca'Fischele, a fine and acidic wine that neared perfection when eaten with tuna tartare set into hard-boiled eggs with capers and aioli.

Just as we were swooning over this blissful match, marinated squid salad with kale, garlic and chick peas arrived, again demonstrating how perfectly the acidic wine worked with the seafood and salt.

Roxy and I raised a glass to the chef's brilliance. "I'd marry him," Roxy observed. It's tough to beat a man who can cook.

Next came crispy Fontina chips filled with seared cauliflower, parsley and lemon paired with Corte Majoli 2012 Valpolicella, a medium bodied red that showed even better with the obscenely rich next course.

Chicken liver mousse sat atop grilled polenta, accompanied by chicken fat-stewed onions and bits of fried chicken skin, an altogether decadent dish that positively sang with the wine.

As our server noted, it came with a side of Lipitor.

Roxy and I alternately made orgasmic sounds about the dish and flapped our gums about how obscene it was.

Meanwhile, the first dater next to me was telling the girl, "This has a really unusual taste. I've never had liver before. I usually go paleo during the week."

Son, there's nothing paleo about chicken liver or chicken fat. Just so you know.

And, P.S.  Corny lines like, "I just want to know more about your family life" make it tough to keep my liver down.

While waiting for the next course, I took a side trip to the loo, but was stopped by Chef Mike, who was offering up samples to all who passed by.

"This'll be the best bite of the night," he assured me. The piece of Dixie doughnut with a schmear of chicken liver may have been the closest thing to heaven my mouth has tasted.

I returned to a plate of beef and potato meatballs with orange peel and fennel seed in a fennel tomato sauce and matched with Zanta 2008 Cabernet Sauvignon "Due Santi," a complex, full-bodied wine that was a worthy counterpoint to the meatballs.

Truth be told, Roxy and I were lagging by this point.

Oh, not conversationally. First marriages, dimples, body confidence, we'd covered quite a bit. But our stomachs were not bottomless.

Finally the last course arrived, a chocolate roll with roasted nuts and topped with vanilla citrus whipped cream, paired with one of the last four bottles in the state of Dal Maso's 2007 late harvest sweet wine.

For no good reason, this led to a conversation about Deleon Tequila, which Roxy had recently enjoyed with her boyfriend in San Jose and which provided me with a recommendation for something new to try, assuming the VA ABC deems it acceptable to carry.

I'll certainly find out.

Back to the dessert, I have no compunction about admitting my love for chocolate, nuts and cream and while Roxy found the Dal Maso overly sweet, I found it a lovely complement to the chocolate.

I'm not saying it topped the Dixie doughnut with chicken liver mousse, but it was damn good.

After saying farewell to Roxy, I left to pick up a girlfriend for a Virginia wine crawl. Because, you know, one wine event an evening is not enough.

Approaching Pasture, we were greeted by fire performers, breathing and showing off with fire, something I've seen at Gallery 5 enough times to stop worrying if they're going to singe the hair right off their faces or not.

Inside, it was just as circus-like, with acrobats on the floor supporting other acrobats in mid-air.

My friend looked at me, grabbed my hand and led me away from the performers.

Near the back, we found a table serving Breaux Vineyards "Marquis de Lafayette," a shining example of Cabernet Franc, a grape she and I love.

Glasses in hand, we escaped to a table away from the hordes and sat down to catch up on girl stuff, oblivious to the networking going on around us.

We let the interested parties come to us, with only a brief foray out to collect some Gabriele Rausse Nebbiolo, a wine I like so much I once worked an entire day at the Virginia Wine Expo just to score bottles of this luscious grape.

Our idyllic girl time was interrupted when Jason Tessauro mounted the table next top us and began reciting his ode to Virginia wine, with highlights like, "To be or Tannat" and "I deem any man a liar who don't dig Matthew Meyer" (Williamsburg Winery's winemaker), "Keep your loyalties looser" and the fitting closer, "Has Virginia wine arrived? You bet your ass!"

Fortunately, he then dismounted from the table. the ideal moment to escape the madness and make our way to destination #2, Rappahannock.

There we found an old friend from the former Six Burner, Tracey, and Blenheim Winery's winemaker, who was gracious enough to pour us a taste of "Painted White," a delectable blend of Roussanne, Marsanne and Viognier being served with scallop ceviche.

The evening's music came courtesy of my neighborhood DJ, Marty of Steady Sounds, and I have to say it was a mix of music I'd never heard him play.

Prince. Michael Jackson, Donna Summer. Diana Ross. Madonna. Needless to say, the crowd was dancing drunkenly in no time.

 I was eager to sample Chatham Vineyards steel fermented Chardonnay and wasn't disappointed to taste the salinity and minerality of the eastern-most of Virginia's wineries.

Resolved: there's a winery I intend to visit come spring.

Next thing we knew, people in tight, red polyester jumpsuits with even their faces covered had joined the crowd and were dancing everywhere. If it hadn't been for the accentuation of their junk, it would have been pretty funny.

At the Boxwood Winery table, we tried  a blend of Merlot, Cabernet Franc, Cabernet Sauvignon and Petit Verdot, poured by a taster who was dancing in place to Prince's "Kiss."

Truth be told, I was holding a glass and dancing in place to the same song.

The crowd had gotten so thick (and so loopy) around DJ Marty that we did a full circle around the back of the bar in an attempt to reach the one remaining winery up front.

On the way, a woman stopped me and said point blank, "You have such a pretty face." While I would have liked to have kissed her in gratitude, I settled for thanking her profusely but she went on. "Even your hair is perfect for your face."

It's difficult to properly thank someone for saying something so complimentary and so random, so I just hugged her and went on my way.

We finally made it to the Thibaut Jannison table for a flute of Blanc de Chardonnay, at which point I made a bee line for the freshly shucked oysters and helped myself to a ridiculous number of Olde Salts.

Only when my girlfriend suggested I try some Rapphannocks did I diverge from my single-minded, salty plan.

We found respite far in the back of the room, away from the hordes dancing to "Wanna Be Starting Something" and "Let the Music Play."

From there, we had a bird's eye view of drunken people stumbling around, eyes glazed and footing unsure.

One woman came up and said, "I know you don't like me. But you're a baller when it comes to music."

Like the woman who'd liked my face, there's not a lot I could say to that. Fortunately, by that time, it didn't matter.

Friend and I were ready to move on. To the strains of "Ain't No Stopping Us Now," we made or way through the crowd and to the car.

There, we spent the better part of an hour doing the girl talk thing that all the festivities had interrupted. It was divine.

Over the course of six hours, did I manage to get enough wine, women and song?

You bet your ass I did. My loyalties remain loose with wine and tight with everything else.

Chocolate Cheese and Empty Tombs

Give me a reason for a road trip and a new CD and I'm in heaven.

Today I put the pedal to the floor and headed east to Hague, a place I hadn't heard of, but one which is home to three wineries.

Conveniently, I had an assignment to wrote about all three.

Given the sunny skies and open fields, it was an easy drive despite being unfamiliar territory.

Listening to Twin Shadow's "Confess" and passing rural statements like a church sign saying, "Easter surprise! The tomb is empty!" and a gas station marquee with "Come on, Spring!" made for a most pleasurable hour and a half cruise.

My first stop was the Hague Winery where the owner poured for me and told me about all the interesting places to eat and drink in the neighborhood.

I learned about chardonel, a hybrid varietal with which I was not familiar, tasted the 2009 Merlot along with some Old Church Creamery chocolate cheese (yep, that's what it was alright) and a luscious Meritage reserve I'd have bought a case of if I could have afforded it.

Other visitors came in and joined in the conversation about nearby wineries and what there is to do in the area.

One couple from upstate New York was staying at Westmoreland State Park and making a day of winery hopping.

Another came in and didn't bother with a tasting, cutting right to full glasses and a table with a view.

After chatting for a while, the owner offered to show me their guest house, a place they rent out for visitors.

The 19th century building had been converted to a charming space for a 2-4 and, as I pointed out, you can't go wrong with a winery on the premises.

As I was getting ready to leave, one of the couples asked for directions to General's Ridge Winery a few miles away, coincidentally just where I was heading.

I got delayed by the winery dog, a sweet, old thing who wanted nothing more than to walk beside me where ever I went.

Which was to my car to drive the few miles to my next vineyard.

Walking up to General's Ridge tasting room, I spotted one of the couples from The Hague and they waved hello.

"What took you so long?" they laughed.

Um, going the speed limit?

This winery had far more extensive plantings and two tasting rooms, the smaller of which used old doors from the manor house as the counter tops for the tasting bar.

After meeting the owner inside, we headed down to the smaller tasting room to talk, causing one of the women I'd seen at The Hague to say, "You just walk in a winery and grab a man wherever you go!"

Well, yes, when I can, I certainly do.

It was great fun talking to the owners about their decision to start a winery, with the Mrs. telling me, "I told him we'd only do it over my dead body. But I'm still here!"

They told me how they were originally going to build a boys' school there but when their benefactor died, they regrouped.

We lingered so long sharing stories that I didn't have time for a tasting, so I made sure to get some grape to go, scoring a bottle of their General's Nightcap, a petit manseng dessert wine that was delightfully tropical rather than cloying.

"Have some before bed," the owner suggested. "You'll sleep like a baby!"

I usually accomplish that by staying up until 2 or 3 a.m.

My last stop was Vault Fields, who may have had today's smallest tasting room but because they make their wine on the estate, smelled most like a winery.

I had time for a tasting with the friendly pourer, especially enjoying the 2009 Conundrum, a blend of Chardonnay and Vidal Blanc and the 2008 Meritage Reserve, which would be a thing of beauty with lamb or veal.

After chatting up the owner, I had to hit the road toute suite to make it back in time for my evening's plans.

Keeping with today's theme, I came home, cleaned up and immediately headed to the Library of Virginia for a night of Virginia wine.

"Straight from the Vine: The History of Virginia Wine" was part talk and part tasting.

Arriving after the talk starts means standing in the back of the auditorium since it's pretty packed.

Wine guru Richard Leahy, author of "Beyond Jefferson's Vines: The Evolution of Quality Wine in Virginia" is trying to cover a fraction of what is in his book in this brief talk.

Asking if any of us have heard of RdV Winery, I am one of a dozen or so who raise my hand.

"They're so exclusive you have to make an appointment to go and pay to taste and maybe they'll let you buy some," he says, which gets a big laugh.

What's funny is that The Roosevelt carries RdV wines, so it's much easier to head to Church Hill than make a road trip to Fauquier County and pay forty bucks for a tasting.

Leahy talked about how well represented Virginia wines are in London, while few California wines are available there.

I like to think that Londoners remember the Virginia Company of 1606 and have a soft spot for us.

He got another laugh when he said, "More people would rather own wineries than grow grapes," meaning the actual farming aspect of viticulture is far less glamorous.

"It takes $12,00 per acre to develop a wine crop, without the cost of the land. And that's before machinery and supplies."

Well, no wonder people only want the fun, meeting people and drinking part of being an owner.

Who's got that kind of disposable income these days?

But, honestly, after having spoken to three Virginia winery owners today, I know that plenty of people are willing to do both, own and grow, for the sake of producing the best possible grapes.

After the talk, the large group moved to the lobby for the tasting and reception.

While Leahy signed books, people moved from table to table sampling Virginia wines.

I began with James River Cellars' Petit Verdot since they usually only sell that to wine club members.

Over at the Horton table, I was surprised to see they had a pinotage, a favorite South African grape of mine.

I was surprised to learn that Horton had put in pinotage grapes ten years ago and was working on finessing the flavor profile with each harvest.

Keep up the good work, boys.

Moving around the room, I ran into the Frenchman (who, leaving the talk, had whispered, "Let's go drink!"), saw a familiar wine geek and tried more wines.

There was Jefferson Vineyards' Cabernet Franc and, surprisingly, Barboursville's stellar  "Octagon."

I overheard a woman tell her husband, "I just had the Williamsburg winery's red and it's so good I would actually buy it!"

With praise like that, how could I not go taste their Claret and inform the pourer of the compliment?

As I moved around the room tasting and nibbling hors d'oeuvres, it was obvious from the conversations I overheard that many people were unfamiliar with Virginia wines.

If they were smart, they'd do like me: get a new CD and head in almost any direction to check out some Virginia wineries.

After a nice drive with new music blaring, they might find a wine so good they actually want to buy it.

It's a lot easier than they think.