my dinner in crazytown
This week I attended what I thought was going to be your typical wine dinner but I must have driven down the rabbit hole on my way because I made a left turn into crazytown.
One dinners are one of the most enjoyable parts of my job. Wineries need to get journalists to taste their wines and learn a little about their company philosophy. Some wineries choose to send samples and notes in the mail. But sometimes a vintner will actually take little tours of target cities to visit with the journalists. The most practical way is to host a wine dinner, generally in the private dining room of a respected restaurant.
I just love the energy of a collection of intelligent people gathered to geek out on wine while a chef shows off for our pleasure. (Chefs tend to go balls to the wall for wine dinners because they know that they’re cooking for a group of influential people who are going to get very excited over great food and wine).
Thursday’s dinner was looking to be one of those wonderful nights. A group of about 10 journalists, joined by the owner of a noted Napa Valley winery and his charming pr team sat down to dinner in the private dining room of a hotel famous for its excellent service. The menu was impressive, the water was poured… and then the trouble started.
I took a quick sniff of my pinot gris, the first wine served. Frown. Swirl, swirl, sniff sniff. Something was not right. I look around the room, (noting that most of the journalists at the table were not regulars on the wine circuit and were more travel or features experts,) and also noted that all of them looked perfectly content with their wine. But there was definitely a flatness to mine. I leaned over to the journalist on my right, who was, thankfully, one of the most experienced drinkers in the group. She hadn’t tried her wine yet, but upon sniffing agreed, but pointed out that the vintner, two seats away, was contentedly drinking his wine.
I didn’t want to make a fuss but this was my one chance to taste the wine and make my notes and something was definitely off. So I asked the waiter to check if more than one bottle was open, figuring I could sniff a splash of each and see if anything truly was wrong with my wine.
A gentleman who I was told was the sommelier appeared. We both explained to the sommelier that we thought something was off on the nose and could we please have a sniff from each of the two open bottles. He replied, “well, it has a screw cap so it isn’t corked, but I can open a fresh bottle.” My response was that I never said it was corked and I would love to taste from a fresh bottle.
The wine was poured. Swirl, sniff. There was a liveliness and minerality on the nose that was totally missing in my first glass. My table mate concurred. I offered the sommelier my glass to sniff, (normally a sommelier is curious to check a supposed flaw). When he took my glass and said he would smell it later, I got the sense that he thought I was an idiot. Then, just to make sure I got the picture, he added that, “the pinot gris vineyard is very large and and it might be that the grapes on one end of the vineyard taste different in the bottle than grapes from another part of the vineyard.” W.T.F.?
Ok, even if the guy thought I was a moron, it is not ok to lie! And it is especially not ok to tell people you think are idiots totally incorrect information that they’re likely to repeat in other company. And PS, I was a journalist at a wine dinner. However, whether I had a basic knowledge of wine making or not, please, please don’t make up stories for laughs. It just takes our business backward.
I decided to let that one go and just enjoy the lovely meal. And then, the chick on my left pronounced to the table that the sweetbreads that were served were the first she ever tried. Sweetbreads happen to be a favorite of mine, so I asked her how she liked them. She proceeded to tell me that she’s known as The Malibu Barbie Chef (not the actual tag by which she is acclaimed, but close enough so as to give you the idea) so sweetbreads are not something that would normally be on her diet… since they’re so high in fat. O-kay…
I would have let it go. Look, she calls herself The Malibu Barbie Chef. (Yeah, that was probably mean, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. She said it – not me.) But then she had to add that the chef preparing the night’s meal explained to her that he served the sweetbreads with elderberries and an acidic sauce to help break down all that fat in the stomach. Uh huh. Was there a hidden camera? Was the chef in on a joke with the sommelier? Just to make sure that it really wasn’t me who was crazy, I double checked the nutritional breakdown of sweetbreads when I got home. Sweetbreads have about as much fat as a skinless chicken thigh. And we all know how we have to add acid to break down all that nasty fat in chicken thighs.
Upon reflection, I realized that what the chef might have meant was that he served the sweetbreads with bright, acidic foods to cut the perceived richness on the palate. That would make sense. I don’t know if she got it wrong or if he really started served up the crazy talk. But I tell this story for one reason: If you are a chef, waitperson or sommelier reading this, please don’t make sh*t up for your own entertainment at the expense of guests. It may be funny, it could get more mileage than a game of telephone, but its cruel and ultimately perpetuates the snobbery and intimidation so prevalent in our field.