Month: September 2018

September, 2018.

The streets, shops, whorehouses, water fountains, and town square of the ancient city of Pompeii stand weirdly preserved in the middle of the modern Italian city of Pompei.  Colorful frescoes on the walls, the stones of the streets grooved deeply by thousands of years of chariots and countless human steps.  All frozen in time by the blast of mighty Vesuvius on a hot August day in 79 A.D.

My friend and host, Lino, tells me to try the Sannio Barbera if I like a bold wine.  He has the soft gravel voice of a chain smoker and knows the entire Napoli/Pompeii region like the back of his hand.  He was born and raised here, and at 12 years old sneaked past the police guarding the amphitheater to watch the English rock band Pink Floyd record their performance in the ruins.  He can be seen peering out from behind and arch in the film.  He is that type of guy.

Even in mid-September it’s hot here and the afternoons often bring a light, warm rain.  During the afternoons the town quiets dramatically as everyone naps, charging their batteries for the long and late Italian nights.  The dinner crowd starts to slowly fill up restaurants after 8, and by 9 most places are serving food and wine that will go late into the night.  With this as our new schedule, we sit at a sidewalk table and sip the Sannio Barbera as recommended. 

Made entirely from grapes grown at the foot of Vesuvius, this wine has the deep, lush flavors of every century that has passed since the vineyards were planted here in the Dark Ages.  It’s a stentorian, unapologetic wine that fills your head with burning wooden ships, Catherine wheels soaked in blood, horse hooves clattering down cobblestone streets, and a world drenched in Pompeii red and Tuscan yellow.  It is served with freshly baked, dry bread with a hard crust and that is exactly as it should be.  The two combine in your mouth to form the meal that made Italy and make it impossible to know or care what century it is.  Witchcraft and devilry are alive and well and can be found right here on this table.

I am the luckiest person on earth.  Of that I’m sure.  The grapes are grown outside the window of this restaurant in the obscenely beautiful hills of southern Italy.  Camillo, the owner of this farm, carries bunches of them to us to taste, his face glowing from the combination of hot sun and pride in his craft.  The green glass bottle has no label or cork, just a small cap that pops on and off easily.  They ferment their grapes here simply, as they have done for a thousand years, then fill bottles and carry them to your table.  No sulfites, no marketing, no rush, just a beautiful, lush, delicious mouthful of wine that takes you back to time before time.

I wish that I could recommend you try this, but every bottle is unique and there is no way to taste the wine from a remote farm in Italy except to go there and have dinner with them.  So I will simply suggest that if you’re ever able to do so, don’t hesitate.  Incredibly friendly people who don’t care about the language barrier (I speak painfully little Italian and they speak little to no English) and speak fluently and easily in the languages of music, food, and wine with a contagious joy that will make me dream of this place for the rest of my life. 

Most of human history measured time simply by the sun rising and setting, and in the Calabrian region of Italy that is very often still the case.  Time moves without cell phones marking every second, and meals can take hours.  It is something much of the world has now lost, and I’m reluctant to ever step back into the hyper scheduled, tick-tock frenzy that is modern life.  For the moment, this wine is the embodiment of a life untouched by the modern world.  

Brennevin & Borg Brugghus Imperial Stout

To walk through the landscapes of Iceland is a uniquely strange experience, reminiscent of a dream or a Tolkien novel.  It’s easy to imagine trolls roaming across the hills, breaking the silence that overwhelms the land.  As an American the history here is more than I can grasp, feeling like the descriptions of distances in space.  Icelandic parliament was established here at Thingvellir in 930 AD and is still standing, a stout stone building with the visage of a Viking surveying a battlefield.  Alcohol production in Iceland is overseen by the national brewery, Borg Brugghus, and first up is a sampling of their Imperial Stout.

At 10%, this stout is a serious as the Nordic stoics that brewed it.  Loaded with more black chocolate, coffee, and roasty toasty malts than a mortal human mouth can contain, it rides like a blood thirsty Valkyrie across the tongue, axe in full swing.  My experience of this beer was equal parts enjoyment and submission to its will.  I returned to this stout several more times while in Iceland and never regretted it.  At least not until the next morning.

Next up was a traditional Icelandic liquor called “Brennevin,” pronounced Bren – ye – veen, which means “burning wine” in Icelandic.  It is essentially vodka that is infused with cumin.  I don’t know why they chose cumin, and nobody ever explained this to me in any way that I could really grasp.  When Oskar, the very friendly barkeep, suggested I try it if I wanted to try something traditionally Icelandic, I happily agreed.

It’s not quite “burning” as it’s not a particularly spicy or hot drink, and it is traditionally served chilled, so it’s a bit like a vodka shot with a hint of Mexican food in the aftertaste.  Fairly pleasant, and if you’re offered it just accept and enjoy with no fear.

I’ll be honest.  I was told this was “really popular” here and so I went with it, and it tasted remarkably like Budweiser to me.  Iceland Magazine backs up its popularity among Icelanders, though apparently “Viking” is the most popular.  Because of Icelandic alcohol laws it is capped for sale in stores at 2.25% and qualifies as what the Aussies call “piss water.”

Coney Island Brewing – Mermaid Pilsner

The flight from Portland, Oregon to JKF airport in NYC is just over 5 hours and if you’re over 5 feet tall it can be a rough trip.  Crammed into seat with a 2 year old behind you kicking your spine and screaming, “I want to get out of here” at the top of their lungs the whole flight as you tap uselessly against the broken touch screen entertainment system and fend off the pushy elbows of the guy next to you, it can seem like a very personalized circle of hell.  By the time you land and finally get out the door of the plane and into the airport itself it can feel a bit like you’ve come up for air after an impossibly long water-boarding session.

In that frame of mind, the offer of a cold local pilsner from a friendly New Yorker comes with the sound of a choir of angels and reminds you how much world changing power kindness has.

This pilsner is appropriately named, since it is so obviously a Mermaid.  Buxom, beautiful, graceful, with a floral scent and a supernatural power to make you forget your worries and follow it down into the deep.  I wanted to make a life with her down in that quiet world. We could be happy, I thought. But all too soon she was gone and I was left with only the memory of our short time together.

For those who enjoy a pilsner for its easy, light drinkability, but also enjoy some floral hop and a generous spiciness from rye malts, set aside a moment for yourself to truly enjoy this brew.

5/5

The Brooklyn Brewer – Brooklyn Brown Ale

I followed the pilsner with this very tasty brown ale.  For anyone who likes Newcastle Nut Brown, this is a bit of a cross between that and a dark, serious porter.  If Brooklyn were capable of having pugnacious soccer hooligans, they would be this beer. A cold New York winter could be warmed nicely by this roasty brew, hinting at coffee, caramel, and lots of malts.  Somewhat sweet for my tastes, but with the remaining Beastie Boys (we all miss you dearly, MCA) being in their more distinguished years now, a bit of sweetness from a Brooklyn brew seems appropriate. The tough-guy borough having changed its tone to avocado toast and waxed mustaches, this ale is hip.

4/5