Drink Bravely

(Criminal Court for Carrying an Unloaded Bordeaux) – "Free Oldman" Coverage (Criminal Court for Carrying an Unloaded Bordeaux)
Posted on by Mark Oldman

Smooth Criminal: Learn all about Mark Oldman’s day in criminal court for carrying an empty, 40-year-old bottle of Chateau Palmer:

smooth criminal

(1) Wine News Network BREAKING NEWS, with correspondent Alison Harmelin live from the courthouse.  Video here.

(2) The Criminality of Carrying an Unloaded Bottle of Bordeaux (essay by Mark).  Read here.

(3) “The People of the State of New York vs. Mark Oldman” (actual court transcript).  Read here.

(4) Bordeaux? Sediment? Tell it to the Judge. (New York Times feature).  Read here.

 

Criminality of Carrying an Unloaded Bottle of Bordeaux
Posted on by Mark Oldman

Criminality

As a wine writer, I see my mission as building a bridge between wine pros and the innumerable folks who feel like they know nothing about wine.  What I never expected, however, is that this bridge would lead me straight to criminal court.

It began innocently enough at a dinner at Colicchio & Sons in the Meatpacking district in honor of a friend’s engagement.  Being a wine enthusiast, he had arranged for several special bottles for those in attendance.

A merry time was had by all, and as we exited the restaurant, I spotted one of the finished bottles, empty save for a half inch of undrinkable sediment wash, which is the guck that remains in an old bottle after it is decanted.  The wine was a 1970 Chateau Palmer, a rarity whose taste was as magnificent as its striking, gold-and-black label. Its plums-and-truffle perfume and enduringly silky, savory finish is forever etched in my mind.  Grape nuts like me hold on to these so-called “dead soldiers” like a moonstruck Iroquoi would collect scalps—part keepsake, part trophy, part talisman.  I scooped it up and headed outside.

In the crosswalk mere seconds later, I heard the squawk of a police siren, followed by a stern, amplified directive to move to the sidewalk.  A police spotlight traced my steps as I froze and shuffled to the curb, the light blazing in my eyes as if I were an escaped convict.  Is this really what happens when you don’t pay your E-ZPASS?

My friends – good friends that they are — scattered like confetti.  The cops drove their squad car over to me, rolled down the window, and asked what I was carrying.

An empty wine bottle, I explained, just a keepsake that I was toting home from dinner.  They asked to see it, and spied the smidgen of liquid inside.  They started writing me up.

“No, no, that’s just sediment.  It’s what left after you decant a mature bottle…“ My voice trailed off as I realized that this explanation was about as futile as trying to teach them the art of miming.

I stood there, resigned to perp status, until one of my friends returned to the scene and informed them that I was a wine writer.  That and the fact that the bottle didn’t look like typical swill must have made them realize that perhaps they were acting in error.  They exited their cruiser, their manner noticeably warmer.

“Ok, so this is what you do,” said one.  “The summons we’re issuing you requires a mandatory court appearance, but all need to do is go down to the courthouse, plead guilty, and pay a $25 fine.  Nothing more.  And it won’t go on your record.”

Grateful for this conciliatory act, I thanked them, took the summons and the offending bottle, and caught up with the rest of the group.  For the rest of the night, I posed for photos with the bottle, cradling it in different positions as if we were lovers in a photo booth.  I marveled that of any time to be issued an open container summons, it happened in the rare instance in which I was packing a 40-year-old bottle of fine Bordeaux.  Finally, a Tweetable moment.

Then the indignation set in: why should I plead guilty?  I was innocent and so was the bottle.  I resolved to fight.

It took a few months for the case to wend its way through the system, but when it finally did, I was ready for court, though the venue itself was eye-opening.  The courtroom was not the sleek chamber of Hollywood dramas but a dilapidated cuckoo’s nest populated with the hangdog faces, scruffy denim, and tobacco reek of reckless drivers, public urinators, and the domestically violent.

When the bailiff called my name, I walked to podium, fortified with a suit, tie, and my latest book.

As indicated above, the judge needed some time to process that wine writing was actually a job, but once he did, his curiosity ran high.  Do I write about the wine before or after I drink it?  Am I French?  What was the most amount of wine I ever drank in a day?  Do I know of Night Train?

When the bailiff showed him my book, he paged through it approvingly.

“You can have it,” I offered, figuring that it would be a donation to a good cause.

“No!” chided the court-assigned lawyer standing beside me.  “That would be bribing the judge.”

The judge’s next question revealed the full extent of his affability: “How did you get to be an expert in drinking wine?  I’m looking for another career.  I’m going to retire.”

Finally, he wanted to know which kinds of wine were most ageable.  As I answered, the surreality of having to teach an extemporaneous wine lesson – not only to the judge and court staff, but also, indirectly, to my fellow accused in the room – was not lost on me.

The judge flashed me a satisfied glance, and laid down his gavel.  Case dismissed, along with my liability for walking the streets with an unloaded bottle of Bordeaux.

Three Wine Books that Ably Bridge the Abyss
Posted on by Mark Oldman

Three Wine Books that Ably Bridge the Abyss

During an appearance on Martha Stewart Radio two years ago, then-host Mario Bosquez taught me an expression that has continued to resonate.  When I told him that I was hopelessly immersed in writing my most recent wine books, he, an author himself, issued a knowing chuckle:

“Ah, yes, you’ve fallen into the page.”

Exactly, I thought.  That’s the perfect way to describe the inevitable and socially compromising black hole that envelops many authors during the writing process.  It is a self-inflicted Hanoi Hilton of creative exertion requiring the stamina of an English Channel breaststroker and the ability to stave off the delirium of so many hours laboring alone, the kind of bleary-eyed desperation portrayed memorably by Taxi’s Alex Reger’s in his stint as a security guard.

It is doubly difficult writing a wine book, because friends and family assume that focusing on such a glorious subject must make the process pleasurable, if not downright sozzling.  Not so, I say, writing on wine is more like pulling endless an all-nighter in the basement office of a vacation resort: it doesn’t matter how close you are to the beach, you are there to toil.

And toil it is, if you want to add something fresh to the oceanic body of wine writing.  Because the complexities of wine can be difficult to distill, a good wine book requires extra thinking and contouring on the part of its writer, laboring to find just the right combination of words, tone and structure.  Like a mountain guide, a wine writer’s mission should be to smooth out the experience for those who follow, sweating out the details and potential perils before the journey ever begins for his audience.  You fall into page, so you’re readers don’t have to.

The following are three recently-released wine books, each different in approach, but all admirable for their ability to bridge the abyss of wine complexity:

The Food Lover’s Guide to Wine by Karen Page and Andrew Dorenburg (Little, Brown, $35)

Authors, sybarites, and culinary chroniclers, Karen Page and Andrew Dorenburg produce another masterful and boundlessly useful tome.  Powered by dozens of interviews with top sommeliers around the world, the book provides encyclopedic coverage of over 200 wines types, each described in terms of the wine’s essential flavor components.  Four-color and sleekly designed, it is supercharged with nuggets advice, tips, and original features such as a time-line of historical wine events.  It is a must-have for the novices, connoisseurs, and restaurant professionals.

Unquenchable: A Tipsy Quest for the World’s Best Bargain Wines (Berkley Publishing Group, $24)

Canadian wine star Natalie MacLean’s fine and self-deprecating prose reaffirms my penchant for all things Canadian.  Her new book details her adventures in locations both far-flung and within the Great White North, stalking value wines and winding up in helicopters over the Niagara Peninsula and in a car zooming down the Autobahn.  The reader gets to ride shotgun with her and learn about Malbec, German Riesling, South African wine and other key wine values.  Her chapter-ending “Field Notes from a Cheapskate” provide a satisfying summary of these types.  A must for those seeking to learn about affordable wine through the entertaining adventures of a vital, charismatic wine expert.

Bouquet by G.B. Stern (eatdrink.co, $85)

The eternal, gnawing question for me is what book to get a wine aficionado that she already doesn’t own or know about. Problem solved: Bouquet is a small-batch, re-release of a charming 1927 travel adventure of the author, her husband, and another couple who tour Bordeaux, Burgundy, the Loire, and other wine regions of France.  During their romp we learn that the many of the questions seizing wine lovers today — Old World vs. New World, Burgundy vs. Bordeaux — were just as germane some 85 years ago.  The book’s fondle-worthy, cloth-bound cover and eggshell finish text will have you breathing in its pages like they were a fine Volnay – and think back to a simpler, more refined era of publishing.

Henri Jayer: The Greatest Wine You’ve Never Heard of
Posted on by Mark Oldman

Henri Jayer

You don’t have to be a wine hipster to be familiar with Dom Pérignon or Opus One or Chateau Pétrus.  Sideways introduced many to Cheval Blanc, Miles’ exalted chugger-of-choice at the end of the movie.  If you’re into Burgundy, you’ve likely daydreamed about a perfumed, willing decanter of DRC (Domaine de la Romanée-Conti).

But still floating below the casual drinker’s consciousness is a producer that may be the most coveted of all: Henri Jayer (pronounced Zheye-aye).  No song immortalizes his red Burgundy.  No motion picture teaches us that this is not just the summit of wine, but perhaps the very mound on which the flag gets planted.

You just have to know it.  Even better is to know someone who actually has some and is willing to share.  (A collector would be forgiven for wanting to drink it alone, in a dark room, with shades pulled.)

This is exactly what happened when I was with some friends a few weeks ago (not the dark room drinking, mind you, but the Jayer generosity.)  Because an adequate description of the wines stretches beyond our current lexicon, let’s just say that they brought the ruckus as only the finest aged Burgundy can: beetroot and menthol on the nose, velvet on the tongue, and exhilaration in the heart.  Wine like this makes even the most law-abiding drinker contemplate a life on the lam.

As the six of us drained the five bottles noted below, I was reminded that Jayer made his wine in microscopic quantities and only officially until the mid-90’s, though he kept a hand on the pipette until a few years before his death in 2006.  His lack of pretention was said to be as great as his dedication to the vintner’s art and the modernization of its methods.  While other winemakers of the day were filtering their wine to make it look clearer, Jayer knew that this could diminish its flavor.  Not only did he just say no to filtration, he announced it on a special sticker above the label: “Ce vin n’a pas été filtré.”  To me, c’est un badass.

A farmer in the best Burgundian sense, Jayer turned Cros Parantoux — a tiny, unloved tract of land in the village of Vosne-Romanée — into a parcel of Pinot perfection.  He discusses his vineyards in this vintage BBC video with UK wine authority Jancis Robinson.

Even as much of his land lives on in the acclaimed wines of his nephew, Emmanuel Rouget, the wine Henri Jayer himself nurtured represents a singularly heightened benchmark for Burgundy and Pinot Noir.  They are Led Zeppelin conquering the Garden in ‘73 or Kurt Cobain rasping behind the stargazer lillies: pure glory, glorious purity.

The collector reminded me of his friend’s experience visiting Jayer in the 1980’s.  As the friend stood among the racks of fabled bottles, he asked Jayer who was helping him.

Jayer reportedly shrugged and answered with characteristic directness:
“Mes deux mains” (my two hands).

Henri Jayer Vosne-Romanée “Cros Parantoux” 1988
Henri Jayer Vosne-Romanée “Cros Parantoux” 1996
Herni Jayer Vosne-Romanée “Beauxmonts” 1996
Henri Jayer Echézeaux 1988
Henri Jayer Echézeaux 1999