Was at a dinner party over the holidays and the host finally opened the wine I brought: Merlot, Seven Hills, Walla Walla, Washington, 2013. He splashed a rush of gorgeous varietal color into immense burgundy stemware, the nose was intense and it focused lush blueberries, cocoa, and currents. I love this already. The first sip, and I closed my eyes...delicate tannins and balanced acidity on the palate, the aromas carried over to the palate, with blackberries and dark chocolate setting off a series of mid and back palate detonations and finally, breathing the whole experience through the olfactory after swallowing. My eyes opened, my chin dropped as I stared into this divine liquid clinging to the sides of my Austrian crystal stem.
"Matt needs to be here," I lamented, shaking my head,"this is friggin stellar, it's a pour that you talk to!" He knows because he planted and started the vineyard and winery with his dad and 7 brothers back in the 70s.
Sometimes, I talk to wine. When it is particularly enchanting, it becomes a muse that temps us into not only description, but, conversation. She speaks without talking while we respond with all 5 senses, waiting for responses to our rhetorical questions. I needed my favorite interpreter, my wine geek brother to help me translate this beautiful verse spoken from sun and soil, vine and rain.
Matt and Ana came by last week for Clam Chowder and Garlic Bread on Christmas Eve. Not an unusual event since they are practically family; we've seen each other in the craziest circumstances and supported each other during triumphant and sometimes bitter life moments. Actually, they're better than blood relations since we don't carry grudges, can come together or stay away as long as we want. If something happens on the way to the dinner table (I over-cooked a pork loin once...horribly!), we say, "oh, it's just Matt and Ana. They understand..."
Should we go to their place and the egg whites for the egg nog are on the ceiling because the spatula got dropped into the mixing bowl, no problem. "It's just the Quinns, they understand. Can you grab a mop? Oh, and watch the seat, it's a little sticky. Beer's in the back fridge. Dinner will be a little late."
Our friendship is like that comfy, plaid bathrobe you would never get rid of, ya know, the one missing it's cinch, so, you take a leather belt and secure it, much to the distress of your family. Or a t-shirt with rips in the pits and the collar is about to separate, but, it has so many great memories. You didn't get into it to 'create memories' or become threadbare, but, it just kinda happened because every time you came in contact with it, it just felt right. And stains? We laugh them off eventually, and call them 'character marks.' Each was earned and from each we learned.
Ana is a great story teller. She spent her adolescence in foreign countries as her father worked for the State department. Since her mom was from Mexico, Ana blended well during posts in Chile, Bolivia and Italy. Her relaxed manner in regards to time and schedules is legend; her compassion for the down-trodden is exemplary. Summer parties on the back deck are incomplete until she tells a tale of high school cigarette smoking at a convent in Rome, visits to Uncle Pepe' in Mexico City or market excursions in Bolivia with the domestic staff. Ana's timing is pitch-perfect, she displays a grin that barely breaks, laughs so hard it squishes her cheeks, and works an eyebrow that conveys simple surprise to unbearable breaches of protocol. She commands unsolicited, yet, prolonged hugs from my adult boys, their undivided attention during Life Journey critique and plate clearing, Prosecco filling needs are fulfilled with a well directed, maternal smile.
All in a barely 5 foot frame.
Our friendship began over meals at our restaurant, the former Ivy House. They were customers, I was the chef in a sweaty t-shirt, apron and shorts, pressing hands and checking on customers satisfaction. They were a young family, but, evolved into much more than clients. We share a passion for stinky cheeses, eclectic menus, tapas, any kind of grilled meat. Wine is a particular area of shared interest; we go deep into acids, tannins, mouth-feel and finish. We can sit at a table, talk, laugh, discuss and agree-to-disagree till the wee hours.
They were restaurant regulars, became friends and are now indispensable members of our family. We are solid.
Food, wine, dining together are transformational; we discover, we learn, celebrate and grow.
Together.
We are all blessed and this next year, I hope you have someone so special, so close you can succeed and fail with the same sense of acceptance. 'Foodie Friends' that praise your best efforts and are blind to your mistakes. Food is the vehicle, the table is our road, but, lasting friendship is the destination.
Take care, God bless and remember,
"Food, Faith, Family and Friends,
the Best Things in Life Aren't Things!"
chefbq
Sunday, December 31, 2017
Friday, December 15, 2017
Gifts Money Can't Buy...
Received a Facebook post that a friend had made, imploring anyone in the area to get to the mountain quick; they had 20" of new snow and regardless of seasonal shopping obligations, we needed to embrace the day, the season, by immersing ourselves in God's glorious nature. She concluded that, "the best things in Life aren't things..."
So, it got me to thinking. What is Christmas about, really. Other than the main focus of the celebration of our Lord's birth, and a beautiful celebration it is, where do we stand in the mix of all this swirling, commercial confusion? Do we buy more stuff to show our love, do we add $100 to the collection plate at church, or plug-in an extra display to our outdoor light scheme? I stopped and thought of the last 24 hours and how it was different than other months. How am I changing and how are people changing during Christmas...?
Standing in line at the neighborhood, Safeway supermarket line is one of my favorite experiences. Who is the checker, what is her stress level and who are my co-shoppers? I'm usually in the Express Line, which is neither fast, nor a line, since so many people have 15 items or less, that there is a daisy-chain of humanity trailing off into the pet food aisle. Nonetheless, we stand and eventually a conversation begins.
"So, fresh pineapple already cut up and vanilla extract...I see a cake in your future," I commented to the lady behind me. Conversations are never initiated by the person behind, that would be intrusive. It is up to the person in front to pass a favorable word to the person behind us; reaching out, as it were in a kindly manner.
"Well, yes, my neighbor watched our house while we were away during Thanksgiving and this is going to be our 'thank you' to her. She is such a dear."
"Well, bless your heart, I wish I was your neighbor, that's a very kind thing to do..." I said.
"It IS the Season and you know, it's such a great time to thank all the people in our lives. We're so very fortunate to have such wonderful neighbors. Our kids grew up together and attended the same schools. We're blessed to have neighbors who are genuine friends!"
Amen.
Thunk-thunk-thunk!
I was sitting on the couch this afternoon, working through the flu, when the screen door made the 1-2-3 noise that only a wheelchair bound neighbor with a cane can make. Like she's a Marine breaching a door in Afghanistan, fer chrissakes!
"Hey Dennis, I was just dropping off some soup for you. It's my Romanian grandmas recipe and it will make you feel better."
"Thanks, Rhonda-le'." I was in socks standing at the threshold, but, she was parked with the brake on and ready for a visit. Went outside and sat on the steps, crossed my arms round my legs and asked how she was.
"Oh Dennis, I told him that I'd give him a year and after that, I'd move back to family in Washington. This working in Seattle and home on the weekends isn't what a relationship is about. We have a house in Portland and that's where he needs to work!"
She talked for a bit about how she was so angry with him, but, how they both loved each other so much.
"Dennis, he told me that he couldn't live without me," she whispered in a soft voice, "wanna have a drink?"
I popped up, grabbed the dish towel wrapped chicken soup and bounced into the kitchen. Put the soup in the fridge, put on a toasty duck hunting coat, poured two bourbons in lightly faceted, whiskey neat glasses and went back outside. Her eyes lit up. She slid her right hand into a hidden pocket on her Hoveround and whipped out a cigarette like an old West gunslinger.
"Oh, Dennis...what's this?!"
"Bourbon," I quipped, "you said we need to get together for a Holiday drink. Well, here we are!"
"Just seems like we used talk more during the nicer weather, ya know, out in the yard. Just talking. I miss that...well, Cheers!" she lamented.
"Did I tell you that big-ass coyote came up the street last night at 7:00 as the girls were getting into the car for the Christmas pageant? The BIG one! He high-tailed it to the top of the hill once a cars lights came on him," I told her matter-of-factly.
"Oh Dennis, when's somebody going to do something about him?! I mean, all they found of Michelle's cat was a paw up in the cul-d'-sac. That's it, a paw right there in the road! Don't you have a gun with a silencer or something?!"
I assured her that I would do my best with Lisa and Siobhan out of town this week. I couldn't divulge details, since it may incriminate her. Rhonda nodded briskly, then flicked her cigarette and smiled slowly.
"It's getting cold and I should get in. Thank you for the chat and drink," as she reached for her pumpkin pie plate from Thanksgiving I brought out, "and Fluffy still sleeps on my back porch sometimes. I brought her a blanket, but, she seems to prefer the elements."
I thanked her for watching my cat, the neighbors cats, my gopher holes, hops and tomato plants.
"It's what I do Dennis. Some people say I should make a business out of it..." she cackled as her buggy pulled a 180 in the walkway and down the driveway she went.
Christmas is a perfect opportunity for reflection. Winter is upon us, the world is quiet, and in silence, there is God. Each single element we bring into that silence is profound and magnified by it's purity. I put on Mark O'Connor, a bluegrass fiddler, this evening with only the Christmas tree lit to write. No TV. No extraneous noise, laugh tracks, booming voices from commercials. Just the tap of my heel lightly touching the Douglass Fir floor in time to Amazing Grace.
The traditional music foundations from Irish and Scots immigrants formed the basis of all American music and is still so moving when we allow it to be so. Peaceful, emotive, reflective; it can make a fire burn slowly and deliberately as you watch it consume itself and fall asleep to it's wisps and gentle sighs.
Thank you, Kristy Lou for your passion of snow, beauty and service to others.
Thank you, Rhonda for chicken soup to a sick neighbor.
Thank you, Mark O'Connor for bringing traditional American music to Christmas.
The Best Things in Life Aren't Things!
Merry Christmas,
chefbq
So, it got me to thinking. What is Christmas about, really. Other than the main focus of the celebration of our Lord's birth, and a beautiful celebration it is, where do we stand in the mix of all this swirling, commercial confusion? Do we buy more stuff to show our love, do we add $100 to the collection plate at church, or plug-in an extra display to our outdoor light scheme? I stopped and thought of the last 24 hours and how it was different than other months. How am I changing and how are people changing during Christmas...?
Standing in line at the neighborhood, Safeway supermarket line is one of my favorite experiences. Who is the checker, what is her stress level and who are my co-shoppers? I'm usually in the Express Line, which is neither fast, nor a line, since so many people have 15 items or less, that there is a daisy-chain of humanity trailing off into the pet food aisle. Nonetheless, we stand and eventually a conversation begins.
"So, fresh pineapple already cut up and vanilla extract...I see a cake in your future," I commented to the lady behind me. Conversations are never initiated by the person behind, that would be intrusive. It is up to the person in front to pass a favorable word to the person behind us; reaching out, as it were in a kindly manner.
"Well, yes, my neighbor watched our house while we were away during Thanksgiving and this is going to be our 'thank you' to her. She is such a dear."
"Well, bless your heart, I wish I was your neighbor, that's a very kind thing to do..." I said.
"It IS the Season and you know, it's such a great time to thank all the people in our lives. We're so very fortunate to have such wonderful neighbors. Our kids grew up together and attended the same schools. We're blessed to have neighbors who are genuine friends!"
Amen.
Thunk-thunk-thunk!
I was sitting on the couch this afternoon, working through the flu, when the screen door made the 1-2-3 noise that only a wheelchair bound neighbor with a cane can make. Like she's a Marine breaching a door in Afghanistan, fer chrissakes!
"Hey Dennis, I was just dropping off some soup for you. It's my Romanian grandmas recipe and it will make you feel better."
"Thanks, Rhonda-le'." I was in socks standing at the threshold, but, she was parked with the brake on and ready for a visit. Went outside and sat on the steps, crossed my arms round my legs and asked how she was.
"Oh Dennis, I told him that I'd give him a year and after that, I'd move back to family in Washington. This working in Seattle and home on the weekends isn't what a relationship is about. We have a house in Portland and that's where he needs to work!"
She talked for a bit about how she was so angry with him, but, how they both loved each other so much.
"Dennis, he told me that he couldn't live without me," she whispered in a soft voice, "wanna have a drink?"
I popped up, grabbed the dish towel wrapped chicken soup and bounced into the kitchen. Put the soup in the fridge, put on a toasty duck hunting coat, poured two bourbons in lightly faceted, whiskey neat glasses and went back outside. Her eyes lit up. She slid her right hand into a hidden pocket on her Hoveround and whipped out a cigarette like an old West gunslinger.
"Oh, Dennis...what's this?!"
"Bourbon," I quipped, "you said we need to get together for a Holiday drink. Well, here we are!"
"Just seems like we used talk more during the nicer weather, ya know, out in the yard. Just talking. I miss that...well, Cheers!" she lamented.
"Did I tell you that big-ass coyote came up the street last night at 7:00 as the girls were getting into the car for the Christmas pageant? The BIG one! He high-tailed it to the top of the hill once a cars lights came on him," I told her matter-of-factly.
"Oh Dennis, when's somebody going to do something about him?! I mean, all they found of Michelle's cat was a paw up in the cul-d'-sac. That's it, a paw right there in the road! Don't you have a gun with a silencer or something?!"
I assured her that I would do my best with Lisa and Siobhan out of town this week. I couldn't divulge details, since it may incriminate her. Rhonda nodded briskly, then flicked her cigarette and smiled slowly.
"It's getting cold and I should get in. Thank you for the chat and drink," as she reached for her pumpkin pie plate from Thanksgiving I brought out, "and Fluffy still sleeps on my back porch sometimes. I brought her a blanket, but, she seems to prefer the elements."
I thanked her for watching my cat, the neighbors cats, my gopher holes, hops and tomato plants.
"It's what I do Dennis. Some people say I should make a business out of it..." she cackled as her buggy pulled a 180 in the walkway and down the driveway she went.
Christmas is a perfect opportunity for reflection. Winter is upon us, the world is quiet, and in silence, there is God. Each single element we bring into that silence is profound and magnified by it's purity. I put on Mark O'Connor, a bluegrass fiddler, this evening with only the Christmas tree lit to write. No TV. No extraneous noise, laugh tracks, booming voices from commercials. Just the tap of my heel lightly touching the Douglass Fir floor in time to Amazing Grace.
The traditional music foundations from Irish and Scots immigrants formed the basis of all American music and is still so moving when we allow it to be so. Peaceful, emotive, reflective; it can make a fire burn slowly and deliberately as you watch it consume itself and fall asleep to it's wisps and gentle sighs.
Thank you, Kristy Lou for your passion of snow, beauty and service to others.
Thank you, Rhonda for chicken soup to a sick neighbor.
Thank you, Mark O'Connor for bringing traditional American music to Christmas.
The Best Things in Life Aren't Things!
Merry Christmas,
chefbq
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)