Chapelle du Bois Syrah.

This is not a particularly good $10 wine. It’s OK, but not great. As it’s $4.99 at Trader Joe’s, however, it’s pretty darn good. Super decent. It’s like a consolation prize.
I just had a weekend in Napa with Trails and food and wine and food and wine and… you get the picture. My palate got overburdened by Sunday, and I had to have Irish food and beer for dinner.
Which certainly isn’t a problem.
So Wednesday rolls around, and I’ve got half a leftover Delfina pizzeria pizza to finish. Hen of t the Woods Mushrooms on 2 pieces and a Margherita with anchovies on the remaining slice. It’s time for another corner store wine review, and out comes…
This French Syrah I picked up at Trader Joe’s a while back. I look on the receipt: five bucks. OK, maybe it’s not going to stand up to that amazing thing they poured at La Toque, but for five bucks if it’s terrible, I can just toss it, right? Or use it to make Coq au Vin or something.
It’s corked with one of those fake-o corks, that’s made from recycled toilet seats or packing peanuts or whatever. I splash it around in my glass and…
The nose is a little thin, but not too bad. There’s not a whole lot going on, but at least there isn’t anything off-putting. Uncharacteristically for a French wine, it’s pretty fruit-forward, a little thin in the middle, and there’s a pretty long five dollar finish. Which means this isn’t going to stand up to anything serious, but it’s totally decent. The whole experience is a little thin, like the nose, but it’s not too bad.
Pretty perfect for rewarmed gourmet pizza and an episode of Sex & the City by yourself on a Wednesday night, in fact.

Chapelle Du Bois Syrah, 2004. $4.99, Trader Joe’s. Good luck.b

Pomelo Sauvignon Blanc, 2004 $9.99 Bi-Rite, San Francisco

Start the day before. A perfect day takes a little, but not too much, prep.

Find a special dinner companion.

Have a couple of crabs, cracked and cleaned and chilled.

Steam a few artichokes.

Cut up some organic lemons.

Melt butter.

Nibble on some mixed olives.

Get smoked trout or salmon, creme fraiche or sour cream, and Mary’s Gone Organic Crackers, (Pepper style). Have lactaid on hand if you need it. Make canapés and eat them.

Nibble on your lovely dinner companion.

Bring over a bottle of Pomelo Sauvignon Blanc that you got from Bi-Rite — or this link.

Bring flowers to remind you what a beautiful place the world is.

The Sauv has a screw top, which is the new black in wine sellerland. I have to say that I’m not enchanted with the screw top, unless I’m going to go sit on a blanket in the park and I want a bottle of wine at the last minute and no, thanks, I really don’t need another wine tool. I think I have one for every drawer in my kitchen. Because everyone pulls open the wrong drawers. So the screw top, it has its place. That place is at Stern Grove, Dolores Park, the Bluegrass festival, but not, generally, my dinner table. It doesn’t offend me, but more happens with the wine when its corked.

Anyway. The wine. It’s clear and bright and crisp and acidic. It’s dry, dry dry. It almost tastes like a Pomelo, conveniently enough. Citrusy, indeed. It’s pretty damn goodas it asserts itself. Ido highly recommend it for rainy March Wednesdays as the crab season is just starting to wind down and you’ve put in way too much butter and way too much garlic you’re eating the aforementioned canapés. It goes ever so well with them.

It keeps your palate clean.

It’s mighty good.

Eat and drink and giggle and talk and smile until the table and yourselves are covered with crab and artichoke detritus and crumpled napkins and the last dregs of the Sauvignon Blanc are wending their way down your throat. Sip on some port and lay your head down and be ready to fall asleep from pure pleasure.

Wake to bright sun, bright like that Sauvignon Blanc.

The rest you should be able to figure out on your own. It’s my recipe for your perfect day.

I’m home alone tonight, waiting to hear if I’ve got a bite for my dinner invitation. I’m not very hopeful.
When I arrive home, More-ey’s girl, Sunshine, she’s made the house smell like garlic and tomatoes and pasta sauce. More-ey wanders in with this this long french bread baguette that he and his girl are going to do something with. There’s a baguette, chicken, tomatoes, garlic, mushrooms… I don’t think it’s Coq Au Vin, but it might be.
mmm… maybe I’ll need to get in on that action.
More-ey asks me if I want to try this Merlot that he’s picked up at the Sausalito Market (46 Caledonia, Sausalito, right by the fire station). I’ve told him in the past that it’s pretty damn easy to make a decent Merlot. He takes a sip, makes a face, and says “Well, it was only four bucks.”
Four bucks?
Four bucks? Give me a glass!
I never thought I’d say this: this Merlot is terrible. I honestly didn’t think you could make a terrible Merlot. When I went to make my own wine instead of beer, the guy in the store said “Look, get the kit and make Merlot the first time. It’ll turn out good.”
Now, I don’t want to be mean. It’s not vinegar. It won’t make you hurl. Or swear off wine forever.. But there’s nothing to it. It tastes tired. It’s got loads of tannins and it’s really acidic without the benefit of any balancing elements. I’ve paid half a euro for better table wine in Spain. I’ve also paid a euro for worse wine, so I guess that’s not saying much. I guess this is the sort of wine you’d get watered down in France as a schoolboy.
In public school.
In a poor parish.
So, it’s OK.It’s a little better if you follow my favorite-ever aeration method that I got from a Spanish waiter: Pop the cork, pour out the taste, put the cork back in and shake the hell out of it– get that oxygen all the way through it until it’s all frothy.
It really does work. It just doesn’t have the panache of that $180 leaded glass decanter that your friends gave you for Christmas a few years back. But when you’re six bottles in at a dinner party, that’s what you wanna do. You don’t wanna go fiddling with the decanter.
Anyway. This wine? Don’t buy it. Even at four bucks. Unless the only other thing is Estrella.
Even then, you should go to another corner store.

Little Star Pizza — 22nd Feb, 2006

Last night I came home tired. And at loose ends for what to do. I’ve got a giant pile of things that I could (should?) be doing, but I just really couldn’t be bothered.

I was also starving, but not quite ready to eat. I snacked on some savory Tartine leftovers and settled down to study like a good little schoolboy.

The phone went, and it’s Trails in her sexy gravelly voice on the other end saying “Blah blah blah blah Little Star blah blah Pizza blah blah Anchovies.

How could I resist an invitation like that?

I skillfully avoided death by SUV on my motorcycle right where Castro turns into Divis.

(Hey: if you drive a Gold SUV, remember: pushing DOWN on your indicator means you’re turning left. Pushing UP means you’re turning right. If you’re turning the wrong way in traffic, just go around the block. It’s OK. It’ll only take you 1 ½ minutes. Probably less.)

I parked my bike next to Little Blue and went into the restaurant. We were seated within 5 minutes. Little Star was packed. It’s all dark blue and black and glossy and trendy and you’d expect it to be loud but you can hear yourself think and your candlelit companion talk. Even when she’s got a sexyraspy voice. There are about 20 tables: a bunch of four-tops along the wall, a bar where those waiting a table are invited to stand, and a few two-tops down the center. There’s a bit of a traffic problem when the bar gets busy—and the bar patrons start bumping into the two-tops.

The servers all looked a little haggard. No doubt the management hadn’t planned on a 20 minute wait and a packed restaurant on a Wednesday, but the Fulton/Divis area is very much on the up-and-up. I was prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt, not judge them too harshly on prompt service, but the servers displayed teamwork. One brought us their drinks. Another server took our order. I applaud the teamwork at Little Star: I’ve seen customers languish all too often because half the servers are overwhelmed and the other half are only looking out for their tables. We were constantly attended to, yet never rushed.

Trails had a glass of their Rhone ($6), which was fine. It was plain. It was sort of vin ordinaire, but fine. It had nothing special to offer, but it did the job. I skipped down to the Syrah, which, at $6, gave the exact impression. I started to wonder if something untoward had happened to my taste buds: I’d just had Three Thieves Pinot Noir the night before and had had the exact same reaction: It’s Pinot, or Syrah, or Rhone, but there just wasn’t anything to recommend it.

Fortunately, after these wines went down, we moved on to the Zinfandel ($8), which was, refreshingly, a Big Fruity Zin. There’s something about Zin that, even if it’s the same sort of fine, nothing special about it, still manages to shine. Or maybe it was just the comparison. There were subtle hints of blackberry, not too many tannins, all balanced with a refreshing acidity.

Little star also has a good selection of beers on tap, as well as several whites.

We started off with their mixed green salad ($5/$8). It came piled with Gorgonzola, cherry tomatoes, and really great sweet red peppers. I’m generally sort of ambivalent about mild peppers—they so often taste watery and almost flavorless, but these were little blooms of color and subtle flavor that balanced out the whisper of vinaigrette nicely. One brickbat: If you server green salad, you should have a pepper grinder. There are only 20 tables in here. Fresh ground pepper on mixed greens is a bit of a must. Just like on a Caprese. It’s just not the same without it.

Little Star has assorted specialty pizzas in thin crust or deep dish which are $16 -$20, depending on size. You can also build your own. We were in the middle choosing the tempting White pizza off the menu (adding, of course, anchovies), when I looked up at the special’s board.

“Roasted asparagus, Roasted garlic, fresh tomatoes, and Pecorino Romano.”

“That sounds divine. But we need to add anchovies. And remove the asparagus.”

“Hmm.. I agree, but I kind of want the asparagus. I wonder if they’ll put it on the side?”

The waiter was unsure, but they did. And it was really good. The asparagus and anchovies wouldn’t have gone well together, but having a spray of asparagus on the side was a great little palate-cleansing bite through the pizza. The crust was thin and crisp. The cheese was melted with just a hint of dryness. The tomatoes, even in February, were fresh and soft and succulent. The garlic was perhaps a little sparse, but the anchovies made it all worth it. It was plenty for two people, though you might want a little more if you’re extra-hungry.

Little Star carries Cheesecake and assorted Gelato for dessert. We didn’t delve into the sweet end—it would have undercut the loveliness of the anchovies. A split glass of that Zinfandel, however, was a fine end to the meal.

Little Star Pizzeria

846 Divisadero (between McAllister and Fulton), San Francisco

Sun-Thurs 5-10pm
Fri & Sat 5-11pm

415.441.1118

Cash only

Three Thieves Pinot Noir: $9.99, Rainbow Grocery

I reviewed the Three Thieves Zinfandel a few months back. It was great. Loved it. It was ten bucks, you got a liter instead of 75 cl, and it was a big, fruit-forward Zin. Mm mm good. Nice for a picnic, and I even didn’t mind the screw top. It was, after all wine in a jug.
So I was pretty excited when, while shopping for over $10 bottles of Alsatian whites for a crab feast, I looked down at the Three Thieves display, thinking “Hey, I’ve got room in my saddlebags, why don’t I get a bottle of that big fruity Zin?” What did I spy with my little eye but a Pinot Noir.
I had to get it. And drink it. And tell you all about it.
So it sat while I went through all the whites. Then it sat for another couple of days while I finished a fantastic three day weekend. And finally, I cracked it open. It was one of those “I could really use a glass of wine” days.
It’s got a nice nose. Smells like wine. It’s only 13% alcohol, which isn’t too bad, especially when you’re trying to keep your wits about you. It has almost no tannins, few legs in the glass. It’s a beautiful color– clear rubies through any light.
And the taste… It’s fine. It’s even kind of good, but there’s just not much to the taste. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s fine table wine. It’s just Pinot Noir without any of the hidden subtlety, the care in growing, the secret little flavors that sneak out each day.
Don’t get me wrong: I like this wine. I just think that it could be a little more… well, just a little more. I think that plain jane works out a little bit better with a Zin than with a Pinot Noir. I’d drink it again– but I’d probably open it after a couple of bottles of Heron, Echelon, or, better yet, David Bruce Pinot Noir.

Hidden behind Flybar (or is it Barfly?) on Divisadero and Fulton there used to be a little hole-in-the-wall Jamaican place. I always wanted to eat there, but never could.

Why?

It wasn’t ever open. Never, ever. It was there back in the days when your Divisadero dining choices were Popeye’s Famous Fried Chicken, a bagel at the Bean Bag from before they had actual food, and Phuket Thai, who would at least deliver enormous thai iced teas and lots of peanut sauce. Not much, and the Jamaican place always made me want to eat at Palmer’s back in New Orleans, which was more problematic than trying to get to a restaurant with no hours.

Khatmandu has opened in the spot behind FlyBarFly. They serve Himalayan food, the promise of which brought me and D-Yo out on a quietish Wednesday night, where I’d give her my feedback on a couple of chapters of her Africa book.

Khatmandu is pretty spare and unassuming inside: Eight or so tables covered with white tablecloths and glass on top, plain wallpaper with the requisite posters of the homeland cover the walls, and a divider leading to a hidden kitchen area. The place looks like it was carved out of the back room of another building and spruced up by new tenants who hoped to do better later. It probably was back in its Jamaican days.

We were warmly greeted after seating ourselves, and browsed the menu. There were a lot of familiar words and dishes that reminded me of the geographical closeness between Nepal, India, and Pakistan. The dishes are similar, but spiced differently; there’s generally less heat and more subtle smoky flavors; a whisper of a curry rather than a shout.

We started off with an order of vegetable pakora ($3.50). This was, perhaps, a mistake; the waitress said it was as good as the ground chicken dumplings, but any ground chicken dumpling would be better than the thickly breaded bunch of onions that arrived. It was little heavy and didn’t contain much flavor, and unfortunately no sauces came along with it. Fortunately, a little complimentary raita had come in along with complmentary Chapati before, which helped the thick breading go down.

Our entrees were much better, particularly the fish curry ($9.95). The curry came in a small metal bowl with a creamy (but not cream-based) sauce that was full of subtle flavors. It was like a Tikka Masala that decided to hide and make you seek it out. After the fish was gone, D-Yo and I soaked it up with the whole wheat Paratha ($2), a wafery layered bread that was baked and spread with butter. We passed over the wonderfully named butter chicken ($8.95) for the sautéed chicken ($8.95), which promised mixed vegetables and chicken in a slightly sour sauce. The dish was fine: the chicken was juicy and tender; the sauce was pleasantly sweet with the tiniest hint of sour; but the vegetables, green and red peppers and onions, were barely cooked enough to heat them up, but they still released all their raw flavor, which didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the meal.

Kathmandu has a wide selection of beers—appropriately, mostly lagers, a smaller selection of inexpensive wines, as well as delectable lassi—both mango as well as an enchanting rosewater lassi. ($3) The large Taj Mahal complimented our meals nicely.

All in all it was a pleasant experience—if I’m in the neighborhood, I’ll likely go back. The temptation of a number of other sauces awaits; if they can just weed out a few iffy dishes the place could become one of those fabulous holes in the wall that you’d be excited to take your friends to.

Kathmandu
1279 Fulton St (at Divisadero)
San Francisco, 94117
(415) 567-5100
Beer and wine

The true mark of graciousness and manners lie in the way one reacts to another’s faux pas.

I like to think of myself as a stickler for manners and timeliness but still managed to arrive twenty minutes late for our reservation. Not somehow, really. My friend KT and I had met earlier– but not earlier enough– for a drink at Amnesia to ring in the week after the New Year. We’d had a Duvel each and were chatting away and just lost track of time. I felt terrible arriving so late, but it allowed the staff to prove their graciousness. And prove it they did.

The Maitre’D at Universal Cafe was efficient and polite and squeezed us almost quickly into a quiet two-top at the back. We stood and waited for about ten minutes with a glass of wine each– I’d chosen the Fagan Creek Syrah ($9 glass, St. Helena), which turned out to be a bit heavy and tired. (After reading a couple of reviews, I have to wonder if the bottle hadn’t been open for a bit too long). KT had the Artezin Zinfandel ($8 glass, Mendocino), which stood up and got noticed for its fine, drinkable qualities. She only let me have a single sip.

I was eager to try several of the first courses, but KT and I both were sucked in by the promise of corn-crusted lightly fried oysters. The salad in the center, a combination of fennel, julienned and blanched red peppers, and watermelon slices stood in lovely counterpoint to the creamy sauce on the oysters. The oysters themselves were fresh and clean; the dusting of cornmeal around them provided just the crunch I craved. It brought to mind the thousands of fried oysters I’ve eaten from the Gulf of Mexico– the countless oyster po-boys I would treat myself to as a child. It reminded me of the simplicity of good food, yet these half dozen oysters were clean and crisp without any of the heaviness that I recall from Streetcar Sandwiches in New Orleans– gone these ten years or more. At the same time, these oysters, while reminiscent of an excellent fish-fry joint, surrounded a palate-cleansing salad which reminded that these were top-quality fresh oysters, lacking in any heaviness. The creamy garlicky sauce spooned on top of them had me worried for a minute– it looked so reminiscent of the triple application of mayonnaise one can find on an oyster po-boy, but it didn’t cloy at all.

This appetizer led us to expect good things from the kitchen. We would not be disappointed.

KT was presented with a sizeable filet of grilled steelhead which looked at first to be a tiny bit overdone; the first bite revealed the opposite. The grill was perhaps a bit on the hot side, which served to sear the outside, cook the fish all the way through, and lock in flavor. This succulent piece of fish sat on top of radicchio that’d been coated with balsamic vinegar and grilled along with the trout; underneath was a fine risotto that soaked up any flavor or bits of fish that might have strayed. I was also tempted by this dish, but decided to go with a captivating bowl of house-made herbed noodles with braised beef cheeks. There was almost too much food on each plate, but we somehow soldiered on: I moved on from the syrah to a nice inexpensive Bouchaine Pinot Noir ($9 glass/$32 bottle, Carneros).

Dessert brought us a discussion: Chocolate (always the front-runner) or the Panna Cotta with Grapefruit. Now, I love chocolate desserts, as does KT. I even often love just having a small square of dark chocolate with an espresso. It’s unfortunate that more places won’t do a simple chocolate and coffee dessert. We discussed our options and decided, ultimately, to go with the Panna Cotta with Grapefruit ($8.50). It arrived, the grapefruit sections had been sliced out of their tough skin, and the fruit was juicy and sweet, with just enough pungency to take the edge off of the rich cream in the Panna Cotta. Which was flawless. We toyed with it, each taking tiny bites as we drank our top-notch espresso and continued our excellent conversation until we realized that we just weren’t going to eat any more.

Our waiter was charming: He didn’t hover; he was there when we wanted him; and disappeared when we didn’t; he offered advice when we asked, and showed a good knowledge of his menu and our wine choices; he was pleasant to be around, but didn’t intrude on our dinner. Our water glasses never ran dry; I never felt as though they were being monitored. We were never rushed; the meal was pleasant, leisurely, and conducive to conversation. We ate and drank and continued and never once felt pressured to turn the table, although on Saturday night they probably could have seated us. We ended up talking until almost eleven, and there was never any signal that it was time to go, please. Not a chair was put up. I commend the staff on leaving me with a wonderful dining experience. The food was fresh and well-prepared, delivered in a timely fashion; We were welcomed warmly and courteously; the cafe was clean, neat, and the service was superb. What more can one ask for in a meal?

Not a whole lot. The Universal Cafe scores on all points. I’ll certainly be back.

Universal Cafe
2814 Nineteenth Street (at Bryant)
San Francisco, CA 94110
415.821.4608

Menu changes daily.

Yellow Tail. It’s everywhere. it’s cheap. This one came from Safeway for six bucks. It’s not bad. It’s 60% Shiraz and 40% Cab, but it tastes more Cab-like than Shiraz-like.
A little heaviness to the tannins is apparent. The wine doesn’t seem to benefit too much from airing. This is a totally fine wine to bring to a house party. It’d probably be a fine wine to bring for dinner, but Yellow Tail has gotten so big that everyone knows they’re wines for the under-$10 set. Which is fine, depending on your friends.
You won’t be having any of those moments with your hostess which end with “it’s great, and you wouldn’t believe it, but I got it for six bucks.”
None of that.
This is a nice unwinding wine. It would go OK with food. It doesn’t have much smell or taste. A little sharp, a little strong, a little… just plain, really. There’s nothing whatsoever wrong with it. It’s assertive, tanniny, and would hold up to, say, a lamb shawerma. Or a carne asada burrito, but at that point, why wouldn’t you be drinking a Negra Modelo?
I do try to pick lesser known wines to review, but you all know I’m a cheap bastard. My roommate came home with this from Safeway. It was there. It was open. I’d just finished a very hectic 2 1/2 weeks where I hadn’t really had time to drink or be very social. I’d work from 8 until past 10, and by then I wasn’t in any mood do think clearly.
It’s only six bucks, and it’s totally decent. Have at it. I’m not sad I’m drinking it, and would even pay, say, seven bucks for it and be perfectly OK. But I’d really rather spend a few more dollars and have a Bogle Shiraz, or even a Pepperwood Grove Pinot.

Crack the cork. Splash it as I pour– can’t really hurt to get a little oxygen to the wine. Swirl. Taste.
Big fruity Zin.Not too bad.
Wait… what’s that? Some kind of sweet cloying aftertaste. Weird. Let’s try that one again.
Sniff.
Smells like… red wine. A teensy bit of a sour note, like a big French Burgundy. That’s OK. A little maybe off.
Sip again. Do it with that slurpy sound that I learned when I learned to cup coffee and taste wine. Big Fruity Zin. Tannins… none, really, to speak of. Hardly any, anyway.
But there it is again. It’s all cloying on the back side. Like there’s some too-sweet wine trying to hide a slightly sour taste. It’s not bad, but it’s just sort of annoying. To me. Some people might like it. I’m not so sure. Without it, the wine is a plain old big fruity zin. It’s fine, but nothing to speak of. With this cloying taste, the wine does have a sense of mystery. Unfortunately, the mystery is more along the lines of “what are you trying to hide?” or “what do we have to blend with this 2000 gallons to make it drinkable?” rather than, say, “do I serve this with that anchovy and garlic stuffed Olive Tapenade roasted Leg of Lamb, or the pepper-crusted pork tenderloin?” (the tenderloin, definitley), or “what will my lover’s kisses taste like with all these flavors in her mouth?”
I don’t want to say that this wine is bad, exactly. In fact, it’s just not quite sure what it is. It’s perfectly acceptable. But it does look a little cheap and Trader Joe’s-y, what with the pink pastels on the label. They don’t really work with the deep green of the trees. And it’s really not bad, this wine. It works pretty well with food, at least if the food is half a carne asada burrito and slices of that ham that you really need to cook with spicy red salsa cooked with eggs. Like a French student’s dinner.
Trader Joe’s has led me much further astray at times, though usually for under five bucks. It’s OK, this wine, but it’s kind of like two buck chuck for nine bucks. Which isn’t really all that great of a deal.
Get it here.

Another excellent eminently drinkable Pinot Noir.. Man, do I like me some Pinot, Sideways’ annoying commentary notwithstanding. It’s apparently a very tough grape to grow. Takes care, attention, the right soil, drainage, sun, moon, wind, rain. Too much or too little of anything and the year’s crop is down the drain, spat freely by tasters who can’t be bothered to drink the stuff. The two-buck-chuck guys buy it all up for a song and add sugar and make a decent, but not that great wine. Or else it turns into airline wine.

I don’t really care, though: If I can get a good bottle of wine for ten bucks, I figure I’m all set.

I’m in Atlanta for work. The trip might be a waste of time, but I get to see my friend Em. She pulls this wine out and tells me it’s 8 bucks at Kroger. Kroger is Safeway Peachtreeland. Her roommate Sudesh asked why we always talk about wine by price, not grape or region or whatever. What could we say? We’re cheap bastards and we like to drink wine. You can drink twice as much 10 dollar wine as you can 20 dollar wine, with the added bonus that it’s like going on a quest.

That’s why I do it, after all: The quest. I want to find the perfect ten dollar wine to suck down to my heart’s content. I think I may be at this for a while.

I think I had earlier incarnation a couple of years ago from Trader Joe’s. You still might be able to get it there, I’m honestly not really sure. I did visit this Kroger place, and it was there for $7.99. And they had an empty spot on the shelf which said “Pepperwood Grove Syrah, $6.59.” If there’s one thing I like more than a tasty Pinot for 8 bucks, it’s a decent Syrah for under 7.

I’m a cheap bastard, after all. Plus, I like Syrah. Stands up to more food. Pinot is a wine for drinking with friends, maybe some light food, but it tends to lose out when it starts to battle strong flavors in your mouth. At least the ones I buy do. Just a little bit, mind you. It’s still enchanting and delicious and all fermented grape juicy.

It goes down smooth-like It has some legs, but not a whole lot of legs. It smells a little thin, and when you get it in your mouth, you just swish it around a little before you swallow it and then reach for the glass again. It might be a little thin, a danger that Pinot Noir dances with. That’s OK. You’ll still want to drink it down until you run out of wine and throw your friends out and fall in bed with your lover. It has hardly any tannins at all which strikes me as odd, however, it means that you can feel just fine about cracking this 2004 wine open right now and drinking it down. It might develop a little bit in the bottle, but it’s really ready to suck down right now. I may try to lay in a few bottles for drinking later, but what’ll happen is that Katawin will come over and then we’ll just drink it down.

This might be the best value I’ve had in Pinot Noir in quite some time. Either that, or else I should start writing the reviews before I’m at the end of the bottle. I dunno. At eight dollars and easy to drink, you’re not going to go wrong.