(--our story thus far...
I'm buying 900 liters of 2006 Bonarda, to bottle under my own label--yet to be devised-- as a way to jump-start my 'social capital' co-branding project...1200 bottles, one hundred cases of wine. Yikes! Import permits, duties, fees, marketing strategies...the real work is only just getting started...)
Wednesday, April 7...
...running in circles in my head...warned against putting the wine in oak at this point-- too high a risk of oxidation after two years...bottle it up?! -- & then?
...Have no labels, no permits...leave in storage here until February when I can come back?
Seems increasingly unlikely I could have everything settled in time for me to fly to California on May 20-- & the next available seating on my AAdvantage program award/fare basis is on June 18!! Aargh...
30.4.08
'It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings...'
I guess all those high 'C's' must be ringing in my feverish imagination. After all of our casual off-and-on conversation over the last four months, an idea that I blurted to Alberto Cecchin at the Slow Food Mendoza event just over a week ago led to an appointment for a formal meeting with him yesterday.
The upshot of it is, I'm buying 900 liters of his 2006 Bonarda, to bottle under my own label--yet to be devised-- as a way to jump-start my 'social capital' co-branding project.
My mind & heart are racing, I'm stunned...1200 bottles, one hundred cases of wine.
Yikes! Import permits, duties, fees, marketing strategies...the real work is only just getting started, & this would be a strange dry run, with no real inventory to follow through on interest-- unless, unless...
Unless I get a bit of positive feedback-- before Thursday, when the deal is scheduled to be finalized-- from my wine 2.0 friends regarding permits, storage, logistics for the long term so that I feel comfortable taking a chance on two hundred cases...
The upshot of it is, I'm buying 900 liters of his 2006 Bonarda, to bottle under my own label--yet to be devised-- as a way to jump-start my 'social capital' co-branding project.
My mind & heart are racing, I'm stunned...1200 bottles, one hundred cases of wine.
Yikes! Import permits, duties, fees, marketing strategies...the real work is only just getting started, & this would be a strange dry run, with no real inventory to follow through on interest-- unless, unless...
Unless I get a bit of positive feedback-- before Thursday, when the deal is scheduled to be finalized-- from my wine 2.0 friends regarding permits, storage, logistics for the long term so that I feel comfortable taking a chance on two hundred cases...
19.4.08
Tech Matters, Tech Spirits-- or, Six Degrees of Spoofulation..
Take three-hundred & sixty-four:
all of a sudden, the signal coming through my borrowed wireless modem drops out-- & yet, the connection seems to be open & holding...
Hans has finally invested in the device to be able to connect to the Internet through his celphone company, CTi, which is being absorbed (--merging?) with Claro, (--principal?) brand name for América Móvil, burgeoning Mexican telecom (--which sometime ago struck a deal with Vodaphone, & incorporated their accounts & assets in Puerto Rico...)
I realize that except for a posting nod to the last, big roller-coaster turn my hopes of making wine this year got--a month ago, here-- I haven't written anything wine-related in nearly three months... although I suppose some of the meandering, melancholy, existential verse I've inflicted might be excused as 'wine-related writing'.
Well, it certainly seems like I've drunk enough mediocre, pretentious & gratingly rustic wine in Argentina to last me a lifetime, & I feel quite ready to chuck my aching, perfectionistic compulsion to craft overarching narratives & let loose a minimally coherent collection of impressions that may only very charitably be termed 'tasting notes', thank you.
My most recent negative experience was with a bottle of the '04 Malbec Roberto Boschi has made for Hans & his Cavieres label. I'll venture that wines made traditionally here, fermented & matured in large-capacity, epoxy-lined concrete tanks have a tendency to reduction & run the risk of sulphur compounds getting the upper hand. However, I've learned Sr. Boschi has no 'piletas', only small steel tanks-- go figure... It was a 2004, bottled under a plastic stopper, so that may have been a factor...other samples have been in infinitely better shape, & the same producer's '06 Bonarda has been consistently good, with olive-leaf & black olive aromas, integrated with discreet black fruit in the mouth, & a lingering cola note...
The second nastiest case of burnt match & brimstone was a pink blend made by a character by the name of Juricich, chiefly a beekeeper & honey producer whose other risky bottling had, to this palate, happier results: a Lambrusco-like Malbec where residual sugar fueled in-bottle malolactic fermentation for a rich, rustic, 'frizzante' quaffer.
I forget the source grapes for the rosé-- but its salmon to burnt orange peel look, smell & taste make me wonder if the line between reduction & oxidation is an especially thin, confused blur in these Antipodean latitudes...
At the other extreme, my 90 pt. gold medal for 'Most Seductive Spoofulate' must go to a Tempranillo (Reserva '03, if I remember right-- with the caveat that in Argentina, the 'Reserva' label gets slapped on anything with more than five months barrel aging.) --bottled by Tittarelli under its upscale label, 'Finca El Retiro': it was with nostalgic shock & awe, guilt & further tangled feelings that I downed this bottle of what could have passed for one of Ridge's Zinfandels-- maybe their Paso Robles version, with its tendency to overheat nicely mascara'ed by El Draper's deft brush strokes, applying the full complement of International Oak Toast pigments in his palette.
Unfortunately, a second bottle found in the dark recesses of Mendoza's 'Carrefour' megasupermarket was all cigar ashes & gummy eyelashes where the first bottle had that cedar spice-box nose, dusty nutmeg on a dark cherry mouth, & trace of coconutty oiliness in the mouthfeel I believe are what good/Norweigian-- er, American Wood can bring to the glass...
I also had a bottle of '02 under the main 'Tittarelli' label which reminded me of the funky, cheap Riojas of my youth. Sr. Alberto, of Bodega Cecchin, when told of these experiences, sniggered, 'Tittarelli? I wouldn't be sure it's Tempranillo, anyway.'
Here's the scoop: the man should know. He sold some of his press wine, would not tell me which varietals, to a Wine Club in Buenos Aires that sent their Sommelier-in-Chief, tasted & devised a blend, & labeled & bottled it-- hold onto your hat, I was there for the bottling-- as Nebbiolo !!
(...continuará...)
all of a sudden, the signal coming through my borrowed wireless modem drops out-- & yet, the connection seems to be open & holding...
Hans has finally invested in the device to be able to connect to the Internet through his celphone company, CTi, which is being absorbed (--merging?) with Claro, (--principal?) brand name for América Móvil, burgeoning Mexican telecom (--which sometime ago struck a deal with Vodaphone, & incorporated their accounts & assets in Puerto Rico...)
I realize that except for a posting nod to the last, big roller-coaster turn my hopes of making wine this year got--a month ago, here-- I haven't written anything wine-related in nearly three months... although I suppose some of the meandering, melancholy, existential verse I've inflicted might be excused as 'wine-related writing'.
Well, it certainly seems like I've drunk enough mediocre, pretentious & gratingly rustic wine in Argentina to last me a lifetime, & I feel quite ready to chuck my aching, perfectionistic compulsion to craft overarching narratives & let loose a minimally coherent collection of impressions that may only very charitably be termed 'tasting notes', thank you.
My most recent negative experience was with a bottle of the '04 Malbec Roberto Boschi has made for Hans & his Cavieres label. I'll venture that wines made traditionally here, fermented & matured in large-capacity, epoxy-lined concrete tanks have a tendency to reduction & run the risk of sulphur compounds getting the upper hand. However, I've learned Sr. Boschi has no 'piletas', only small steel tanks-- go figure... It was a 2004, bottled under a plastic stopper, so that may have been a factor...other samples have been in infinitely better shape, & the same producer's '06 Bonarda has been consistently good, with olive-leaf & black olive aromas, integrated with discreet black fruit in the mouth, & a lingering cola note...
The second nastiest case of burnt match & brimstone was a pink blend made by a character by the name of Juricich, chiefly a beekeeper & honey producer whose other risky bottling had, to this palate, happier results: a Lambrusco-like Malbec where residual sugar fueled in-bottle malolactic fermentation for a rich, rustic, 'frizzante' quaffer.
I forget the source grapes for the rosé-- but its salmon to burnt orange peel look, smell & taste make me wonder if the line between reduction & oxidation is an especially thin, confused blur in these Antipodean latitudes...
At the other extreme, my 90 pt. gold medal for 'Most Seductive Spoofulate' must go to a Tempranillo (Reserva '03, if I remember right-- with the caveat that in Argentina, the 'Reserva' label gets slapped on anything with more than five months barrel aging.) --bottled by Tittarelli under its upscale label, 'Finca El Retiro': it was with nostalgic shock & awe, guilt & further tangled feelings that I downed this bottle of what could have passed for one of Ridge's Zinfandels-- maybe their Paso Robles version, with its tendency to overheat nicely mascara'ed by El Draper's deft brush strokes, applying the full complement of International Oak Toast pigments in his palette.
Unfortunately, a second bottle found in the dark recesses of Mendoza's 'Carrefour' megasupermarket was all cigar ashes & gummy eyelashes where the first bottle had that cedar spice-box nose, dusty nutmeg on a dark cherry mouth, & trace of coconutty oiliness in the mouthfeel I believe are what good/Norweigian-- er, American Wood can bring to the glass...
I also had a bottle of '02 under the main 'Tittarelli' label which reminded me of the funky, cheap Riojas of my youth. Sr. Alberto, of Bodega Cecchin, when told of these experiences, sniggered, 'Tittarelli? I wouldn't be sure it's Tempranillo, anyway.'
Here's the scoop: the man should know. He sold some of his press wine, would not tell me which varietals, to a Wine Club in Buenos Aires that sent their Sommelier-in-Chief, tasted & devised a blend, & labeled & bottled it-- hold onto your hat, I was there for the bottling-- as Nebbiolo !!
(...continuará...)
10.4.08
8.4.08
Taking the Fall
damn punch-drunk clock
keeps tock-ticking me off
--tick-talking away 'til gone
softening my underbelly
--all asides apparent
in outlined inner seams
sitting me down, do be
setting me up for a ride
to pass by, horseman
cloak back in the dust
the far shore glows black
in wide-ahead miracle wakes
keeps tock-ticking me off
--tick-talking away 'til gone
softening my underbelly
--all asides apparent
in outlined inner seams
sitting me down, do be
setting me up for a ride
to pass by, horseman
cloak back in the dust
the far shore glows black
in wide-ahead miracle wakes
7.4.08
Sottobosco a Verso (--o, Larga con Vale, Esencia)
'...Ich bin allein, ich stell die Aschenblume
ins Glas voll reifer Schwärze...'
--Paul Celan
Por la ladera de cumbres que a una
vez acercan y ocultan el horizonte
se deslizan las cargadas nubes.
El agua que van chorreando
raja un sediento mundo reseco
para regar otro que se ahoga.
El aguacero descarga un bosque
de memoria que brilla y baña
en eucalipto el paseo de gravilla
y satura con pino los muros de adobe.
Sobrevive en el hongo esta marea
de alta cordillera que en la seta
y en la alfombra de agujas y musgo
muere por difundir su lustre, su aroma.
29.3.08
Notes on Cultural Pattern Recognition1.5
'Be careful what you wish for...'
For as long as I remember, I've had a love of the Autumnal season-- the melancholy fade into earth of blazing foliage as harvest draws to a close under the various blankets of grey clouds, rain & wind...
Maybe it harks back to October of 1971 when at the age of seventeen I first experienced the seasonal shift in Galicia-- specifically, under the near-constant orballo, the fine drizzle misting the mediaeval alleys of Santiago de Compostela, where I'd been sent off to begin higher studies in a futile attempt to cut short my hanging out in bad company with musicians, theatre people & such. I've often idly wondered if being a child of Spring fueled the fascination with the end of the vegetative cycle as a projection of my generalized sense of displacement...
Well, this year I've marked (--not quite celebrated) my 54th birthday as a difficult, 'atypical' Summer ends in Mendoza with a chilly, overcast vengeance: in the Southern Hemisphere, I discover the experience of having my birthday fall at the gates of the Fall...
I'm not quite sure at what point I hit the downslope of diminishing returns-- sometime during the last month, between coming down with the lingering case of 'Pinochet's Revenge' from toxic salmon & reaching my birthday with the growing impression I'll have zero to show for these four months...
The whole notion of 'tourism' is fairly... unsavory to me, but on the other hand, I don't feel like much of an adventurer, either-- at least in my own eyes, as I'm not unaware that I somehow manage to come off as a fairly carefree, bohemian world-hopper--if one with a deeply melancholy streak, & a somewhat loaded agenda, as befits the stubbornly enduring, environmental anarcho-pacifistic ideals so visibly sown onto my worn-out sleeve...
The truth is a good deal more pedestrian. I am, to fully inhabit an oxymoron that's been circling my head for some time now, a wandering recluse: I merely resist setttling into the confinement of one particular cell & find little rooms for myself in places away from the land of my birth, to avoid the uncomfortable, longstanding lack of closure in some family issues I've partially disclosed here & there...
Of course, wherever you go, there you are-- & you can't ever, ever leave yourself behind-- except maybe by succumbing to some form of dementia, or simply (!) taking one's life (--now there's a phrase!) --but it does seem positive in many ways to drag these issues to where they may be confronted by a gratingly different cultural context, as a way of gaining perspective-- on oneself, &, with some caveats, on the culture testing the prejudices which that (--'naturalized' but culturally assembled) self brings to bear to the meeting...
For as long as I remember, I've had a love of the Autumnal season-- the melancholy fade into earth of blazing foliage as harvest draws to a close under the various blankets of grey clouds, rain & wind...
Maybe it harks back to October of 1971 when at the age of seventeen I first experienced the seasonal shift in Galicia-- specifically, under the near-constant orballo, the fine drizzle misting the mediaeval alleys of Santiago de Compostela, where I'd been sent off to begin higher studies in a futile attempt to cut short my hanging out in bad company with musicians, theatre people & such. I've often idly wondered if being a child of Spring fueled the fascination with the end of the vegetative cycle as a projection of my generalized sense of displacement...
Well, this year I've marked (--not quite celebrated) my 54th birthday as a difficult, 'atypical' Summer ends in Mendoza with a chilly, overcast vengeance: in the Southern Hemisphere, I discover the experience of having my birthday fall at the gates of the Fall...
I'm not quite sure at what point I hit the downslope of diminishing returns-- sometime during the last month, between coming down with the lingering case of 'Pinochet's Revenge' from toxic salmon & reaching my birthday with the growing impression I'll have zero to show for these four months...
The whole notion of 'tourism' is fairly... unsavory to me, but on the other hand, I don't feel like much of an adventurer, either-- at least in my own eyes, as I'm not unaware that I somehow manage to come off as a fairly carefree, bohemian world-hopper--if one with a deeply melancholy streak, & a somewhat loaded agenda, as befits the stubbornly enduring, environmental anarcho-pacifistic ideals so visibly sown onto my worn-out sleeve...
The truth is a good deal more pedestrian. I am, to fully inhabit an oxymoron that's been circling my head for some time now, a wandering recluse: I merely resist setttling into the confinement of one particular cell & find little rooms for myself in places away from the land of my birth, to avoid the uncomfortable, longstanding lack of closure in some family issues I've partially disclosed here & there...
Of course, wherever you go, there you are-- & you can't ever, ever leave yourself behind-- except maybe by succumbing to some form of dementia, or simply (!) taking one's life (--now there's a phrase!) --but it does seem positive in many ways to drag these issues to where they may be confronted by a gratingly different cultural context, as a way of gaining perspective-- on oneself, &, with some caveats, on the culture testing the prejudices which that (--'naturalized' but culturally assembled) self brings to bear to the meeting...
23.3.08
Easter Sunday (UPDATED with an Easter Monday corrective...)
...feeling lackadaisical & unmotivated...'Bless me, father, for I have sinned. It's been four weeks since my last blog post-- two months since I actually wrote about wine...'
Señor Gerardo Pablo Ramírez, who got my hopes up about buying 600 kilos of Barbera from his neighbor in Coquimbito for an estimated resulting three hundred liters of wine, is MIA. Hans Devloo of Posada Cavieres made the contact, & the last time we got through on his celphone, Ramírez was busy harvesting grapes in Tupungato-- whether for himself or somebody else is part of the question. I'm out of La Posada after two weeks-- Hans had couples turn up who wanted their private rooms, & I was odd man out...Since then I've been staying at Baco Hostel (fitting, eh?) a very DIY sort of place, down to having linen on your bunk bed. Especially over the Holy Week holiday, Virginia Woolf's 'A Room of One's Own' title has run like a mantra in my head, as four out of the five bunks were filled...
Seeking hope in my Yahoo horoscope today. Is that scraping the bottom of the barrel?
March 23, 2008
-
Aries (3/21-4/19)It's one thing to keep your hopes high, it's quite another to be in complete denial as to what your real chances for success are. Be realistic, today. You are doing yourself no good by ignoring the facts that are confronting you. Face them head on, and you'll see they are not as bad as you fear. Renewal is in the air right now, so if you can just hold on and stay motivated long enough, you will be able to enjoy a change of tides. This new tide will sweep in a much happier era in your life.
Your ideas will be interesting and their originality can make you to be noticed in a very positive manner. Don't take things too much at heart otherwise your nervous resistance might be harmed. Increased risks of hepatic or cardio-vascular troubles; refrain from rich dishes, pastry, and butter. Go and visit your parents. Unexpected gains seem possible provided that you don't kill the hen in the hope of getting golden eggs quickly; don't have your eyes bigger than your belly: greediness is rarely paying!
East-West Combined Zodiac
Aries Wood Horse
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