Tuesday, March 11, 2008

My Love Affair with Wine

My mother had a Mexican mum and a Hungarian dad. She had no hangups about alcohol as far as "don't ever drink it!" or "nothing until you are 21!" In her home, everybody was served wine on special occasions--just the portion size changed as the child grew into an adult. Although my dad was not raised that way, he quickly adapted to my mother's concept of how to introduce alcohol in the house, and therefore even when I was quite little, I was allowed a small thimbleful of whatever they had to try.

Meanwhile, my dad was being turned on to wine by a good friend of his. This started in the 70s, and his friend was really into French wine. Of course, by this time the famous Judgement of Paris had already happened and now folks were taking California wines quite seriously, but that didn't stop my dad's friend from still focusing on France as his preferred country of origin for his wine. At first, dad didn't get the wine thing; my mom did, of course, but not my Kentucky dad whose experience with drinking included beer and whatever the neighbor made. One day he was given something I would never go out and buy to drink: Lancers rose (a Portuguese medium sweet wine with some fizz, actually). He liked it, and he proceeded from there to dive into the French wines his friend loved. And that's what he served us.

How many kids can say they were raised on Hermitage? That was the first appellation to entice my dad badly enough to buy cases. At that point in our family history, my dad was a practicing orthodontist, so purchasing cases of an expensive wine was not unacceptable. I guess that's why my favorite region to this day, though, is the Rhone. I love Cote Rotie, Chat. du Pape, Gigondas...all the Rhones I've tried, really. Because my dad loved red over white, no matter what the trends, that's what I was trained to love too. I love sparkling wines, whites, and dry roses...but my first choice is always a good, balanced red of some sort (except pinotage--I hate all pinotage I've ever tried).

While all my friends were getting ripped left and right in college, I didn't do so very often. Alcohol was never a forbidden fruit for me, so it just didn't tempt. And then after college, well, I married a man with some issues with alcohol, so I pretty much rarely drank after that point. I had to be sober to drive the car for us or to make responsible decisions with the kids or whatnot. For years, it was only a special occasion when I whipped out a bottle of wine.

And then I moved out. No longer needing to be the responsible adult at all times helped. When my ex took the kids, I could kick back and have a few glasses of whatever I enjoyed, and there was no consequences.

Then something odd happened almost three years ago: I fell back in love with wine, totally and head over heals. I am not sure if being in love with a Frenchman did it or what--I absolutely know ten times as much wine as he does and like it more, so maybe it's just me! But there I was, savoring and sipping wine like I hadn't done since I was a teen and sitting around the table, a nice Hermitage popped open for Christmas or a birthday. Suddenly, it mattered more to me than it ever did. I began reading frantically, watching programs, talking to wine geeks, and becoming more and more enraptured with all things vine related. I love to match a wine with a meal, making the dish more than it was without the wine (braised beef short ribs and pinot noir? Awesome!). I love to hunt out bargains to savor, whether white/red/rose/sparkling (Hugues Beaulieu Picpoul de Pinet Cotes de Languedoc Blanc--best white wine bargain under $10 in my opinion). Even better, I like to take friends of mine who claim to not like wine at all and help them find something to their taste (just ask my friend Amy! she's now a regular wine drinker thanks to my intrusiveness...haha!). It's all fun.

Having a glass or two of wine with dinner most nights is, indeed, responsible for some of the weight gain I've done over the last three years. But you know what? It's been worth it! I think my devout appreciation for wine is now firmly entrenched in my mind. And one day--you just watch!--I'll have a small wine cellar of my own. But first, I'll have to win the lottery....

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Comfort Food, Peasant Food



What is your comfort food? What is the item that you crave when you are sick, lonely, depressed, or otherwise in need of solace? We know that the critic from Ratatouille relished the upscale version of ratatouille he received even though he was largely used to eating mango salsa lobster tempura with black truffle oil triple cream bleu and mint in a balsamic reduction over eel and squid ice cream. That is, he had all of the restaurants in the area eager to please him by trying to feed him whatever the most intricate and creative dish was that they could make. Yet, what really impressed him was an item largely considered a peasant dish.



I think that's what we all want when we seek comfort: simple dishes that may be regional or family favorites, meals that were served with regularity, for celebration, or for illness. What southerner doesn't appreciate and crave chicken and dumplings from time to time, or fried chicken? They are not complex nor hard to assemble recipes, but after being raised with them on the table here and there, they become more than their ingredients. Those of us who were raised in areas with a Cubano influence might crave chicken and yellow rice. Maybe the Brits think of bangers and mash.

For me, specific dishes my mom made with regularity definitely give a sense of peace that more intriguing and intricate foods would not. For instance, my mom's dad was Hungarian--as in, straight from Hungary. My mom picked up from her household how to make Hungarian goulash, and so she made it for us several times during the cooler months. It was a rich stew, replete with meat, potatoes, onion, butter, salt, paprika...no really, other than some water too, you're done with the ingredients. There is nothing subtle nor filled with nuances in that pot when you are done. However, with a bit of a swirl of sour cream straight into the mixture as you serve it, the damned thing becomes magical...soothing...delicious in a way that some upscale dish can't achieve.

Sometimes this level of comfort food is even too complex for the really miserable days when you just don't want to crawl out from underneath the comforter in your warm bed. For me, the ultimate rock a bye baby when I feel under the weather is a nice bowl of creamy mashed potatoes (with real, homemade gravy if you have it...with cheddar cheese if you don't!). It doesn't get more simple than that.

Nothing out there says it can only be a great meal if it has many ingredients--some of them expensive--and takes hours to cook. Sometimes, the most basic of dishes can be exactly what is needed. And that's why you'll always find potatoes at my house, Atkins or no Atkins.