Sine Qua Non!

Clearly, I go to a lot of wine tastings. I admit that I am totally spoiled and do my best not to get jaded by all the great wines I get to taste, and try to keep my enthusiasm about trying new wines. Inevitably, tasting wine becomes somewhat routine. But not last night. Some friends and I have been talking about doing a Sine Qua Non dinner for sometime now. Last night, we did it. I'm going to make the broad, sweeping overgeneralization, that Sine Qua Non wines, to me, are without a doubt, consistently, THE best wines coming out of California right now. I've been on their waiting list for around 2 years now, and have never been able to get a single bottle directly. For my birthday in February though, one of my best friends sent me a bottle of the 2006 Sine Qua Non Hoo Doo Man, a blend of Rousanne Viognier and Chard. This was my contribution to the dinner, and our first wine while we sood outside and waited for our table inside. Man, oh man.
There are wines, to me, that can be debated, wines, that, one might want to reflect on, and almost lean into the glass to search for a better understanding of some of the components. There are other wines that hit you over the head with their power and fruit. And then, there are wines, like people, that come onto the scene without great fanfare, but shine with a pure power of being, and leave a lasting impression. This Hoo Doo Man was the last. The chardonnay was the element that showed the most to me, and usually, would be my least favorite of the three. Here, though, the beautiful balance and acidity, created such a perfect condition for the fruit to come through and linger, that the finish must've lasted for 45 seconds. The "presence" of this wine was, for me, revelatory. That alone, not even to mention the fruit characteristics, was enough to stun me. All this, just standing around outside, on Silverlake Blvd, while taking in the early LA evening.


Once our table was ready, we sat down and started on the business of getting our appetizers in order. We got some pan seared sea scallops, which I very carefully sliced down into thin strips to pair with the Hoo Doo man. You'd never believe how many strips you can get out of half of a scallop when the pairing is that perfect.
Next up, carpaccio di manzo (raw slices of filet mignon with asparagus and black truffle) to be paired with the 2001 Sine Qua Non No. 6 Pinot Noir (Grapes sourced from the Shea Vineyard in Oregon) The fruit in the no. 6 was just right. It was aromatically quite similar to the other pinots from Shea vineyard I've had before, like Brian Loring's, but it was the texture that Krankl nailed so perfectly with this vintage. His ability to draw out the native characteristics of fruit, and coax them to take an extra long stroll down the catwalk, spinning ever so gracefully before returning back behind the curtain.


The menus at Domenico, a yellow imitation alligator (I think) I'd need to have one of my more handbag savvy friends weigh in on it...


My Osso Buco (Veal Shank) with gold leaf on top. For the Secondi, after our zuppa, of course, we had the 2001 SQN Midnight Oil (Syrah). We had these popped as soon as we sat down, but even still, I think, The Midnight Oil could've benefitted from a little more time to open up and stretch. All said, it was fantastic. Depth of fruit, power, grace. Stunning finish. The greatest testament is that I had a perfectly cooked osso buco and didn't pine for a Brunello for a moment.


No room for dessert, but we did have to reach into the bag once more, to pull out a 375ml of the 2001 SQN Pagan Poetry Rose. Like all SQN's Manifred won't put the varietals on the label, but an educated guess would be Grenache and Syrah. The table leaned towards thinking Grenache, more praise for Krankl. Who makes an 01 Rose that holds up in 2009? Who? Krankl, that's who.

Downtown Wine Bars

A quick trip downtown with Mike and Alex to check out the new places, and get some ideas for Noir. Bottlerock to start, of course. Great list, and they'll pop anything as long as you'll buy two glasses. Then onto Corkbar, pictured above. Beautiful new space with an all California list.


Finally, onto Rivera, a really elegant spot, with beautiful leather chairs to lounge back in and enjoy their all Spanish list. Our waitress Nicole, brought out a flight of white wines to blind me on. (Had to show off for my bosses) I said, when she brought them over that one would probably be a Garnacha Blanc and one would be an Albarino. She said yes. The first one I guessed Hondurabi Zuri because of the crisp acidity and faint lime citrus notes. Got that one right, so the next two had to be the Garnacha Blanc and Albarino, right? Process of elimination. But the next one just smelled so much like a Chard, I couldn't figure it out. This doesn't make sense, I said to her, this is nothing like a Garnacha Blanc or an Albarino, it smells like a Chard. That's cause it is, she said, I was just messing with you. AHA! 2 out of three so far. Then I guessed Albarino for the third which was a Verdello. Kind of embarrassing, but 2 out of 3 ain't bad.

Pinewood derby

Need I explain?

Beautiful tastes of this and that...

Beausejour and 03 Pez yum, but the 03-05 vertical of Reserve de Comtesse de Lalande was eye opening.... Today, the 03 takes it. Tomorrow it'll be 05. Poor 04 is just an also ran...


Ken Brown is. Like a facebook update, all my man needs to say is: IS. Lovely, and the chard is awfully rockin too.


Here's Larry holding down the fort and teaching me about beer. Funny thing about beer, I love it but know next to nothing, and it's a nice reminder to be humble, because I can get a chance to feel like a wine newbee. Good perspective, and tasty beer.

Koji truck rejects...

So yet again, we tried for the Koji truck but the line was way too long, so instead, we checked in on another option. The tried and true Tommy's on Rampart. The original chili burger dans la ghetto....

Bad Ass Shiraz...

Thy name is Rolf Binder. And here he is...

Jack Dagger!

So I met Jack Dagger (Todd) and Tanya while waiting on a two hour line to get a bottle of wine. Maynard Keenan of Tool was in town and I got a bottle signed for Autumn. Anyhow, got the chance to hang out with Todd and Tanya, who are both incredibly cool and funny for two hours and hear the stories of their trade. Jack Dagger is one of, if not THE, World's foremost Knife Throwers- The King of Fling! Check this Link to see his site and some of his tools of the trade. One of his great stories was how he put himself out of commission for a spell not by throwing hatchets, but by catching hatchets, that's right, CATCHING HATCHETS! Caught it by the blade and it went right into his hand. Still caught it though. I've been hassling Todd (Or Jack) That's Mr. Dagger to you, to tell me about the next time he was doing a show. Well sure enough, I finally got to see one...

The General Lee

Way more important than any stupid wine tasting, the General Lee from the Dukes of Hazzard was in my neighborhood while they were shooting an episode of Weeds. I think there were a couple of stars around, but I told them to get the hell out of the picture.

Terminator

Went and saw the latest Terminator movie at ArcLight Hollywood. They really take their movies seriously here in LA, and the ArcLight is a really killer theatre. One of the fun things they do, is to get props from the movies and display them at the theatre. They had the Batman Bike for instance, when that came out, and they even had a full model of the Terminator a few days ago. Now, all they had was one of these small hydrobots (Sorry guys, kinda weak) but anyway.

I must be maturing

I saw this road sign where they were repaving here in LA. 15 years ago, that sign would have been off the street and hanging on my wall in no time flat. But now, I just don't really feel I need a Fresh Oil sign on my wall.

Metro Murder Mystery

So this all started because I noticed drops of blood on the station platform. Being naturally curious, I followed them. They led across the platform and all the way down to the end, to the...


Blood covered call box. Which led down to


The floor.
So, I've gotten some pretty harsh responses about this post. There're just a few things I'd like to point out:

A: I didn't beat anybody up, I don't know what happened, for all I know, some clown was screwing around on the escalator.
B: This is reality. This is simple truth. There was blood on the floor. Anybody, and most people, probably walked right past it and didn't even notice. But I did notice, and I followed it. Interesting to say the least.
C: Don't act like you don't watch Law and Order every chance you get, you liar.

Post script...
I was tempted to take this down. Partially due to pressure, partially because I felt it didn't serve much purpose, but now, I've decided, that's exactly the reason I'm going to keep it up...

My new project

Haven't been able to pull it off yet, but here's the idea: I'm gonna do a t-shirt version of the Notorious B.I.G. picture with a crown, except I'm going to do it with a silly white boy's face. If only I could find one...


Check this out, the Rap fairy showed up and granted my wish while I was asleep! My buddy Jay put this together...


Now we just need to do one for the fire hydrant...

Anthropomorphic Fire Hydrant

Sometimes, even the fire hydrants are sad. Now that I think of it, I should put the B.I.G. Crown on this. Might look kinda kool.

Gettin down in the subway

A series of (sort of) love letters I found stuffed in the couch at Psychobabble, the local coffee shop.

Los Feliz, Los Angeles May 2009

Brittany,

I’ve been working on that story for you, “A Delightful Sort of Chaos”, for months now; it was supposed to be your Christmas present, but now it’s May. It’s not that I don’t want to write a story for you, but just that I’m not very good at doing what I’m “supposed” to do. It’s why you get clear plastic jewelry in Chinese food cartons on a random Tuesday, and Christmas presents in May. I don’t exactly know why this is, but I have a real aversion to the way things are supposed to be. I think, somewhere in my heart, I’m afraid things won’t be true unless they’re spontaneous and different, but somewhere else I know that it’s a failing theory because it’s still dependent on “supposed to” and “spontaneous” and “different”. And I’m calling into question lots of the things I think, and why I think them, and you’re such a very large part of that. You make me really think, and question, and learn. That’s one of my favorite things about you, and I have lots of favorite things about you.

Anyway, anyway, anyway, you said that you wanted some of my writing, and as I’m writing this to you, I think we might be broken up, but I’m still writing it to you, because, broken up or not, I still love you, and I don’t think we have much control over this "us", whether we choose to be broken up, or together, or exclusive, or whatever other title or status we give ourselves. So I guess I’ll just recount what’s been going on because that’s probably the most interesting part, more interesting than something I’d make up anyhow.

We were dating. We’d met while tightrope walking. And we were together for a while. And you were still married. I didn’t know if I’d even stay in LA, and I went off and traveled for a bit. But I came back. And we spent a lot of time together, almost all of our time. But I didn’t want to be in a relationship, and Paige called me your boyfriend-not-boyfriend, and you didn’t quite like the dynamic. So then I said you could call me your boyfriend, but then I realized that meant different things to each of us, and I valued my freedom above all else, and I told you I didn’t like that, and that I needed to be able to do whatever I wanted, and you said I could do whatever I wanted, but I knew you didn’t really mean that, and so I swore to you I would hook up with another girl in the next week. But I never did.

So we were just friends for a few days, maybe a week or two, but that didn’t last. I kept falling on you, and kissing you, and taking all of your clothes off. But you started dating other guys, and I didn’t like it, but it seemed like it was only fair, and most of the time it seemed like you didn’t really like them anyway, and I wanted you to have your freedom, and I wanted you to like me best, and it felt like the only way for it to be true, was for it to be spontaneous and different. And that seemed to work for a bit, especially when you’d come see me after a date with somebody else who was lame and then you’d like me better. But then, that changed again. But really, I think, you changed.

You were fair and honest about it, you told me you weren’t ok with just seeing me, and you wanted more than that. But the thing was, you were the one who was seeing other guys. And I could never get over that. I was the one who made a big deal out of not being labeled, but I didn’t see anyone else, and you were the one who made a big deal out of wanting to be labeled but you were the one seeing other people. And we were on both sides of a line arguing opposite sides that still don’t totally make sense to me. Neither one of them. I walked up and down Vermont Ave talking to you on my cell phone and I wanted you to come over so we could talk face to face, but you wouldn’t do it. And I almost would’ve just said fine, we can be boyfriend and girlfriend but I was being stubborn and I didn’t want to say it only because I might lose you, and I just wanted you to choose me and for us to be what we were because that was what was the most important to me, not the title, and I wanted you to feel that way too, but how could I ask you to feel that way about something when you couldn’t know if it was real because I couldn’t even put a silly easy label on it?

You were different to me on the phone the next time I spoke to you, I could hear it in your voice. I can always tell that with you. Even if I don’t notice you have highlights in your hair, I can still hear something different in your voice. And I don’t know what it is, but I know something has changed and that you have something to tell me. And I ask you about it but you won’t say. And then you text me that you miss me, but I don’t believe you, even though I do, but something still seems off, and all I can manage back is that I wish you were with me, because I did. But I don’t hear back.

Then you accuse me of being bitter the next day when I ask you how your apple pie was, even though I really wanted to know, and yes I am bitter sometimes, but not about the apple pie. Even if I‘m bitter, I still want to know if you liked your apple pie or not. And of course I’m bitter anyhow because you want me to be bitter. Either you know and you do it on purpose, or you’re purposely hiding details about what you are doing; which is even worse, because you can’t have it both ways either. And if you’re hiding details about what you’re doing, while you’re doing it, than how can that not be a million times worse than me not wanting to have a label and wanting to be free? And that’s all I can think about, instead of just that I want to have you in my arms, which is all that I’m thinking anyway somewhere in there, but somewhere else it’s mad at you for dating while mad at me for saying dating should be ok which is why you’re dating which is why I’m mad.

It gets to me on a gut level. It just roots around in there and worries me and hurts. And you come over to visit me and I know you have something to tell me and I ask you about it point blank but you won’t tell me and you change the subject and I finally stop you and get a hug out of you which makes me feel better even though I’m sad because you say we can’t be together anymore and I know why but you won’t even fess up or say what you have to say, so after walking around for a while, we go to House of Pies, and you get the pot roast and I get a turkey BLT, which I just remembered is still in the fridge, so I’m going to go downstairs now to get it because I’m hungry.

The fries were soggy, but the sandwich was good. And now I think of you in the diner. We were sitting there in a booth, you've got your leg under you, and you’re making that funny, squinty, I’m mad at you-but I love you face, and things are going pretty good so I’m rethinking the whole sucking it up and just being boyfriend and girlfriend cause what’s the fucking big deal in the first place other than me just being a weirdo anyhow? And I buy you a pecan cookie which you begrudgingly finally share a very tiny piece with me. Even after I give you the sweatshirt that I brought out for you but you said you didn’t want and I tied it around my waist on the way out of the house even though I had a coat because I knew you’d want it (the sweatshirt) later.

When we get back to the house, I put on some Bob Marley because I had started listening to it earlier in the day and I really like that one acoustic Medley, and I give you the plastic light up ring I found, and I put it on your finger and tell you I want you to be my girlfriend but you try to run away and hide, but I hug you, and then I sing along to the song because I like it, but it’s right at the point where it’s all about “come back here to me…” and it’s really corny and I‘m not singing well because I’m thinking, fuck, now it sounds like I planned this, but I’m afraid to stop singing because then it’d be worse, but it probably couldn’t have been any worse and you put the ring on the dresser and lie down and practically start fake snoring.

And I can’t sleep at all and I feel like I did everything at the wrong time, but I also kinda feel like I had to do just what I did, and I don’t let myself feel bad about it, and I can’t change a thing. And so I spent the next day feeling generally unsettled and not knowing what’s what, but it’s going to be what it’s going to be, and if you’ve decided you like this other boy better, then that’s just how it’ll have to be.

And so on it goes into the next day, looking at my phone wistfully just to confirm that, no, you still haven’t called me and this “thing” is just out there, sitting in that metaphysical space between us, and maybe I’m being stubborn, but I can’t call you, it HAS to be you that makes your decision here because I’m more and more positive as time passes that it’s this other guy that’s the issue and who the hell am I to fuck that up for you if he’s so special?

So I guess I'll just have to sit here and wait, because I can't say or do anything if you won't be open with me. All I've ever wanted from you is the truth, and I've done my best, right or wrong, easy or hard, to always be truthful with you.

Love,
Fred

Dear Fred,

I remember that day, the day we walked for what seemed like hours. We were silent in the night walking up hill passing houses we once talked about living in one day. I felt angry and sad and hurt and lost and chaotic. You were patient with my silence.

Earlier, you had told me in a sense that we were getting too serious and you needed your freedom. You wanted to see other women if you wanted to, and why not? You are young and in LA. I wanted to give you what you needed, but the heat inside my heart rose and filled my body with anger and created armor that would later lead to this moment, this moment, here right now, where I write to you with tears. And even though you have come back and wanted me, I cannot break the armor that so protectively guards my heart from the furious fire that once made me feel like the floor was dropping from underneath me. My innocent love for you tainted.

You wanted to date other women, so in response I started to date other men. Each one took me further away from you, and I was happy because it made my armor stronger. We still saw each other as friends, and it was awkward, because I still loved you, but I was angry, and then you were cute and fun and you took care of me when I was sick even though I was mean and bitchy. Toast and jam and tea!

We became intimate again. I thought if I continued to see other men then I would prevent us from having that talk, that dreaded "I need my freedom" talk. Even still, my armor started to wear down and my heart began to trust you again, so I wanted to give us another chance and I called you. I was staring at the clouds when I asked you to be clear with me, "We either move forward into a relationship or we break it off." I was done being in limbo. You cleverly worked around my words and never answered straightforwardly, so my heart quit, and I was done. I was done.

I saw you again, one more time. I saw you and talked to you and ate with you. We talked of silly things and serious things. I told you I was done and you heard it in my tone. We still laughed together. You even bought me a Pecan cookie, and even though I didn't want to share, I gave you a taste. Then, you surprised me with a ring, a ring that lit up, bright red. I loved it! I laughed and teased, "You want to propose to me". You said no, but asked me to be your girlfriend, and I sank but the armor was already up and I could not go back. The armor was up, and heavy and I ran under the covers to hide away.

I spoke to you on the phone days later. The last thing you said to me was, "I'll see you around." It felt like a permanent goodbye. It was sad. I know I must move on, so that I may truly heal. My experience with you has been full of life and learning and wonder. The richness I shared with you, I will always cherish, and I will always love you.

Love,

Brittany

Hey Brittany,

Thanks for your letter, it was good to know there was a response hidden in that silly, stupid couch. That old couch that gets in our way all the time. :)

But it's been good I think, good for me to look, and feel, and see everything in a different light; a light that doesn't always show what I'd like to see. In all truth, I haven't been feeling my best lately, and even the fire hydrants seem a bit sad, but on the upside, it reminds me that people are important, and that even hard times are good. I've spent a lot of time lately, not feeling so hot, (but mostly okay, I don't want you to worry) and thinking over things. Mostly I'm going about my daily adventures, but I wanted to tell you about a time I spent hanging around, and what happened. I was just spending some time, laying on a couch, looking out a window at a friend's house, at a pretty tree, and I thought of you. To be more precise, I was thinking of how the loss of you made me feel, and how it was a direct feeling in my core. And funny enough, I even wanted to share that feeling with you- how I felt about losing you. Isn't that kind of weird? But beautiful. Beautiful, I think, because not only could I find a positive in it, but that, I even wanted to share that pain, and joy, I felt, with you. And I can only imagine, that wanting to share, even that, with you, is because you're a really special person who is so important to me. Someone I've grown with, and hurt with, and loved with.

What I was thinking of, when I looked at that tree, was that, the hurt that I now feel, is kind of a gift, a gift that I'm glad I have. I'm thankful that I'm the one hurting now, because I know that I hurt you before, and it would be really terrible, to me, to hurt you again. And I was thankful, while feeling that hurt, that if we had to break up, that I could be the one hurting. I just mean that, I understand that, hurt comes with love, and that it made so much sense to me, that, if somebody had to hurt, I just wanted it to be me this time, instead of you again, and once I really felt that, it wasn't really hurt anymore, it was just a missing of the wonderful times that we had. I wish you happiness in everything you do, and I know you won't need my wishes, because you make that happiness happen yourself. I'm so glad I've known you and hope we'll always be friends.

Fred

My buddy who, curiously, can't be seen by anybody else.

My man here, he just takes bad ass urban cowboy to a whole new level. He's my new best friend. He appears out of nowhere, and nobody else can see him, but he fills my head with such great ideas. What's that? I should go tell that honky cop to go fuck his fat wife? Well, OK, if you think it's a good idea. And then, in a flash, he's gone again.

Opening at Bottlerock Downtown

Gavin came with me down to the private opening of Bottlerock Downtown, a new wine bar down near the Staples center. They have a Culver City location I've definitely enjoyed in the past. It's a really cool looking spot and I think they're going to just kill it down there. Between George and Randi and the list they've compiled, it's going to be a very serious destination.


Onto the food... For our charcuterie platter, we did a pig ear terrine (pictured), a confit pork, and a fois gras. For the cheese platter, an epoisse, a bandaged cheddar, and a spanish blue.


Here's Gavin, first to try the Pig Ear Terrine. Actually it was pretty good. The hard part to get over though, was the texture. Even though it was in a gelatin, it was still pretty clear that you're munching on a pig's ear.

PC bullshit and it's effects on my brain

So I looked in the window of the longtime t-shirt shop of Los Feliz and saw this...


It may take a moment to explain how I feel about this. In the world of expression, I feel everybody has the right to wear whatever they like and express whatever they like, so although I don't find this t-shirt particularly witty, funny, or appropriate, (considering the over 100,000 people (more than either Nagasaki or Hiroshima) that were killed in the fire bombing of Dresden, a beautiful city of civilians that had no use as a military target), if somebody wants to rock that shirt, go ahead, I think it just makes them look like a moron. But what really gets me, is that there is a very serious double standard taking place here. There is absolutely no way that shirt would be in the window if it said, "Hiroshima, get bombed" There is a very serious difference. And what is that difference? Why is the slaughter of 100,000 Germans a funny t-shirt, but we all know damn well, they'd never dream of such a shirt involving a group other than "the white man".
So there's more to all of this, because really, I don't want to see a t-shirt, advocating the death of anyone, because even I, of notoriously bad taste and crude humor, see the problem with that. And I don't want to see the Dresden shirt pulled from the window, because I believe in freedom of expression, in fact, I'm glad it's there for discussion purposes, but it just makes me think.
And it reminds me of a shirt I saw at a local diner, Fred 62. They really enjoy pithy sayings on the back of their shirts, and all sorts of bandwagon Obama stuff too. Bleh. Anyway, the back of one of their shirts said, "We serve crackers." This is meant to be funny, but it's definitely a racial slur, In fact, in Florida, the word cracker when used as a racial epithet is a violation under the Florida Hate Crimes Act. (Hendrickson, 52). Now don't get me wrong, just like the Dresden T-Shirt, it's not the shirt itself that bothers me, but the absence of the other varieties. In the age of "the n-word", are we serious?, it's just peachy to put "Cracker" on a t-shirt?
Maybe, in a way, I'm glad this kinda thing is done, because really, I'm not bent by either t-shirt, and maybe it's a way to begin to take ourselves a little less seriously, or perhaps focus on the real hatred and killing on this planet, and not get all hot and bothered by t-shirts.

Interesting Post Script:
My curiousity got the best of me, and I just couldn't contain it. I went into the store and spoke to the guy behind the counter. we casually talked about a few of the shirts and other things in the store, and then I mentioned to him that I had seen the Dresden shirt in the window, and was curious about it. I mentioned to him that I totally believe in free speech and that I feel it's important for us to challenge other people's beliefs and our own, and that if we don't we can just fall into a lull of false comfort. Etc. Etc. Etc. But that, and I didn't mean to overplay the issue, but did he think they'd consider putting a Nagasaki, get bombed T-Shirt, and since they probably wouldn't, why was it therefore ok to have the Dresden, Get Bombed T-shirt. He thought that was a good point, but gave me info I didn't have, they had a silk screen in the back of the shop, and the owner made most of these shirts himself. Dresden, was a reference to the Dresden restaurant and bar next store, see here. In fact, the bombs coming out of the plane, were little Martini Olives. So, while it may have been culturally insensitive to the people killed in the bombing, it was meant to be a play on the Bar next store.

Michel Tardieu on Terroir

Wilson Daniels Porfolio tasting at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Wow. We started off with some 97 Salon, moved into a line up of Domaine Leflaive white burgs, Domaine Faiveley blanc et rouge, Tardieu-Laurent 2007 Rhones and CDP, Cerretto 04 and 05 Barolo and Barbarescos... Really wonderful. I spent the most time at the Tardieu-Laurent table with the very friendly Monsieur Michel Tardieu.


The Tardieu-Laurent line up.. including 3 whites: Cotes du Rhone "Guy Louis Blanc", Saint-Perey "Vielles Vignes", and the Chateauneuf du Pape Blanc "Vielles Vignes", and their reds: Cotes du Rhone, Rasteau, an amazing 07 Gigondas, Vacqueryas, and their three Chateauneuf du Papes.


Here, Monsieur offers his feelings on explaining the concept of "terroir" to Americans. Just kidding, he was very nice about it and attempted to offer an explanation in his limited English, but then launched into French.

Here's an English translation, "The varietal must never be considered the most important factor, but rather, that it is just a medium to interpret the soil, and convert it into wine."

Shusso Hossen at Yokoji Zen Mountain Center

This is the Buddha Hall at Yokoji, a Zen Monastery I did a six month residency at back in '03. Up in the foreground in the gold Kesa are two Sensei, Seisen and Taido. I went up to visit because some of the people I knew from my residence up there were going to be back for a seshin (extended meditation) and a ceremony called Shusso Hossen. It's when the Shusso, or head monk, gives a brief talk about a Koan, or Zen riddle, and has a brief ceremony. Part of this ceremony involves Dharma Combat, where some students will sign up ahead of time, and then question the Shusso's understanding of the particular Koan. I was persuaded to sign up on that list.


Here's Kevin, during the ceremony, right after his talk, just before he calls out the Sangha for Dharma Combat. (It sounds so deadly!) So, there I am, sitting by the ryoban with the monks, knowing I'm second up to ask a question, and challenge Kevin's understanding of the Koan, and he's just completely and absolutely put me on my ass with his talk.
The thing is, I'd only met Kevin briefly, years before. I knew very little about his life or circumstances, the only thing I knew, was the Koan, which was posted before the Shusso Hossen which was "Daizui's Kalpa Fire", which is as follows:

A monk asked Daizui,
"When the great kalpa fire bursts out, the whole universe [2] will be
destroyed. I wonder if IT will also be destroyed or not."
Daizui said,
"Destroyed."
The monk said,
"If so, will IT be gone with the other [3]?"
Daizui said,
"Gone with the other."

A monk asked Ryusai,
"When the great kalpa fire bursts out, the whole universe will be
destroyed. I wonder if IT will also be destroyed or not."
Ryusai said,
"Not destroyed."
The monk said,
"Why is it not destroyed?"
Ryusai said,
"Because it is the same as the whole universe."

[1]: see case 29 of Hekiganroku: The Shoyoroku case has an additional part
with Ryusai.
[2]: Literally: "a billion worlds."
[3]: The word "the other" means "the universe."

Some very flowery Zen type stuff, certainly. And it's a bit tough to know just what these Zen guys are talking about. To be honest, after damn near ten years sitting with these guys, I still don't quite get it. But anyway, if there's one thing I think I do get, it's that it's not about the prose, it's about US, the people trying to get it.
Anyhow, here's the kicker- Kevin, the monk who chose to expound on this poem, or koan, dropped a surprise on us (who didn't yet know). No nice way to say it, he's gotten his notice of death. He has terminal cancer.
Kevin is going to die soon.
And Kevin chose to confront it. And share.
If I sound glib, then stop thinking I sound glib. Or don't.
Kevin is going to die. And so will you. And so will I.
He gave, what I think, is the best talk at a Shusso Hossen I have yet heard. If you're ready to hear his talk, you can find it here:
here
and then,
here

And so, I was slated to test Kevin's understanding, to challenge him in Dharma Combat, to shout at him, and find out if he knew what he was talking about.
Me.
Questioning him.
And how exactly do you question a man who is slated to die? A man who is sitting on the edge of death. And me, and others, questioning HIM, about life and death.
But you still, as Kevin said, need to put one foot in front of the other.
So when it was my turn, I took it. I said:
Attention, Shusso. We've heard your talk. And thank you for sharing with us. You have many people (and he did, the Zendo was crammed full with near 75 people, the most I'd ever seen in there) and many Sangha members. All of us have made the way up this long dusty road to be here. And to hear you. And to share with you. And we've heard about the exhausatable and inexhaustable Universe. But tell us, Shusso, what will we do with with the rest of this beautiful Sunday?
And Kevin said,
"Well, I've cooked a lot of food, and I hope that you will all come with me, and eat, and enjoy this one beautiful day that will never come again."
And I'm humbled, and happy, and filled with wonderful food, from a day that will never come again.

My Latest Acquisition

It has been awhile since I've acquired any pieces for my collection, but this is the last piece I got. True, it only cost me a can of beer, but still, I think it qualifies. A Los Feliz guy was going around locally doing a three part spray paint stencil of Ali. I came across him, mid-bomb, and traded a beer for one of his works. The only immediately handy canvas was a cinderblock, so that's what we worked with. I like it.

Miss Mindy's Show at La Luz de Jesus Gallery on Hollywood

Miss Mindy's stuff is lots of fun. Yet another example of damn, I wish I had a bunch of extra dough sitting around. Cause you know, really, I would totally buy this stuff. She does the great cut outs, painted on wood, and then has a small book that illustrates them so you can actually cut them out like paper dolls and put on the other garments. How cool.


Here's the book, available online for $24.95, get 'em while they're hot! Maybe Miss Mindy'll even sign one for you.


And like any great opening should, Miss Mindy had scantily clad girls wearing sandwich board cut outs and butterfly wings. Genius.

One of my favorite wine stories.

When at a party, and the typical "So what do you do?" question is raised, I usually have a couple of different answers. Sometimes I'll say I drink a lot of wine, sometimes I'll say I'm a sommelier, wine consultant, or that I'm putting together a wine bar. Most of them are true... The most frequently asked question I get, is, "Are expensive wines really worth all that money?". My answer is usually, well that depends....
There are many factors, for me, that go into choosing a wine, such as, "What are we in the mood for?", and, "what are we having it with?", and, of course, most importantly, "who's paying?".
I used to sell extremely expensive wines to very wealthy people all over the world. These people would sometimes drop $10k- $20k on a single transaction with me, and then, turn around and do it again the next day. Of course, when you're a billionaire, $10k is like ten bucks to normal people like me. So, to these people, price, truely, is not an issue. To me, however, price is an issue. Along those lines, I would almost never spend even $100 on a bottle of wine, if all I'm planning on doing is drinking it. But that being said, I jump at the chances to try rare wines, and have absolutely loved some of the amazing bottles I have the unique opportunities to try.
One of these opportunities happened to me a few years ago when I was moonlighting as a sommelier at a restaurant in East Hampton. A couple came into the restaurant with a canvas bag, sat at a small table and casually perused the menu. I came over with the wine list, asked them if they were planning on having wine with dinner, and could I be any help in selecting a bottle. The gentleman responded no thanks, that they'd brought a bottle and would I mind opening it. Of course, I told them, I'd have no problem opening it, and looking down realized they'd brought a 1985 Domaine Romanee-Conti La Tache. I think my exact words were, "Holy Shit." This wine would probably be about $5,000 on any wine list amazing enough to offer it.To put it in perspective, our most expensive bottle on the list at the time was a Mouton Rothschild at about $500.
So I opened the bottle, carefully decanted it, and returning it to the table, poured them two glasses. The gentleman asked me if I'd ever had a La Tache, and would I care to try some. Would I? You bet your ass I would! But what I think I stammered out was, "yes please". When I returned with a glass, he poured me, not just a taste, but a full glass. Unbelievably generous and wonderful of this guy, and here comes my favorite part of the story; after the gentleman and I banter about the wine for a while, his wife shakes her head, says, "I don't get it.", pours the rest of her wine into her husband's glass, and asks if we have any chardonnay by the glass...

What's interesting is the response I get from most people when I tell this story. Almost every time, people will say, boy, I can't believe that woman, or, how uninformed was that lady...
But me, I have the absolute opposite reaction,
I think that lady performed, in one swift movement, the coolest, classiest, wine maneuver I've ever seen: she knows damn well how much that wine costs, she knows it's over a thousand dollars a glass, but she doesn't care, she wants a glass of house chardonnay, and at $7 a glass it brings her more pleasure that the '85 La Tache at over a thousand. I'd love to meet that woman again and tell her how cool I think she is, because the most important wine in the world, is the one that's in your glass, period.

Grand Cru Burgundy vs. Malt Liquor

I've caught a lot of heat from some of you for my inclusion of Old English 800 in the last post, and rather than explain away my reasons for posting the accolades for a beer (malt liquor) some of you may think is beneath you, I've decided instead to push it even further, and set up a blind tasting. There has been a lot of chatter lately about ethics over at Robert Parker's Wine Advocate, in a furious serious of posts shaking the very grounds of the wine community. The concerns namely, are that wine and wine criticism have become huge business lately, to the tune of Billions of dollars annually in the US alone, and in light of this, what keeps these "critics" honest? This, of course, begs the fundamental questions of wine criticism's effectiveness, it's methods, and it's possibilities of objective truth. It's in this spirit that I decided to do a blind tasting with real people, my neighbors Jay and Dick. Here's Dick:


So, they were cooking burgers and watching the Ducks game with my roomate Justin when I came over, and nobody seemed too excited about my great experiment. This is actually a perfect control group for employing the Scientific Method (see image below)


This is all especially interesting to me for a few reasons: 1. I haven't had Old English in at least 15 years, and I'm curious to see what it tastes like to me now (I remember gagging that stuff down many years ago in Brooklyn at house parties) 2. I want to see what these guys with somewhat experienced to limited wine backgrounds will think of the Burgundy, and 3. Because one of the most commonly asked questions about wine that I get as a sommelier and wine consultant is: "Is expensive wine really worth it?", I'd like to put that to the test.
I'm lucky enough to taste some very expensive wines on a regular basis. As I'm putting together the wine list for a new restaurant/ wine bar here in LA, and go to as many portfolio tastings as possible, in addition to as many as 15-20 tasting appointments a week, I'd estimate I try somewhere in the neighborhood of 150 wines a week, and in some weeks where I have multiple portfolio tastings, taste even more than that. Not all of these wines are expensive, and in my experience, price definitely does not indicate quality. I've had some very beautiful inexpensive wines, and vice-versa. One of my favorite wine stories involves an experience I had as a sommelier out in the Hamptons a few years ago. See here.
But so anyway, to the point, the point! I blind tasted these three guys on the O.E. and the Clos de Beze and asked them, what they thought, which was better with their food and the hockey game, and once they tasted them, I told them the prices, and asked if they were worth the money. Results:

Old English 800-
Jay reported a giant nose of corn chowder (not surprising since most of the fermented grain in inexpensive domestic beers and cheap whiskies is corn) Dick remarked that he thought, while not good, it was definitely not as bad as he remembered. Justin failed to comment, but casually returned to the table with the remainder of the forty and a glass after the tasting had concluded, to finish with the rest of the hockey game. As for me, the corn on the nose had a cheap chardonnay quality to it, and it almost certainly had residual sugar in it, which, while somewhat off-putting, wasn't entirely cloying, and overall, it was better than I either expected or remembered, but I will probably not be reaching for some in my local beer purveyor's refrigerator anytime soon.

2007 Faiveley Chambertin Clos de Beze Grand Cru-
Jay liked it, and found it delicate, but on the downside, felt it was a little too light and lacked the depth her prefers in Cabernet Sauvignon. Dick didn't like it, felt it was light, boring, and tasted like "warm spit". Justin liked it, found it balanced, perfectly nice, but that it didn't stand out in any particular direction, good or bad. I liked it, but more importantly, for our purposes, I wanted to like it: I knew what it was, and unfortunately that subconciously played into my review of it. All that being said, my review was that, it was possibly a bit on the light side for a Grand Cru, but the aromatics had improved significantly in the few hours it was open since the tasting. It was extremely well balanced, with very nice cherry and lightly earthy overtones. It was of course, a baby, but a very pretty wine.
Oh, and just for the hell of it, Here's what Tanzer thought..
2007 Domaine Faiveley Chambertin Clos de Beze
Saturated dark red. Knockout nose combines liqueur-like raspberry, coffee, smoke, licorice and brown spices. Tightly coiled and powerful, conveying an impression of energy but at the same time sweeter and more harmonious than the Mazis. Perhaps best today on the extremely long, palate-staining finish, which features an almost electric impression of precision and complex suggestions of minerals, coffee and spices. Hervet describes 2007 as a vintage that offers great transparency of terroir, and this wine could serve as Exhibit A.

Are they worth the money?-
Old English 800 (40 oz.) Roughly about $2.50, although honestly I don't quite remember.
2007 Faivevley Chambertin Clos de Beze (750ml.) between $150-$300 retail
Jay was OK with the O.E. but would much rather have just about any other beer. As for the Clos de Beze, he felt if he was in the market for expensive burgs, he'd certainly consider it, but at this particular moment in time, he wouldn't be dropping over $150 on any bottles of wine. Dick was also ok with the O.E. and preferred it to the Clos de Beze. He mused, "Anybody who'd spend that kind of money on THAT is a fucking moron." Justin kept his thoughts to himself about the O.E. although the empty 40 spoke for itself. As for the Clos de Beze, he liked it, but felt the price was unjustified. "I simply wouldn't spend that kind of money on a wine unless I thought it was truely amazing, and THAT, to me, is simply not amazing." Personally, I'm glad I tasted the O.E., if only to chalk it up to experience, and because now I know I don't need to try it again anytime soon. If I were in the market for a 40 oz. of beer, I'd go elsewhere. As for the Clos de Beze, I seemed to be the only one to really like it. As I said, I was prejudiced because I knew what it was, but I enjoyed the development of the aromatics, and I felt it was very well crafted and delicious. I would definitely enjoy it again and recommend it as an OPP (Other Person Paying) wine, but while I liked it and would give it an 91 out of 100, I would not necessarily recommend this particular bottle at roughly $150-$300/ btl to any of my friends or clients.

Cinco de Drinko at Ye Olde Rustic Inn

These lovely ladies, The Schmeckle Sisters, have nothing to do with this post, but I did come across their lovely visage while searching for pictures of Ye Olde Rustic Inn, "the scene of the crime", as it were. Somehow, the combination of Ye Olde Rustic Inn, the festive Cinco de Mayo mood, and my cultural sensitivities, have tempted me to attempt this in some sort of makeshift, half-assed, Olde English, although truely, it probably ain't gonna happen seeing as the the closest I've ever come to Olde English, is a 40 of this...



which, by the way, lest you scoff, has garnered many a prestigious award over the years, to wit, it was awarded a Silver medal in the American Malt Liquor category at the Great American Beer Festival, and has taken home the Gold medal in the American Malt Liquor category in 1992, 1994, and 1995 and in the American Style Specialty Lager category in 1997. Finally, Olde English High Gravity 800 won the Bronze medal in the American Style Specialty Lager category in 2006. So there, you scoffer, you.

This post however, is not about weighing the merits of Olde English (of which, admittedly, there are few), at least not specifically. If anything, it would probably be most closely related to cheap tequilla, or whatever other concoctions inspired some young ladies the other night at Los Feliz's own Ye Olde Rustic Inn to get up on stage and Karaoke their hearts out for the gringo co-option of Cinco de Mayo. As for me, the siren call of "El Cinco" was more akin to a nagging whisper than a demand. I walked on down to the Rustic for a simple Bud Draught, although, I'm pretty sure, when it comes to Budwiser, the proper nomenclature is draft. Sometimes, simple is just fine with me, besides, I've said it a million times, and I'll say it again,
"Cheap wine sucks, but cheap beer is just cheap beer." -El Me-


By the by, if you're in the mood for Ye Olde Bud Draught, my diligent research has uncovered, that this 24k gold rimmed stein, is the proper vessle, setting you back a mere 150 Bucks, however, not being one to mess with perfection, I stuck with a regular old pint glass. Yet I digress-
So, back to the matter at hand, I was down at Ye Olde Rustic, enjoying my beer, when I was aurally assaulted, by what can only be loosely described as a cacophany of crap (great name for a band,
huh?) These two girls, actually quite spectacularly (because it's somewhat difficult to simultaniously screw up tone, meter, beat, and key), completely butchered, what is by all definition, the most famously fucked-up song of all time, She Bangs as performed by none other than William Hung (pictured below).


It would've been, if it wasn't so irritating, an almost John Cage-like meditation on dissonance, except with a New Jersey accent. I really would have rather listened to William Hung sing it. In fact, when the waitresses walked around, rattling, and offering out plastic Maracas courtesy of Tecate beer, I grabbed one with the express intention of stabbing myself in the ear and puncturing my ear drum with the handle end. Although, as a side note, I must say, cheap as they were, those Maracas did have a rather infectious rhythm, lets give credit where credit is due. But that's neither here nor there. If anything, they were most valuable as a weapon (Oooh, foreshadowing!)
I'm pretty sure I'm not the first one to consider using maracas as deadly weapons, however I googled it just to make sure, and it would appear, I just might be the first one to put it on the net. Boo-Yah! Hoo-ray for me! Try googling it. "Maracas as Deadly Weapons" but you've gotta use the quotes. Dare to dream, kids.


While we're on the topic of Maracas, apparently hot on the trail of Nintendo's Guitar Hero and Rock Band phenomena, they will soon be releasing Mariachi Band Hero. Can't wait!
Anyhow, now properly armed with maracas, I relaxed into a (relatively) nice enough coma, as the girls left the stage, and the next person up navigated a so-so version of Elton John's Tiny Dancer. Nota bene, not to be confused with Tony "Tiny" Danza.


This is the part where it all becomes somewhat metaphysical. (Yup, that's right, after the mention of Tony Danza, then comes the enlightenment).
I'm sure we've all been in touch with the "Higher forces" that create the "Law of Attraction" from The Secret. Well, unfortunately I must've somehow managed to tap into the wrong energy vortex because, as the girls approached me, and I turned away into my tensed up, almost fetal, dear-god, please-stay-the-fuck-away-from-me pose, this was somehow misconstrued to be a, "Hey ladies, why dontcha-saddle-on-up-next-to-me pose."
Well friends, saddle on up next to me, they did, and it wasn't long before I was dragged into their conversation. Now, I'm a pretty friendly guy, and there are relatively few people I don't want to talk to at a bar, as most people can be even remotely entertaining for a few minutes at a stretch. The only two barriers for me, are Annoying and/or Abusive. Other than that, I've got a generally open door policy towards bar conversation. This attitude has led to some particularly interesting situations in the past, and in fact, I've been inappropriately squeezed and fondled at Ye Olde Rustic before, see here. (No wonder it's my favorite place!) That time, it was an overweight off-duty security guard in her 40's, who was rather, shall we say, forward with her approach, and hands. And as a further side note, although her approach was all wrong, and went nowhere, I can't help but give her an A for effort, and chalk it up to a much needed look at role reversal for today's boys and girls.
Anyhoo, back to these ladies at the bar, one of the girls, let's just call her "Suzy", was, god bless her, not much in the looks department. I suppose in that old "doors not being closed without windows being opened" kind of way, what she lacked in beauty was more than made up for in crazy.


Now don't get me wrong, crazy can be wildly entertaining and fun, I loves me some crazy. But sometimes, the wrong kind of instability plus drugs and alcohol equals bat shit insane. This is when the bar becomes insanity wood, and the only defense against one under it's spell is a smack upside the noggin with a plastic maraca.
And I'm not advocating violence here, there's a very fine line between a bonk with a plastic maraca, and actual bonafide assault, so if you must, approach that line with extreme caution.


The sweet siren sound of the booze talking. I can hear the ocean of crazy from here.