Second Gen (2003-2016, 2016- )
Onions are no so much a vegetable as a necessity. At the old farmstead, I planted 2000 onion sets a year. This year, a quarter of that on about ten square feet of where the front lawn was removed last Easter.
They may last until Christmas. Unless I make a whopping pile of onion jam or something nutty like that. The smell of harvesting them with your bare hands is exotic. If onions, something we ate 1,000 years ago, were not common they would be a spice. Next year, more.
Another day with nothing to do. Another summer run into nearby Prince Edward County, Ontario, to hit a few wineries and pad what we like to call the Christmas stash. See, I like good beer just fine and all but when you have big gatherings around roasts and twenty types of root vegetable when the sun goes down about 3:15 pm and find yourselves packed in tight with people whose tastes I am not sure about – well – I am going to pour wine. I will have good beer around, too, but just like a 50th birthday party I attended recently where I took a few good beers I expect they will sit there on the counter as every cooler, every bulk beer is drained ahead of it. See, most people are not like us. They don’t share our hobbies. They like auspicious dates on the calendar to be filled with familiar comforts and joys. And why not? Does every occasion need to be some sort of amateur training session?
So, west we drove the thirty miles or so to the winery laced county. It is pretty impressive when you get into the back roads. Corn and produce stands mix with wineries as well as folks’ houses and farms down narrow back roads roamed on a Saturday. Lunch was at Huff with its table service dining. The food was swell. Architectural even. The service attentive. We only had one glass of 2007 Merlot to check on the state of one of the bottles laid in last time. No need to save it any longer. The kids will do without in the 2020’s. Then we hit Grange, a new one for us with a bucolic setting and plenty of folk enjoying a basket lunch on the grounds. Our favorite sample was the most humble, a 2006 blend that was under 11 bucks. I also bought a Cabernet Franc, too. It’s destined for a roast as well. The tasting room had that odd library hush about it that wine people seem to like but the service was pleasant. Not that I was going to slap my knee and shout yee-haw or anything but, really, could the staff ask what I thought of their wine?
Last of the three was the smallest, Closson Chase, a return visit. On the way out, I told the staff that they won our loyalty with that free Freezee give away – not to mention the gardens in which you were invited to take the samples. Kids need a break and drinks buyers have kids. Smart move. Buys you 12 minutes. We tried a pinot noir, their 2010 Chardonnay from local grapes as well as this pinot rosé in my glass here later at home. It is tough having pinot noir or other red wines from Ontario having been trained as you all have for years on inky red plonk from Oz and Chile. These are lighter. And complex in ways that are… complex. So, even swishing the rosé around we noted something that was not acid, fruit or mineral in there. Something vegetative. We hummed. We hawed. Then green beans next to salmon were mentioned and, bingo, there you were. Now that thing is reminding me of that thing in saison that I like when it is there in a saison. Something between white pepper and green beans.
That was it. All the kids could take. We were off to the beach to paddle about and then off to Black River for cheese curds, a block of maple cheddar and a round of ice cream before the ferry home.
A holiday Monday. After all the frothing at the mouth madness of rabid Canadian nationalism stoked the day before, I found myself needing to clear out the house so that badly needed napping by others might occur. Given this was the weekend of our national holiday, the bridges to the USA were, by all accounts, gridlocked with loyal Canadians seeking US prices. So I drove west. Looking for wine.
“Traitor!” I hear you say. For your information I even drove past a brewery. Because my goal was a set of wineries in southwest Prince Edward County: Norman Hardie, Closson Chase and Huff. I picked up a few bottles at each but, unlike beer, can’t really open a few to share some thoughts. This pinot noir seems to be well thought of. Picked up a couple of this five year old merlot from Huff but it’s not like I sat around and had the equivalent of a few pints of beer before making the decision. The nice folk at Closson Chase did pour me a splash of this white after I bought two – as they plied my kids with Freezees, a nice touch – and it was pretty fine stuff. But it is not like I could tell you whether it was better than the next bottle over or the wine like it made two wineries over. But I think I need to know more especially as this small wine region is at my doorstep so I might as well add the odd Prince Edward county wine review to mix things up hereabouts. As you know, same goes for cider and perry, too.
All this ties into the development of my small suburban vineyard. Twenty-nine vines might make a few cases of wine a year before too many vintages pass. Or a lot of jam. And it all ties to my bok choi patches out back, the 500 onions by the front step and the long greens of squash reaching out to take over the lawn. We could probably make herbed ricotta stuffed zucchini blossoms given that herself makes cheese, too. And bread. Finding out what people are making in the neighbourhood makes me want to see what I can make myself – including grapes. Heck, if I could distill legally, it would be interesting to see what home brew bourbon might be like now that I think of it.
Easter long weekend saw an assault on nature or at least that sort of nature that exists in a mid-60s subdivision. We have great plans to eat where we did mow so the following tasks were undertaken:
♦ ugly basketball hoop with sun-rotted plastic base disassembled;
♦ awkward juniper chopped down and ax play appreciated;
♦ willow and pear trees extending into neighbours’ space pruned with saw;
♦ 10 x 10 feet of front lawn removed, sheep poo inserted;
♦ 21 feet or so of sugar snap peas planted; and
♦ compost bin in-grown with tree roots attacked, defeated and moved.
Children now old enough to be useful if paid. Chives survived the winter. Cabernet Franc grape vines ordered. Cardoon and leek seeds in the house.
I have had my doubts about beer cocktails ever since I heard the term. I don’t trust that the attempt to create a new niche – and then, of course, the jostling to become guru of that niche – bodes well for actual experience being foisted upon us all. Plus, I am of an age that does not find me in bars watching however much I like them. I have to rely on my own wits. Any that usually keeps me from experimenting too much.
Yet, there is something about port and stout that I like. The “ye olde” nature of it perhaps? I have certainly had a love of ports as well as Spanish sherries, Hungarian tokays and other “sticky” wines that actually predates my love of good beer. These are the drinks of childhood holidays, ex-pats comforting themselves with rich tastes of trade and empire. I came across the concept five years ago and have been tinkering with blends since at least 2008 and, while I approve, I have not found myself converted.
Until today. I realized my problem might be the requirement of blending in the glass. Sure, you might say, that is what a “cocktail” is but, if we are honest, is not the shot and chaser a cocktail, too? And, frankly, is it not even more guru-tastic to use more than one piece of glassware to create the effect? Hands up everyone who agrees. There. It is settled.
Today, I poured a glass of Feist Colheita 1998 port and a pint of Grand River’s Russian Gun Imperial Stout. Both share a rich dryness when tasted in succession that I think would blend well in the same glass. But they also have so many complimentary tastes when tasted separately which are drowned when put together. The lingering dry cocoa licorice of the strong stout is washed by the heady tannin berry of the port. Both have a hint of chalkiness, too. Each are fine drinks in their own right. Together, a partnership.
So, first big news of 2012? It’s OK to use two glasses. Good old double fisting is now surely guru approved. Second big news? If you have a stash it’s now time to get the cabinet, too. Your own little gin palace tucked in a corner of the dining room.