Left Coast Cowboys

Cousin John, as you’ll remember from this post, is a purist. He makes wine, but spurning our carefully crafted and specially raised UC Davis yeasts, Cousin John uses whatever is floating in the air. In fact, Cousin John only uses au natural techniques and ingredients to make wine. He’s been known to wander the byways of Sonoma picking wild fruit for fermentation. I’ve even accused him, although I have no hard evidence, of trying to make wine out of roadkill. It’s only a matter of time.

So it’s been great fun to have Cousin John make some of his wine from our grapes using his Stone Age methods. Call it the ultimate control group. Since the Cabernet pressing, which Cousin John did with our old basket press, our two Cabernets have been fermenting side by side — ours in oak barrels, Cousin John’s in glass carboys.

This past weekend, it was time for Cousin John to do another racking of his wine, which made the perfect opportunity for a side-by-side tasting. So who is winning? Our college boy yeasts or Cousin John’s juvenile delinquent yeasts? The jury is still out, but both are tasting quite good. However, I still think a college education, even for wine, gives the edge.

Watching Cousin John rack wine the old fashioned way. With tubes, muscles and carboys. No, I'm not nostalgic for THOSE days.

"Terrier" is a unit of measure around here. After racking, Cousin John has two terriers of Cabernet. Appropriate.

Our first tasting was our Rose, the first Rose we’ve ever made.

The verdict: almost all the residual sugars are gone and it's tasting very, very good.

Then we tapped our Cabernet from the barrels.

Compared with Cousin John’s, ours had fermented out more completely. And the oak of the barrel is adding interesting notes. John’s is still a tiny bit fizzy as residual yeast keeps struggling to the last. But the good fruit is holding up in both.

The verdicts on our other barrels are more mixed. Our predominantly Grenache blend and predominantly Mourvedre blends are tasting very good indeed. But last year’s Mourvedre, which is fermenting on its own, is troubling. Andy was ready to pour it out. It’s been reprieved at the last minute and will have a few more months to redeem itself.

All that "tasting" can really add up. So we took off on a hike to the redwoods to burn off the alcohol.

We saw some mushrooms that looked so toxic, even John, the ultimate forager, wasn't tempted to pick them.

He concentrated instead on trying to determine what animal teeth marks we were seeing on some scattered bones.

Obviously, the thought that a large predator was hanging around, caused me not to get the above picture in very good focus.

But I later did get an in-focus picture of the stump of petrified redwood that John the Baptist found in the creek.

And I managed to do that "fuzzy water" photography technique.

All in all, a successful day of winemaking. I’d say we and our college boy yeasts are ahead at this point. But it’s probably not wise to bet against Cousin John.

We have a great group of English and Scottish friends with whom we usually celebrate what we call the Trifecta of the High Holy Holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter. In fact, we have so much fun on these occasions, we’ve been searching for years for other suitably hallowed events on which to gather. Finally, someone recommended Burns Night, a traditional Scottish festivity celebrating national poet Robert Burns. Our schedules didn’t let us get together until a week after the official date, but everything else was planned according to tradition.

Of course, that meant a haggis. Most of us don’t think of Scotland as exactly the epicenter of grand cuisine and some people would cite the haggis for that reputation — unless they bring up deep fried Mars Bars. Haggis, as you may or may not know, is a pudding of sorts, involving lambs lungs, other offal, oats and all steamed in a sheep’s stomach. Our Scottish friend Jan assured us it was “lovely and spicy”, but since we couldn’t imagine anything Scottish being spicy as we would know it, we didn’t have a clue what to expect. As time ticked closer to our Burns Night, Andy and Rob began to get worried and plotted to bring proper British bangers to the feast. Just in case some of us lost our nerve when faced with a haggis.

You know a Burns Night is going to be special when you are greeted at the door by a handsome Scotsman in a kilt bearing a haggis. Shown here: Scotch Andrew and Wee Andrew.

We needn’t have bothered, as the English would say. The haggis? Absolutely fabulous. The nearest I can describe it was a bit like a proper British black or white pudding (which is a sausage). But the oats in it give it a wonderful texture. The spices? Well, I would say more savory than spicy as in Mexican or Indian spicy. But perfectly wonderful. The traditional sides of “neeps and tatties” just added to the homey, warm flavor of the meal.

Here, two Englishman stare in amazement as a true Scot carves the haggis while his wife reads Robert Burns "Address to a Haggis": "Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!"

Of course, any meal that features aged single malt Scotch at every course has got to be a winner. Then there was the dessert which was a sort of trifle, heavily featuring cream, more Scotch and oats. In fact those oats, with their cholesterol reducing properties, were probably counteracting all the cream, organ meat and alcohol that we were consuming. Hooray for oats!

Haggis (which was wonderful) with the traditional sides: neeps (turnips or rutabagas) and tatties (potatoes). Yum.

And the Scotch. Did I mention the Scotch? Lots of single malt and a special 30 year old Scotch.

But don't worry about our cholesterol. There were oats in EVERYTHING. Even the trifle which included oats and brown sugar caramelized in the broiler. Can we say Yum again?

And Scotch Andrew’s kilt outfit? Now we’ve made it mandatory for all occasions. In fact, Andy and Rob are feeling miffed that England doesn’t really have a national costume. What would they wear? Bowler hats? Skinhead outfits? Renaissance Faire Morris Dancer tights? They’ve settle on the idea of Celtic robes and woad daubed faces. Coming soon: Midsommer Eve Druid Style.

In conclusion, I’m allowing no more jokes about Scottish food. If all they could offer were haggis, neeps and tatties, they’ve secured respect.

And you don't want to disagree. We still don't know what a Scotsman wears under his kilt, but they do carry daggers in those Sporrans.

Read Burns’ “Address to a Haggis” here (with translation because you’ll never understand the Scots). So let’s end with the traditional Selkirk Grace by the esteemed Rabbie Burns:

Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some would eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankit.

For other pictures of our Burns Night, click here.

As buccolic as I make Sonoma out to be, I’m not trying to say it doesn’t have crime or problems. It just seems we have a different kind of crime than the gritty urban crime I’m used to reading about in San Francisco and Oakland. Maybe I’m not clued in to the seamy underbelly of Sonoma, although I do try to keep up. The Crime Report in the Sonoma Index-Tribune is one of the first sections I turn to. That’s where I find gems like the big Saturday night crime spree we had a few months ago when a local deejay showed up drunk and/or high at Emmy’s Spaghetti Shack, proceeded to get into an argument with the owner, smashed one thousand dollars worth of turntables, then ran down the street to Sonoma’s only sushi restaurant and, for good measure, punched the owner in the face. We were all talking about that one for weeks. Last Friday night, three taggers were caught in the act of defacing the feedstore and, in Tuesday’s edition, the crime was still being hashed out on the front page.

Nearly a week after the "crime", this incident is still making the front page of The Sonoma Index-Tribune.

Yes, we have our own brand of crime. It seems to be largely victimless, mostly alcohol-fueled and quickly nipped in the bud by the excellent Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department. When I say we have a Sheriff’s Department, I really mean it. These guys are cast much more in the Wyatt Earp mold than they conform to any donut-eating stereotype. Years ago, before we had fencing, we had an ATV stolen. Within days, the Sheriffs had rounded up the usual suspects, recovered the vehicle, gotten a confession, led them in front of the Hangin’ Judge and organized restitution. You don’t mess with Western Justice.

So it was shocking and saddening to find out early this morning that we’d been hit by criminals. Although, thankfully, it seemed to be The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight. Since we wrapped up the harvest and got all our wines in barrels, I’ve been in San Francisco most of the time between Thanksgiving and New Years. That’s too many nights with lights out and, I guess, too much of a temptation.

Hey Evil Doers, don't you know this place is guarded by Attack Terriers?

Not to mention the Mountain Lion who hangs out just behind the building you burgled.

Apparently, about dawn the perps crept over from the nearby State Park and started jimmying open the windows to the garage/workroom. What they didn’t count on were John the Baptist and his right-hand man Louis. Especially as we race to get the drains and hillsides ready for our torrential winter rains, John and Louis are up here most days. And despite their Saintly names, you don’t want to meet John or Louis if you are wrong-doing. As near as we can tell, the two of them came roaring through the gate in John’s old muscle car, blasting Johnny Cash, just as the perps had wriggled their way into the garage. Apparently that was frightening enough that the perps threw themselves back out the window after doing not much more than tipping over some cans of paint.

It was probably the Johnny Cash that did it.

Although Louis says he and John had the windows down and were engaged in their usual trash talking. As John the Baptist says: “We’re not Librarians.”

In any case, the perps fled down the trail under the Mountain Lion’s sometime lair. Which could have been the cause of some beautiful Instant Karma. However, Joaquin (or Joaquinetta, as John, who’s seen her, claims she’s female) wasn’t in da house at this moment. Pity.

Although it seemed the crime-in-progress was thwarted, I drove up from San Francisco to survey the damage. Reaching back to everything I’ve learned from devotion to three franchises of Law & Order, I determined that the criminals were a disorganized pack of punks. They clearly weren’t competent enough to mount a quick, efficient operation that nabbed items of the most value in the shortest amount of time. Of course, that would assume that there HAD been anything of value for them to grab. Other than an old Ford truck with two flat tires and one dead battery, the garage mostly holds Andy’s large collection of bits and pieces of lumber. Judging from the way he hoards it and won’t let a bit of it be discarded, burned or used, he thinks it’s worth its weight in gold. I’m not sure what it would actually fetch on the open market. Or how, indeed, you would get it down a trail and past a Mountain Lion.

So I’m giving a sigh of relief that everything is intact and we don’t seem to have been targeted by Master Criminals. But that isn’t stopping John and Louis from debating whether they should stockpile weapons and spend a few nights up here. Fair warning: their trigger fingers are itchy.

I don't think you want to be looking at John and Louis down the barrel of a rifle, do ya PUNK?

Let’s just hope, for the sake of Criminal Sonoma, that they don’t deputize the Mountain Lion.

UPDATE

We just found out one of the criminals signed his name in the dust on the garage door.

File this under: Too Stupid for Words

Careful Fool. My posse -- Louis, Juan and John the Baptist -- are looking for you.

When you are The World’s Most Beautiful Baby, one party is not enough to celebrate your birth. Thursday was the Family Only celebration, today was the friends celebration. And we’re already talking about having an “official birthday” much like the British monarch always has a birthday celebration in June, no matter which month they’re born in.

One observation I can make from this party is that little Amelia May has definitely inherited the Social Gene from her mother and grandmother. Those gals can work a room and Amelia May, at the tender age of one, is right up there with them. Dad is a reserved Englishman who is more comfortable mixing drinks than schmoozing guests, so it’s clear where this gene came from.

Another thing I learned: there is a huge gulf between the enthusiastic amateur and the professional photographer. Check out these photos from our Flickr buddies. All I can say is “Kids, don’t try this at home.” When I saw Patty and Martin whip out their cameras, I put mine away and bowed to the Masters. I am not worthy.

Check this picture by Martin Taylor. If Caravaggio had a camera, this is the picture he would take.

How about the layering and deep inner meaning of this one:

Copyright: PJ Taylor Photography

San Francisco is not only full of wild and wonderful human characters, it’s also home to some of the most unique dogs in the world who often outstrip the humans in individuality. One of them is Otto the Wonder Dog who I met through his human companion, Ed, at one of my photography classes. Otto is a strange and serendipitous mixture — some Terrier, maybe some Beagle, perhaps some Lab. But his most amazing talent is his healing ability. Read Ed’s post, Dog is My Caregiver, about how Otto nursed him through some pretty grim health crises. Once Ed was on the road to recovery, Otto turned his powers to watching over a family of hummingbirds (that story also on Ed’s blog.)

Now I find myself the proud recipient of a limited edition Otto 2010 Calendar. That’s twelve months of Otto! These are hot commodities and sure to be collectors’ items. But you might be able to get one with postage, handling and a small donation for the dogfood fund by emailing Otto at otto0905@gmail.com. This is also the source for two Otto posters.

And check out Ed’s wonderful photography on Flickr featuring breathtaking California nature scenes, eccentric San Francisco city finds, and, of course, lots of Otto.

Here's one of Ed's pictures. The view of the Sonoma Coast from Goat Rock. Copyright ejbSF.

Here's another of Ed's photographs. Stow Lake, Golden Gate Park in the Fog. Copyright ejbSF.

Thanks Otto and thanks Ed. My Otto Calendar will have pride of place on the bar in our basement Pub.