A Monumental Change

I witnessed a rare and special sight this weekend.  Jesse on a piece of heavy equipment, reforming the landscape of Sky Vineyards.

The old vines in the Back are finally being torn out.  The vines have not been producing grapes for the last few years.  When  phylloxera hit Napa Valley in the 1980s, we hoped that we were safe nestled up in the hills.  Unfortunately, the pest eventually found its way up the mountain and our vines planted on the AXR rootstock - originally and apparently inaccurately touted for its phylloxera resistance - were attacked.  Phylloxera slowly and irreversibly kills grapevines.   We were able to tear out and replant half or two-thirds of the vineyard in 2000.  The remainder - the Top, The Back and most of the Front - has slowly continued their decline.  The grapes were last used for our regular zin in 2005. We picked through them one last time in 2008 for our rose. And now, finally, we say a final goodbye.

The grapevines at Sky were planted by  my family around1975.  My parents moved up to the property in 1973.  The house was built, my sister was born and grapevines were planted.  I came a couple of years later, in 1977.  And yes, again, for the record, Sky was not named after me; I was named named after it.

Here is Lore in the 1970s with the original planting.
The vineyard was composed several blocks: the Top, the Back, the Front, Upper Barrel, the Delta, the Battlefield, Ohio, Monkey Island, and Mirror Image.  Now, only the Top and Front remain, and likely, only for a short while.  

All that remains of the Back is the two vines on the right hand side (planted on a different root stock - St. George - which was actually resistant to phylloxera).  The Back used to occupy the entire corner.  The rows were long, the hillside was steep, and the battle against star thistle was difficult.  It was not the easiest place to pick through.

But the Back was a special secret spot.  It was not visible from the road and it hosted the only view of the winery possible from the vineyard.  The road that ran along the bottom was barely passable with a vehicle but was a cool part of the vineyard perimeter.  It felt more wild, like it had not been as domesticated as the rest of the vineyard. There were metal fence posts set at a diagonal through the block that demarcated the midpoint, where we could turn back and start picking toward to road again. I feel the memories of that place.

The Back has been there since before I arrived.  I have trudged through that rugged terrain almost every harvest of my life (i did miss five harvests out of the past thirty-two). It has been hard to see the old vineyard limp along on a death march and is hard to see that place disappear.

But it is also exciting to see Jesse on the tractor clearing the way for the future.  The vines are done and the land is better left fallow than marked with the abandoned dying plants.  We won't be replanting right now, but tearing out the old vines is the first step in that direction. The newly cleared horizon has possibilities and potential.  I may not be familiar with the new lay of the land and I may not be able to see what the space will look like in a few years, but whatever happens next, I know I will be part of it and it will become part of me.

I love Orange

I love the color orange.  I love wearing several shades all at once.  And I think orange and red work well together.  Some people don't agree.  Ayanna, my One L roommate, said to me on more than one orange occasion:  "You cannot wear that in public.  you get back inside and change your clothes right now!"  I always obeyed because, really, Ayanna has much better fashion sense than I do.

Why do I love it?  I can think of a few reasons:
1. It is bright and outrageous (two things I aspire to be)
2. It was my older sister's favorite color when I was young an impressionable
3. It is unique in having no English works that rhyme with it (which is just cool)
4. It sounds great when you say it correctly (as I do)
5. It makes many things strikingly beautiful (like my espresso machine, heath plates, and my newly framed Pat Curtan persimmon print )

But those are all just after-the-fact rationalizations.  My love for orange exists and abides.  As with most loves, you can't fully explain it - you just have to embrace it.

Here are Orange Things that I love:

My nephew wearing the orange hat I knit for him (it would have been even more lovable if his parent's hadn't put the seam in plain view).

 

My Orange jacket that Joyce and I bought on incredible sale matching the Judge's law library and I was sworn in as a lawyer in Santa Cruz, February 2006.

  

An orange life jacket to match my orange bag as Mica and I search for Monkeys in the Honduras mangroves.

More orange to come...

In the Pursuit of Wisdom

This week I turned thirty-three.  I'm pleased about it.  It is an appealing age for me mostly because I like the roundness and symmetry of the number.  I feel content with where I am in my life and as Grandma said, maybe I finally have a little sense.

Last night a high school friend sent some pictures out from our middle school and high school days.  We looked so young.  This was my crew circa 1991:

I unfortunately forget the particular event - it very well could have been my fourteenth birthday.  I look back at us and wonder about what we knew.  What did we know about what our lives had in store for us? We certainly look like we knew a thing or two about friends, fun, and causing innocent trouble.  But really, what did we know?

Another party, this one probably a few years later and perhaps another birthday party:

Still looks like fun, although perhaps a little less innocent.  And really, nobody thought to tell me about hair product? Really?  Perhaps after my Pat Riley phase in the sixth grade (no pictures available, sorry!), everyone thought I was better off going cold turkey.  Or at least they were waiting for me to go through a 12 step program and apologize for my past sins.  Believe me, there were many, at least in the haircuts department!

And the end of high school, June 1995: 

 

Going to college was certainly a significant life-changing transformation.  Or a series of them.  I learned a little more, but even then, what did I really know?

Fifteen years later, I certainly feel like I have more sense then back in high school - god, how cruel would the world be to have it be otherwise? - but really, what do I know?  I suppose, based on my recent birthday festivities, you could say that I know something about friends, fun, and causing trouble.  And I still like to throw a party.  And I still act more mature than my father - even if only just! 

Maybe next year I will find the wisdom and sense I seek ... or at least enough of it to confiscate cameras from the parties.

Oomasa sushi chef

In Little Tokyo, LA

Cole's bar

Can't figure out how to post multiple pictures to the last post

Eating in Hell A

GeoTagged, [N34.05091, E118.23799]

Born and bred, baby. Born and bred.

Being a good northern CA native, I oppose all things LA. And soCal related (btw, anybody see Amandas NorCal tat at Christmas eve? It was a little 'love never dies,' no?). So I am suffering through the week in LA and San Diego. Well, maybe not suffering, but I certainly walk around with the smug assurance of Northern superiority.

The food scene has been interesting. The recommended more upscale place last night was fine and interesting, but really, nothing to blog about.

Lunch, on the otherhand, from Coles, a bar and french dip sandwhich establishment around since 1908, was great. Sitting at the bar (pictured above), made me desperately want to drink. Not a drink, but to drink. Old style cocktails, prominantly displayed Chartreuse, cool lamp fixtures. Plus the pastrami dip with a bacon potato salad side was primo. Really, any place that offers only 3 sides, one of which is bacon potato salad, has got it going on.

Tonight I walked thru a sketchy tunnel, past abandoned streets and barefoot bums, and into Little Tokyo for dinner (pictured). So far, ebi, kampacha, hotate, and hamachi. It's all been quality and delightful.

Now I should wrap it all up with a wry insightful comment on life, sushi, or LA, but I got nuthin and my sushi is getting cold. So let me beg off by saying, despite the French dip and scallops...

LA SUCKS!

Archer!

We almost got an Isilador or a Conner, but instead the stork brought us ARCHER!

A perfect complement to our Bowman (of the Isobel variety), Archer has already brought new excitement to the Sky People.

Hopefully we will raise him right and teach him (through stellar example) that, contrary to the declaration of the Navi and certain supporters, Sky People Do What We Want!

New years resolve

I love the irrational optimism of the new year. Despite the past evidence to the contrary, we still have hopes that this year we will manage to tame our bad habits and be the super versions of our selves, at least for longer periods of time.

This year, matt resolved (for the nth year running) to road rage less. Good luck with that! He also resolved for me to shower more. So far, I'm one for one. Perhaps a record - I've showered every day this year!

I'm resolving to blog more. I'm checking out some new iPhone apps to encourage good behavior. Perhaps procrasting at life by blogging does not really count as self improvement, but I couldn't identify any other character flaws where a resolution would help. We'll see how it goes.

Best wishes to y'all in your lofty or low endeavors to make yourself more palatable to the rest of us. Hope the next decade rewards at least some of that irrepressible optimism.

A stroll down memory lane

This morning Matt and I were recounting our stories of being knocked out. In elementary school, some kid kicked a basketball across the blacktop and it hit me in the head. A few minutes later, I became aware of voices surrounding me in the blackness of post-black out and I heard the yard duty lady cautioning the other kids to "Move back. Give him room." I heard one of my friends informing her that "it's a girl". Ah yes, my ambiguous gender phase. (Really, it was just the haircut). This was a few years earlier, but basically most of my childhood was plagued by one bad haircut after another.

Thanks to the kodak gods, I do not have a picture of my "Pat Riley" phase, or the hideous peach polka dot three tiered ruffled dress I sported with the over-gelled slicked back hair for my Sixth grade graduation.



In addition to recalling nightmares of haircuts past, the olden days came up in conversation recently when Lore mentioned, as we were celebrating Travis' 30th birthday by suckering him and his friends into a weekend of free labor (during which we labeled wine AND picked grapes all in the same weekend!), that it was also Sky's 30th harvest.


Thirty years of harvesting grapes. That is a lifetime! (Well, a lifetime if you are a young'un like Travis, and almost a whole lifetime if you are a wise 32 year old, but no where near a lifetime if you are of the older Olds variety, like Lore, or Grandma, who just celebrated her 89th birthday this week!). I have harvested at Sky for twenty-five of those thirty (I only missed 1995, 1996, 1998, 2002, and 2003).


Some of those years blend together in my mind, while other moments and eras stand out distinctly. Just as the vines are gradually changing and aging, and some even being replaced by new vines, so too has the community of people who support Sky and who are Sky changed.

When I was younger, many of our volunteers were architectural colleagues of my Grandfather's; later there were crews of chefs and restaurant staff; most recently, you can barely pick a vine without running into a lawyer. Each era brings with a new chapter with a different vitality, menu, sound and set of running jokes.

And even more so lately, a new generation. We have had my grandparent's generation of folks, my parents', us kids, and now, the kids are having kids.


This year was Isobel's second harvest, and Eva and Ellison's third harvests.

And in the Sky spirit of wining and dining, I believe all three kids ate enough grapes to turn their insides purple and partook of the harvest dinners with glee. I especially loved how all three seemed to love the duck above all else.

Iso quacked as she worked on her bone...






Ellison woke up the morning after Amy's duck leg dinner asking his dad for duck...



























... and Eva finished two legs off all by her lonesome!



Now those are Sky kids if I ever heard of any. And I hear that there are more to come...

We can't wait!

Portrait of a Young Pig

With the arrival of a 270 pound pig last Thursday night, of which Matt and I took possession of a quarter, our lives has been dominated by Pig.

Pig has been the focus of many discussions, events, facebook postings, and of course, meals in the past few days. I will attempt to chronicle some of this little pig's afterlife.

Pig spent its vital days on a small farm in Oregon. The sustainability Pig's home, Laughing Stock, was profiled a few years ago in the Atlantic: Principled Pork. I have eaten Pig's brethren at Chez many times and enjoyed them immensely. I hope Pig enjoyed her days on the farm. We are certainly enjoying the days following the farm.

I missed Pig's arrival due to a business trip. Two fellow Pig recipients picked her up at Camino's kitchen and took her to the butcher at Star Market. My first acquaintance was one minute after arriving home from the airport on Friday night, when Matt, Val, Mica and I crowded around some pork chops debating whether to trim any of the glorious fat.

I compromised and agreed to trim less fat off that had been requested of me. The chops were awesome. A little salt, Matt's exquisite grilling, and a side of mashed potatoes (with a little pork fat added). It was Pig's first performance and she performed wonderously.

I took the fat I trimmed and rendered it two ways. The author of my cookbook, "Fat" preferred the oven method, but I find that I am partial to the stove top. I cut up portions of my 53 pounds of pork cuts into better serving sizes -- and of course I was so excited that I had to open up almost every package and check out the goods -- and returned them to the freezer.

The next couple of days found me pouring through all my cookbooks that might shed light on some of the joys of working with the whole pig. Surprisingly, or perhaps not, I have quite a few of them: Fat, Cooking By Hand (Bertolli), Chez Panisse Cooking (Waters and Bertolli), the Art of the Charcuterie (Grigson), and Beyond Nose to Snout.

My next project was cracklins. Salt cured for a day with spices and much salt and then baked with heavy objects weighing down the fat. They came out crispy and flavorful, but on the salty side. Next time I'll do a better rinse job with the salt.

Next came the big sausage party! Each of Pig's quarters sent representatives: Me and Matt, Luke and Jennifer, Mica, and Matt P. (plus his buddy). We took the scraps and made four kinds of sausage: breakfast sausage, hot (well-intended, but mild last time I checked) Italian, Fennel, and Brats. So far, I've been digging the brats.

The sausage party, aside from being a veritable treasure trove of material for inappropriate humor, was primo.

One of the things that I love about Pig, in addition to the amazing flavors, is the community she engenders. All of us together embarking on the sausage experience was thrilling. It was how things used to be done. We gathered with our friends and set to work to make sure that Pig was not wasted. We toiled together, drank together, laughted together, ground pork and spices together, and at the end, ate our homemade sausage together. It was a big day of work and it was so great. Not really so different from harvest, actually.

I'm guessing we made about 40 pounds of sausage on Sunday. We had three kitchen aids running, four mortar and pestels grinding, and red pepper flakes everywhere. Last night I feasted on fresh brats and sauted spinache. The flavors had married and the sausage shone.

Tonight, I am braising pork belly. We sent half of the pork belly to the butcher to be smoked for bacon and the Matt and I got half of the half that was left. Some of ours is destined for lardo perhaps, but I've been excited to braise some belly. Tonight is the test run before we share the belly with some good company. Seared and then arranged on a bed of soffritto (onions, carrots, leeks, garlic), with some brown sugar, soy sauce, and dry white wine. It's almost ready to come out of the oven so I'll go finish the potato/celeriac mash and the sauted kale and set the table.

Thanks, Pig.