Quick visit to NYC to see my sister and family. I haven't been in almost a year ... way too long. I take the train to Philly for a night to visit friends and have the de rigeur philly cheesesteak - hey, when visiting a place for the first time, it's a great idea to sample the local specialty. And what makes a cheese steak authentic? Cheeze Whizz!
Back to NYC: it was frickin' cold. The 15-block walk from ICP to the Modern left me so cold it took a 20-minute break with a large hot chocolate to recover. I prowled museums and galleries for the most part. Seeing Goya's the Forge in its new hanging at the Frick was fantastic. This is one of the greatest paintings (ever, IMHO) and the new hanging avoids the glare and reflection problems at the old location. Plus you can get close enough to examine the brushwork. At the Met, I love going to the room of Goyas and reacquainting myself. The Modern had a super-crowded exhibit of Tim Burton's work which I avoided. There are some fabulous new photographs hanging and I wandered through the permanent galleries, enjoying works by Rousseau le Douanier, Picasso's Demoiselles, and de Chirico.
Went to Maialino for dinner one night; I'd read about this new roman trattoria and was curious ... the place is completely overwhelmed by its of-the-moment "itness". I had the eponymous maialino, a roast suckling pig, which was delicious. The portion is for 2-3 people, so I had a lot of leftovers. Service was well-meaning, friendly, and inept. A nice touch: giving you individually portioned loaves of ciabatta bread for making sandwiches with your inevitable leftovers the next day. A not-so-nice touch: leaving your leftover bag at the coat check for pickup so you feel obligated to give yet another tip.
Also, excellent meal at Yerba Buena on the LES with A & T, my sister and brother-in-law. This is a classic neighborhood gem: if this was near my home in Denver, I'd be here at least every other week. The pan-Latin-influenced cuisine is delicious, easy to enjoy and we scarfed every last bite of everything that was brought to our table. The place communicated its aspirations and values clearly through the menu, and the service is efficient, friendly and unpretentious. Every dish we had was delicious, fit well with the restaurant's mission and was beautifully presented. The owner was on hand and having him roam the tiny dining room made us feel like we were in someone's living room. Wine list was full of great things from all parts of the latin wine world, but with a bit of a dearth in the $45-75 range and a curious lack of depth in Spanish Grenache. As we left, snow was beginning to fall, always a magical thing in NYC.
A very interesting white consumed with my sister at her apartment: a wine made from the city vineyards of Zurich, the StaatsKellerei Zurich, from Pinot Noir (vinified off the skins), Riesling, Sylvaner, Muscat and Gewurztraminer. Wildly aromatic, with scents of flowers, peaches, hazelnuts and citrus,it was surprisingly light on the palate, very crisp and delineated, with good nectarine, melon and apple flavors. Lovely, balanced, light and refreshing. (3.0nb)
Friday dawns rainy and cool, scattered sun between showers, but the valley is still insanely gorgeous. I walk through town, past the rail station and into the woods toward St Moritz, the neighboring village, along back paths and around one of the lakes. Lovely.
Saturday was one of those insanely gorgeous fall days - not a frickin' cloud in the sky. C has driven down from Frankfurt with K, who turns out to be really nice. She's just bought a little place for herself and I get a quick tour - lovely retreat for her. We get out for a hike to the Boval hut up the Morteratsch valley – this is the hut where my grandfather, a mountain guide, died 54 years ago at 44 years old – exactly my age now. He left his wife and 5 daughters – how different things have turned out for me. The hut is located along the side of a glacier that I have been scrambling over for 30 years – and it is sad to see how quickly the glacier is dying. Warming is real – the glacier is collapsing on itself. Still, it is hard to be too sad on such a gorgeous day. The sun is shining, there is a dusting of fresh snow on the high peaks already, and the temperature in the light is warm enough for shorts and a t-shirt. At the hut, after a two-hour hike, we order some lunch – R, the hut steward, is still here. I’ve known him for ages, a really nice guy with grizzly beard, sparkling eyes and a great sense of humor. The hike down, though, is freezing- this side of the valley is in shade, and the wind has picked up a bit. Brrrrrr.
At the base, still sweaty and gross, C and I ham it up for K.
Off to Cuneo, a charming old village about and hour’s drive from Monforte, for a tasting with Lucia and Elio Altare. I drive with Duncan, the wicked cool Australian who is working for the Altares for the month (he’s a winemaker near Melbourne) and the fancy-schmantzy place in the center of town has some crazy cellars underneath it. As a connoisseur of restaurant kitchens, I find this one quite nice – all induction cooktops, loads of stainless, and everything spotless. Still, I am tired and sore after a full day of picking, cleaning and scrubbing and what would have been an incredible opportunity during the March tasting trip feels somehow, a bit out of place now.
2004 Altare, “Insieme” IGT Langhe
I meet S (the Boulder Som-in-Training) at Duo, the Highlands neighborhood eatery. The chef here, John Broening, was in charge of the Primtivo kitchen for four years. He's consistently excellent - and his Duo menu this season is reminiscent of his Primitivo menus, a bit stripped down and less consciously European (John spent a year cooking in Paris, among other exotic locales).
2001 Stefano Inama, "Bradisismo" IGT Veneto
I make the trip to New York to see friends and my sister’s family before the madness of the holidays. Plus there are a heap of great exhibits going on right now that I decide I cannot miss seeing. Martin Puryear sculptures and Seurat drawings at the Modern. The Dutch Paintings exhibit at the Met, along with British Landscape Photos from the 19th century. Gerda Taro and Robert Capa at the ICP. And the big Klimt show at the Neue. Talk about an embarrassment of riches.