Lessons

With all my things packed up, I am ready for a long drive home to Thousand Oaks tomorrow morning. The brief window of time that was my experience in the Napa Valley has come to an end, and like too many things--more quickly than expected. I wonder now, did I take advantage of my experience here? How will I look back on this month? (How many days and nights did I walk past St. Peter's in Vatican City, as quickly as possible, staring at the ground with headphones on, cursing tourists? What would I not give to be back in Rome now? How many times in college did I leave a bar early, choosing to get more sleep instead of another drink? What would I not give to join my friends for one more beer now? To be a Freshman again at Notre Dame?)

Leaving Napa, my car will be heavier by the three mixed cases of wine I have collected.

I met many people, and learned something from all of them. I have some new ideas in my head--a new appreciation for California wines. For brief moments, I was a winemaker. I accomplished many of my goals. I ate and drank well. I worked hard. I had fun.

But, I also drove past the vineyards too quickly.

I suspect that despite all the fond memories, I will regret the times I did not notice the vineyards--not that I didn't see them there, but that I failed to slow down and appreciate them fully.

Bred for an interesting life

I agree with my brother Jordan, who told me this weekend that some people, like dogs, are bred for an interesting life.

In a not so rare moment of comic genius, Jordan compared himself to Shadow, our cancer ridden golden retriever. Shadow is sick, Jordan says, because he was bred to live an interesting life--to frolic in wooded forests and wide open grassy plains, to fetch recently shot birds, and safely return these prizes to his owner, a proud marksman. In contrast, Shadow lives trapped behind fences, in a relatively expansive, but still suburban, suburban backyard, with a family with no weapons to speak of; he has nothing to live for except two scoops of kibble every morning, and no opportunity to express his true nature, or develop his capacities--no chance to realize his retriever telos.

Jordan likened Shadow's domestic experience to a man bred for an interesting life (e.g., Jordan, a direct descendant of Jan Janszoon, a notorious 17th century Barbary pirate
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jan_Janszoon - to be explained later), who remains unable to reach his own potential because he is stuck behind a desk all day, staring at a computer screen, doing whatever semi interesting job he has, but, placated by a comfortable situation and a recurring paycheck, is able to afford enough distracting objects and experiences to keep him from doing something drastic to change his situation.

I agree, Jordan. If one works long enough, the likelihood of death from cancer is greatly increased.

This exchange was at Bistro Jeanty, near the end of a great weekend, which included a short trip to San Francisco--to a bar called Absinthe, and a German beer hall / restaurant called Suppenkuche, which had great spaetzle, and a dark wheat beer that was almost as good as Franziskaner Dunkelweiss. There was also a come from behind victory by the Giants at AT&T Park on Saturday, and some great conversations with my Grandpa, Dad, brother, Aunt and Uncle, during which I found out I was related to famous pirates, and that I was a distant relative of a bunch of Vanderbilts, Kennedys and Anderson Cooper. On Sunday, we took a day trip through wine country that led to a great discovery, Failla wines, where, after ensuring our recently purchased wines would not overheat by putting them carefully in a portable cooler in the back of the Suburban, I proceeded to lock the keys in the car.

After much shouting, blame gaming, and excuse making, we realized that although the keys were locked inside the car, they were actually in clear sight, on top of my sweatshirt, on top of my bag, and only inches away from corner of the back hatch window.

My Uncle Mark, the only calm one in the crowd, skillfully, (almost suspiciously so!) rigged up a gaff-like pole from one of those small, thin, metal wire flags planted in lawns that, I think, typically delineate sprinkler or underground pipe locations. He threaded our only hope carefully through the small opening between the hatch window and the car's metal frame. Fortunately, my Dad, who closed the hatch (not to name names here), did so without sufficient force to really shut it tight. There was just enough of an opening, enough play when we pulled at the hatch, for us to think this could work. Mark hooked the keys easily enough, and after the rest of us struggled to pry the window from the frame, my Aunt, pulling with determined fingers, yanked the keys, the automatic door opener, and my Mom's awkward spinning heart keychain, all intact, safely through the crack.

Certainly better than calling AAA....

After the group left Yountville I decided to stick around, grab some coffee and a pastry and read the paper. I bought the New York Times and took a seat on a bench between the bakery and the restaurant Bouchon, since at this late hour, the bakery's tables were being converted to outdoor seating for the restaurant.

While reading an interesting story about the Italian economy and high end textile manufacturing, I was interrupted, surprised and frankly a little annoyed, to have to respond to a woman who wanted to know if I still had the Style section, and if so, if she could read it? I told her she could borrow it (by this point I realized her and her friends were waiting for a table at Bouchon), but that I would appreciate it back as I intended to read it. At first, she clearly thought I was kidding, but my body language suggested I was not, and seeing this, and presumably thinking it a good idea to keep the property close to its owner, she sat down next to me on the bench. I gathered from the conversation with her friends, she was from New York. I inquired about this, and found that her and one of her friends had spent time there after school, but now lived, along with the other couple they were with, in San Francisco. We made casual conversation for a few minutes. They asked me for winery recommendations, which I provided. I also suggested they try the P2 wine with their meal at Bouchon. This was the Pinot Noir, Pinot Gris blend, produced by Copain that I had tried at my own Bouchon misadventure, and then tried again at Ad Hoc after meeting Copain's head of winery sales and hospitality (guy who founded Vestry Wines in Tribeca) there last week. The SundayStyles stealer had gone to Yale, worked in LA for a guy who wrote the book Never Eat Alone (funny, given my thoughts here), and was now an "energy healer" working in San Francisco. I nodded with feigned understanding when she told me this. 10 minutes or so later, after some conversation, and some quiet reading, their table was ready and I was again left alone with my paper and my coffee. However, a minute later, her friend came back, told me there was an extra seat at their table, and asked if I would like to join. Since I had no reason not to join them, and since they seemed like interesting people, I made sure I was not intruding, and accepted the invitation happily.

Like many other opportunities I have had here in Napa, this was one I was surprised I agreed to immediately after I said yes.

That being said, I met them at their table, exchanged more formal salutations with the group, and quickly slipped into a wide ranging conversation about food, wine, their stories, my story, San Fransisco, business, tech and software companies, and other nonsense.

The group, included the aforementioned energy healer, a vocation that I now, somewhat, understand, a software engineer working at Twitter, a lawyer, a woman who worked in the marketing department of Puma, and the CEO and co-founder of an internet startup called Storify. Everyone was probably younger than 28. They told me everyone in San Fransisco has an internet start up. While they were obviously exaggerating, the barriers to entry in software are certainly low, and the exalted status of the young entrepreneur is intriguing enough to convince many future ivy league graduates to either not stick around long enough to become graduates at all, or at least, upon graduation, to reject the traditional career paths on Wall Street, to try to become the next Mark Zuckerberg.

Having your startup acquired by Google is probably the best way to buy a winery and make an honest living....

Still got it...

Just completed my first all nighter since the investment banking days.

I will deliver a draft of the production and revenue schedule to the O'Briens and enjoy a well deserved long weekend off, in San Francisco, watching baseball, and celebrating a belated father's day with three generations of Penn men.

Daily Scorecard: 2 workouts, 1 drink, 0 ESV, 0 French

Like Finals Week...

My model is 25 megabytes--large, and I am just finishing the revenue buildup. In the last two days, I have done little else.

At meals, I read to break the monotony of staring at my computer screen. Today, I read some poems by Keats, an essay on John Ruskin's aesthetics by Proust, and parts of a Thomas Pynchon novel. I take solace in Keats's own words: "...Then felt I like some watcher of the skies...", as I struggle with these giants.

Daily Scorecard (Monday through Wednesday): 3 workouts, 3 drinks, 0 ESV, 1 French Lesson (Jordan, take note).

Dining Alone

Rest assured, my inconsistent effort to document my adventure here is not for lack of material. On the contrary, this past week has been a full one.

Besides the good company, the visit from Jilian and my Mom left me with the unfortunate habit of needing to visit Bouchon Bakery for a Bacon and Cheddar Scone every morning for breakfast. Additionally, I did no work on the financial model for O'Brien Estate while they were here. We did, however, visit a number of wineries, frequent an array of fine dining establishments, watch bocce ball with the locals, score some legitimate mexican food (I had "lengua", or cow tongue tacos), fight about the life expectancy of my sick golden retriever Shadow, and, generally, have a great time.

Since they left, I have done nothing else besides sitting at Peet's Coffee in Napa, drinking coffee, and building the financial model for O'Brien.

I have also read The Razor's Edge, gone to yoga a few times, ran some decent mileage, worked as the "popcorn guy" at an event at the winery on Saturday night, and done laundry.

Still, I feel like all I am doing is this model.

This is me as the popcorn guy by the way. The help gets no respect. Stay in school:

After a full day of modeling work, frustrated by the fact that my model is now unnecessarily robust, overly detailed, and cumbersome to navigate, and the fact that my apple computer running Windows 7 is not quite as powerful as my work computer (the model takes 45 seconds to save or 25 seconds to insert a new row or column), I decide to treat myself to a late night meal at Ad Hoc. Today is Fried Chicken Monday, Ad Hoc's most popular night. Every night they offer a four course prix fixe meal--take it or leave it. They are full every night. Reservations are hard to get. Every two or three Mondays, they do Fried Chicken Monday--more people than usual take. Reservations are impossible to get.

Being alone, I am able to sneak into the last available seat at the bar. After exchanging niceties with the manager and a few of the wait staff (I also treated myself, and sat at the bar, on Friday night. They remember me--I am glad I tipped like I might come back, but feel kind of like a lonely, pathetic person, who sits by himself at the bars of nice restaurants), I ask the gentleman to my right how he likes the fried chicken:

"Amazing," he says. "I come here often, but never before on Fried Chicken Monday. I work with a winemaker who has a wine by the glass on the list. You have been to Ad Hoc before I assume?"

Excited to have another interesting neighbor for a meal that I fully expected to eat alone, I tell him I have been here, but never on Fried Chicken Monday. He asks me if I live in Napa, or if I am just visiting. I explain my story, to which he replies:

"Funny, I just moved here from New York five months ago. I lived there for 12 years. Were you in the wine industry in New York as well?"

"No. The finance industry. I am volunteering for a month..." "What did you do in New York?"

"I started and ran a small retail wine shop in the city."

"Where was it?"

"In Tribeca. It was called Vestry Wines."

I live in Tribeca. Vestry Wines is two blocks away from my apartment. I went there at least once a week. Ashley still probably goes there once a week.

"I thought I recognized you when you sat down," he said.

Small world.

~20% of This Blog's Readership

~20% of this blog's readership is visiting me right now: my mom and sister are here for the week.

Monday was my most intense "winemaking" day yet. Since Jesse and David are both leaving for two weeks of vacation on Wednesday morning--both attempts to recharge batteries before the 18 hour harvest days of September and October--there was much preparatory work and cleaning to be done.

In an all day project, we "topped off" all 200 or so barrels of the 2009 vintage red wine aging in the barrel room. It is a difficult two-person job. One guy removes the plug or "bung" at the top of the barrel, fills the empty space (empty because of evaporation) with extra wine, and moves to the next barrel. The next guy uses a tube to suck off any "scuzz" or particulate matter formed on top of the wine, drops the wine into a bucket carabinered onto the racks holding up the barrels, then replaces the bung. Repeat. 200 times. The exciting thing about all this is that you get do it while climbing on the tops of barrels, scaling the stacked barrels by wedging yourself between them, the same way you might have climbed walls in your house when you were a kid. Drop any wine on any of the barrels, make any red drop on any oak barrel, and you are in trouble. David will bring justice upon you (he has a fanatical distaste for red spots on oak barrels). On the other hand, if you fall, injure yourself, or die--it doesn't matter. As long as you do not get any barrels dirty. On one occasion, I dropped my "sucking tube" that was full of wine while I was standing on top of the fourth, and top barrel, in a stack. I watched in agony as it fell to the floor; it was like slow motion, wine spewing out from either end on all nearby barrels. Then it hit the ground with a thud, the remaining wine forming a dark red pool around it. I freaked out, frantically cleaned up everything with a small towel I had dragged around with me to clean up any errant drops, and returned to the lab to get a new towel. Unfortunately, David, was sitting in the lab. He saw my soiled towel, my stained pants and shirt, and made no sound as he put both hands in the air and shook his head in that disappointed way that communicated all too clearly: "what the f*** Jonathon?", "how could you do this to me?" I explained what happened, told him I would take care of it, and walked out of the lab with a clean towel and my tail between my legs. (This probably why it was so hard for me to secure a job out here this summer. Free labor is sometimes more expensive than paying someone who knows what they are doing.)

The rest of the day was better, and after 6 hours straight of climbing all over barrels, I was exhausted and covered in wine. My clothes were ruined, but I looked totally awesome--like a real winemaker. Or, at least, a cellar rat.

Jesse told me I can be proud to wear those stained clothes back in New York or Boston. He told me to wait for people to say (if at a party):

"Jonathon, it looks like you spilled some wine on your shirt (haha)".

And then reply:

"Oh jeez (you say this part slowly while laughing a little bit at your carelessness), I guess that is wine (you say that part matter of factly), probably leftover from when I was (and then pounce...)making wine in the Napa Valley".

Hardwork and enthusiasm was enough for Jesse.

As for David, I tried to buy his friendship: Before he left Tuesday, I bought four bottles of the wine that he makes as a side project to his work at O'Brien. The wine is called Kind, it is fantastic Cabernet Sauvignon, really some of the best Napa Valley Red Wine I have had. Wine that will earn very high scores if he ever submits it to Wine Spectator.

http://kindcellars.com/

Since the winemaking guys have left for vacation, the rest of my time spent here will be working on my financial model and any other analysis that should be done, and working in the tasting room.

Tuesday, I gave a couple of pressure packed tours: one to a future boss at Bain Capital, who was in town with his wife for a co-workers wedding, and one to my mom and sister.

Just 1 bottle of wine sold to four people who actually know me. Thank you Jilian.

Sunday through Tuesday Scorecard (very bad showing): 1 workout, 2+ drinks, 0 ESV, 0 French.

A MOSAIC

Written Today

I just came from a bookstore, a dangerous sort of vacuum for me--a sink for time and money. I was there looking for The Razor's Edge, by W. Somerset Maugham, a book recommended by Anthony (one of his 5 favorites of all time) and Chris (read and enjoyed at Anthony's suggestion), a book that had been on my list of books to read, the same book that was currently on the floor (not bedside table) of the author interviewed in this weekend's Small Talk, the FT's weekly short interview of a notable author I typically have not heard of. That little reminder in the FT drove me to the bookstore. After searching, unsuccessfully, through the S section (for Somerset), I was looking for V (I thought I was looking for W. Somerset Vaughn). T-U-V, W-X, I traced back from W. Nothing.

Infinite Jest, though, caught my eye.

David Foster Wallace's 1,000 page epic, complete with probably 400 pages of footnotes, is on my lifetime achievement list, but I had never picked it up before. I had seen its imposing blue and yellow cover before. I have read reviews of the book before. I had seen Wallace interviewed on Charlie Rose before he committed suicide. I wanted to buy it, and at this point, I was convinced that this bookstore did not have The Razor's Edge. I read the preface, the writer of which was tasked with trying to convince a prospective reader that the book was approachable, readable, rewarding, and worth the undeniably immense effort it would take to get through it. As I read through the preface, I realized sadly that as much as I want to be able to read the book, to commit to an endeavor of that magnitude, to accomplish that goal, I cannot. I have too many other foolish commitments made--daily, weekly, and longer term goals that I consistently fail to accomplish, I cannot handle another.

And then I got pretty upset with myself.

What was I doing in a bookstore anyway. I brought a dozen books with me on this trip and have not read any of them.

These entries record my inability to make the daily sacrifices necessary to accomplish long term goals. There is this constant tension with me. I really want to do all these intellectual gymnastic things I talk about that require hard work and dedication, yet I am constantly distracted by other things--dabbling in whatever epicurian fancy seems interesting at the time, trying to make friends, trying to take advantage of my time here, drinking, and eating my way through my days, falling asleep earlier sometimes (because I am tired), staying up later other times (typically to eat or drink more), sleeping in always, and generally not doing any of the things I have committed to. I am behind in so many things: Behind in my daily writing exercise. Behind on the model I am building for O'Brien Estate. Behind on my reading. Behind on emails. Behind on planning winery visits here in Napa. Behind on planning my trip to Burgundy. Behind on staying in touch with friends. Behind on being a good boyfriend, brother, son, etc.

I look up The Razor's Edge on my phone, realize its Maugham, not Vaughn, find it under M (there are a half dozen copies), and head to the checkout counter, adding one more thing to the growing list of To-Dos that is beginning to crush me. This is vacation.

Written Previously (But Not Edited Until Today)

My first real bike accident happened Friday morning. What was meant to be just a pleasant ride--a quick workout before work--turned into a flying attempt, over the handlebars, like a total amateur want-to-be Lance Armstrong. My chest and shoulder look similar.

As I lay on the roadside next to my mangled bike, I check to make sure I am still alive (I was wearing a helmet, but don't think I hit my head anyway).

Still alive, the adrenaline rush subsided. As the parts of my body that had slid across the rocky, unforgiving asphault began to sting and I laughed a pathetic, ashamed "serves you right" kind of laugh to myself.

My bike, is some 1960s era, bright yellow, skinny tired, Schwinn road bike.

My tragic affinity for vintage things that do not work is no secret. My calculator of choice is a 1983 HP 12c that takes at least 25 seconds to calculate an IRR. It is however, made in America, has great buttons with a solid "button feel", doesn't make any sounds when you shake it (like its Chinese or Brazil manufactured brethren do), but it also runs an antiquated programming language called "Reverse Polish Notation" that is used for nothing else. The HP 12C is probably 100 times less functional than HP's latest financial calculator. It looks badass though. My Dad has the same one.

Written Before The Bike Accident (But Not Edited Until Today Because Of The Bike Accident)

I Took the bike for a spin this morning (Wednesday) so that I could capture some pictures of my loop through the Oak Knoll district, past O'Brien Estate.

Today was a real winemaking day--today, we racked. Racking, is the process of separating the wine from its sediment, or lees. The lees is mostly dead yeast organisms, which in high enough concentrations, will yield wine with a sort of cloudy opacity and a yeasty flavor.

Me and Jesse. Please notice my technique here. I learned this from Cyrus Shirzadi. It is called "coming to watch":

To rack, one simply pours (or pumps) the wine out of its barrel, into another barrel or larger holding tank, until the wine coming out of the barrel starts to look cloudy. What is leftover in the barrel is collected separately and can be used as a blending component later on, or it can be used to "top off" other barrels, as the wine inside naturally evaporates during the aging process.

We had two different wines, 6 barrels of each, each barrel with about 60 gallons of juice, to put into two separate stainless steel tanks, to rest until bottling tomorrow.

First, we had to "taste through the barrels", sampling wine from each one, to make sure none were contaminated with any of the popular enemies of good wine--brett, acetic acid, ethyl acetate, oxidation. Any "spoiled" barrels would have to be dealt with separately--they could not be blended with the rest of the wine in the tank. Fortunately, David's maniacal attention to detail and cleanliness left us with 12 perfect barrels to rack.

As I tasted each of the wines, I witnessed how much of a difference an oak barrel can make--how a different cooper (barrel making company), using wood from a tree in a different forest in France, with a different level of toasting (medium toast plus is pretty common), could yield a completely distinct smell and taste in the same exact wine.

Tasting wines from the barrel at 9:00 AM:

We racked, we gathered the lees, we cleaned the barrels, we stacked the empty barrels back up to dry in the barrel room. We were finished by 1:00 PM, off to bigger and better things--a "trade tasting".

The Rutherford Dust Society was putting on its annual "A Day in the Dust", a free, invitation only tasting of current Cabernet Sauvignon releases from nearly all of the wineries in the Rutherford AVA, one of Napa Valley's 15 official AVAs.

The event was held at Rubicon Estate, Francis Ford Coppola's winery / museum / palace. In attendance, pouring two or three wines each, were probably 50 or more total wineries including some big hitters like Quintessa, Beaulieu Vineyard, Heitz Wine Cellars, Staglin Family Vineyard, and Rubicon Estate (producer of Cask Cabernet Sauvignon) itself.

I have never had so much young Cabernet Sauvignon in my life. My mouth was raw, torn apart by the tannins. My teeth were purple, stained permanently by the youthful juice. It was a fantastic experience. My palate was improving--I could recognize when a wine was out of balance, when it had too much tannin, too much oak character, too much acidity, unripe fruit picked too early, overripe fruit picked too late. I recognized a few corked wines being poured, I recognized some acetic acid in one wine. I recognized how oxidized, but still interesting, the 1991 Heitz Cellar Trailside Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon was. How all its bright, vigorous fruit flavor had softened, and how it tasted like a leather baseball glove.

My French Laundry:

After the tasting, I watched Julie and Julia and finished Kitchen Confidential while doing laundry. All the French cooking talk (Julie and Julia obviously about Julia Child, and Anthony Bourdain talking about Les Halles, his NYC based steak frites place) and laundry, got me hungry for French grub, so I headed to Bouchon, Thomas Keller's Yountville bistro. I was not very impressed. Half of my mussels did not open. The fries were good though, and I had the entire outside patio to myself since it was 11:30 and no one in the Napa Valley stays up that late. It could have been worse, but it was not The French Laundry (I remain on the waiting list for the entire duration of my stay here).

Thursday, we bottled two different proprietary red blends made from different proportions of Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, and Merlot. We bottled 300 cases total.

I worked in the tasting room and gave my first tour of the property. This family from Bangalore loved me:

Written Today

Friday, I worked in the tasting room some more. I convinced a guy to join our wine club, sold several bottles of wine, learned how to run a credit card transaction, forgot to return the credit card of my first credit card transaction (he came back to get it the next day), and made $40 of tips from people that were very appreciative of my tour giving skills.

Saturday, I spent in Sonoma. I stopped in Healdsburg for lunch and found great Pinot Noir in the Russian River Valley, a beautiful and welcome escape from the busy weekend tasting rooms of the Napa Valley wineries. I went to Bear Republic Brewery too (maker of Racer 5 IPA).

I had dinner back in Yountville at Bistro Jeanty with Jesse and his roommates. There I had my first snail, and first frog leg, among other treats.

Sunday, I woke early, in time for yoga. Realizing that my scabbed up hands would prevent me from staying in downward dog for more than a few seconds, I grabbed a coffee and read through the Financial Times instead. For an hour or so I was back in touch with the real world. After, I shot up to Howell Mountain to visit a couple of small family vineyards there. "Mountain Fruit" as the grapes are called when grown on Howell Mountain (and other mountains, actually) creates darker, more complex, serious, and ageworthy wines that are simply delicious.

To kick the wine tasting bug, I drove back down to the valley floor to visit popular Duckhorn, on the Silverado Trail. Sure enough, I got made fun of by an older woman who did not respect my practice of spitting out everything I was tasting. I overheard her mention it to her husband. At the exact moment he turned around to look at me, I spat some Duckhorn Merlot into my, by this time, full spit bucket. It splashed right up into my eye, stinging, temporarily blinding me, and staining my face purple. I left dejected.

After a late lunch at a cheap, but authentic, Mexican market in Rutherford, I came to terms with my obligations. I sit in a Peet's coffee with a lot of modeling work to do before tomorrow...

Wednesday through Saturday Scorecard: 4 Workouts, 4+ Drinks, 0 ESV, 0 French.

Family Businesses

The balance sheet did not balance. Quickbooks is not supposed to allow this...

Long Weekend Catchup

Saturday

Early wake up. Kettlebell workout. Peet's Coffee for a latte. In the parking lot of Silver Oak Cellars by 9:00 AM. Silver Oak was included in my Saturday itinerary not necessarily for its historical significance, for which a case can be made, or for its importance to the California wine industry, which is legitimate, but primarily because it opens at 9:00 AM. Few wineries in the Valley are opened before 10:00 AM and summer weekends demand an early start as the tasting rooms tend to fill up with amateurs by the afternoon. My plan was to hit a few of my "must sees" while driving up the famous highway 29 route to Calistoga, where I would visit Chateau Montelena (my favorite Napa Valley winery), and have lunch, before returning south to Napa via the picturesque, and relatively less trafficked Silverado Trail.

Silver Oak Cellars produces two wines, both Cabernet Sauvignon blends that are available in many U.S. restaurants. You would recognize the black bottle and silver label featuring that white tower thing in the middle of a vineyard. Silver Oak is famous for--notorious for, actually--its display of American oak barrel flavor. Ridge, in the Santa Cruz Mountains, is another proponent and user/abuser of American oak, using 100% American oak barrels instead of the more common French oak barrels. American oak tends to integrate a sweeter, coconut or vanilla flavor into a wine (see linked article). Nothing like drinking young red wine at 9:00 AM in the morning. The wines were both good. They were well made, and had true aging potential.

http://www.aromadictionary.com/articles/americanoak_article.html

I was very excited to visit Grgich Hills Cellars in Rutherford. Grgich Hills co-founder and winemaker Miljenko "Mike" Grgich has had an EPIC winemaking career. Grgich emigrated from Croatio, trained at Beaulieu Vineyards with Andre Tchelistcheff, worked closely with Robert Mondavi, and was the winemaker at Chateau Montelena responsible for the Chardonnay that won best white at the 1976 "Judgement of Paris". The Montelena Chardonnay bested a lineup of the great names in White Burgundy along with a handful of California neighbors. The story was told, with some Hollywood hyperbole, in the movie Bottleshock.

The wines did not disappoint. Current releases included a good Sauvignon Blanc, great Chardonnay, decent Merlot (I think O'Brien's is better), and bretty Cabernet Sauvignon (which was nice and Old World--I was a fan again today). Industry perks included a limited production Petite Syrah (the best I had ever had--I bought a couple of bottles), two reserve Cabernet Sauvignons, which both were delicious and brett free. A great experience.

Heitz Wine Cellars is probably the first winery I ever knew about (thank you Jordan). Their most coveted wine, a single vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon from Martha's Vineyard is famous for tasting like the eucalyptus trees that line the famous vineyard site. I was very excited to try it, and to try it for free. Heitz is one of the few Napa wineries that still offers free tastings for everyone. Unfortunately, free tastings, attract a different kind of crowd--the limousine crew: large groups of people that pay to get coiffured around while they get drunk and ask things, no joke, like this: "This is made out of crushed raspberries?"

"No", the woman working the tasting room answered patiently. "That is what the wine smells like. It is made out of grapes. All these wines are".

Are you ______ing serious?

Once I realized they were not pouring the Martha's Vineyard Cab (they only poured the Bella Oaks Cab, the weakest of their three single vineyard wines), I left fast.

Only 10:30 AM now, and the weekend crowd was already starting up.

I headed north on 29 to Calistoga and Chateau Montelena. Passed downtown, I missed where 29 turned into 128 and after a long stretch of single lane highway winding through vineyards and mountains, I ended up in Sonoma County. It was a beautiful detour, which I only took because it took me so long to turn around. I am driving a very difficult to maneuver vehicle: my parent's Chevy Suburban (thanks Mom and Dad), an experience which is not dissimilar to driving a wakeboarding boat (thanks Ashley). In fact, it was in the Chateau Montelena parking lot where I realized how difficult, and annoying, it really is. After my tasting, which was great, I had to make a 15 point turn to get out of the parking lot. A 15 point turn. 15 points--or turns. I am serious.

Chateau Montelena makes consistently excellent wines and my visit confirmed this. The Estate Cabernet Sauvignon has not received less than 90 points from Robert Parker in its rated history (no, I don't think they practice micro-oxygenation, Jilian). The winery is housed in this very hip castle that was built into the hillside back in 1882:

After Montelena, I headed to downtown Calistoga for some lunch at Hydro Bar and Grill. Calistoga is a very cool town. The valley narrows up here and the quintessentially Western main street looks like it connects the two ranges. The picture does not do justice:

The rest of the day was nice. I drove back down to Napa on the Silverado Trail and had dinner, a Korean feast, with Jesse and his roommates.

Sunday

Went to yoga class in the morning at Ubuntu, a crazy hybrid 1/2 yoga studio, 1/2 one Michelin Star vegetarian (I think) restaurant in Downtown Napa. This was old woman yoga and very different than my ghetto studio in NYC. My borrowed yoga mat smelled bad. They roll them up after each use instead of hanging them like they do in NYC.

After yoga, which was a nice recovery workout actually, I headed to Downtown Joe's to watch the World Cup. Downtown Joe's is the closest thing to a sports bar that Napa has. The crowd was happy to see the game not end in penalty kicks.

I spent the rest of Sunday working on a cash flow model for O'Brien. After signing my NDA, all I can say is that small family business financial statements are not like audited financial statements. Those clean, beautiful, simple things reviewed and corrected by PwC, or E&Y, or Deloitte are a different beast. Suffice to say, I am not done with the model yet.

After frustrating myself for several hours, I had dinner at Bistro Jeanty, an excellent French place, in Yountville with Cat, my Cakebread tasting room friend, one of her friends, and six other people she did not know. It was kind of awkward, but mostly fun. The group was full of food enthusiasts who appreciated sharing meals, we had a couple of nice bottles of wine, and some debaucherous conversation.

Monday

No winemaking work today, so I spent the morning in the office with Robin and Bart. Immediately, Bart got distracted with trying to sell cases of wine to visitors. Then I found out I was not using the latest version of our Quickbooks data file, which means that I have to redo all of yesterday's work. I scheduled an 8:00 AM meeting with Bart, who is easier to pin down in the mornings anyway, and got out of there at lunch time, planning to grab a bite to eat before visiting some wineries.

I went for a variety pack experience visiting Elyse Winery (small), Stag's Leap Wine Cellars (medium size but famous), and Clos du Val (huge).

Elyse Winery should be on every Napa visitor's shortlist. They produce really nicely made wines, mostly single vineyard bottlings, sourced from various notable parcels throughout the Valley. It was slow, so John, the tasting room guy, poured me at least a dozen different wines. Elyse is best known for its Zinfandel, its Cabernet Sauvignon, and its wines made from the Rhone varietals. After a few pours, an older couple came in, positioning themselves next to me at the bar. They were there early for their appointment (Elyse requires an appointment, a courtesy call really, to visit), and John started them with the one white wine he was pouring today while I continued through the reds. Ignoring them, I chatted John up. We talked about brett, about old vines and trellis systems, about how their Pinot Noir from Carneros was "very Volnayesque, very feminine and delicate", and other impressive things. At some point, John was away from the bar, back in the office I think, while the older woman was also gone from the tasting room using the restroom. I was alone in the tasting room with this old gentleman. At that time, he asked me the single most amazing question I have ever been asked in my entire wine career:

"So, are you a sommelier or something?"

"No, no", I chuckled, clearly beaming. "I am just between finance jobs, volunteering at a winery, trying to learn about the business".

We made small talk as I thought about how desperate it must sound when I say "I am between finance jobs". I can sense people translating for me: "Actually, I got fired from my high paying finance job, and am here trying to scrape by until Wall Street makes a comeback".

Stag's Leap Wine Cellars

I was also very excited about Stag's Leap Wine Cellars since it was their 1973 SLV Cabernet Sauvignon that won best red at the 1976 "Judgement of Paris", beating several of France's most famous Chateaus. The winemaker responsible, Warren Winiarski, started his career with Robert Mondavi in 1966.

This was a bad experience. The tasting is $30 dollars for their good wines. The Hawaiian shirt wearing tasting guy was an amateur, and since I never clarified my industry connection, I had to pay for the tasting. I guess I was intimidated, assuming this guy had never heard about O'Brien and cared about nothing else besides Cask 23, Stag's Leap's most highly regarded wines. I paid the $30.

The wines were well made, but very overpriced. The Cask 23 in my glass was dead. It smelled and tasted like nothing. I told Hawaiian shirt guy this, he tried it himself, agreed, said "this is not what I usually expect with Cask 23", poured me a new glass from a different bottle, and then said, "there is always some amount of bottle variation". Not at $195 a bottle, I thought.

Clos Du Val

Clos Du Val prides itself on making French style wines--balanced wines with a little higher acid, more balanced tannins, less oak and less fruit. It is a classic place that has been around since 1972. The wines are available everywhere, with much of the distribution supplying restaurants throughout the country.

I tasted through their list of current releases, reserve wines, and a few library wines they had open. It was a good experience, and "they took care of me, because I am industry". I liked the place.

I also think it is amazing how the price of their Cabernet Sauvignon has stayed so reasonable. This is a very good value play in classic California Cabernet for $35 a bottle. It is hard to find anything better in the area at that price point. The 2007 is a gem that should keep for 10+ years.

I had dinner at Brix, on 29, with the Cakebread tasting room team and got the invite to be a spectator at Bocce Ball, the Valley's most serious pastime, tomorrow evening...

Three Day Scorecard: 3 workouts, More than 3 drinks, Zero ESV, Zero French. No excuses, bad just a bad weekend for my studies.

Friday Lesson: Power of Suggestion

No, the reason why this was not posted on Friday was not because I was out late...

"I tried the '96 Lafite, Jesse. It was not good. It was awful. It was a brett bomb, nothing else". David, the head winemaker at O'Brien, shook his head in regret as he spoke these words. Year after year, driven by insatiable demand from Asian buyers at auction, Chateau Lafite Rothschild, one of five Bordeaux wines classified "first growth", commands the highest price of any Bordeaux wine save Chateau Petrus (Petrus, a Pomerol wine, was not classified in the 1855 classification). The bottle David tried is going for at least $1,200 on winesearcher.com. The market obviously does not agree with his assessment.

Brett or Brettanomyces (pronounced Brett-on-a-mice-eez), is a yeast that is a common spoilage organism in winemaking. Some tasting terms used to describe its odor include barnyard, horse stable, leathery, smoky, spicy, and cheesy. These descriptors sound pretty good to me--not unlike many of the popular descriptors of any rustic, terroir driven wine. These smells indicate Old World (France, Italy, Spain) instead of New World (US, Australia, New Zealand, South America, South Africa). They represent complexities that sophisticated, seasoned wine drinkers can appreciate. So I thought.

The winemakers fill me in on some other terms used to describe the Brett character, including rancid, ammonia, mouse droppings, manure, medicinal, pharmaceutical, and probably the most characteristic, and most disgusting--Band-aid.

Right now, by the way, David, Jesse, and I are in the wine lab, drinking lattes, shooting the shit, taking a break from the backbreaking labor of winemaking.

"The French are making Bretty wines, calling it terroir, and people love it, are even willing to pay extra for it", David continues. "They think the smell comes from the dirt, from the terroir, but it comes from dirty barrels and sloppy winemaking. Wine is a fruit, it should smell like fresh fruit. People forget that".

Jesse, the assistant winemaker, agrees with UC Davis sciencespeak I cannot understand.

I admit to these California winemakers, that I too am a terroirist, that I have potentially fallen victim to my own desire for sophistication by actually seeking out wines of bretty character--wines with a rustic, Old World style. Worst of all, I have preached this gospel to friends and family, I have implied that something delicious, a wine with clear, fresh fruit flavors, should be avoided at all cost, because those "overdone fruit bombs" (that is how I describe the good tasting stuff) are only for amateurs.

They laugh, and tell me they will fix my ways. David hands me a small glass vial, a lab sample of Brettanomyces. Sure enough, it smells like Band-aid. For kicks, he hands me lab samples of ethyl acetate (smells like nail polish remover) and acetic acid (smells like balsamic vinegar).

All these things--these "additions"--in small amounts, can increase the "interesting" factor of a wine. They can actually lead to higher scores in blind tastings, as the wine showing a slight earthy or rustic character, or a hint of balsamic vinegar, will stand out in a long line of otherwise similar tasting wines. Still, these are flaws. They always decrease the longevity of a wine; they destroy the balance of a wine. At any level, they make a wine unpalatable to UC Davis trained professionals. At a significant enough level, even lay tasters will find these additions to be distracting and unappetizing.

This whole discussion made me pretty sad. It shook my foundation. Can I really trust my palate? Ignorance was bliss. I used to taste a nice, Old World style, rustic, terroir driven wine and assume it was the archetype of winemaking. This appreciation for "classic" wines has developed slowly and I wonder if I have gone too far. Have some, or all of the wines, I have had expressive of terroir, been mistakes? Was I tasting terroir or error? All I know is that I am now hypersensitive to brett.

After the day's work at the winery, mostly dismantling wooden pallets with a gigantic hammer and putting wax tops on about 25 cases of 2008 Unrestrained Reserve, I head to Darioush Winery for a tasting. Darioush was founded by an Iranian family from the town of Shiraz, one of the world's first wine regions. The winery looks like a Persian castle in Disneyland.

"This is the wine that made me quit my job and move to Napa". The tall, mustached gentleman from across the glass bar tells me this quietly, as if he is letting me in on a secret. He pours me a glass of the 2009 Darioush Signature Viognier.

The wine is pleasingly aromatic--as pleasingly aromatic as a Viognier should be. But since I am trying to develop my palate, I try to focus on describing the wine more particularly than merely saying its floral, or reticent of tropical fruit, or mineral driven".

"There is a definite citrus component going on", I say. "Blood orange, or orange peel?", I add tentatively.

"Yes!". The tall gentleman is clearly excited. "I usually have to tell people that it is there, but you got it. You have a great palate. All the normal viognier aromatics are there--the floral component, the apricot, but there is also something unmistakable and unique about this wine. It is the clear smell and taste of orange peel. I also get a dried leaf component, almost like a tea leave--almost like an orange peko tea leaf. Do you get that?", he asks.

"Yes, definitely", I lie. In reality, I didn't even make out the floral or apricot thing. However, I can see that my apparent prowess has driven the tall gentleman to the far end of the bar to retrieve some reserve wines, not usually poured for guests. I decide to lay low, to avoid guessing sensual components in any wine for the rest of the tasting. The silence is powerful. He pours me a 2006 Darius II Cabernet Sauvignon, an extremely limited production wine only made in the best vintages. The everyday visitor would have to pay $60 for a taste.

After Darioush, I head to Downtown Napa's Back Room Wines for their Friday Night Tasting Special. Being poured tonight were eight wines from France's Loire Valley. The Back Room staff is not impressed by my request for the industry treatment, and since I do not have a business card, pay stub, or any proof of employment, I have to pay the $15 tasting fee. This did not put me in a good mood. The first seven wines were not memorable. They were fine. They just were not memorable. The eighth wine, however, was off. It was a total brett bomb. I could smell it, I could totally taste it. The fruit was thin and the wine had a clearly medicinal Band-aid odor and taste. A day ago, I probably would have liked this wine a lot. I would have thought the dirty, earthy smell was characteristic of the region, or the vineyard, or the classic style of winemaking employed by the French. At this point, I really don't know what to think, or what I really like, but since wine is a creature of suggestion, and I am quite impressionable, today, at least, I will call it brett and not terroir.

I would get a chance to put my palate to a real taste test shortly thereafter:

I head across the street to Bounty Hunter, a very hip bistro/wine bar/barbecue joint. To enter the building I have to walk by the smoker. I have not eaten a thing today since yogurt and granola for breakfast. Whatever is inside that smoker smells incredibly amazing. It is about 7:30 PM and I am starving. I find a seat at the corner of the bar and tear open a menu: 40 wines by the glass, about 400 in bottle, mostly small producers from California--nice. The food options look good too. I order a glass of Pinot Noir from the Central Coast, a green salad, and a barbecue platter complete with pulled pork, beef brisket, a half rack of baby back ribs, and a slathering of coleslaw. The wine arrives. It is one of these cola tasting, spicy, big Pinot Noir wines that I do not typically enjoy (as a terroirist, how could I?). Still, it will probably pair well with the barbecue feast I am about to enjoy.

Eating alone at a restaurant, even at a bar, is pretty tough. I am not sure what the proper protocol is. Should I thumb through the menu to keep myself busy? Should I send text messages on my iphone? Should I aggressively involve myself in my neighbors' conversation? Should I just stare blankly at the other end of the bar, studying the single malts, the flavored vodkas, and mixers?

Fortunately, my salad comes quickly enough. I can concentrate on eating without looking too lonely. The salad is great--very lettucy in fact. Before I even finish my salad, the monster plate of barbecue is plopped in front of me. I start to chip away at the plate unproductively. I can't seem to make any progress. The piles of pulled pork and beef brisket are just mocking me. I need a new drink. I recall from the menu a "Grab Bag Red" and order a $2 pour. The Grab Bag Red wine can be anything, bartender's choice. It is covered in a brown paper bag and rotated after each entrant to ensure no games are played, to ensure customers don't call friends that have just played. Guess the varietal and country right, you get the drink for a penny. Guess wrong and...total humiliation for wine hubris along with a full priced glass.

The wine is poured from its concealed container. I look at the shape of the bottle to gather any clues. Standard Bordeaux shaped bottle. I guess they probably put every Grab Bag wine in a neutral bottle. The wine is clear ruby, with strawberry fruit, almost preserve like, and a very spicy finish. I can't tell for certain if the spice is from the wine or my barbecue.

"Shiraz from Australia", I guess.

"Close", the bartender says. "It's a Cotes du Rhone". This means the wine was French and made from mostly Grenache, Syrah (called Shiraz in Australia and New Zealand), and Mourvedre, with other grape varietals mixed in on occasion. I was close.

Exhilarated and buoyed by the near-miss, I order another Grab Bag Red while a middle-aged couple take the seats next to me at the bar. They joke about the size of the barbecue platter in front of me. Apparently, the menu says it can easily feed two hungry men. Defeated, I ask for it to be boxed up.

My neighbors are a nice couple from the Bay Area. He is an air traffic controller. She, a retired software developer turned mom. They want to hear my life story. They tell me theirs. They met while both working at Wendy's at age 19. First date was a movie and Denny's. They married six years later. They have two kids--girls. The oldest is about to start highschool. Dad is worried about my story--that he has a chance of meeting his potential son-in-law next year. I think he is joking? He coaches his younger daughter's lacrosse team. His coaching idols include Phil Jackson and the coach of the De LaSalle highschool football team. He tells me about their coaching styles and strategies, their strengths and weaknesses. He tells me at length. It is time to leave. I am sure these lovebirds have better things to do than talk my ear off.

I take the last sip of my second chance Grab Bag Red. It is stewed fruits, dried tea leaf, with a leathery, licorice finish. It definitely tastes older. The fresh fruits of youth had given way to a more integrated wine, showing that earthy character, the tell-tale sign of a mature red. The tannins were pretty strong too.

I get the bartender's attention and hedge: "At first I thought it was California Cabernet Sauvignon, then I thought California Zinfandel, but the last thing it reminded me of was Barolo from Piedmont, Italy.

"Nope, Grenache from Spain", the bartender says quickly, obviously loving the opportunity to shut up self-proclaimed wine aficionado's who probably couldn't tell a red from a white blind if they were both the same temperature.

I pay my check and leave.

Hubris.

Daily Scorecard: 1 workout, several drinks, 0 ESV, 0 French. I did read about wineries, scheduling a wine tasting excursion for Saturday.

First Thursday

Thursday was a relatively uneventful day.

Waking up at 7:30 AM after setting my alarm for 5:30 AM was not dissimilar to every morning in NYC. I completed a quick kettlebell workout at a nearby park, showered and shaved just in time to join Jesse, our assistant winemaker, at the winery. We moved some pallets, those pallets stacked upon pallets (Sam, ring a bell?). These pallets were topped with many cases of wine bottles. We moved these pallets between the cellar and the storage room while melting the wax for the day's wax bottle topping escapades.

After Jesse finished maneuvering the forklift (which was awesome), we walked the vineyards and talked about verasion (the process when grapes turn from green to red, which usually happens "magically" over night), how to identify grape varietals by leaves, grafting, clonal selection, canopy management, the geography and microclimate of the estate and the Oak Knoll AVA, of which O'Brien is a part. I am sure Jesse got annoyed by the many questions I asked, but he fielded them well. He knows his shit. He has his masters degree in viticulture and oenology from UC Davis--analogous to a HBS degree for us finance types.

Then I had a cash flow meeting with Bart and an outside business consultant named Robin. Robin had been reconciling prior financial statements and building a cash flow statement, but annoyed and confused me with her accounting speak. I could feel myself straining, looking up and to the left, squinting, searching deep inside my skull, into my brain, to recall, to bring some accounting equation sense to the basic issue of a capitalized barrel lease--asset goes up, liability goes up, balance, namaste. Two weeks off had softened me. Then Robin had me sign an non disclosure agreement. When Bart and Barb asked if I would sign one yesterday, I assumed they were kidding. Nope. I signed, but quickly left the office, deciding to get back to winemaking (wax dipping bottles) before I became known as too much of a suit.

Jesse and I took a drive to the gas station where we refilled propane tanks and ate some authentic mexican food out of a truck. My first beef cheek tacos were excellent and $3.00 for a pair.

Returning to the winery, we spent the next few hours dipping bottles into wax, listening to music, talking about wine, the unglamorous life of a winemaker, beer, Julia Child and her onion cutting technique, and life with random families, Jesse's living situation being similar to mine. While I probably did have four bad bottles out of seven full cases, more importantly, I had a style, a certain smoothness that had developed with repetition. I was so smooth, I dipped one of my ready to cool in water bottles back into the wax instead of into the water bucket. Unfortunately, this misfortune occurred just moments before David, the head winemaker, appeared to check on our operation. Despite donating Illy coffee grounds to support David's barrista efforts (he makes a mean latte), a strategy Jesse told me would ingratiate David to me, David still is not a fan of mine. This effort probably did not help.

We both finished work a little early to visit Trefethen Winery, a nearby Oak Knoll AVA affiliate, for a tasting. The beautiful thing about "being in the industry" is free tastings. "Being in the industry" also means a 30% discount at every winery. "Industry participants" also usually pour other "industry participants" wines not being poured for other guests. Trefethen does 60,000 cases annually (O'Brien does 5,000), half of it a $25 "workhorse" chardonnay recently awarded 90 points by Robert Parker. I thought all 12 wines, with the exception of the misfortunate 2008 Napa Valley Pinot Noir, were pretty darn good. Oops. While tasting with a winemaker is especially fun and interesting, it is bitterly humbling. Jesse could easily detect the "1RS" or 1% residual sugar in that white blend, or the impact of "80 ML" versus "100 ML", this being the amount of malolactic fermentation that turns the harsh malic acid into softer lactic acid, simultaneously creating a chemical byproduct with an odor reticent of buttered popcorn. That 2002 library (wait for a few years to sell and charge alot more money for the same wine) cabernet sauvignon was pretty good you think? It showed nice secondary flavors of mushroom and forest floor, and was well integrated, with tannins softened, but still luscious fruit? Well what about the tiny hint of VA (volatile acid), acetic acid, that many wine drinkers like, but is a serious and distracting flaw? Hmmm? Hmmmm? Shit, I have a lot to learn.

We parted ways. I headed to downtown Napa for the weekly Thursday night Chef's market, which was not that cool. A little like the summer street fairs that congest traffic in Manhattan every weekend--stands of socks, and gyros, and bad art, and cojita cheese covered corn--but a little nicer, I guess, with valley wine instead of fruit smoothies being the prevailing weapon of choice. I did a lap and left quickly.

Then I got stuck in a bookstore with an incredible selection of books on wine and food. I left with only two: A Moveable Thirst (essentially a Zagat guide for Napa wineries and tasting rooms) and Back Lane Wineries of Napa (a guide for the extremely discerning connoisseur, simply fed up with the many years of visiting over sized, uncaring, corporate wineries).

Then I went to Whole Foods to gather supplies for a home cooked meal. Cantaloupe was good and ripe and cheap. I thought melon and prosciutto. Tomatoes looked good. I thought caprese salad. No cooking necessary--great. After finding fresh bufala mozzarella, basil, prosciutto, some yogurt and granola for breakfast, and some Dogfish Head beer called Midas Touch Jesse was telling me about, I left Whole Paycheck, less rich, but more happy than before. I was determined to impress my host family with delicious finger foods. I was really hoping to make up for two nights of returning home after all in the house were asleep, while I tip toed up to my room, and slowly got into bed, failing to avoid the loud cracks and creaking sounds of my weak bedframe.

After making dinner and sharing my bounty, I distracted myself with my new reading material. Unfortunately, I missed some great downtown tasting rooms that were on the same streets as the chef's market I so quickly escaped from. A reason to return...

Off to sleep. I need to look at some winery financials early tomorrow morning.

Daily scorecard: 1 workout, 2 drinks, 0 ESV, 0 French. Ancillary reading on Napa wineries, Napa downtown and the Oak Knoll District.

The First Day

After a morning run through vineyards, a shower, and a shave, I am sitting at a cafe table outside Bouchon Bakery, in Yountville, puckering up to hot black coffee between tears on a crumbly croissant. I am here killing time before my first day at the winery, trying to read the Old Testament, but mostly eavesdropping on an interesting conversation at the table next to me:

"Culinary student from Japan, living at a friend's vineyard in Carneros, tasting wines every day--all day--for two months". This annoying young woman basks in the envious gasping sounds emanating from the mouths of her new audience: the charming foursome that decides to cram into the three spots at her round table, politely asking if she did not mind their company.

All the while, I am taking up the largest table in the entire goddamn place. The myriad of potential reasons why these nice folks from Nevada did not want to sit next to me this morning races through my caffeinated, scripture discombobulated mind--bad hair, intimidating "satchel" and large book, body odor?

Bouchon Bakery being what it is, I did not have to wait long for my turn:

"Do you mind if me and my [ ] sit with you here?"

"Not a problem", I answer, quietly consoling myself for catching a whale of a woman in this sea of beautiful people.

"Are you reading the Psalms?" she queries.

I respond clumsily: "The whole Bible actually, for pleasure".

"That's really great. I am studying at Harvard, doing my PHD on the Old Testament, specifically Near East history and linguistics studies around the year [blah blah blah]".

I close the cover of my book very discretely. She might ask me about the passage I had just skipped over, exposing my poor reading skills, destroying my renaissance man self-perception.

I recover: "I am actually moving to Boston in September, from New York City".

"That's really great. We live in Cambridge. You have to meet my [ ]. [ ] works supporting farmers markets in Boston".

At this point, I am about ready to jump out of my seat with excitement; to exclaim my recent Omnivore's Dilemma induced revelation to someone who will really understand my obsession with community supported agricultural programs ("CSA"s for those in the biz).

Then things go bad fast. I start to say "Oh excellent. I can't wait to talk to your....

A very long silence wafts as I struggle awkwardly to connect dots: Did she really say "my wife"? Marriage laws in Massachusetts?

...did you say wife?"

"Yes, my wife"

"Your wife".

My guest being more socially capable than I, the moment passed without further awkward incident. Her wife joined us shortly thereafter. She told me who the right farmers were to hook up with in Cambridge, and who was good in Boston, and who had the best meat and cheese connections, and who had the most fulsome winter program. I scribbled anxiously in my notebook. Then, her wife told me I was reading the wrong Bible.

I got crushed at Bouchon Bakery, but will probably head back tomorrow morning for more people watching and story gathering.

The rest of my day was spent in the wine industry and it was fantastic. The short version:

Met Richard, one of the tasting room guys in the tasting room. Met Jesse, the assistant winemaker. Had coffee with Bart and Barb, the husband and wife owners. We talked about the strategy of the business, my background, their backgrounds, how they ended up in Napa, what I want to get out of my time at the winery. Sidenote: Bart and Barb are the quintessential married couple, cute as can be, playfully arguing about everything from how many acres are planted sauvignon blanc, to how much a french oak barrel costs, to what the overarching strategy of the business should be. I meet the winemaker David, who joins us for coffee. After a few short exchanges between the three of them, most of which I cannot follow, I scan my peripheral vision. I am on a gorgeous patio adjacent to the O Brien's home. I am surrounded by incredibly beautiful vineyards. I am talking to the owners and head winemaker and at least one thing is clear--these people really care about making great wine, making money, and having fun doing it.

This is perfect.

The rest of the day is a blur:

Lunch in Yountville with Barb at Napa Style, the furniture store / wine shop / wine bar / gift shop / quick bite restaurant owned and operated by Chef Michael Chiarello of Top Chef fame.
His popular Bottega Ristorante is next door.

Back at the winery I do my first job in the cellar: melting on wax caps (in lieu of foil) to conceal the cork on our reserve wines. This job is much harder than it sounds or looks. I had a 50% success rate on my first case, but hit 11 out of 12 for the next two cases. This is time consuming and labor intensive work. Each bottle probably takes two minutes to remove from its case, carefully (and at the right angle) dunk the cap in molten hot black wax, do some special twisty moves as the excess wax pours off, do a final special twisty move to "remove" the tail of wax, let the wax settle upright, dunk in cold water to set the wax, set aside for cooling, and, finally, replace in its case with its properly waxed brethren. Mistakes, which cannot be shipped to customers, are relegated to the tasting room to be discretely opened and poured to unknowing guests. Obviously, this does not impact quality.

Then I did my first tasting of the wines currently being poured in the tasting room with Jesse: a sauvignon blanc, two chardonnays (one done in stainless only, one finished in french oak), a merlot based rose, a merlot, and a bordeaux blend. I tasted some 2008 cabernet sauvignon from the barrel. I went on a tour with the final visitors of the day.

Then I got invited to a birthday party where I was the youngest attendee by at least twenty years. I did not have anything better to do and the O Brien's knew it so I went. It turned out to be a great time. I got a delicious hot dog and hamburger, some good wine, and some better, though somewhat conflicting, advice:

1) From a women who I tried to talk art with, who knew a lot about art, exposing my inadequacies: "Don't worry about all that shit. Know when enough is enough. Just live".

2) From a multimillionaire: "The statistics say, if you don't start your first business by age 30, you never will".

Daily Scorecard: 1 workout, 1+ drinks, ESV, 0 French.

Some pictures of the tasting room: