Monday, July 07, 2003

Welcome to my smelly world. . . .   New York in the summer is a world of heat, and so it is also a world of smell.  So much about tasting wine has to do with smell associations, and -- this may seem odd to you, but here goes -- there are certain scents that I actually love smelling in New York summers because they speak to me clearly of some of my favorite wines. . . . Here is a sampling:   The smell of water on hot concrete on a humid day.  Right now it is raining, that dripping rain that comes at the end of a heat spell that is really just the air condensing because it’s so unbelievably humid.  And it is dripping onto hot hot sidewalks that have been baking in the blazing sun all day – heck, for several days (it stops cooling off at night after a while).  The entire atmosphere of Harlem, as I walked slowly back from the gym in the light rain, smelled warm and highly mineral. . . At this moment the smell is extreme, but sometimes I get just a brief tantalizing whiff of it in the late morning as I walk on a sidewalk in front of building that the super is hosing down.  If you ever need to know what it means to describe a wine as “mineral,” think of this smell.  Vatan Sancerre (in its wonderfully pure austerity and grace) smells like that.  Young Raveneau Chablis (with its almost unbearably concentrated, simple power – mineral with fruit in front and behind. . . .) too.    The smell of crushed grass carrying on the wind.  The other night we were sitting at New Leaf Café, in Fort Tryon Park, at a table outside.*  There were big clouds building up over the river, so the sunset was brilliantly red behind the old trees and the magnificent bridge and it was breezy.  We were grateful for the breeze, and it was blowing at us right over the grass on a lawn where kids were running and playing in the sudden coolness.  The breeze was wafting the smell of the grass they were crushing under their feet as they ran. . . .a pure, green smell – less obvious or sharp than grass cut by a lawnmower, and more earthy.  It reminded me of the smell of Ostertag Sylvaner – pure, delicate, round, ripe greenness. . . . (Please try to ignore the Wine Advocate scores on this link.  The Wine Advocate could never hope to understand what is so great about these wines!  Nobody, but nobody, could, or would, ever make a wine from Sylvaner – a much maligned and uprooted grape – that is as invariably fun and wonderful as Andre’s. . . .)   The smell of a flowering tree someplace deep in the wilds of the northern wilderness of Central Park.  I smell it every time I fly down the hill that brings you down from the big uphill at the very top of the park, precisely halfway down the hill, once you’ve gotten your bike in a nice downhill gear and are fully settled into the gratitude of flying down after huffing and puffing and pushing your way up the steepest hill on the Loop. . .  and suddenly there it is, a split second of fragrant flowers – familiar, but still surprising every time.  It is one of the smallest, but still one of the principal delights of biking around the park. . . .  That is what people mean when they describe a wine as “flowery,” or “perfumey” I think – or at least that is what I mean by it.  It should be an almost fleeting waft of sweetness.  Not too strong, not artificial in the least, and somehow balanced by being combined with the woodsy smells of green and earth.  Gewurztraminer can have this, at its best (though I still maintain it is almost always too sweet, too perfumey) or more properly Chenin Blanc – I think of our new Saumur Blanc from St. Vincent, which is flowery in a way that is exuberant and charming, rather than cloying.  If you live in NY, here’s a tip – head to see my pals at Columbus Circle Wines.  They are among the most enlightened wine merchants in the city, in their own wacky way, and they are selling the heck out of this wine for like $8.99.  Also these guys love – and what’s more, carry – wines from Ostertag and Vatan, so I love them.  I feel abashed promoting my clients, but hey, tonight I’m on a roll of shamelessly promoting clients, (see below) so might as well go on. . . .)   There are just a few of the smells I notice as I make my way, nose working doglike in the heat, around the City.  I am all the more grateful that I can pull these moments of delight from the others that are not so delightful (like urine in the subway stairs, ick, or rotting garbage left out on the street for days due to the Byzantine Bloomberg Trash Collection Schedule).    *if you live in New York and have no car, please please please head Right Now for dinner at New Leaf Café in Fort Tryon Park (near the Cloisters.)  It’s only a ride on the A train, and they have a new chef, and our dinner was indescribably delicious!!!! Go while the young chef is still flexing his muscles!! Go tonight!!! This comes, as you know, from a couple of “jaded palates,” people who are awfully hard to please on the food front.  You can stroll in the Heather Garden first, and drink too much Bregeon Muscadet, and then get a car service home.  Because nothing rides over New York potholes quite like a Town Car. . . .       8:03:07 PM    comment []