Showing posts with label GA/FL. Show all posts
Showing posts with label GA/FL. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

GA/FL, Saturday: Tailgate Good, Game Bad


Few things in life elicit more jocularity that a tailgate party. Yes, jocularity. On another note, isn't black supposed to be slimming? This is clearly not a very flattering angle for my usual 6-pack-o'-abs.

In a brilliant move, the hosts of the tailgate distributed fake moustaches. I'm glad Heather doesn't normally have a moustache. Is it spelled with an "o"? I'm getting a spell check red squiggly, but I'm sticking with my guns here.

Does the can itself state the obvious? This was perhaps one of the worst things I have ever put in my body. Yes, including "Burger King". I finished this vile concoction of formaldehyde, flat ginger ale, and grain alcohol in the hopes of good karma for the team. I'm surprised it didn't make me go blind. After watching the abomination of a game, I wished it had.

The only good thing I saw in the stadium: a random GREENMAN sighting. Outstanding.

After tucking tail and returning to the beach house, my buddy The Cheese was kind enough to treat me to a Unibroue "La Fin Du Monde". This Quebec brewery makes some tasty high-gravity beers. If you like champagne, this one tastes like it. Seriously. Perhaps a secondary fermentation in the bottle created the intriguing bread-and-toast flavors. Really worth a try.

Is the brewery's name pronounced like "unibrow"? That's funny.

Monday, November 9, 2009

GA/FL, Friday: Anything deep-fried tastes good




Late-night dance parties often result in next-morning headaches. While I make it a point to limit drinking (and dance parties, for that matter) on "school nights", the Georgia-Florida week is clearly an exception. So, mustering my best self-medication, I arrived at fried food and a cold drink to assuage the cobwebs and jackhammers in my head.

Some friends and I found a little waterside seafood shack just north of St. Augustine called Cap's on the Water. We plopped down on the huge, heavily-shaded deck, looking out over the intercoastal waterway...beautiful view of the water and those fortunate souls arriving for lunch via boat. I don't think I've ever arrived anywhere via boat. Does an innertube count?

The menu at Cap's was pretty typical for this part of the world: fried shrimp, raw oysters, grouper, mahi, and flounder sandwiches...all staples if you're visiting the Atlantic coast from the Carolinas down to North Florida. Good stuff. But I opted for something pretty regional: fried alligator tail. Not only is it tasty (think chicken nuggets), but I always feel like I'm striking deep at the heart of the infidel when about to play Florida. Their mascot is a gator (a vile and disgusting creature, by the way), and I'm eating gator. It's like I'm eating their mascot. Who can maintain high morale with a mascot recently consumed by the opposition's fan base?

Yeah, this is how my brain works. Pretty f-ed up, huh? Anyway, I paired the crunchy gator nuggets with a cold draft Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. The crunchy, salty batter, the tender meat (which can be difficult with generally-tough gator tail), the sweet-spicy sauce, and the cold, hoppy-bitter beer knocked it out of the park. And the combo also ate my hangover. I eat the gator, the gator eats my hangover. Circle of life, my friends.

Now, one would expect fried seafood and cold beer at a "fish camp" restaurant. One of the most surprising things about Cap's, though, was the wine list...over 400 selections. In fact, Cap's has received the Wine Spectator "Award of Excellence" for 2006, 2007, and 2008. Though I didn't have any wine, I was pretty impressed with the list. Gotta say it: many restaurants are all about a "consistent theme" in decor, menu, and wine list, but I really love that a place like this; one that you'd never expect to be a wine mecca, decided to bring the funk with a killer wine list. Another victory for the so-called "democratization of wine". Well done, Cap's. I shall return.

I'd go on to tell you about the rest of the day, but you can just read my previous posts. I wanted to give Cap's on the Water a proper "tip o' the cap" (pun intended...zing) anyway, and not dilute the post with more- excessively more- stories about wine in a can.

So I'll raise my glass to good snacks, a love of wine, and any psychological advantage for my team I can conjure: Cheers, Sláinte, L'Chaim, Salud, Prost, Skål, Konbe, Kampai, and Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Sunday, November 8, 2009

GA/FL, Thursday: Canned Wine hits it's stride, or Paella (well, sort of)


Cheesemongers worldwide are spitting on the ground in protest. Actually, I don't think cheesemongers worldwide are reading my blog. I've realized my painfully sore neglect for the "cheesemonger" demographic. This ain't helpin'.



A beachside feast of redneck proportions. No, it's not the Franzia "Chillable Red", but the (sarcasm font) Vintner Select Merlot really had a boozy goodness that paired exquisitely with the cheddar-flavored goop, high in tasty fats. But were there Triscuits? You bet your sweet ass there were Triscuits (not pictured).

And so went beach-day Thursday. The canned wine phenomenon was in full effect, as my friends and (shamelessly- this was an experiment) myself indiscriminately consumed boxed wine from cans, allowing for maximum flailing of limbs and expressive hand-gestures...wine in a standard glass simply would not weather such flamboyance. Furthermore, a gaggle of out-of-shape guys playing horseshoes on the beach with glasses of wine in hand is- needless to say- disturbing at best. We were living a secret life of class and sophistication, slipping in and out of the fraternity of unsuspecting, beer-drinking beach dwellers.

Eventually, such significant disregard for personal well-being in this manner led to a need for sustenance beyond what a singular can of cheese whiz could provide. Having in my possession a 16" Lodge cast iron camp oven, a bag of fresh-caught red snapper from a friend, and a repressed urge to create, I went to work on a paella (or sorts) for the troops:

Seafood (Sort of) Paella:

2 lbs. Linguica, Chourico, or any other spicy cured sausage, in 1/2" slices
1 T Olive Oil
2 large Yellow Onions, chopped
3 Red Bell Peppers, sliced
8 cloves Garlic, minced
3 lbs. Red Snapper filets, or any flaky white fish
Blackened Fish seasoning
8 Plum Tomatoes, seeded an pureed
1 cup Dry White Wine
32 oz. Seafood Stock
2-3 tablespoons Spanish Paprika
2 lbs. Yellow Saffron Rice
2 lbs. 20-25 Shrimp, peeled and deveined
3 dozen Littleneck Clams, scrubbed
1 cup Italian Parsley, chopped
Salt and Pepper to taste

My not-so-organized mise-en-place

1) In the hot cast iron, rend the fat out of the sausage (with a little bit of olive oil)...should take about 7-8 minutes.

2) Spoon out any excessive grease. Add the onions, peppers and garlic, salt lightly, and sauté until soft, about 5 minutes.


4) Add the fish (which has been coated in blackening seasoning) and brown in the hot fat for a minute or so on each side.

5) Add the wine to deglaze the pan. Scrape the tasty bits off the bottom with a wooden spoon.

6) Add the stock, tomato puree, and paprika. Bring to a boil.


7) Add the rice, parsley, clams, and shrimp, return to a boil.

8) Lid the pot, kill the heat, and let the rice steam for 20-25 minutes. DO NOT OPEN THE LID FOR ANY REASON!

9) Once the liquid is absorbed by the rice, fluff with a fork. Salt and Pepper to taste, and enjoy, my friends!


So, the reason I'm hesitant to call it "paella" is mostly because of the cooking technique. By nature, paellas are made with any sort of ingredients. But the namesake of the dish is based on the word for the pan itself. Usually, the rice on the bottom of the special pan is supposed to be a little burnt, creating a crunchy texture for the dish. Not having the pan handy, I improvised. Let's face it: everyone had been drinking canned wine all day. I didn't exactly get shaken down for bastardized technique.

For the wine, we thankfully put the Franzia on the shelf for a while and went with some Spanish whites:

René Barbier Catalunya Mediterranean White NV: a crisp, clean, high-acid white from the northwestern corner of Spain. Likely made from a combination of Macabeo, Parellada, and Xarel-Lo grapes, it citrus, mineral, and stone fruit flavors were refreshing. Oh, and it retails for about $6 (this is what I used for cooking as well)

Marqués de Cáceres 2007 Rioja: from the Rioja region of Spain (known for Tempranillo-based red wines), this white made from Viura grape (another name for Macabeo) had similar flavors, but with a little evidence of possible oak influence. The pricier of the two (barely), it retails for around $9.

Full of good food and good wine, the crowd naturally progressed to an inevitable dance party. The dance party- anchored by the funky sounds of Herbie Hancock- evolved into the "Gettin' Weird" dance off. At this point, would you expect anything less?

To gettin' weird: Cheers, Sláinte, L'Chaim, Salud, Prost, Skål, Konbe, Kampai, and Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Thursday, November 5, 2009

GA/FL, Wednesday: Okay. What the f*** is up with the boxed wine?!

I love good wine. I've tasted some of the finest Napa Cabernets, Bordeaux, elegant French Champagne (the only kind of Champagne), exquisite dessert wines from Sauternes, Hungary, and Germany. High on the hog. But sometimes, as Nicholson so eloquently put it in Batman, one must ask himself, "have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moon light?"



Sometimes, you have to commit the most heinous of sins. Call it experimentation. Wasn't that the excuse when your folks busted you with that joint in your bedroom? Regardless, the deed was done. The crime committed. Might as well talk about it.


And why is that bottle of Dom sitting in the middle? Is this picture trying to compensate? Fits in like Ted Nugent at a Phish concert. "Hey, brah. Wanna try a raw-food vegan burrito?" Oh, and that sexy '99 Dom Perignon was emptied by the time we got there. Sunuvabitch.

I know...I'm filibustering. Time to get to the point and explain these boxes of wine. The wife and I arrived at our rented beach house with a group of friends for the annual matchup between our beloved Georgia Bulldawgs (the spelling is correct) and those despicable rednecks from North Florida- the Florida Gators- whom elicit more venom from me than does a box of Argentinian Merlot from Louis IVX. Anyway, the trip came hot on the heels of a recent conversation with a fellow wine lover about what they're drinking in Europe- namely, France. In the states, wine aficionados (okay, nerds) generally bite their thumbs at bulk-production wine. Yes, it's a huge seller here. Yes, more wine comes out of California Central Valley (think jugs, or "cannonballs" of wine) than anywhere else. But- surely- the noble French would NEVER drink such swill, would they? They drizzle their pancakes, er, croissants, er, crêpes, er, cigarettes in Chateau Latour and La Tâche, right? Wrong. In fact, 40 to 50% of the wine produced in France is designated vin de table (source http://www.terroir-france.com/), or "table wine", and it's produced in incredible bulk, often simply labeled as vin rouge or vin blanc and sold by the gallon in grocery stores. I was even told that there are "filling stations", where you take an empty jug and fill up out of wine spigots. And to think we stateside have been drinking from stupid old water fountains. European sensibilities prevail again.

For this reason (among others), we really wanted to see if we could drink like most of the world drinks wine: down and dirty and on the cheap. Well, I'm afraid my palate's been spoiled. The Franzia Merlot (sourced, interestingly enough, from Argentina) was incredibly fruit-forward on the nose, with an overwhelming smell of "fake" fruit, sort of like Hi-C fruit punch or Juicy Fruit gum. In the mouth it was too easy-drinking and too fruity (to the point of perceived sweetness) with little-to-no structure and a short finish. The Target-brand "wine cube" of Cab-Shiraz wasn't much different, if not slightly better. Very fruit-forward, a hair more tannic, but barely. I probably wouldn't have distinguished the two blind.

All the snobbery aside, it was not the worst stuff I've ever had, coming from either box. I think back in my novice days, I would've preferred this flavor to a structured beast from the northern Rhône or Bordeaux or Napa. And, we had some folks there who don't normally like to drink wine, and they thought it was not bad, leading to comments like, "hey, I might have to give this whole wine-thing another try sometime." I think that's a baby-step in the right direction.

So, if you're still here (I'm sure some folks came to this site for some wine advice, saw boxes of wine, threw salt in their eyes, and banished my suburbanwino.com to the land of wind and ghosts), I hope my explanation is valid. I think true wine appreciation is not only being able to distinguish what is good, but also having the discipline to reinforce what you don't like...usually gained through tasting poorly-made wines. Even more critical, though, is the need to keep in touch with the wine world as a whole, and understanding what most folks on earth are drinking gives one a more "worldly" knowledge of the culture of wine.

And if all that sounds like a bunch of malarky, then watch this episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia ("The Gang Gives Frank an Intervention"). Sometimes, the pursuit of humor trumps discriminating tastes, and drinking wine out of a can is hilarious (more on that later).

Now I ask you to raise your glasses, bottles, boxes, and cans...to wine being accessible to everyone: Cheers, Sláinte, L'Chaim, Salud, Prost, Skål, Konbe, Kampai, and Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

A Brief Glimpse into the World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party


Disclaimer: Some of the images you are about to see (boxed wine, excessive use of viking helmets, Halloween costumes, "Beer :30" malt beverages) may be disturbing.

Come back soon for explanations of all. The stories generated by the greatest weekend (okay, week) of college football are too many and too entertaining to squeeze into one post. As a picture is worth a thousand words, I'll start this year's memoirs off with a loquacious bang. Sláinte!