Farm Stories: Shelter from the Storm

“In actual fact, people seldom remember things they have no use for.”
- Daniel Quinn

Two massive floods hit the farm last year, and right now the moon is in roughly the same position and constellation that it was for both floods. But the third storm in three days is passing over head right now, and I'm watching it from the safety of my house and I hate how little it's going to affect me.

I notice nature more since the farm––storms and temperatures and such. It means more to me than it used to. A storm doesn't just pass, and it's gone. A storm is an event on the farm and it lingers. You have to sprint up to the shade-house at three in the morning to save the new transplants from being demolished by pounding rain; or kayak out onto the creek to rescue bags of peat moss that floated away in the flooding; you have to clean up any fallen trees blocking the road; then a few days later you have to cultivate all the germinated weed seed. Storms are what nature lives by, and yet we fortify ourselves against them.

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One week we went for it. We planted a bunch of things that needed fertility and a lot of water, even though it had been dry and hot, but we needed to. It was a gamble. We were exhausted from the rough, long harvest that Friday and none of us had much energy for transplanting but knew it needed to be done and persevered. Then, that afternoon, as I was lying on my bed in a sore heap of fatigue, I heard the rumble of thunder, then the sound of rain drops across the tin roof of the barn and I cheered. I'd never cheered for nature before, it felt good, and god dammit, we needed that rain.

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And now here I sit, like most of the country, sheltered from the storm. If we're out in it, we're bitching about it. If we're inside, we're ignoring it, waiting for tomorrow when the storm will be gone and we can talk about how nice it is to see the sunshine. Most of us (writer not excluded) will never think of this storm again. While for others, it might have been the rain they were waiting for, or possibly the rain that washed away some topsoil. Either way they're rarely ruined by it, as they're always in a position to reap the benefits of storms, not just the catastrophes.

How I Came to Live in a Barn: Part 4

Welcome to Friday and another edition of "How I Came to Live in a Barn," the series that strives to connect drinking to farming as relevantly as humanly possible.

As a quick preface to this series, from April to December of 2010 I lived in a barn. No electricity, no running water, no kidding. During that time I worked on a legitimately (though proudly uncertified) organic farm in Southern Kentucky. This series is about the many whims, fascinations and revelations that eventually inspired me to drop everything and go farming. Once we catch up to the present, I'll use the occasion to explain what I'm up to now, beyond the blaug. Is this preface going to appear at the beginning of the entire series? Damn straight. Ready? Wunderbar.

How I Came to Live in a Barn: Books

A great book begets great curiosity. You find yourself in places like restaurants cooking; in New York City drinking; in the vineyards of France tasting dirt; and living in a barn because books exist, and because they beget such powerful curiosity. A bartender friend of mine once suggested that a good book should change you––this is an homage to a few of those books.

As I sat in the garden that fall in Burgundy, minding my own business, I was suddenly accosted by Michael Pollan's genius. Sometimes a good book is just well-written and I've experienced many of those, but sometimes a good book is both well-written and well-timed, and those books can become something more than just books, but revelations. "The Omnivore's Dilemma" was precisely that.

The book had been exhaustingly recommended to me, I just hadn't got to it yet. Finally a good friend shoved it in my hands and demanded I read it while in France. When I opened the book, I had just come from tasting dirt at Bertrand Gautherot's house (see last week's post), and was more-than-a-little vulnerable. I was familiar with the issues Pollan focuses on––conventional agriculture, big-organic, localvorism, etc.––but I'd never paid any real attention to them. Having gained the perspective of Bertrand's methods versus those of his neighbor's, the subject was suddenly tangible. Also, Pollan has this way of writing that makes it seem like your super-logical buddy Mike is just saying "Hey dude, this conventional farming shit is kinda messed up," and then proceeds to detail why––masterfully and without pretension. After this book, I became annoyingly fastidious in my food choices. I read labels intensely, went to the farmer's market often, and began to read more about food––not just wine. In a lot of ways, this book was the beginning of my road to the farm, and as I heard time and time again last year, I was not alone in this.

Kermit Lynch did a number on me as well. The first time I read "Adventures on the Wine Route" I was way too impressionable. Not only did the sentiment of the book speak to my convictions, but the style with which it was written spoke to my sensibilities as a reader. At the time I first read it, I was progressively drinking more French and Italian wines, mostly organic, and wasn't sure exactly what made them so different––so much better. Kermit helped me to understand.

Like all great works, it's timeless. It was first published in 1988 but reads like it could've been published yesterday. I devour it once a year, and take something new from it each time. If you ask me what my favorite book is, I'd be hard pressed to say another. It's a book about wine, but it's also about everything. To me, it's about wine in the way "The Sun Also Rises" is about bullfighting, and I write, sell, think and drink the way I do with many nods to Kermit.

Lastly (I say lastly because I'm limiting myself to three here) is Masanobu Fukuoka's "One Straw Revolution" which I mention just as much for the book as for how I was introduced to it. A man by the name of Eric Texier recommended I read it, and afterward I realized something I'd never realized before: I know nothing about nature. It's a wonderfully poetic read, endlessly quotable and never overly technical, but it's mainly about nature. I loved the book but knew I'd love it more if I could understand it's subject, and felt compelled to follow Fukuoka's example.

Fukuoka was an everyday man turned farmer who developed a style of no-till natural farming that works with nature's example, rather than trying to control it. It's another timeless classic and a word you will increasinly begin to hear in reference to farming practices: Fukuoka-style. More and more farmers are moving towards no-till, non-intervention, permaculture-like methods and Fukuoka is among the most widely-known voices. Texier was inspired by his writings and next week, we'll talk about the role he and another natural winemaker played in my future... as if introducing me to Fukuoka wasn't enough.

But there are so many books that belong here, so many writers. If you were to traverse the route from my living in a barn to my childhood, you could simply follow the trail of books (as well as breadcrumbs, respectfully) until you arrived at a skateboarding young Fraust rocking a Wu-Tang t-shirt and baggy-ass jeans quoting "Ishmael" wildly, because that's more or less where it all began.

Postscript: The best part about writing this was that the only book I mentioned that I don't have a copy lent out, is Kermit's. It's the only one I never lend.

Eating Animals II: eating vegetables

In preperation for Friday's post, I got to thinking about animals...

This summer along with lambs, cows, and pigs, we raised turkeys. We decided not to raise the heritage breed, but to raise the conventional, broad-breasted turkeys, and to raise them unconventionally. They lived their entire lives outside, protected from predation by solar-electrified fencing, with constant visits from your's truly. I loved those turkeys. I loved Tomahawk, and I loved Iceberg. I loved Galliopo, Chaos, Gunnison, Gravner and Beardo. I named them, too, because I was a fool in love. Then November came and we had to process them.

As Michael Pollan has pointed out, "process" is a kind term for killing, cleaning and packaging, but that's what it is: killing. The night before, we loaded them all in the truck, and as the truck pulled away with all of my buddies staring at me, my heart sank, and the next day we killed them. I helped. I can't be more honest when I say it was the hardest day of my life, and I still haven't reconciled it completely. Killing is not easy, and truthfully, I'm glad it's not easy. I'm glad it was hard on me. It shouldn't be easy.

Having raised food in this manner I look at food I didn't raise very differently. And this doesn't just apply to meat, but to vegetables as well.

It's hard in the winter to get fresh, local, organic vegetables. Hard, but not impossible. It's important to do so however, as an animal lover, vegetarian, or what have you, because the chemicals, preservatives, clear-cutting and soil depletion involved in conventional vegetable production (not to mention genetic modifications, poisoning of ground water, encouragement of monocultures, etc. after etc. after etc.) is massively detrimental to wildlife and humans alike. Get your veggies from organic, local farmers when you can. The devastation caused by conventional vegetable farming is less spectacular than feedlots obviously, but it's not necessarily less harmful in the long run. I didn't intend on this being some brand of public service announcement, but that's sorta what it's become. A vegetarian is equally as responsible for making responsible food choices as an omnivore. And, as a shameless natural wine plug, both are equally as responsible for making good beverage choices to go with their diets. Drink wisely, eat wisely, still party, but do it responsibly. After last season on the farm, I can't see it any other way.

Now enjoy the lamby lambs. I call her Boogie.

Wine Glass Music - Jamey Turner

Just feeling a little patriotic after Friday's post.

Happy President's Day, that is, if you're not among the many making up a snow day...

Army in Repose

I love the farm right now. In the height of the season, nature will gladly consume you if you loiter in the wrong place for too long, but right now the gardens seem quiet, almost pensive. The forest is naked and you can see deep into what will be nearly impenetrable in a couple months. Everything appears so innocent, so vulnerable, and I feel honored to bear witness to it. The parsnips are the only thing still growing in the garden, and on Thursday I went to the farm to harvest them.

One at a time, you loosen the root, pull the beautiful, unearthly creature out of the ground and bang off the excess mud before grading them. When one breaks you take the opportunity to smell the sweet flesh, and savor its freshness amongst all the grey and apathetic surroundings. Madusa-like, they often resemble something Jim Henson might have used as a muse, but flavor-wise, they've no doubt been the inspiration for innumerable legendary creations. That afternoon we roasted some and ate them like corn, then we had blueberry pie with fresh raw cream, because on the farm you work like a peasent and eat like a king, and eat dessert for dinner because without the excessive sugar, a blueberry pie is simply a blueberry roast with crust. And when you grow your own food, you eat whatever the hell you want for dinner because you know it's good.

Then there's the high tunnel. When the rest of the farm is stoic, life in the high tunnel is vigorously pulsating. When you step in, you're instantly transported to the forthcoming explosion, and the forthcoming workload. You see weeds covering the floor like napalm; you see all the incomplete projects and the signs of an upcoming battle; you see hours of cultivation in the hot sun, the heavy lifting, the long days, the sunburn, and the soreness. But then you see green, and it's everywhere, and you're reminded of the sheer beauty of where all this labor takes place, and then you laugh, because this is the last time the high tunnel will look this calm.

How I Came to Live in a Barn: part 3

Welcome to Friday and another edition of "How I Came to Live in a Barn," the series that strives to connect drinking to farming as relevantly as humanly possible.

As a quick preface to this series, from April to December of 2010 I lived in a barn. No electricity, running water, MTA strikes or lollygagging. During that time I worked on a legitimately (though proudly uncertified) organic farm in Southern Kentucky. This series is about the many whims, fascinations and revelations that eventually inspired me to kick the kicks, buy some boots and go farming. Once we catch up to the present, I'll use the occasion to explain what I'm up to now, you know, beyond the blaug. Is this preface going to appear at the beginning of the entire serious? Almost definitely. Ready? Wunderbar.

How I Came to Live in a Barn: The Bertrand Gautherot Edition

Champagne. September of 2008.

After letting me babble at him in French for a few minutes, Bertrand kindly suggested we speak in English. I liked Bertrand Gautherot Immediately. He was genial, friendly, excited and honest. He grabbed a garden fork and we hopped in his van with his dog Chops (pronounced "shops" in French) and headed down the road to see his cows.

Vouette et Sorbée is located in the southern part of Champagne in Buxières sur Arce, not far from the city of Troyes (pronounced "Twa"). Bertrand, the farmer and winemaker, farms 5 hectares of vines, both pinot noir and chardonnay. An hectare is approximately 2.47105381 acre (thereabouts) and the only compost he uses for everything (including his personal garden) comes from these cows. He's emphatic about how important they are to the farm and how they are the best indication for how things are going. Needless to say, as a very involved winemaker, he checks in with them daily.

We stood and talked about biodynamics while the cattle regarded me impassively, then he brought me to his vines. Vouette et Sorbée has been Demeter certified biodynamic since 1998. His neighbors do not farm organically, however. If I remember correctly, they sell most of their grapes to the bigger houses in Reims and Épernay including Veuve and Moet, both well-over an hour's drive. Making that type of farming a lucrative option, one must boost the yields of their vines exponentially through the use of chemical fertilizers and the like, forming a veritable "wall of grape clusters" as Bertrand puts it. It was a bit freakish-looking, even to a neophyte like myself.

I was there in September, so I got to taste a grape from each kind of vineyard; I got to witness the vitality of his vines in comparison to their's while they were still alive; I got touch the leaves and examine the clusters. It was all wonderfully educational to someone simply trying to understand what the hell biodynamics did, and what made them so different. The answer was far more tangible than anticipated. Bertrand ran to his van and brought back the garden fork. He scooped a chunk of soil from his neighbor's vineyards, and set it gently on the ground. Then he took a chunk of his own (below, left) and sat it right next to his neighbor's (below, right).

Unsurprisingly the differences were remarkable. Barely could you call these two things kin. On the one hand you had somewhat oily and flaccid mud, and on the other you had a fluffy, mossy pillow of soil with an earthworm for punctuation. Bertrand's soil smelled sweet and tasted even sweeter, while his neighbor's smelled like nothing at all so I decided not to taste it. In that moment, organic farming completely made sense to me.

We finished off the tour and went to his house where he opened a bottle of "Fidèle" (his 100% pinot noir), and chatted at his table. He said something that I've never forgotten as I was leaving that afternoon. When I wished him luck on his new importation into the US, he said graciously, "Thank you, but I hope that one day I wont have to import my wines to the US. You can make wine there, maybe one day you'll make your own champagne..." then I left. I'm not even sure if I responded.

Later that evening as I was sitting in a garden in Burgundy, drinking my glass of aligoté, I couldn't shake what he'd said. It was both mind-bendingly ludicrous and completely logical. If one is to view wine as a what it is––a necessary, but simple fermented beverage––then we don't need it to come from anywhere in particular: there's plenty of fruit in the United States from which to make "wine." All that's required is fresh fruit and time, which I'm pretty sure we still have here. It wont be champagne, but who's to say it couldn't be comparable. Or even better––better?

I pondered it for a while, feeling the occasional twinge of patriotism, then returned to my book. I was half-way through "The Omnivore's Dilemma" and completely unaware of how it, and a number of other books, would come to shape my future. Bertrand had planted quite a seed, it was about to receive some cultivation.

Alors, á la semaine prochaine, as they say in French––till next week.

Tony Coturri Talks About Biodynamics

Why listen to me, when you can listen to Tony Coturri? I love these videos and this man makes some of my favorite tipple in all the land. Also, is it ironic that most of the videos you can find on biodynamics are about wine and Rudolf Steiner was a teetotaller? Anyway, enjoy these - Tony Coturri is definitely a good source for information as well as inspiration (foreshadowing?).

Biodynamically Flavored Books

Yesterday, in observance of Valentine's day, I booked myself a flight to New York for Natural Wine Week and I'm now taking dance-card reservations, happy hour reservations, coffee reservations and dinner reservations that preferably need no reservations because homeboy (moi) is poooooooor-or. So hit me on the hip and we'll drink something funky.

In continuation of our biodynamically-themed week, I came across some books worth sharing. When I was first introduced to biodynamics I immediately tried to read some Rudolf Steiner but was rendered completely and utterly confused. Steiner makes for a fascinating read, and I've just recently been able to truly enjoy the lectures, but a preface to the philosophies is extremely helpful. I've still got a lot to learn about the subject, but these are the books that got me started.


Monty Waldin's "Biodynamic Wines" (pictured)
Monty has accomplished a wonderfully approachable read here, kicked-off by a mesmerizing introduction. The meat of the first half thoroughly outlines both the philosophies and preparations involved in biodynamics. The latter half of the book is dedicated to biodynamic winemakers across the world, and makes for invaluable reference material. I highly recommend this book for anybody even remotely curious in the practices.


Nicolas Joly's "What is Biodynamic Wines?"
Anyone familiar with Joly, knows he is decidedly dedicated to the philosophies of Steiner, and it helps to make his writing entertaining, engaging and exciting. Joly is among the more well-known proponents for biodynamics in winemaking and makes a very special set of wines in the Savennières region of the Loire Valley. This book is a bit more esoteric than Monty's but nonetheless an instant classic, covering a wider range of the spiritual aspects behind biodynamics. Also, the stuff about crystallization is pretty rad.

Gunther Hauk's "Toward Saving the Honeybee"
Without a doubt, one of my favorite books I read last year. It's depressingly short, however. I think I could happily read about Gunther Hauk's take on the world everyday and be happy. The book is technically about beekeeping, but limiting it to that would be incorrect and a mistake: this book is somehow about everything. Gunther does a superb job of demonstrating the personality behind biodynamics without being fancy, placating, or pretentious. He's just a delightful and honest dude. This is a book for everyone, curious about biodynamics or not. If beekeeping further interests you, there exists a book written by Steiner about the subject, which I've yet to read.

Also, pick up the Stella Natura Calendar. There are always some interesting articles by people like Jeff Poppen and Gunther Hauk, and then the calendar itself is fascinating, akin to the Farmer's Almanac, with a list of the best times to plant, to prune, etc.

That's where I started, and I'm admittedly still a newb to the subject, but the beauty of these practices is that the literature is so dense, there's always something new to learn from Steiner or his followers.

Biodynamic Preperations

I reckon I should probably at least touch on the subject of biodynamics going into Friday's post, yes? I don't want my blog to become so esoteric that it will lose that HBO-like, suspenseful, edge-of-your-seat feel I've been creating. It feels like that, right? Just let me know if it gets too... Soprano's-ish.

There are a lot of things that go into biodynamics, but I'm not going to go nuts here: knowing the basic principles, or the theories behind them––which I admit is a hard thing to pin down––is a good start. Historically, the man credited with the creation of biodynamics is a man by the name of Rudolf Steiner (also known for his work in Theosophy and Anthroposphy). In the 1920's he gave a series of lectures which formed the foundation of the agricultural practice we call biodynamics. He was considered by some to be a "seer" and he believed in a very special relationship between the cosmos and life on earth. He saw the effects of the moon and the constellations as more than just gravity, but forces; he saw the earth as a living organism; and he saw the earth as in need of healing and humans to be the stewards of it. The lectures can be hard to read, but if you ever get a chance to hear someone talk about the subject, go. Leave behind any pretense though, understanding biodynamics takes an open mind.

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Bugtussle 2010

One warm April evening, Eric and I were reflecting on the day near the upper garden, as we were want to do at the end of most days. Soon we would be planting it with our main-season tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, etc., and he suggested we spread some barrel compost, a biodynamic preparation developed by Maria Thun.

Out of a little box he pulled a slightly measured handful of dirt and put it into a five gallon bucket full of water. Now, this garden measures about an acre. Five gallons of water, I asked, are supposed to fertilize this whole acre? He explained that biodynamics isn't about substance, it's about forces. It's about intention. Then we stirred the water/compost mix with our arms for twenty minutes (though people will go for upwards of an hour), 30 seconds in one direction, creating a vortex, then stopping the water and going the other way, creating chaos. The Vortex brings the forces in. The chaos helps oxygenate and enliven the preparation. When twenty minutes had elapsed we grabbed a couple handfuls of rye grass, our own buckets and went out into the garden, dipping our rye switches into the water and gently slinging the mixture into the air. The reason you do this at night is because nighttime is when the earth is "breathing in," pulling moisture towards itself (dew) and we utilize this natural rhythm to "impregnate" the dew with our compost preparation.

Eric laughed and added, "Anything you can do to make your neighbors think you're crazy is probably good, too."

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Hopefully this story illustrates the idea that there is definitely something different about biodynamic agriculture than, say, conventional, or even just organic. And I'll be dammed if those tomatoes weren't amazing and if those peppers and eggplants didn't produce well into November. Literally. Extraordinary vitality. Not to mention how relaxing it was to stir and apply the compost. I have no idea if what Steiner preached is correct, but I have nothing to refute how effective these practices are, or how enjoyable they are to practice.

More later.

Easy

In lieu of doing a Valentine's day post tomorrow, I'm planning some post's on biodynamics... which is sorta like giving Valentine's to plants, so I suppose it's relevant. However, if you'd like some tips on buying Champagne, here's what I wrote for The Breedings' Blog for New Year's, and the same basic rules apply, but you don't have to stay up until midnight.

If you're needing to get even nerdier however, Brooklyn Guy just got back from Champagne and he's doing a pretty amazing series of posts about champagne that I recommend you read.

Happy Valentine's day, just don't take your date to yesterday's Vanderbilt game. Take her to last year's instead, she'll like that––time tarvel is romantic, as is winning

Take it away, LIONEL RICHIE!

Wine glass resonance in slow motion

How I Came to Live in a Barn: part 2

Welcome to Friday and another edition of "How I Came to Live in a Barn," the series that strives to connect drinking to farming as relevantly as humanly possible.

As a quick preface to this series, from April to December of 2010 I lived in a barn. No electricity, running water, twitter or bagels. During that time I worked on a legitimately (though proudly uncertified) organic farm in Southern Kentucky. This series is about the many whims, fascinations and revelations that eventually inspired me to drop everything and go farming. Once we catch up to the present, I'll use the occasion to explain what I'm up to now––beyond the blaug. Is this preface going to appear at the beginning of the entire series? Almost definitely. Ready? Wunderbar.

Part 2: Natural Wines

In last week's post I gave a shout-out to September Wines, the shop I helped manage for nearly 4 years. Their selection is made up of small-production, organic, biodynamic, and sustainably produced wines and it's where I was introduced to the subject of this week's posting: natural wines. Isn't all wine natural? Well, the most concise answer is... sorta. A lot can be done to remove wine from its natural state. In the same way that root beer was originally made from the fermented roots of Sassafras; the vast majority of wine these days is made more like Barq's than actual root beer. Make root beer someday, it's a very different monster, with health and medicinal qualities I doubt A&W strives to exploit. 

So defining natural wine is simply defining wine itself. Wine, in its essence, is fermented grape juice. It's the combination of grape sugars being consumed by yeast, the byproduct of which is alcoholic fermentation. Under the right circumstances, this results in the fermented beverage we call wine. Famed fermentation enthusiast Sandor Katz once said that fermentation is simply choosing what we want to happen to something. All living things will either rot or ferment––from our perspective, become either compost or preserved nutrients––we're just choosing their destiny. Natural wines are as close to that natural process as possible, without excessive filtration, use of industrial yeasts, sulfides or chemicals. This applies to both growing and vinification. Back then however, I had no idea what natural wines were, or why they tasted better than other wines, I just appreciated that they did.

I had booked a trip to France for the upcoming fall and a friend at Domaine Select had suggested I visit their new champagne producer. He was biodynamic, "right up my alley," he said, and made the appointment.

No wines taste quite like natural wines, and I was rendered endlessly curious because of it. When the opportunity arose to visit one of these biodynamic producers, I leapt at it, hoping to get to the bottom of what made these wines tick. That autumn I met a dude who offered me a more tangible understanding of biodynamics, and a better understanding of how sensitive of an agricultural product wine is. Unexpectedly, like my first experiences with natural wine, this compounded my curiosity infinitely. Next week, we'll tell the story of Bertrand Gautherot's many effects on my world, and how he helped perpetuate my growing love-affair with natural wines; a love-affair that started innocently enough, until one day I found myself living in a barn, more sober than I'd ever been. Ironically, all thanks to wine.

Happy Friday!

Georgian wine commercial

Been thinking about Georgian wines a lot lately. Last time I tasted one, it tasted like liquefied sausage. Truly. I'm much more into that kinda thing these days, though. Hm.

Farm Stories: Boys and their toys

Friday's on the farm were always hectic––harvest day. In the height of the season, they could start as early as 6:30am and go until dark, harvesting, then packing the van, eating lunch and finishing what tasks you could before nightfall. The next day we would get up at 4:15am, our bodies sorely protesting, and leave for Nashville around 5 for our Saturday morning market.

Ira was six. He'd spent his whole life in the forest, fishing, hunting bugs and lizards, swimming, constructing, deconstructing, and simply living a pretty ideal life for a six-year-old. And like many true country boys, he loved cars. One of these sunny Saturday mornings Ira was awake, and on our way down to Nashville he asked me about every car we passed.

"What's that one called?" A BMW.

"And that one?" That's a Scion.

"That one?" That one's a Toyota Corolla.

I was surprised by how many I knew, not being much of a car guy and all. He continued asking all the way to the Nashville and I didn't miss a single one, until we pulled into Richland park where they held our farmer's market he asked,

"What kind of tree is that?" and I had no idea.

Searching For Perfection: 44 points on this one

Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce, James "he's totally being serious" Suckling: The man with the counting taste buds.





Note: He used to work for a magazine with a readership of over 2.5 million people. Hilarious creatures, wine critics...

The Importance of the Import: wine buying tips

Piping splashes of wine into less-than-fancy wine glasses in any damp, mossy cellars winemakers will let them into––the importer has a truly peculiar job. This job however has almost everything to do with what you drink. Only when the importer finds a wine they like, and a winemaker who will let them represent it, does a wine come into the country. And only then is it made available to you.

Naturally, these importers don't just choose their portfolios at random, but rather there is an extraordinary amount of factors in their decisions. For some, it's about taste, or technique, or how much say they can have in the process. Others might want not to interfere at all. Whatever their standards, they tend to be consistent, often bringing in wines of the same style, philosophy and quality.

There are thousands and thousands of wines in our country, and subsequently, every wine you like will not be in every place you are. Because one will no doubt be put in a position of having to choose from a list of wines they've never heard of, keeping track of the importers of wines you like helps to diversify your drinking possibilities, and ensure you will get something you can drink.

In a wine shop or restaurant, you can reference these importers to the sommelier or wine clerk. If they are the least bit savvy, they should be able to recommend something based on the importers you prefer, even if they don't carry anything by them. This is an approach I've always appreciated in the wine shop, because it gives you a surprisingly accurate understanding of someone's palate, what they want, and what they would enjoy in place of it.

Yesterday, likely because I was a little hungover and feeling old-fashioned, I suggested you buy a notepad and pen for your wine notes. I sorta forgot about cell phones––they work, too. My bad, but don't be shy about using it, especially for the wines that catch your fancy.

Quick list of notable importers to look out for:
Kermit Lynch
Jenny & Francois
Louis/Dressner (occasionally denoted "LDM")
Rosenthal
Jose Pastor
Savio Soares
Zev Rovine
Among others...

Good Monday, team!

How were the festivities? Super? How goes the recovery? Did you happen to catch my friend's The Breedings' performance at the Puppy Bowl halftime show? Maybe a touch risqué, but it was nothing short of adorable.

In preparation for Friday's post, I thought I might need to set the mood. Sensitive to the fact that not every person who has told me they read the BLAUG! is a wine nerd, I figured I'd attempt to remedy that with a "good Monday wine buying tip or two."

Wine people, feel free to add. Wine drinkers and prospective wine drinkers, feel free to ask questions. Everybody else? Drink more wine and don't lose to the Florida Gators. ...Sigh...


A Good Monday Wine Buying Tip or Two: taste makers

Your party supplies for this lesson consist of a small notepad and pen. Pocket size. Being the type of winter it's been, few of us are lacking in pockets right now, so no excuses. Then––and this is key––drink. some. wine. Preferably organic. Though I'm not dogmatic about this, I am dogmatic about the fact that you should drink more wine. But again, preferably organic.

Start a wine group or ask your local shop about upcoming tastings or both––go nuts. Drink, judge and think. Judging if you like a wine is as easy as deciding whether or not you want to keep drinking it. Take out party supplies. If yes, mark it. If no, mark it. If you're not sure, mark that, too, no one wants a blank notepad. I highly recommend tasting groups. They make it possible to taste a bunch of wines at one time and discuss them with other people wanting to learn. Good excuse to party on a weekday, also. Win win.

There is likely some writing on the label somewhere that tells you the producer, the region and/or the grape. Include what information you find and the price in your notes along with whether or not you dug it. If the bottle has three X's or the name Turley on it, you're drinking moonshine, so be careful. Now, turn the bottle over and find the importer. This is extremely important, but we'll cover that tomorrow. Write it down. Try a bunch of different wines, and don't bother worrying about vintages. Vintage means the year the grapes were harvested. You should include it, but it's most important for cellaring wines. As Kermit Lynch wrote, "a talented winemaker will come up with something worth tasting every year." Screw the vintage, just memorize that quote.

Also, don't worry about finding the same bottle you liked. Having a general idea of the type of wine you like will prove to be more valuable than having the name of one bottle you enjoyed, and will lead to less disappointment. That's the idea––you're looking for patterns among the wines you've liked. Names won't help. If you notice you like one Pinot Noir, or one Cotes du Rhone, or one New Zealand sauvignon blanc, chances are you will like other ones. Easy, no? Same with regions and importers. Importers we'll discuss tomorrow.

Well, that's a good start. Ready to talk carbonic maceration? I'll bet you are, champ. I'll bet you are. Have a good day, I feel strangely inspired to go hit someone in the head with a soda.


Note: Women make up the vast majority of the clientele in a wine shop. I once got inspired to take a tally––it was 65% and 70% over two days. Just sayin, dudes, just sayin...

Wine Tasting

To get you pumped about today's post I offer this video.

Absolutely. Fabulous.

How I Came to Live in a Barn: part 1

Friends! You've made it to Friday! Congratulations and welcome to the first installment of "How I Came to Live in a Barn."

As a quick preface to this series, from April to December of 2010 I lived in a barn. During that time I worked on a legitimately (though proudly uncertified) organic farm in Southern Kentucky. This series is about the many whims, fascinations and revelations that eventually inspired me to move from the grime of New York City to the dirt of Bugtussle, Kentucky, each piece of the story utterly invaluable to the next. Once we catch up to the present, I'll use the occasion to explain what I'm up to now, by that I mean, beyond the blaug of course. Shall we begin? Wunderbar.

Part 1. September Wines

September is a petite boutique wine shop in Manhattan's Lower East Side, specializing in small-production, organic, biodynamic and sustainably-produced wines. It gets its name from the harvest month of the Northern Hemisphere, and the fact that September is a pretty excellent month in general. The shop rests in a corner spot, its windows towering over the thoroughfare of Ludlow and Stanton with its facade illuminated by a brilliant set of interior light fixtures, ones of which I must have been asked about ten dozen times during my 4 year run as assistant manager there. Minimum.

I spent a healthy percentage of my 20's in that shop either tasting, talking about, or selling wine with all my might. My appreciation for the stuff grew exponentially in that time. What I liked about September was that the wines we brought in were a group effort. We tried to bring in wines upon which we all agreed. September is a store with neighborhood sensibilities whose selection has always been based on quality, not branding. The results of this method were that there ended-up being very few big-name brands in the store, but rather a constantly revolving selection of lesser-known gems that consistently happen to beat the brands in every category from taste to value.

Certain patterns emerged not only in the wines we carried, but in the wines I enjoyed personally. My preferences became increasingly centered around a specific style of wines that were unpolished and unashamed of it. Wine had never wowed me like these wines wowed me, and I realized that most of the wines I was falling for were unfiltered, organic, biodynamic or something like it. It was a trend I couldn't ignore if I were going to get my hands on more of them. Wines like the Hilberg Vareij, or Emile Heredia's "G" gamay for example, exemplified this and everything I liked about wine, and I drank a lot of bottles of them in appreciation. There was something alive about them––healthy even. Sometimes they seemed almost effervescent––other times they actually were. I wasn't particularly organically-minded at the time, but the quality of the experience was thoroughly undeniable, and helped make a valid case for why I should be.

The style of wine I'm talking about, we call "natural wine" for lack of a more appropriate term. Natural is a vague and untrustworthy label in reference to food, but it's remarkably specific in reference to wine; you can't fake a natural wine, they taste like nothing else in the world. If and when Yellow Tail decides to produce a "natural" wine (!!!), it will still taste like Yellow Tail, and that's how you'll know it's not natural.

We carried a number of natural wines at the shop, and more so as we all became increasingly enraptured with their genius. Truthfully, I liked wine before September, and before these, but I never obsessed over it. Natural wines consumed me and in next Friday's post, I'll explain how they changed my world, for this week however, I wanted to salute the place that introduced me to them: here's to September Wines - where oh where would I be without you? Parish the thought.

Cheers.

PHOTO BY TYLER MAGYAR

Job Opportunities!

Wow! They're doing some serious hiring over at The Breedings!

How I Came to Live in a Barn: The Series

As you might or might not know, I spent the better part of last year on a farm in Southern Kentucky living in a barn with no electricity and no running water, but the best damn food this side of the Great Salt Lick. Respectfully. Of course, there is a wonderful story behind how this came to be; a story about how someone would go from living in the sky in Brooklyn, New York, to living in the dirt in Kentucky.

Starting this Friday I will begin the series, carrying on until the story catches up. There will be drinking, foreign travel, food, wine and foolishness. Hopefully it will inspire a little, entertain a little, and kill a little time for you while you wait on your weekend. Every Friday there will be a new installment, so set you ICAL, friends, it's gonna be a party.



Cool runnings,
Jesse

Livestock Live and in Color

Welcome to the paddock move! As mentioned in an earlier post, the animals are given a set amount of square footage based upon the time of year, the density of forage and the amount of livestock. During the main season they are moved twice a day, every 12 hours, and the paddocks tend to be much smaller. If the paddock is too big, they wont eat all the grass, and thus wont utilize the space well. If it's too small they will not be happy with you, and cows are far from shy about expressing this. It's a difficult balance, but when done correctly can leave a pasture densely fertilized, while encouraging the growth of topsoil as well as the biodiversity of grasses and plants available for them to eat. Through this process, Eric has been able to restore fertility to these once heavily-farmed crop fields, while even bringing back native grasses that have not been seen on the farm for decades. Amazing what an hour of work a day will get you.

One other noteworthy bonus to keeping the cows and lambs together is that they do not share parasites. In fact, the lamb serve as a dead end to cow parasites and visa-versa. Also, the presence of the cows helps protect the sheep from predation. Symbiosis in motion

Darla is the brown one with the horns––rest in peace, my love.

Note: If you listen closely you can hear Eric's call. It's what we use to get their attention, and it works like gangbusters. Guesses as to what it is?