Take My Tears and That’s Not Nearly All
It’s not my love that’s tainted. It’s the wine.
Cork taint is a tricky beast. I’m not going to bore you with the technical mumbo jumbo. But let’s just say that sometimes there is a problem with a natural cork, and that problem results in the wine tasting bad. However, “bad” is a relative term, and some people are more sensitive to it than others. It’s not like it makes the wine putrid nor does it make the wine taste like vinegar. The wine still tastes like wine, just not very good wine
My hunch is that most people couldn’t identify cork taint in a bottle of wine. That’s not too surprising because most people don’t drink wine very often. You probably know how Coke is supposed to taste. And I’m guessing that you could tell if a soda fountain’s mix of syrup to seltzer was off. But that’s because you’ve had hundreds, if not thousands, of Cokes in your lifetime.
Even those who drink wine regularly can have problems identifying this vexing problem. I know because I experienced this first hand last week.
Ten Years
Time plays funny tricks on the mind. I’ve heard it said in regards to raising kids that the days go slow, but the years go quick. When I was younger I noticed that a journey always seemed to take longer than the return trip. And there is no doubting that as I get older, the weeks just seem to fly by faster and faster.
However, today has nothing to do with kids, travel or the perception of time. Today is the tenth anniversary of my marriage. That means on this day all the way back in 2001, Mrs. Fussy stood in front of our friends and family in Berkeley, California and said, “I do.” Technically, she said, “Li” since the important part was apparently in Hebrew. But you get the idea.
Oddly, it feels both like an impossibly long time and almost like no time at all.
Ten years is the amount of time from my very first memories to my bar mitzvah. It’s the time span from starting seventh grade until college graduation. But it’s also only half the time since the original release of Nirvana’s Nevermind.
Mrs. Fussy and I aren’t terribly sentimental and we don’t make a big deal about anniversaries in general, but we do enjoy our traditions. The one thing we do every year is remark how glad we are not to be having a wedding today. And our wedding was great. Let me tell you a bit about the food.
Salad Spinning
Maybe this summer is the year I come around on salad. I had hoped that wouldn’t be necessary, as our CSA had reported early hail, a delay of the first delivery of the season, and what sounded like a significant blow to the lettuce crop.
While I do not generally celebrate the misfortune of others, my heart did a little happy dance at the notion of fewer salad greens in this year’s share from the farm.
However, two active weeks into the season we are seeing plenty of lettuce. This week and last we had two giant heads of the stuff, and the week before we had a bag of loose leaf too. Other leafy greens that can be cooked I’m quite enthusiastic about. It’s those that are eaten raw which have always seemed like more of a chore than a delight.
But I’m starting to get into the Zen of washing greens.
And I’m starting to get the feel of Italian dressing.
Not So Summery
What do you like to eat when it’s hot outside?
Despite growing up in Miami, some of the hottest summers I’ve encountered were in Philadelphia. Miami during the summer is freezing because everyone cranks their air conditioning so that it’s sixty-two degrees, no matter where you go. There is air conditioning everywhere. In some places, they even air condition the outdoors.
Philly was a different story. The place where I was living had no air conditioning, and it was sweltering. I had no appetite at all. Thankfully there were fruit salad carts on almost every street corner, where I could pick up some cooling and refreshing sustenance.
I don’t like being hot. I don’t like sitting out in the sun. And I don’t like sweating.
But last week I needed to mow the lawn. And even after taking a long cold shower to try and lower my core temperature, I was still warm. The big problem was that I was hungry, since I hadn’t eaten anything that day. However, I had a great idea for what I hoped would be a delicious and cooling lunch.
Across This Line, You DO NOT
It’s just a hunch, but I’m guessing that nobody is really interested in reading a philosophical and theoretical discussion about the ethics of food writing.
However, not only has this been a recent topic of conversation here on the FLB, but it has also generated quite a bit of heat over at Wendalicious. And I think it deserves a little bit of attention, especially given a few recent events.
Not least of which is the new Chipotle that opens today on Wolf Road.
See, now you have to ask yourself, why did I mention that? Did I write it because I was invited to the pre-opening day festivities in which my family was treated to free burritos and sodas? Or did I mention it because I hope Chipotle’s increased presence will ultimately inspire our local restaurants to strive for similar thresholds of sustainably and ethically raised ingredients?
Surprise Cake
When you have kids, birthdays mean one thing: cake with candles. Maybe other kids are more into presents, but the Fussy Little Children demand cake. And cake isn’t cake, unless it has candles.
Perhaps you remember I wrote about cake last week too.
But that had less to do with my love for cake than its obvious supremacy over cupcakes. Not that a great cupcake is something to sneeze at. I try to recognize good food in all of its forms.
So my father-in-law just happened to be visiting from Pennsylvania on his birthday, and Mrs. Fussy, having just recently read my little love note to Crisan, decided we should get one of their cakes. Let me tell you, it was pretty fantastic. How fantastic? So fantastic that words can’t do it justice, and thus I’m including pictures.
Dad’s Cigar
Material goods are fleeting. It’s experiences that count. Not that I don’t appreciate the cold-brewing system that I imagine is coming my way for Father’s Day thanks to Mrs. Fussy and the Fussy children (after I explicitly told the missus that it was the only thing I really want).
But it’s meaningful that Mrs. Fussy is actually doing the buying. She’s willingly bringing into the house yet another gadget for my coffee-making pleasure. And for someone who doesn’t like clutter, that’s a very big deal indeed.
I don’t have a gift for my dad today. So instead, much like when I was a kid, I’m going to write him a card. Except unlike when I was a kid, this will be a very public card. You are welcome to read it, because while it about my dad, it is also about wine. And experiences.
In this case a cigar isn’t just a cigar. But it’s not that other thing either. You’ll just have to read on.
Balancing Melons
My name is Daniel B. and it has been five weeks since my last cocktail post. It used to be the Fridays were my cocktail day and Sundays were my wine day. I am going to try and get back to that. At the very least this week will echo that old, familiar pattern.
It feels like I should do a Father’s Day cocktail post, since the big day is right around the corner. Before I had a family of my own, I never fancied the holiday as a time for drinks. But now with two small children, my attitudes have changed a bit.
Not during the day mind you, when I’m doing the family centric part of it. But once the kids are in bed, dusk has settled and the mosquitoes have cleared out, I like to sit out on the back porch and contemplate the depths of a good whisky. However, your Father’s Day rituals are probably set in stone, so I’m not going to bore you with my introspection today. For that, you’ll have to wait until Sunday.
Instead, since summer is almost upon us, I need to let you know about building cocktails on the fly, and make sure you aren’t letting precious cocktail ingredients go to waste.
Discuss Gus Disgust
Nobody will argue that the specialty foods of the Capital Region are the pinnacle of high dining. Well, maybe Mr. Dave. But I hear he’s been busy lately.
That hasn’t stopped me from enjoying the heck out of them, and trying to experience them in all of their forms. In part that was the onus behind last winter’s Tour de Hot Dog. There was a bit of disagreement among the attendees about which classic establishment was the best, but there was no disagreement on the worst.
The dubious honor fell to the much beloved Gus’s Hot Dogs.
However, just this past weekend on a gray and rainy day, DerryX celebrated his blog’s one-year anniversary at this very spot. And as is now my custom I order a sausage sandwich with peppers and onions and one hot dog with everything. But this time, something was different. This time the hot dog wasn’t awful.
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