Carolyn Tillie

You know, if folks like this saw the number of fruit flies swarming around and landing in open vats of wine before it is bottled, they would swear off wine permanently. When I'm doing tastings in our cave, we apologize up front about the number of flies becuase IT IS PART OF THE LIFE DURING PRODUCTION but we can't help it when they land in the glass while it is being poured. Heck, I can't tell you how many times I've had to pick the flies out of my teeth during tastings!

This quote best illuminates my basic question. Is gas only released into the apartment when the burner is in "flame out condition"? Why doesn't the burner, when flaming, release gas? ← Gas is not being released from the burner when flaming, because the gas is being burned! Granted, there is a residual, different type of gas being released, but not one that is flamable. And, for the record, for over a dozen years now, I have left stock on the stove top overnight with no problems. Nothing will get me to change this technique as I find it the most economical of my time.

Gads, thank you Jschyun! I so miss all the hole-in-the-wall Japanese restaurants that pepper SoCal. I have yet to have a comparable NoCal Japanese attempt. Funny that whenever I just realized that in the two years I've now lived here NoCal, whenever I have driven back 'home' to SoCal, it has never been without stopping at one of my old favorite stomping ground J-town eateries. I'll definitely be doing more trips down there this coming year and look forward to hooking up with you at an eatery or two!

Hope those of you with a slower internet load will be patent -- there are LOTS of pictures coming now: The grapes that were picked last week get transferred to larger bins: With a forklift, one by one, they are dumped into sorter: Each cluster is carefully reviewed -- those unworthy of being wine are discarded. A backshot of the sorter -- the grapes then go into a de-stemmer and, using the gravity method, slide down a shaft into a tank: Ladera was built in the 1880s as a gravity-method winery. Over the last four years, the Stotesberys have painstakingly restored it to be used as a gravity method winery. Here is a shot of the grapes from the top floor of the winery, falling down VIA GRAVITY to the second level. On the bottom level, we have open-topped fermenters. Most of the grapes start here for hand-punch downs (versus pump overs). What it looks like inside a tank, after MUCH punch-down has been done (more juice): I'm sorry the picture is dark (there isn't much light anyway). This is Roberto on our catwalk, up above the open-top fermenters, working the pneumatic punch-down system. This will happen for five to twenty days, depending on the grapes. Next week: Pressing the juice and going into barrels. By the way, if you have never visited a winery during crush, it is an unbelievable experience. There is an aroma lingering in the air that is impossible to describe. Occasionally you pick fruit flies out of your teeth, but this is a minor annoyance.

Thank you ALL. As those of you who write understand, getting thoughts on paper is a form of therapy. I have posted little in the past three weeks as the thoughts of the enclosed piece manifested itself through bouts of insomnia. The support and encouragement I have received through my mostly faceless friends here on eG has provided immeasurable strength and resolve. With great appreciation and affection; carolyn

Sorry for the long delay, dear friends. Explanation Here. Our grapes were picked on Friday. Here is how they looked that morning: And the vine: And our grapes getting picked: Although the grapes were processed on Friday, I'll wait and show you all those pictures next week. Thanks for your patience.

My mother passed away less than two weeks ago. It happened very suddenly, but not entirely unexpected to our family as she had suffered from a number of health issues over the past ten years. My two older sisters and our father had been told on more than one occasion to "prepare for the worst." Only two months earlier she had been hospitalized with numerous strains of pneumonia and going home after six weeks on oxygen was infinitely preferable to living in a care facility. The night before she died, she attended a fundraiser dinner and dined with close friends. She went home happy and fell asleep with her arm draped over her husband of 53 years. At 72 years of age, she just never woke up. When my sister called me at work, first thing on that last day in September, I did not cry when I heard the news. Neither of us cried during the 10-hour drive to Southern California nor were there tears when we arrived and hugged our Dad and sister, Jayne. "I want you girls to pack up her clothes and we’ll donate them to the local homeless shelter," my father explained the first night we were all together. "I know some people keep things like that for a year or so before they can get rid of them," he said, "but I would rather you girls pick out what you want now and have the rest go to a good charity that can use them." The following morning, after breakfast, Susan, Jayne, and I commenced in clearing out the closets, keeping a sweater here and a purse there, but the bulk of the items bagged for the shelter. Being near completed with the project, I headed into the kitchen, experiencing my first pang of hunger in almost two days. Dad is sitting at the adjacent counter eating a sandwich and offers to make me one. Perusing the fridge, I find a small bowl of taco meat which looks appealing enough. "There are taco shells, lettuce, and cheese in there too, if you want." Dad says. I’m happy just warming it up in the bowl with a little sour cream, I explain. "It tastes kind of like beef stroganoff this way," I tell him – Dad being a known hater of sour cream. Sitting at the counter with him, telling him that Jayne and Sue are just about finished packing up the clothes, I compliment the flavors of the taco meat. "That was the last think your Mom cooked," Dad says. My moment has come as tears stream down my face. Grief did not come from smelling the scent of Estee Lauder perfume on her clothes. Nor from Dad making sure that I received the black pearl ring that Mom had always wanted me to have. Grief came in a bowl of leftover taco meat; quietly, slowly, deliberately, suddenly. The following days were filled with similar moments. At the mortuary, where a hundred people came to express their condolences, I did not weep at the wave of sadness that permeated the room, it came just beforehand, walking behind the mortuary building and seeing giant mushrooms growing from an old tree. I acquired my love of mushrooms from my mother. We always had to make them separately and never in dishes because Dad hates them. Going over old pictures of my mom, I see a surprisingly young-looking woman celebrating her 40th birthday at The Five Crowns restaurant in Dana Point, California, famed for its prime rib. Dad remembers that visit especially well as he reminisces that was the first time he tried escargot. "Don’t you remember, Little Sis?" he asks me, "You were about seven years old and you wanted escargot, only knowing it was French and all you wanted then was French food." Now it is a favorite of his and in the 30 years since, he and Mom had often prepared nothing more than a platter of escargot and a steamed artichoke as a satisfying dinner for the two of them. Worrying about the next few weeks for Dad, we sisters banded together in the best way we knew how. Jayne prepared and froze up individual servings of chili. Sue made batches of lentil soup. I made potato leek soup. "I’m not going to starve! I can cook for myself" Dad protested. But we knew the next few weeks would be the hardest for him and because we couldn’t be there every day, offering our embraces in warm bowls of goodness was the best we could do. The last night we were there, a feast of comfort food was made for Dad – southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, buttermilk biscuits, and collard greens. Dad is a Georgia boy and with my Mom’s deteriorating health, I knew he had not had a full southern meal of this size in several years and would be unlikely to make one for himself anytime soon. In the kitchen, the aroma of collards already simmering, we work together; Sue dipped the chicken into the milk before dredging the pieces in the spiced flour mixture. Placing the biscuits on the baking sheet, I watch Dad chopping the potatoes. "That was always a great knife," I complimented. Finishing his chore, Dad hands me the knife. "Grandma gave it to us when we got married. Her mom gave it to her and I’m sure Mom would want you to have it." I see the forge date on the blade, through the tears that begin to well again: 1843. I marvel at the legacy of this knife and what it means that it is now in my possession. Since my return to Napa, much has happened and I am saddened that I can’t share it with my mother. I’ve been hired as a freelance writer for the Napa Register covering food, wine, and entertainment. I have been approached by a London-based wine magazine as a possible correspondent for the Napa Valley. My writing career is taking off and I am saddened that my mother, who always encouraged me in my artistic, musical, and culinary endeavors, will never get to read anything that gets published.

I'm with Jake -- when bronchitis or flu sets in, I want nothing other than chicken soup and tea (although I will occasionally have other alcoholic beverages like cognac in a hot toddy). But no wine.

To continue the irony, the September issue of Specialty Food has on its cover the Outstanding New Product of 2004 - D'Artagnan Medallion Duck Foie Gras with 2% Truffles. A beautiful photograph and a pretty darned good product, I'd like to add... P.S. Gordo, glad you finally got to eat at Pilar's restaurant, although having her cook in your kitchen is pretty darned cool.

Martinis. Must serve martinis.

This is an interesting idea... while I am sure they are quite settled and happy here in America, maybe we can persuade Junny and Guillermo Gonzalez of Sonoma Saveurs to RETURN to El Salvador (from whence they came) to continue production of their amazing product then IMPORT to us! Squeat, this is where I'm sorry you don't get to the wine country often enough... My little trips to Sonoma Saveurs have become a bi-weekly event as they have made foie gras *reasonably* affordable AND addictive. I do believe I have eaten more foie gras in the past year than I have in my previous <ahem> 30-something-and-then-some years....

Derricks, what is that one legal source? Since there is a similar initiative occuring in France and production has already been stopped in many European countries, who will be left to produce it?

You know it is a girl? Then Veuve Cliquot is an excellent choice! Did you know that the Madame Cliquot inherited the winery from her husband upon his death and made it the famous house it is today? A great sparkler and SO invokes the strong, independent female spirit!

Depending on how fast your service is, the ice cream might still be viable when served -- plus the meling ice cream subsequently makes a beautiful crema on top... I do it with coffee ice cream and it is my absolute favorite in the winter. Another thought on your hot chocolate shake might be the idea of making Mexican Hot Chocolate which is made like Divina said - chunks of Mexican-spiced chocolate blended with hot milk that makes big, foamy hot chocolate. Make THAT with extra-hot milk THEN add a scoop of ice cream. Yum!

I have always wanted a good, authentic recipe for chopped liver -- and people usually look at me silly when I ask for a good chopped liver recipe...

I've done two that I've documented (and several others I've haven't bothered to document): 10 Courses based on Salvador Dali's cookbook, Les Diners de Gala and 10 Courses based on the Kabbalah (this, by the way, was pre-Madonna days!) It really isn't that difficult -- I've also done 18 course Moroccan which is infinitely easier...

Where did you buy the LaTour Blance from? I was buying the '97 at about the same price up until I moved here to NoCal and then couldn't find it anywhere. I loved that stuff, especially for the price!

Well, he might work in Century City but live in Pasadena -- which is not only a world, but miles apart... I might recommend something that promotes romance... perhaps a dinner gift certificate at The Restaurant at The Getty which would necessitate a visit to the museum, or a dinner certificate to Kendall's Brasserie at the Music Center, along with tickets to a performance? (I would have suggested Patina, but that would have been beyond your budget). I say to think beyond the simple dinner -- make it an event of some sort!

So long, and thanks for the all fish! Seriously... we hope you'll at least check in now and then with a thought or a comment -- a goodbye should never be for forever! <sniff> carolyn </sniff>

I think Nullo got it -- 30 years ago, my mother stayed home and cooked for her brood. Now, with just Shawn and I, there are too many occasions when cooking is just too much work after a long day at the office (yep, even for me at my lovely, lush office!)

From Squeat's Wine on the Web thread, a tasting notes generator that is downright hilarious on occasion. My current favorite:

Thanks, Squeat! I already had about half of those sites bookmarked (and have long been a contributor on Robin Garr's site), but who knew how many other really cool ones existed? I feel an article brewing in my head for TDG, when it comes back online...

Blech.... When in doubt, throw it out! I don't know if I would want to eat them! PLUS, I would return them and show the purveyor what you found!

OHMYGOSH, you WERE there, weren't you? It was my 1980s party that were mostly folks from Robin Garr's Wine Lover's Discussion Group... But I am also recalling how I got that wine -- a tasting that was done with Julian Serrano, Lee Iaoccoca, a dozen or so other folks, and 3 sommelier who were opening a huge flight of Cabernets, notes here. The dessert wine was an afterthought by Warren Winiarski so I didn't include notes at the time. Sadly, I was not privy to the wine a decade earlier and there is no way to guess what it might have been like. Funny that I remember the honey and fruit but you remember nuttiness... I'm older than you and admit to having a horrible memory, but it is possible the bottle date was in the 80s...

There is an occasional exception, but I believe you are correct in this assessment. I had a short stint at Stag's Leap Wine Cellars and was given a '74 or '76 (can't remember now) Late Harvest. While I don't remember the year, I do remember it stood up beautifully after 20-ish years, being a lovely dark gold color, complex and layered in fruit, honey, and herb. I tried to find my exact tasting notes on another site where I know I posted them, but am coming up short. Suffice to say the bottle was shared with a dozen other dudes "in the industry" and all were extremely impressed...