I don’t know if you’ve ever been able to sit with the owner of a winery or a winemaker and listen to them speak about their product, but it will forever change your perspective about that stuff in the bottle. I’ve been fortunate enough to meet a number of winemakers/winery owners and those encounters have forever changed the way I view a bottle of wine. After walking through a vineyard, tasting from a barrel or simply talking with a winery owner, viewing a product becomes a much more personal experience.
Tuesday night I had a rare opportunity to attend a wine dinner, hosted by one of my sales reps, downtown at dp’s. I say rare opportunity because most of these events are either during a time when I’m not available or are held out of town. The timing for this, though, was perfect and I was thrilled to sit down with Andrew Tow of the Withers Winery, along with a handful of other industry professionals, to learn about some wines of which I had no prior knowledge.
Here’s what I learned –
- Andrew Tow is an articulate, passionate man who helps to craft wines that are elegant yet accessible.
- Although the Withers Winery has only been in existence for a few short years, it has achieved remarkable success and earned accolades from numerous national publications.
- Their wines sell out – especially the rose and the chardonnay. I’ve got my hand out hoping to land some of the rose at the moment. My luck will be your luck, friends.
- Everything we tasted was enjoyable and seemed to be equally adept at being paired with foods or sipped sans food.
- The project has some rock star investors – like Derek Trucks and Susan Tedeschi. Cool, right?
- The wines are affordably priced, in fact, part of the impetus for Tow to produce his rose was a desire to drink something delicious without breaking the bank. If I can land any I’ll probably price it between $30-35 a bottle which makes it on the higher end of my roses, but within reach of most diners.
- The Pinot Noirs are dynamite. I don’t have room on my list right now, but when I sell a couple of my higher end Pinots out, I hope there are still a few bottles of the English Hill for me to buy. When I tasted this the other night, the nose was so damn heady it almost satiated my desire to consume it without even taking a sip. Wow.
If you were to look at my wine list at Lark + Lily you’d see approximately 100 different labels. I’ve selected probably 65% of those labels with the others coming as an inventory purchase when I originally opened last fall. The bottles that I find myself reaching for when a guest asks for a recommendation are the ones that I can share story about – the Hendry, the Biale, the Bonny Doon. These are wines which were introduced to me by their producers – I walked the vineyard with George Hendry, ate lunch and tasted wine with Robert Biale, barrel sampled at Bonny Doon. Hopefully, one day, the Withers will have a similar presence on my list.
You know with a last name like “Lilly,” I love me some flowers. If you share a similar appreciation for things which bloom, this is your lucky weekend. get yourself down to the New York State Museum and inhale some of the gorgeousness that is currently on display. $5 gets you in and helps to support the museum’s after school programs benefiting children across our fair city. Here are a few images to help your interest blossom!
I’m a little ashamed for thinking, much less saying, this but … I really kind of detest the science fair. It isn’t because science isn’t really my thing, or that I’m opposed to exploring a topic of interest, it’s just that it turns into so much work without much reward. It’s hard to be excited about a process that comes with as many demands as a science experiment. Eh, maybe it’s just me.
Part of the science fair process involves observations which must be documented. In the spirit of research, I’ve got a few observations to share from my weekend. They’re in no particular order.
- I’m not a bad feminist because I like Bernie more than I like Hillary.
- The same is true when it comes the fact that I think it’s ok for a woman to want to look pretty when she leaves the house.
- A winter walk with a friend and the dogs at the golf course makes for a perfect afternoon.
- On a related note, lipstick has become my friend in a way it wasn’t until I was in my 40s.
- Wearing a hat can be a real act of bravery. I’m not talking about a baseball cap, I mean a more bold chapeaux – something in a vivid colored felt or a generously proportioned straw number.
- I don’t completely understand why folks get so uptight about getting older. I kind of think of adding years like putting another notch in my lipstick* case. It’s an accomplishment.
- Recently, Delaware Avenue has been interesting to walk on, but scary to drive on. People really need to slow the hell down and stop being so aggressive behind the wheel.
- In theory, I love brunch. What’s not to like about day drinking and someone other than me cooking and serving a meal? In reality, though, I just don’t have time for day drinking and a big meal midday. Maybe on vacation?
- I thought the ribs I made on Saturday were pretty banging until I ate ribs at Jay and Karen’s. Never mind.
- I’ve got an idea for this year’s science fair which just might be fun. I’d say more but don’t want anyone co-opting our experiment. Hint: it involves soda.
*what’s my obsession with lipstick?
Filed under aging, Albany, Boys, Delaware Avenue, DelSo, Exercise, Local, moms, Observations, Random, Schools, Uncategorized, winter
Ok, people, I’ve arrived at that place where many of you have been for weeks, if not months – I’m done with winter. As I look out my sliding glass window at the still light at 7:15 pm sky, I want to feel enticed to venture outdoors, to take a walk or run. Instead, I’m cozied up on the couch trying to decide which comes first – a hot shower or a quick nap. This does not make me happy.
Last month when it was barely 12 degrees for my son’s sledding party, I didn’t complain. During my winter break a few weeks back, there were a couple of days when it was literally too cold to be outside for more than a few minutes. I accepted it. On the first full day of spring when Mother Nature spit snow from the sky, I responded by simply changing from my Frye boots into a pair of Doc’s. No big deal.
But, today? When I went outside and felt the bone-chilling wind cut through my three layers of clothing? As I reached, again, for a hat and gloves and warmed up my car prior to going to work? I felt pissed. I’m tired of my winter wardrobe, sick of socks and wearing leggings under my jeans. I’m ready for bare legs, crisp cotton sheets and open windows, aren’t you?
It’s time, Jack Frost. You need to go.
If you’re an outdoors exerciser, you’ll probably agree that we’ve arrived at shoulder season – or, as I like to call it, ass season. As in, falling on your ass if you’re not cautious because it’s so damn icy. We’re somewhere between skiing and running/cycling season and each day brings the question of which activity will be best attempted in conditions that seem to vary daily.
The golf course has deteriorated into an icy landscape, complete with bare spots and piles of dog poop. I skied it Friday and it was treacherous. After walking it on Saturday, I reluctantly concluded that ski season was over. I consoled myself with my first run in weeks – 5 slow, wet and slick miles. My quads are screaming today, so I guess I guess we can call this shoulder, ass and quads season to be accurate.
This morning, there was an unexpected (to me) period of snow. Fluffy flakes quickly accumulated and frosted the icy snow changing my prospects for the day. A ski it would be.
Work last night, an obscenely early soccer game (7:30), and the time change had combined to kick my ass, confirming the appropriateness of my naming the season after the gluteal region. After a nap between fresh flannel sheets, I felt prepared to attempt the golf course, hoping that the trails would be improved. It proved to be beyond my expectations.
The sun had softened the snow’s crust and the newly fallen flakes had filled in the worst of the divots. The sky was blue with fluffy white clouds and the ski was sublime. Although I am generally conscious of being present in the moment, I focused even harder on experiencing this ski, imagining it as being my last of the winter.
The interior trails, particularly the Coca-Cola, were beautiful and easily negotiated. Jeter and I explored a new path or two and when we completed our long loop it seemed we both felt pleasantly fatigued. Regardless of which part of my body feels sore, that soulful place inside me feels satisfied. Time for a glass of wine.
Tuesday was a long day in my neighborhood. I first got the news in the early morning – a water main had burst and the police, but not yet the water department, were on hand. I considered getting up and running some water in my bath tub, but since I’m on vacation, I rolled over and went back to sleep.
When I finally did get out of bed, my water flowed like normal from the pipes and I immediately forgot my earlier plan to store some water in the tub. I made coffee, gave Jeter fresh water and even mopped with no apparent end in sight to my water supply. Until I wanted to wash my hands a short time later and instead of water, I got spitting air from the faucet. My hands immediately felt filthy.
The neighbors started checking in via text and calls – one had been mid-shower when her water dried up, others had immediately assumed that the problem was more localized, perhaps even limited to their own homes in the form of burst pipes. Fortunately, we shared the limited information we had since the city wasn’t exactly forthcoming. It was after 10:00 before we received some official information when a water department employee canvassed the neighborhood and informed us that we would be without water until approximately 4:30 in the afternoon. Great.
Surprisingly, I had water for a brief moment midmorning and was able to get 8″ of dirty water in my tub for toilet flushing. It’s the little things, right? When the water still wasn’t on (without benefit of any updates from the water department) by 5:15, I abandoned hopes of roasting a chicken and ordered Chinese* instead. Naturally, while I was in the parking lot I received a text that the water was flowing again.
I arrived home with a Chinese feast for the boys and the promise of a hot bath for me. I had a renewed appreciation for running water along with the hope that our city’s infrastructure might be shown some love and attention in the city budget.It wasn’t a tremendous inconvenience for us to be without water for 12 hours, but I worry that other residents might really be challenged when basic services fail.
*Ocean Palace does such a great job – and such nice people!
Don’t even approach my body unless you’ve first been between my ears. I’m 48, not 18.
True love isn’t roses and chocolate. It’s starting my car on a winter’s morning or bringing home pizza on a Friday night.
Love is buying me the Sunday paper on Saturday so I don’t have to go outside on a cold morning.
Love means being able to continue to believe.