Tag Archives: wine

Wine Tasting at Bacchus

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A nice night out in Scottsdale.

My friend Tom, who is a wine lover like me, has a home in the Scottsdale, AZ area, where he lives during the week. (You may recall the article I wrote about dinner at Tom’s Wickenburg home.) On Wednesday nights, he goes to a wine shop named Bacchus, for wine tastings. It’s mostly a social event, but it also gives him an opportunity to try a wide variety of wines, many of which he purchases for his wine “cellar.” He’s urged us to join him, but since Scottsdale is a 60-mile drive from Wickenburg, it isn’t exactly convenient.

Yesterday, however, I had some other plans that included a trip to Scottsdale. I needed to drop off my “airport car” at a friend’s hangar near Scottsdale Airport, where it would wait patiently for my next trip down there. About half of Flying M Air’s business is out of Scottsdale these days and since the old Toyota wasn’t doing anything worthwhile in Wickenburg, I thought I’d leave it in Scottsdale for ground transportation when I flew down for business. So I drove it down there yesterday afternoon. The poor car rides terribly at slow speeds in city stop-and-go situations, but is like a magic carpet at highway speeds. The speedometer must be wrong because it said we were doing almost 80 all the way down there but it sure didn’t feel like it and there were still a few cars passing us on the highway. The radio’s speakers are all broken too now — must be the dry air — so I had to listen to my iPod with ear buds. That was okay because the car is also pretty loud (the engine is right behind me and it rides low to the ground) and the plug-style buds I wear blwocked out most of the road noise. I tried to catch up with NPR podcasts and managed to hear at least 15 of them during the ride.

Along the way, I stopped at Tom’s business in the Deer Valley area, AeroPhoenix. Tom’s a distributor for aviation/pilot supplies and he occasionally lets me wander through his warehouse to look at all the great books (he must have the largest selection of aviation books anywhere), gadgets, and other pilot aids he sells. (This is the business I’d hoped he’d bring to Wickenburg, but he’s pretty settled down in Deer Valley and doesn’t want to move.) I wanted to pick up two pilot shirts — you know, the kind with the do-dads on the shoulder so I could wear my captain’s bars. Although most flights are too casual for such attire, I occasionally do VIP transportation for a Wickenburg-based business owner and I think wearing a captain’s “uniform” would help impress my client’s clients. He had these great helicopter ties, too, but I even thought that particular width is in style, I like a narrower tie. (I’ve never been accused of being stylish.) I invited Tom to join Mike and I for dinner at Deseo for some ceviche. But Tom was busy with work and said he’d have a hard enough time getting to the wine tasting by 6:30.

I met Mike at Scottsdale Airport after parking the Toyota at its new home away from home. We went to the Westin Kierland Resort and Spa, a relatively new hotel just west of the Kierland Commons shopping center near Scottsdale Airport. It’s a nice place — I certainly wouldn’t mind staying there! We found Deseo on the lower level. Unfortunately, since it was only 5:30, the restaurant was still closed. But the bar was open and they were serving mojitos and a limited menu for appetizers. We ordered a pair of the smoothest mojitos I’ve ever had and five different ceviche dishes. As we waited for the food, the small bar filled with people. A bowl game was just starting on the big television above the bar. Our food came from the kitchen in two batches: five incredible collections of ingredients and flavors. We argued over which dish was best and decided that we’d have to come back for dinner in the restaurant and try again.

We asked the concierge for directions to Bacchus. It was in Kierland Commons, about a half mile from the hotel. We took the car so we could park it nearby and save a walk after the tasting. We wound up having to valet park it; there were no spaces near the shops.

Bacchus is a wine shop with a limited selection of wines and a very knowledgeable, service-oriented staff. If you want something they don’t have, they can order it for you, Tom assured us later in the evening. The tasting was $15 per person. After establishing where Tom usually sits (he wasn’t there yet), we took our tasting glasses and notes to the table and introduced ourselves to the folks already there. Among them was Stan, another Bacchus regular. Our table filled up quickly, although I was able to hold a seat for Tom. He arrived right before the tasting, looking a little disheveled, and took the seat I’d saved beside me.

I’ll be honest — I was a bit disappointed with the tasting. It wasn’t the wine so much — I liked two of them and didn’t care much for the other two. It was the accompanying lecture. The session was supposed to be Wine Tasting 101, a beginner’s guide to tasting wine. But rather than step us through the wine tasting process — swirl, examine the legs, sniff, sip, roll around on the palette, etc. — the lecturer gave us tidbits of tasting information as we tried the four wines over a 90-minute period. I was hoping for a more step-by-step approach, with the lecturer telling us, with each wine, what we should be smelling and tasting. It always bothered me that wines could be described as having vanilla or almond or blackberry flavors and I could never taste it. I was hoping to learn how to taste it. I guess the point is, I was hoping to learn. The lecture, however, didn’t cover anything more than I could get from a few winery visits in Napa or Sonoma county.

(Okay, so not everyone in the Scottsdale area has the inclination to go for wine tastings in California’s wine country. But we’ve been there four times, most recently this past June, so there wasn’t much new to us. I never thought of myself as a wine “expert” — and still don’t — but we’re apparently better educated about wine than most people.)

I liked the chardonnay (Le Snoot, 2005) and cabernet sauvignon (Edge, 2004) that we tasted. After the last wine, Tom ordered a bottle of one of his favorites for the table: Giacomo Vico Barbera d’ Alba 2001. It’s a nice, smooth red wine. When that was gone, he ordered an Ada Nada Barbaresco Elisa 2000. Even better.

Now if you’re wondering how I remembered the exact names of the wines, I didn’t. I bought a total of six bottles (two each of the chardonnay and cabernet and one each of the Barbera and Barbaresco and just read the names off the labels. I don’t go to wine tastings just to taste wine. I go to find wines I can buy and bring home and drink. The purchase stood me back over $100 — this ain’t Two-Buck Chuck — but now I know I have good wines on hand for good meals and special occasions.

The last bottle was only halfway finished when Mike and I rose to leave. Tom was going to be moving on to a place called the Ocean Club, where he sometimes went after tastings to meet friends. Evidently, there’s a piano bar there and people gather around and sing. (I don’t think he’s talking about karaoke, either.)

Unfortunately, Mike and I had horses to feed and a dog to let out. Wickenburg was 60 miles away. Although we’d each had a fair helping of wine, it had been spread out over a long enough period that neither of us were anywhere near drunk. We retrieved the car from the valet and Mike drove us home. We stepped in the door at 9:30 PM.

Tom’s left us with an open invitation to join him at Bacchus any Wednesday evening. He has a guest room in his Scottsdale area condo where we can spend the night if we need to. I might take him up on that offer now that I have a car in Scottsdale. The next time I fly into Scottsdale on a Wednesday, when I’m finished with business, I’ll park the helicopter for the night. Then I’ll drive on over to Bacchus for some wine, hit the Ocean Club to check out the scene there, and crash at Tom’s place. In the morning, I can fly back to Wickenburg. Sounds like a plan, huh?

Now all I need is a Wednesday charter down in Scottsdale.

An Evening Out

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We visit a friend above town.

Last night, my husband and I spent the evening with a friend who lives part-time in Wickenburg. His house sits on a ridge overlooking the town.

As I drove up the road that led to his home, I felt I was rising above the scum that floats just below the surface of Wickenburg, the scum of small-town politics, corruption, and business owners being threatened for signing petitions that support their personal beliefs.

Our friend, Tom, can’t live full-time in Wickenburg. He simply can’t get the things he needs to live comfortably. So he has a condo in the Deer Valley area of Phoenix, near where his business is based. He comes to Wickenburg to work on his house, which he’s systematically torn apart and put back together over the past three years, working with one contractor after another to get each job done. By the looks of things, he’s about 80% finished. He shops in Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods Phoenix before he comes to Wickenburg, bringing up organic groceries to stock his kitchen and incredible wines to stock his in-wall wine “cellar.”

I used to try to get Tom to move his business up to Wickenburg, to build a building in the town’s industrial park and operate out of there. But he would tell me that he has a great staff in Deer Valley and he knows they wouldn’t commute up here. He doesn’t want to lose them. Now, after thinking about it for a long time and seeing the hurdles a small business needs to jump to get set up in Wickenburg — I’ve been trying, unsuccessfully, to get an office at the airport for my helicopter charter business for more than eight months — I don’t nag him about it anymore. I wouldn’t want to push him to a decision that would make him unhappy.

Tom’s ridgetop home offers stunning views in every direction, marred only by the power lines APS recently strung along another ridge nearby. The poles and wires are a heartbreak to Tom, who bought the house because of the incredible views. He’s angry because APS had an alternative route, one that would have taken the power lines through unoccupied areas of town where they wouldn’t be such an eyesore to residents. But APS took the easy route, following the edge of state land. Although I agree that they hurt his view, the situation is even worse for the homes they pass near. Literally dozens of homes were affected by the power line installation. But although he’s complained to APS and the Town of Wickenburg, no one seems to care.

We spent the evening listening to classical music and jazz, drinking wine, making dinner, and looking out at the lights of Wickenburg far below us. Tom’s view of the town at night is just like mine from the helicopter as I come into Wickenburg at the end of one of my moonlight dinner tours. He remarked at how many more lights there are now than there were just three years ago when he bought his home. “Imagine how the difference is to us,” I told him. “We’ve been here ten years.”

At Tom’s house, I felt so far removed from town, like I was in another place. A place where culture, fine wine, and quality food were an important part of everyday life, not something to be treated to once in a while. The air seemed somehow cleaner up there, the political situation not so dirty, the conversation more educated and interesting. It was as if we’d left Wickenburg and stepped into a city home. Not necessarily a Phoenix home, mind you. Perhaps one in New York, high above Second Avenue and 60th Street.

The feeling stuck with me all evening as I sipped wine chosen by my host, minced fresh garlic for the garlic bread, and ground sea salt over my soba noodles. Less than two miles as the crow flies from my home, I was in another world.

Fine Dining — Not!

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Or how not to serve wine in a restaurant.

My husband and I tried a new local restaurant last night. We’d asked a few friends who had tried it and they gave me the impression it was worth a shot. One of them said, “Well, the food is good.” That should have warned me.

The place is in a brand new building that’s quite attractive, although not quite the right fit for the Sonoran desert. It features big wood beams overhead and a stone fireplace. The kind of place that would work really well in Northern Arizona, in the mountains surrounded by tall pine trees. Or in Colorado. Not quite right when the biggest thing outside is a cactus. Still, open and very pleasant and quite a nice change from the usual places around town.

But it was a disappointment.

The biggest disappointment was with the wine. The restaurant, which is very new, has a small, unimaginative wine list. There were about a dozen offerings on the list and one of them was Sutter Home White Zinfandel. While I’m sure some people like that — my mother appears to be one of them — I can’t remember the last time I actually saw it on a wine list. A real wine list — one that’s in its own little hardcovered folder, like it has something of value in it.

The menu was kind of disappointing, too. A lot of beef, a single chicken dish, and two fish dishes. Some salads for the dieting or veggie crowd. The special was halibut, although how it was prepared was not something we were made privy to. Actually, very few items on the menu included a description of how they were prepared. The menu was a simple list of entrees; you picked two accompaniments to go with your meal.

So that’s the setup.

When we were seated, the waiter asked us almost immediately if we wanted to order a bottle of wine. Not having had a chance to look at the wine list or the menu, we told him we needed a few minutes. We then took our time with both small lists. About three minutes had passed when he returned. “Chardonay is good with halibut,” he said.

Okay, I though to myself.

Now keep in mind that the last two restaurants Mike and I had dined in where we ordered a bottle of wine had wine stewards. These are guys who know wine. Their entire job is to make recommendations on wine, take orders on wine, and serve wine. A statement like, “Chardonay is good with halibut,” would be ridiculous to one of these guys. They would be recommending a specific chardonay or other wine. And maybe it wouldn’t even be a white wine. But it would be a perfect match for the halibut, based on how the halibut was prepared, what it was served with, and what wines were available.

And, by the way, neither Mike and I had shown any interest in halibut.

Mike sent him away again. This time he stayed away. We had to flag him over when we were ready to order. Not a problem. Mike ordered steak and I ordered prime rib.

“And we’d like a bottle of wine,” Mike added. He looked at me.

“The Clos du Bois cabernet,” I said, reading it off the wine list.

The wine list offered wines by the glass, but the only red wines were the house wines, which I’d never heard of. So we’d stuck with a familiar mid-priced label that I knew would be fine with our meal.

Keep in mind that I am not a wine connoisseur. I love restaurants with wine stewards because I can learn from them. They always recommend something truly spectacular. But when you’re faced with limited options and no one to give good advice, it’s sometimes best to go with what you know. And I do like to drink wine — especially red wines.

He went away with our order. A few moments later, we were treated to the worst wine service I have ever witnessed in my life.

Now I don’t want to get our waiter in trouble because he’s a nice guy and I’m sure he was doing he best he could. The only problem is, it’s quite obvious that he was never trained to do his job. And I don’t think he’s had enough meals in nice restaurants to catch on to what’s expected.

Our waiter returned with a tray that had two glasses and our bottle of wine. He put the tray on one of those tray stands that he’d set up behind Mike’s seat. He then took a corkscrew — you know, the kind with the wings that anyone can use — and inserted the pointy part through the foil at the top of the bottle and into the cork. He struggled for a few minutes to twist the corkscrew in, then used the wings to lift the cork out, right through the torn foil. He put a glass in front of Mike, poured a small amount of wine through the foil, and waited for Mike to drink. While he waited, he used his fingers to tear all the foil off the top of the bottle. Mike tasted and told him it was fine. The waiter put the cork back in the bottle and put the bottle on the table, then put my glass in front of me and departed, leaving Mike to pour the wine for both of us.

Whew!

Call me a snob, but I could serve wine better than that — and I’ve never worked in a restaurant!

For those of you who don’t know what he did wrong, he’s a summary of how the wine should have been served.

  1. The waiter brings glasses to the table. He sets the glasses out in front of each person.
  2. The waiter brings the bottle to the table. (He could do this with step 1 to save time.) He shows the bottle’s label to the person who ordered the wine or asks, “Who would like to taste the wine?” The idea is for someone to make sure he’s brought the right wine.
  3. The waiter uses a knife or foil cutter to neatly cut and remove the foil from the top of the bottle, leaving the rest of the foil on the bottle’s neck.
  4. The waiter inserts the cork screw or other cork removal device into the bottle while holding it (not leaning it on the table), then removes the cork.
  5. The waiter places the cork in front of the designated wine taster. (The wine taster may want to check it to make sure it is wet; a dry cork indicates a bottle that has been stored standing up and air may have gotten in.)
  6. The waiter pours a small amount of wine into the designated taster’s glass.
  7. When the taster has confirmed that the wine is satisfactory, the waiter pours for the rest of the table, finishing up with the designated taster.
  8. The waiter leaves the bottle on the table (for unchilled wines — usually reds) or in an ice bucket within reach (for chilled wines — usually whites).

I also like when the waiter ties a rolled-up napkin (cloth, of course) around the bottle’s neck to catch drips when the wine is poured.

Does this sound like a ritual? It is. And it’s one that I personally enjoy, perhaps because it’s an indication that wine is an important part of the meal, one that deserves its own special ritual.

Now I really can’t blame the waiter. But I certainly can blame the manager of the restaurant. It’s obvious that he or she doesn’t care (or know) about what good service is.

Dinner last night, with tip, cost over $100 — and we didn’t have appetizers, coffee, or desert. The food was average — although I admit I really liked my sweet potato fries. My prime rib, which was supposed to be medium, was medium well on one half and medium rare on the other. (I’m still trying to figure out how they did that.) The horseradish sauce was just right. The bread was from Sysco — the big food purveyor company — the same stuff they use for sandwiches at one of the local coffee shops, but cut into quarters so each piece goes a little further.

To say we were disappointed is an understatement. A new restaurant in town, a nice looking, brand new building. We had our hopes up. But they were dashed by mediocre food, unprofessional service, and prices that are too high for what you’re getting.

But the place is new. We’ll give it a chance to learn some things. In a few months, we’ll try again.

And if my wine is served the same way, I’m going to get up and show him how to do it right.