West Side Wine

From time to time, customers come in with bottles they want to return. 99% of the time, the wine is corked. Hey, it happens. That’s why they invented screwcaps and artificial corks. Every once in a great while, the wine just wasn’t what the customer had in mind. Or perhaps they just plain hated it. Hey, that happens too. I’m of the school that it isn’t worth losing a customer over a bottle of wine, so in that case I invariably take the bottle back, and then take it home — unless the customer is worth losing, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, the other day I had just such a situation with some regulars and a bottle of Coturri Chauvet Zinfandel. Tony Coturri is a wonderful winemaker from Glen Ellen, California who makes very unique wines. They’re totally natural, unadulterated, and organic. But let’s just say that his idea of a Pinot Noir or a Zinfandel may not be what your idea of them might be. I understand that these wines are not for everyone. Because of this, I always ask the buyer if they’re familiar with Coturri wines when they bring one up to the counter. With these particular customers, I wasn’t in the store when they bought the Chauvet, so they weren’t forewarned.
The Coturri Chauvet is sweet. That’s how Tony wanted the wine to taste, so that’s how he made it. When I first tasted it a few years ago, I have to admit, I hated it. Sorry Tony. But I have grown to really like it. It works very well with extremely hearty fare. But that’s my palate.
So, I took it back. My customers bought three more bottles of wine, and I wound up ahead. And I took the Chauvet home, and wound up even further ahead. It wasn’t quite right with our chicken tacos, but it went great with Chocolate Easter eggs.

One of the most interesting things about being the Wine Guy is the people I’ve encountered across the counter. Back when I was a TV exec, I had an assistant guarding the door at all times. Now I’m vulnerable to literally anybody who comes across my threshold. But, fortunately, most of the time that’s a good thing. Where else would I have met the organist at St. Patricks, who exhaustedly complains that Easter is killing him as he pays for his bi-weekly bottle of vermouth, grousing about the upcoming papal visit as he goes out the door? Or the stinging wasp expert from the Museum of Natural History, who patiently explains things to me like how cicadas are buried alive by wasps as future food for their offspring? How about John McEnroe desperately seeking Fernet Branca, unscrewing the cap right in front of me and downing a gulp to calm his agitated stomach?
And, of course, this being New York, there are the theater folk. Thursday night Ellen and I attended the first preview for the new run of Ethan Coen’s trio of one-act plays packaged as ALMOST AN EVENING, at the Bleeker Street Theater. Just as we were entering the theatre a couple approached us. “I know you,” the woman shouted above the crowd. “You’re our wine guy!” Then she said, “We’re the producers of this show. It’s so great to see you!”
I’ve never had quite such a welcome to a show before.
Anyway, if you get the chance, catch the show. All the Coen dark, sick, intelligent humor that we love. Add to that pitch-perfect casting and acting from the likes of F. Murray Abraham and Mark Linn-Baker, to name a few. The direction by Neil Pepe is effortless. Cheers to the producers!

Okay, so yesterday this moron comes in, browses around for a few minutes, approaches the counter asks me my very favorite question.
“Is this drinkable?” he asks, thrusting a bottle of excellent low-priced Côtes du Rhone in my face.
Now, I spend a lot of time finding wines I love, and that subsequently my customers love, because I’m funny that way. I like my customers to come back. I never went to B-school, but I’ll bet that’s one of the principle tenets of a successful business. So when I hear that query, I basically lose it.
So I say to him, “No it’s terrible.”
“Wow, thanks a lot for the heads up, dude,” he replies, and returns the bottle to its basket.
NOW I have to explain to the idiot what sarcasm is, and then I ask him why on earth I would sell something that isn’t drinkable?
His answer? “Well, you never know.”
You’d be surprised how many times I hear this type of thing, every day. Think about how useless the question is. Who is going to say in all honesty, “No, it’s not drinkable.” If you’re a disreputable, in-it-only-for-the-buck, know-nothing liquor store owner, who doesn’t know a cabernet from caberet (of which there are many, granted), you’re going to lie and say, “Yes, it’s terrific!” If you’re someone with integrity, who painstakingly cares about what he or she sells, and a wine lover (which many of us are), it’s kind of insulting. Does this industry have such a reputation that the consumer expects to be ripped of with something akin to Night Train every time they buy a bottle of wine that’s reasonably priced? Apparently so.
I can’t think of another industry where someone walks into your establishment and questions your integrity. I do hear it in restaurants from time to time, but nowhere else. I don’t hear, “Is this sweater wearable? Is this book readable? Is this bracelet worth the price?”
Here’s a tip: Stop and think about what you’re asking when you encounter a wine that you don’t know, and that happens to be a bargain. How about, “Tell me about this wine?” for starters. That’s intelligent. If the merchant can’t answer you in any way besides just saying “It’s really good,” move on and find another wine shop. If the merchant gives you an informed answer, chances are you’re in for a good bottle of wine. And you’ve probably also learned something. What a concept!
If you get anywhere near me with that “drinkable” question, prepare yourself for my wrath. But if you get what I’m saying, we’ll be long friends. As we should be.

I’ll probably drive you nuts about rosés, but they’re a passion of mine. And I’m not just jumping on the bandwagon — I’ve been preaching the rosé gospel for years. It hasn’t been easy until relatively recently. I used to get a lot of wrinkled noses, rolled eyes, shaking heads, or blank stares when I suggested a rosé. Now I look like a prophet. It has gotten so that everyone is making a rosé in order to cash in on the pink payday. Winemakers are almost guaranteed to sell out. Hungarian rosé, anyone? Yup, and it’s terrific.

So this week I start to build the WSW PINK WALL OF FAME. This consists of 30-40 different rosés that keep getting replenished or replaced (as they disappear) from now through Labor Day. I also keep about ten on hand all year long, for those enlightened folks who don’t think rosé is only appropriate for a scorching day in August. In fact, over the past couple of weeks I’ve whipped through about four cases of Sancerre rosé, and it hasn’t gotten above 50 degrees yet!

Stay tuned as the pinks come rolling in like a friendly, joyous tsunami…if there is such a thing.

I never was much of a bar person. The whole idea seemed depressing and, in a way, degenerate. I guess part of it was that when I was a kid my father spent way too much time in bars, sometimes dragging me along and ordering me up a Hopalong Cassidy. But when Ellen, Cathy (our future seeing eye dog) and I walk into Bin 71, it just feels good. Maybe because it’s a “wine” bar, maybe it’s the friendly, familiar faces, maybe it’s the guilty pleasures of the Post and the Daily News there on the bartop for anyone to peruse. Whatever, it’s a great place to hang out for an hour or two over lunch. But you have to go for lunch, unless you harbor fantasies of being a sardine in a can. The place is teeny, and at night it’s jammed.

Stephanie, behind the bar,always gives a big hello. Bill, the choreographer (and a Bin 71 regular) checks in on Cathy’s status and reminds us how hard it’s going to be to give her up when she goes to training. I love catching some of my wine reps who have come in off the street for a little while to have a glass and a quick bite, and bumping into a WSW customer or two, looking to see what I have in my glass before they make their choice. The food is simple, delicious and fairly priced, cooked perfectly by Lawrence’s (the owner’s) father downstairs. And, most importantly,the wines are not only great, but only gently marked up. This is what I think a wine bar is all about, and we’ve been to a lot of them, all over the world. No glitz, no pretense, really local, completely effortless hospitality. What more can a Wine Guy ask for?

Bin 71
237 Columbus Avenue (betwen 70th-71st)

For a winemaker, the work never ends. I’ve been struck by this fact watching our two houseguests (Magali Terrier of Domaine 2 Anes and Nathalie Oudin of Domaine Oudin) working their butts off from very early in the morning until very early the next morning, pitching their wines to restauranteurs and retail guys and consumers. Like it isn’t hard enough just making the wine, you’ve got to sell it, too. And in a second language, at that! But these ladies and gentlemen are indefatiguable folks, and who beter to sell wine than the winemaker? I stood by happily sipping yesterday at the World Wide Wine portfolio tasting while these guys poured and pitched, not missing a beat.Then it’s up the next day at 6am to catch a plane to North Carolina to do it all over again.Then back to New York to hit a few spots they may have missed. Then back to France to deal with the wine and the vineyards. Phew! If you ever thought you wanted to make wine, think twice, or maybe thrice. There’s a lot more to it than planting vines and picking grapes. You’re a farmer, a laborer, a bottler, a labeler, a marketer and all around businessperson. And after all that work, it’s still tough to make a good buck. But how many folks do you know who do what they do for the love of it? That love factor is the only way a wine can be truly unique and special. It’s all about the intergrity. Cheers to the winemakers.

One thing about having a retail business — you never know who’s going to walk through that door once you’ve opened for the day. Yesterday Owen Franken walked in. Owen is a photographer who lives in Paris. He came by to introduce himself, as he was the guy that the New York Times sent down to Tavel to shoot photos for
Ellen’s article that recently ran in the Sunday Travel section. Owen was a trip! A great raconteur, with hair that looks like Einstein’s on steroids. This guy is living the life — residing in Paris, getting sent to all of these wonderful places, meeting amazing people.
There was a California winemaker in the store while Owen was there, and he asked Owen what he did. “I’m a wine photographer,” Owen answered. The winemaker looked at him incredulously, gave him a great big smile and said ” A wine photographer? I had no idea there was such a job.” Owen shrugged, smiled and gave him a card. They continued to yak for awhile, forgetting all about what they had come to WSW for in the first place. What a great communal moment.Then Owen trotted off to lunch to meet Eric Asimov (THE wine guy of all wine guys) and Van the winemaker went off to do another tasting in an effort to sell his Edmeades Zinfandel, which, by the way, is excellent. Very natural, very true to the varietal, very honest. Try them if you get the chance.
There have been many times when the WSW doors have been opened for the day, and I wished I had kept them closed. This was not one of them.

Yesterday I heard a great story about how a wine got its name. A Tuscan winemaker named Giovanni B. d’Orsi came by. His winery’s name is Fattoria Casaloste, and he makes some wonderful Chianti Classicos and red Tuscan table wines. We tasted through them until we got to the last one, a Super Tuscan named Inversus. On the label, along with the name, was a child’s fingerprint. Ok, I thought. What’s this all about?

Giovanni launched into an explanation. Apparently Inversus is a condition where a baby is born with all of their organs on the wrong side of the body, and his kid was born with such a condition. Now, the kid’s just fine, he just has to tell a doctor that his spleen isn’t where the doctor thinks it is.

You can’t make this stuff up. Food for thought the next time you see a wine bottle with an unconventional name and image. You never know.