Brad Hickey's Wine Odyssey

The Frenchies and Kangaroo Island

I'm beginning to really like it in Australia, in case you haven't noticed.I've been moving around Oz a lot lately; finally checking out some areas I've neglected. On a trip to Melbourne to visit my distributor, I decided to drive the Great Ocean Road from Adelaide with the two French backpackers staying with us, Quentin and Marion. These weren't just any backpackers, however. Marion is the step daughter of one of my favorite people on Earth, Simon John. You may remember Mr. John in my last Paris post about Pierre Gagnaire (scroll down). I first met Marion when she was 10, and would say hello on subsequent visits to Simon in Paris, but there was no real connection. I was merely passing thru. It wasn't until she arrived here at my doorstep in McLaren Vale this February that I ever REALLY spoke to her. Much to my surprise she spoke English well, albeit with a British accent. Her and Quentin's arrival in McLaren Vale was of some consequence and I wanted it to go well. In retrospect I think it did, especially considering that they were stranded without a driver's license in the middle of a wine region that had no work due to an extreme heatwave. Besides putting them to work in the Thorpe Vineyard and Gardens, which was tremendously effective in shattering any romanticism attached to the notion that hard physical labor is uplifting, they read books, cooked, ate with me and Nicole once in awhile, and watched dvds. I think she once spent a few days trying to catch mice, as well. I tried to show them a little bit of South Australia along the way in an attempt to make their great journey all the way down here feel worthwhile. I may be a slave driver, but I'm a fair and humane one at least. Quiet, Mr. Lincoln, they were being paid well, and at the end of the day, I had a bit of fun myself. The Great Ocean Road was peppered with interesting rock formations, and we took a few days to see it all. But it was on Kangaroo Island, an island 90 km from my house on the Fleurieu Peninsula featuring a Galapagos-like marine biology, that Mother Nature and the animals really stole the show. It is the mother lode. Not only was the coast magnificent with steep cliffs and crushing surf, but it was littered along the way with natural, unmolested colonies of seals, kangaroos, sea lions, and koalas. It was the kind of place where if you stopped for a second and looked closely at your surroundings, you would see something spectacular: perhaps a seal swirling through a curling wave, a lizard/dragon the size of Tennessee!, or a giant, polka-dotted wild boar ripping into a kangaroo carcass with a Wedge-tailed eagle watching closely nearby. I don't have a picture of that last one, fortunately, but I did witness it. Frightening. I think the kids loved it. It was the perfect send off for the Frenchies after 3 months of hard work on Thorpe Ranch. They went off to Cairns (the Great Barrier Reef) and to NZ afterwards. I wish them well and the possibility of a full blown Kerouac-like adventure. On the road with Q & M is a good place to be.

A Range Life in the Antipodes

For those of you who have followed the "Wine Odyssey" since the beginning, this is a post that I'd been thinking about writing the last few weeks. So much has happened over the last 2.5 years that it's overwhelmed me. Much has changed since I travelled to South Australia 2 years ago to work a vintage with R Wines after quitting the high life of Bouley in NYC. First of all, R Wines, a US owned company, isn't so popular anymore in McLaren Vale after abandoning some growers in the district due to obvious pressures overseas. Demand is low, and supply is high, and the US economy has hit the grape growers here head on. I actually hate to write that because many of the people in that company are really nice; however, it has been a rough year for everyone, everywhere, and the growers here in the Vale have taken a fair bit on the chin. Anyways, things were more rosy when I first got here. Secondly, I live in McLaren Vale now, part of the greater Australian nation. That was THE big news to my family and, to their credit, the folks made it out this last month to visit me in Oz. They liked the strong US dollar here a lot, as well as the nice, good-natured people, the breezy life on Thorpe Ranch (my home), and above all, the warm summer weather. We had a good time together. So good, in fact that we met up again later in their trip in New Zealand. I still come back to NYC a few times a year and still have my apartment there. I couldn't get by without "Great Burrito" on 79th and Amsterdam for too long. But the big move has had a backlash that has just started to catch up with me. It's dislocation more than anything, and recently I can be found looking at my dogs and asking, "who are you guys"? There's the obvious cultural drift- I can't talk to anybody about the NCAA games here, for example. They could care less that the Badgers went down to Xavier. This really hasn't bothered me all that much, as I've been learning about rugby (a sport that really matters!), and Aussie Rules Football, and dare I say it, cricket (perfect sport to watch drinking gin, a first). But this year it's creeping up on me, being a million miles away, and connecting with friends on FB and seeing the folks firmly reminds me I was once a Yank. My accent hasn't changed, praise Jesus, but I feel my normal core of unrest has abated. This is good, and has been brought on by hiking the Heysen Trail with 2 Aussie bastards, a 1200km high-test trek thru the state of South Australia's lofty ranges and deep creeks. This will lead to a trip walking the Kokoda Trail, a famous Australian battle victory in WWII, in Papua New Guinea this October. I can feel the foie gras melting off already. Some other changes here have happened naturally, like the beautiful baby girl that winemaker Lisa Wetherell, now Lisa Miller, had named Saffron Eleanor Miller. It feels like you've been somewhere awhile when you know a friend through her pregnancy. Will I be here to watch Saffie grow up? She's already starting to become more aware of her surroundings. And all my friends in NYC, Europe, South Africa and Australia with kids, how brave they are. I don't think I could make the sacrifice. One with a future Ohio State linebacker named Bear, another with child as fashion accessory, and a third destined to be either a great winemaker, chef, yogi or brewer. They are all healthy, cool children. It wasn't until I quit Bouley that I realized my friends were even breeding. I've now seen my third vintage here in South Australia. All three have been difficult, and it isn't until you live on a vineyard that you truly appreciate how hard it is to make a good bottle of wine. Foster's Wine Company is scavenging the district for fruit for bargain basement prices (2-500$ a ton). They feel like vultures, and that will hurt the average price for fruit next year, but when there's blood on the streets... I took a lot for granted as a pampered, A-list wine buyer in NYC. It's hard out here in the country, but this is where it all happens, in the vineyard. It's a cliche, of course, but it's so obvious it need to be repeated. As S.Malkmus wrote in the Pavement song "Here", "Let's spend our last quarter stance randomly, go down to the outlet once again". Here I am, and it doesn't get more random than this.

Passing Through Pauillac and Margaux

The left bank of Bordeaux's famous wine communes of Pauillac and Margaux are flat and pretty uneventful, save the impressive chateaus set back along the highway and the goods within them. Unfortunately, appointments are necessary to visit these top cellars, or "chais", as they are called. I only had an hour to spare and getting a closer look at some of the most expensive and sought after wines in the world was going to have to wait. Rumor has it the Chinese, if allowed to, would buy the entire production of Chateau Margaux ten times over. For now, however, this photo essay of a few exteriors will have to suffice.

Saint-Emilion Under Winter Skies

One of the best looking medieval villages in France also makes some of its most delicious wines. Saint Emilion sits on the shoulders of the Northeastern perimeter of Bordeaux. Any sane driver should think twice about even driving OUTSIDE its walls or prepare to pay for a new side mirror or two. This little hillside city was never built with cars in mind and, I would argue, it's for that reason it's such a romantic place today: because autos aren't allowed inside. With tiny alleyways and stone paths slithering down to hidden courtyards and charming restaurants, it's no wonder this ancient town gets over a million tourists per season. Thankfully it was cold, grey, and raining when we were there-stone streets as slippery as wet fish- so we had the place to ourselves. Well worth the 45 minute trip from downtown Bordeaux, St. Emilion has been transporting people back to the 16th century for a long time. We stayed at an ancient home in the center called "La Logis de la Cadene". The home belongs to a woman who grow up there and it has been in her family for a long time, as well. The Cathedral was lit up outside my room; it's quite a sight brilliantly lit at night, inspiring. It was a perfect place for 100 Euros a night, and the old town, I swear, wraps it's arms around you like...nevermind. Don't be surprised if that room price climbs during the summer when the place is swimming with people. They also have a sound restaurant off the hotel that is truly best for leisurely, boozy lunches under the wisteria arbor, with the sloping alleyways flowing around the outdoor patio like so many rivulets carved around a rock in a stream. I think most people who visit love to eat at "L'Envers du Decor" (literally 'behind the scenes'") for reliable, tasty Provencal dishes and a very good, yes pricey, local wine list. I drank an average 2004 Chateau Franc Mayne there which was medium priced on the list for 80 Euros which fell flat-we win some, we lose some. There is a tremendous gravel based backyard dining court there surrounded by decaying old church walls and protected by a priceless Caucasian Wingnut tree. I would love to revisit in warmer months and just sit there for hours quaffing rose, chomping on the local macarons, and gazing at the crumbling beauty of the place. After visiting Chateau Grand Pontet, one of the Grand Crus, we learned that 2005 was a grand vintage here and that any wine lover should pick some up and sit on it for a decade. Interesting how the French price the great vintages higher than the rest. I wish that would happen more in other countries. It would keep people interested in your wines out of sheer loyalty if prices were cut during a less than stellar vintage. In the meantime drink 2004, 2001, and 2000 for significantly less money from St.Emilion. We enjoyed wines from Clos Puy Arnaud, Couvent des Jacobins, Grand Pontet, Clos de l'Oratoire (a personal fav), Pas de l'Ane, Angelus, Pavie, and Chateau Destieux. Shipping them home is a good idea, after all wine is bloody heavy. The merchant up across from the cathedral, "La Grande Cave de Saint-Emilion" ships around the world and seems nice enough. His wife is sullen and quiet, but apparently makes some cult wine, so I forgive her. Shop around, however, there are about 47 shops to chose from. These merchants know which side their bread is buttered on, which explains why there are no scotch-tape boutiques here. Be prepared for hefty duties, hurrah!, I got crushed shipping to Australia. Out the door of L"Envers" to the right and around the corner, amidst the shadow of the cathedral, is the BEST spot for value hunters (I'm looking for the actual name, but to no avail). MAGNUMS, my favorite format, of very good wines were had for 35 Euros, like the 2002 Chateau La Grace Dieux "Les Menuts". They didn't ship to Australia. Merlot is planted up to 65% of the district, followed by Cabernet Franc at 25% and Cabernet Sauvignon at 10% over a 13,000 acre landscape. The wines here are opulent and soft, thanks to the merlot, and have built a devoted following due to their more rapid development and approachability. Having one on your wine list under a 100 dollars is a guaranteed sale, and with Ausone and Cheval Blanc in the district, the place is hardly in need of a fresh coat of siloxane.

A "Grand Moment" At Pierre Gagnaire

Before there was Heston Blumenthal, there was Pierre Gagnaire. The "enfant-terrible" of French cooking has kept pace with the molecular gastronomy boys by running a restaurant facing the future, but respectful of the past. We recently ate there with close friends of mine from the early Paris days. We had all come a long way since then, and sharing a fantastic degustation menu at Gaganire's eponymous restaurant in Paris on a snowy night was the ideal setting for the birth of, as the French say, "un grand moment". Mr. Gagnaire was present, he stopped by our table twice in chef garb to answer questions posed by our lone professor of DH Lawrence. My friend was into it! Gagnaire signed things and moved on. Still, always nice to see the man backing up his cooking, even though it's done by other people, of course. We drank a gorgeous 2001 Chambolle 1er Cru "Les Fuees" from J.F. Mugnier. To this date I wish we drank that wine all night. Finishing with Haut-Brions second, Bahan du Haut Brion 2001, we were happily working thru our menu. Both wines were seductive, delicious and ready for 2001s. I liked the sommeliers there, as well. Nice kids, in training, but they were friendly and aware of what their job was. Dr. Matthews and I got a tour of the upstairs cellar. The whole thing reminded me of my youth at Lespinasse. A time when I was thoroughly concerned with the differences between Puilgny-Montrachet and Chassagne. Now I drink Geoff Weaver Chardonnay, which holds its own compared to both Burgundian white wines. The degustation menu was good. There were not as many memorable dishes as we had at the Fat Duck, in fact the dish I remember most was the meal's great failure, a cold chicken noodle dish that was gelatinous and not appealing on a snowy-freezing-winter-Napoleonic-march-thru-Russia-night. However, it was still a great meal in the clubby lamp lit dining room, and the service was top notch. My vegetarian friend, Mr.John, had the experience of his life. That rarely happens for him; especially in France. He was treated to a dazzling array of dishes. We saw the night out with Calvados from Camut, 35 years old, and perfect. I used to buy it for Bouley Restaurant from Michael Skurnik, but I never realized how great it was until I was in someone else's fancy dining room in Paris, and firmly in the moment. Un Grand Moment? Oui, je croix. Much happened after dinner, as nobody wanted to go to sleep. Roy Orbison kept people up and in an hommage to Blue Velvet, the boys sang "Crying" to my now cross-eyed field of vision. Good stuff, and this last picture, Modest Mouse vs. Poseidon, still kills me.

The Fat Duck: Pleasure, the Brain, and Food

One of the highlights of my recent trip to England was a meal at The Fat Duck outside London in the tiny hamlet of Bray. Considered one of the top restaurants in the world, the Duck not only lived up to its reputation, it exceeded it. Chef and owner Heston Blumenthal has created truly unusual flavor pairings and a playful dining experience akin to a Post doctoral thesis on the art of eating. Memory is one of the key elements to his thesis. A number of creations were reminiscent of childhood favorites, like the Nitro Scrambled Egg and Bacon Ice Cream as a dessert. The sweet and salty maple syrup and bacon combined with the custardy texture of egg ice cream is a transporting experience that took me back to those carefree nights in my youth when we had breakfast for dinner. We were presented with a raw oyster with horseradish and passionfruit jelly, a snail porridge, and a parsnip breakfast cereal, like "Special K", with parsnip milk. These were just a few dishes which challenged your notion of what sounds like it would taste good. And they all were delicious. A large white plate with two tiny, precisely crafted, colored squares-one red, one orange-that seemed minimalist against the large white plate. We looked to our waiter for guidance. "Monsieur, madame. These are Orange and Beetroot Jellies. May I suggest you begin with the orange..." The orange colored one tastes of beetroot and the deep beet red purple jelly of orange. Surprise! As Blumenthal says in his beautiful cookbook, "The Big Fat Duck Cookbook", "This is meant to be fun. The food at the Fat duck must taste delicious-that's the guiding principle-but I don't see why a dish can't also engage the emotions, provoking curiosity, amusement or even a childlike sense of wonder. So with the jellies there is the bathos of size: the excitement of the menu with its mouthwatering ingredients, the waiter's grey-suited gravitas, the delicate, handcrafted tableware-all devoted to the peerless presentation of...two miniscule morsels of food. And there's the color swap, with its playful sabotage of expectations. It's a marvelous moment-the realisation that things are not what they seem." And later, on the inspiration for the jellies, "this poorly policed border between fruit and veg seemed to have potential." And of course, the jellies tapped into memory, as well: "Nostalgia, for example, has a huge influence on how we approach a dish. It's possible that the jellies' charm draws on memories of childhood...made all the more potent in the unlikely context of a three-star restaurant." (p.140) Also employed are the pairing of scientific terminology with classic food names: roast foie gras 'benzaldehyde', nitro-poached green tea and lime mousse, ballotine of mackerel invertebrate, onion and thyme fluid gel, the above mentioned nitro-scrambled egg, and ice-filtered lamb jelly. The fusion of modern science and classic menu items was nicely juxtaposed, much like the IM Pei's massive glass pyramid set in the heart of the classical beauty of the Louvre's courtyard in Paris. A much talked about dish, "The Sound of the Sea", is served with an Ipod nano in a conch shell. You are instructed to put on the headphones and listen to, yes, the sound of the ocean crashing on the shore and seagulls cawing in the distance. Does the sound affect the flavors of the fresh oyster, razor clam and seaweed on the glass platter? I think it does. It's certainly a fun experiment and sets your focus squarely on the dish in front of you. These dishes were matched perfectly with an Austrian riesling from Nikolaihof, the profoundly focused 2004 Steiner Hund Reserve for 75 pounds. For red I selected a 2002 Pommard "Premier Cru" Burgundy from Comte Armand which was delicious for 140 pounds. The list is a heavy 53 page tome, and full of the big names from France and Italy. Bargains are hard to find, but that wasn't really the point here at the Duck. I tend to resist wine pairings for long tasting menus, although I'm sure the Duck's was inventive. They were on to using sakes which was a good sign. The food was so original, however, that I didn't think we needed to be distracted by a sommelier prancing around like Martin Short's "Ed Grimley" character from SCTV, I must say.

In Bordeaux With Ermitage

After a good visit to NYC, I flew to France for the Vinitech wine supply show in Bordeaux. As a guest of Tonnellerie Ermitage, I was able to meet a lot of winemakers over the three day event who used and liked the Ermitage oak barrels. At our booth we also set up a temporary kitchen and served lunch to clients and visitors to the exhibition. This was a bit of madness, but in the end it was a great environment to taste wines aged in Ermitage barrels, like Yves Cuilleron's Condrieu, with delicious food from a Michelin starred chef. The show was a success with numbers of visitors up from the previous event. Even cold, rainy weather couldn't keep the hordes away. Everything you needed to make wine was there: harvesters, bottling lines, glass, corks, barrels, and tanks to name a few. It was actually my first trade show and I thought it was a great experience. I'm not sure if I'd like to attend them weekly, but with good food and wine all around, it had to be one of the least painful weeks of my life.

NYC Loves Brash Higgins

I'm in NYC for the month of November showing the Tasmanian and NZ wines in my portfolio to my friends in the restaurant scene here. Nice time to be here, right after the economy has hit the schnitzel. Needless to say, it's still a good time to visit. The tourists and mosquitos have left for the moment, it's below zero, and Central Park belongs to me. From here I'm to Chicago, then Bordeaux for a week, and to punish myself I'll chill in Paris, London, and Dublin. I look forward to seeing my Australian friends and assassins, but for now it's time to sell some cool climate wines in a freezing one. Check out www.bradhickeyselections.com in a few days, and www.soberwines.com if you'd like to buy.

White Pepper Magic in Hawke's Bay

I've been drinking syrah, or shiraz as it's known in Australia, for at least 20 years now. This red wine grape takes on different qualities depending on where it's grown. The Australian version typically is rich and full of dark berry fruit. The French version, where it reigns supreme in the Northern Rhone, has more savory and animal notes, with a peppery finish. Lately, I've been discovering the syrahs produced in Hawke's Bay, on the East Coast of the North Island of New Zealand and loving it. Maybe it's because they're spicy and restrained, which is a pleasant contrast to the sweeter Aussie style which I'm drinking weekly; okay, nightly. Within Hawke's Bay is a terrific region for these peppery numbers called Gimblett Gravels. The Gravels (GG) has a gravely soil, as you might have guessed, due to it's location on a dried out old riverbed. To be able to use the GG appellation, a vineyard must be planted 95% on this rocky zone. It is the first region in the world, to my knowledge, basing the ultimate designation of their district to a tightly specified soil type. These stony soils generate more heat during the day, like Chateauneuf du Pape, and retain it into the night allowing for better grape ripening and protection from frosts. Top wines here are from Bridge Pa, Unison, Stonecroft, Newton-Forrest, Trinity Hill, and Craggy Range. The last two are the only ones widely available. When visiting Hawke's Bay, Napier is the best bet for a good hotel room. The city is on the water and has a lot of choices for accommodation. You can cut loose, if you can swing it, at the nearby luxury lodge called The Farm at Cape Kidnappers. This time around, after Wharekauhau bled us dry, we opted for something reasonable and stayed at one of the many bedecked 2 story Floridean-styled motels along the Norfolk Pine lined Marine Parade. Can't beat the location, unless you don't like water; it's right on the shore of Hawke Bay. As for dining, there are three good spots. Pacifica is a cozy 35 seat room with a creative tasting menu and solid wine list. It was there that we had a wonderful meal and got lots of good info from their sommelier, Chris. After that, Terroir at Craggy Range Winery cooks fine food in a big wooden room with a gigantic fireplace (which won me over immediately). We drank a 2004 Craggy Range "Le Sol" syrah which was as delicate as pinot noir. Finally, Provedore Restaurant, along the marina, cooks inspired bistro fare and play cool music. The poached eggs with mince and toast, a traditional Maori dish, are satisfying breakfast fodder. It's probably the only dish like it in town, as well. The one cult wine from Hawke's Bay is Esk Valley "The Terraces"(US$175). It's not part of the GG: and it isn't syrah. Instead the grapes are planted on a terraced vineyard just north of Napier and is a co-fermented blend of malbec, merlot, and cabernet franc. Even though Esk Valley is now owned by corporate winery Villa Maria, "The Terraces" is still only made in the best vintages and the wines are hand plunged. I drank the 1998 (a legend) and 2002 (hard as nails) recently while visiting Hawke's Bay and loved the subtleness of the wines and their apparent age-worthiness. Coaxing the exotic black cherry and chocolate aromas with a hint of brett out of the glass over a meal was a great pleasure. I guess we've grown used to expecting pricey, cult wines to box our ears when we drink them. These were quiet beauties, much like New Zealand itself, and, if I'm not mistaken, they are noticed more for their poignant silences than for their kicking and screaming.

Farewell, Sweet Wharekauhau, Sheep's Paradise

There are magical places in this world that haunt you. 5 years ago as a neophyte sommelier in David Bouley's chaotic world, I met 2 guests who spoke well of New Zealand. It was a great table, one where a lot of priceless info was exchanged. We are still in touch today. They turned me on to Leeuwin Estates "Siblings" Sauv blanc/Semillon from Western Australia which became one of my favorites to pair with Bouley's benchmark dish "Phyllo Crusted Florida Shrimp, Cape Cod Baby Squid, Cape Cod Sea Scallop, and Sweet Maryland Crab Meat in an Ocean Herbal Broth". The brisk and briney Jalepeno/pine needle attack of the Siblings matched up perfectly with the freshly sauteed fruits of the sea resting in a luminous, herbal green tide pool. After many hours of talking, the guests, Derek and Mark, enthusiastically shared the name of a one of a kind resort near the village of Martinborough on the North Island of New Zealand that they said was "magnificent". Mind you, at the beginning stages of my career, I had visited local wine regions, at best. Here were two well-to-do gents going on about a remote NZ hideaway named Wharekauhau (pronounced Faira-ko-ho). I could merely drool over the sprawling estate as I tuned into the website in 2003 after that dinner service. It was quite a place, Wharekauhau, the kind of lush, pastoral sheep station on the dramatic coast of NZ you dream of after a busy night in a hot, claustrophobic, high pressure Manhattan kitchen like Bouley. I always took a cab home to the UWS to avoid total meltdown at Chambers ST. subway station in my miserable suit. But I never thought I'd see Wharekauhau for real until now, that is. As we approached the estate, I couldn't believe my good fortune. It was a place that had been on my mind for years, and now I was going there. Even procuring a flat tire along the rural road couldn't slow me down for too long. I was determined to get there in one piece. It was truly at the end of the world. This was a real sheep station, with sheepdogs to prove it, and a nice French girl looking after the joint, named Caroline, thrown in for good measure. It also had nice cozy beds and cottages overlooking Palliser Bay. The views of the green fields sloping to the sea inhabited by sheep were pastoral and quietly bucolic. An exquisite place to drink nice sparkling wines from Daniel Le Brun, Deutz's local Marlborough branch, Pelorus from Cloudy Bay, and top-notch, free standing Allan Scott.