Brad Hickey's Wine Odyssey

The Bloody Kokoda Track-Papua New Guinea

Sometimes I even surprise myself. Last year after a long dinner involving much food and wine in a comfortable restaurant, I agreed to hike the Kokoda Track in Papua New Guinea. At the time I was responding to the challenge of an Australian friend who clearly knew more than me and got my dander up when he suggested I'd need to bring a chair. Over the next months we began training by hiking the Heysen Trail, a 1200km continuous trail from the southern tip up into the North Flinders Range in South Australia. We had some tough hikes and long days, for sure, but nothing could prepare me for the 10 painfully exhilarating days that Papua New Guinea put before me 3 weeks ago. There had been plenty of attention on the Bloody Track, as it was called, this year. Most famous as the location for a wicked WW2 battle between the Allies (especially the Australians) and the Japanese called the Kokoda Campaign, the notoriously exhausting trail caused 3 deaths of ostensibly healthy trekkers within months of each other, all from physical ailments. There was also a plane crash that took the lives of all on board, including 9 Aussies on their way to begin the hike, into the side of a fog covered mountain. I was a little apprehensive about the whole situation.


Matters were made worse when our group had a death of its own. A Sydney based man in less than great condition died of a massive heart attack on the first day after the first descent. Day 2 was met with 2 trekkers, a mother and son, being helicoptered out of the jungle due to an adverse reaction to the heat and her medication. That the humidity was at times stifling and the terrain was relentlessly steep with slippery tree roots sprawling every which way like the veins in a weightlifter's forearm didn't make it any easier. Even one of the assistant guides had to pull out from heat exhaustion and dehydration. As Lonely Planet wrote in 1993: "The track crosses some of the most rugged and isolated terrain in the world, reaches 2,250 metres (7,400 ft) at Mount Bellamy, and combines hot humid days with intensely cold nights, torrential rainfall and endemic tropical diseases such as malaria. The track is passable only on foot; this had extreme repercussions for logistics, the size of forces and the type of warfare that could be conducted".
Yet watching the porters, PNG natives, climb so easily around the muddy hills, some barefooted, was awe inspiring. My guy, Eddie, was there to save my life many times; you could feel a gentle pulling on your backpack keeping you from copping it on a muddy precipice that went down 100's of meters. And during the less frightening segments they would disappear into thin air. The record for fastest time across the track, yes, there is a annual race called, appropriately, "the Kokoda Challenge", is held by a local trekking porter: 16:34:05. He said the reason he broke the record in 2008 was because he trained. It was nuts, this climb up the giant beanstalk, but after the first humongous downpour refreshingly washed away the thick layer of perspiration on my face, and wading waist high across dozens of growing rivers, there was something wonderfully cleansing about the experience.

The track was the site of various battles between the Aussies and Japanese in 1942 as the Japanese pushed for control of the South Pacific, and PNG was the last stop before mainland Australia. It was a Pyrrhic victory for the Aussies. They were badly outnumbered and supplied, but they were able to dig into the hills and exhaust the Japanese. Aussie infantrymen to this day are called 'diggers'. Obviously the conditions were impossible, it rained solidly for 2 months, and the hardship was enormous for the soldiers. Hardship that we were now experiencing firsthand as we walked the endlessly steep ups and downs of the 110km wartime track. There are plenty of dug out gunpits and ordnance left behind, and many of the trekkers in our group had relatives who fought and died on the track to drive the point home. We had a tremendous trek leader, a former Vietnam war hero Major Chad Sherrin MM, that kept things upbeat and the experience informative. He was able to recite poetry from memory from the best voices of the war era that breathed life into the now dead conflict while we quietly tried to dry our wet socks by the fire, to no avail. He captured the essence of the salty, rough hewn characters of the struggle with perfect anecdotes and song. The tour was expertly choreographed, made even more impressive by the unpredictabilty of the events that might happen on any given day. We were in the jungle, baby, devoid of electricity and Western amenities, and anything could go wrong. Fortunately, Chad is a jungle warfare specialist. We were made to feel as if we were walking thru a "living museum", as they like to say, and on top of all his military knowledge, his flora and fauna acumen was pretty impressive to boot. He also woke us up at 5am one day singing "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning".


It's impossible to share the mental and physical challenge hiking the Kokoda Track poses. It is considered one of the top 3 most difficult treks in the world. Fortunately my two Aussie friends and I trained well for the climb. As Australians, the track is a sort of pilgrimage into a young country's abbreviated military past. It has become a popular destination now with the number of trekkers rising from 75 in 2001 to over 6000 in 2009. They are trying to put higher standards of fitness levels into place, but many tour groups are slack in this department. Our group was one of the most experienced, Adventure Kokoda, and even we had a fatality. It's not a trek to be taken lightly. I was the token Yank on the trip, and did my best to finish the bloody thing. We had days when people were projectile vomiting, driven to tears by the pain and difficulty, and were swearing they were over it. After being back now a few weeks in civilization, I've received emails from people in our group saying it was the most profound experience in their life, thanking everyone for enduring it together so well. Something that made them dig so deep inside had to be incredibly difficult and that they felt amazingly good about themselves for completing it. I've had time to reflect about the 4 recurring motifs of the track that the diggers knew all too well. "Mateship" was key as we helped encourage each other up hills only to see it was just another false peak. "Endurance", because without it you would have fallen asleep in the jungle, and the ants there are big and have teeth. And there weren't any bus stops or taxis as far as I could see, you were "in country", deep and remote. "Courage", because it was a mother of an experience facing the long-drops, the PNG primitive toilets, each day. In the military case it would be the courage to fight an enemy knowing you were in bad shape, maybe wounded, starving and freezing yet still having the mettle to push on. And, finally, "Sacrifice", which, well, you can only imagine how terrifying it would be to die in such a strange and unfamiliar place, as a 24 year old soldier, so far from home sacrificing your life to protect your friends, family, and country.

The whole experience probably still hasn't sunk in completely. It was like a crazy, malaria induced dream. A crazy dream that smelled like it needed a shower and a bar of soap. I do know there needs to be a next adventure, however, and the sooner the better. It's way too easy to fall back into a soft couch, crack open a nice red, put some Miles Davis on the turntable and take pleasure in the basic fact that there are no leeches on my feet. I have to admit that this was a recurring fantasy of mine by day 8, but now that I'm back in comfort, it's a bit anticlimactic and incipient boredom needs to be fended off. Mt. Kilimanjaro anyone?

Getting Site Specific in South Africa

There are few wine regions in the world that can rival South Africa's natural beauty. The Groot Drakenstein Mountains, for example, are equally as picturesque as the Dolomites in Italy, and they set the dramatic scene as backdrops for the Cape winelands, and along the southern coast other mountains splay like tentacles breathtakingly into the Indian Ocean. Blue shadowed stacks of Table Mountain sandstone and decomposed granite rise from the vivid green pastures dotted with the brilliant white facades of 300 year old Cape Dutch homesteads. To the casual observer the landscape may look just as it did in the decades leading up to 1994, but in reality the wine map, the vineyards, the cellars, the people, and the wines have changed out of all recognition. I don't claim to be an authority on South African wine, but after a recent visit there for 2 weeks I certainly got an education. I covered great distances from the Swartland an hour and a half north of Cape Town to the semi-arid Klein Karoo, close to 6 hours away the opposite direction, along the lush Garden Route where the Atlantic and Indian Oceans divide. Exploring the cool climate Overberg region with new appellations like Greyton, as well as terroir driven pinot noirs and chardonnays from Elgin and the Hemel-en-Arde Valley was convenient since the communities are close knit. Even a long, cruisy afternoon out in one-time bulk wine mecca Robertson was illuminating for the highly individualistic producers now crafting their own estate made wines. All of this back and forth had a meaning, however: to discover which areas and people on the Western Cape were producing exciting, delicious wines. It's not a bad job, I know, although I was crook as a dog by the time I left. I had been to South Africa (SA) before for a 10 day trip as a restaurant wine buyer in April of 2006 as a guest of Vineyard Brands, a US wine distributor. They only had six SA brands so unlike most sponsored wine trips, we had a lot of free time on our hands to visit places like Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela and other dissidents were imprisoned during Apartheid, and the colorful craft markets with their slightly murderous glare in Cape Town. We even had a full day to wander around the unique ecosystem atop of Table Mountain, the remarkably flat-topped mountain whose base expands like tree roots thru the sidewalk that is coastal Cape Town. The lone producer of that group we visited in 2006 that was doing interesting work was Stark-Conde in the stunningly picturesque Jonkershoek Valley of Stellenbosch. They had painstakingly cultivated a new high altitude vineyard in their stubborn search for the right spot to produce the best examples of cabernet and syrah. I poured their syrah by the glass at Bouley Restaurant in NYC up until the end of my days there. The wine was delicate and spicy; a curious amalgam of the new and old world styles of syrah rolled into one. I also liked the Condes. Jose Conde, the winemaker and a fellow American, and his wife Marie, were both very bright and funny people. So it was no surprise that I sought to visit them again on my second trip to SA two weeks ago, and, to my pleasant surprise, was welcome to stay in the "Kato Kaelin Cottage" next to their home. They have a new red blend called "Lingen" which is crafted by Jose from a neighboring estate. I used the cottage as a basecamp. I made trips to visit dozens of producers around Stellenbosch. The best of which, besides Stark-Conde and sleeping lion Quoin Rock led by Carl van der Merwe, was the innovative Winery of Good Hope. Alex Dale and Edouard Labeye are making terrific wines by remaining true to the fundamentals of the terroirs from which they select fruit. The wines, from chenin blanc and viognier to pinot noir and shiraz, are made in a decisively French tradition with lots of style and care. The Radford-Dale range is extremely smart, but unavailable in Oz due to an agreement with winemaker Ben Radford who makes riesling and shiraz in Eden Valley, Australia now under the name Radford Wines. Ben was an early collaborator with Alex Dale and the two are still friends. The Winery of Good Hope was one of the first of many wineries I would visit that were passionate about being distinct, impossible to find at night, and most importantly quality driven. You can't help but like these guys. We ate tremendous steaks after the barrel tasting at nearby 96 Winery Road Restaurant, the unofficial HQ for wine luminaries, so they say. A two hour drive from Stellenbosch thru the baboon festooned Hugenot Tunnel lead me to Jeanette Bruwer at the family run Springfield Estate in mountain ringed Robertson. She was a great hostess, and paid particularly close attention to her trouble loving German and Swiss Shephards that followed along with us. The winery had a strong connection to the land, with a herd of Springbok penned up nearby, and the people who worked it, many of whom own their own homes. They were also one of the many organically farmed properties I came across. Farm labor is still inexpensive in SA, and predominately colored. Average wages were 1200 Rand per month or US$154.00. These lower labor prices, compared to Australia, for example, allow for more organic work to be done in the vineyard, for the hand picking of grapes, and for manning a sorting table at harvest while still turning a profit. The class system in SA is still in place. Springfield, nonetheless, seemed like a loving hommage to terroir in every sense of the word, and the staff there was happy and well looked after. Plus the rocky, schisty soils produced flinty, minerally sauvignon blancs that left the rest of the SA wine industry admirably wondering if something funny was happening in the winery. Most SA sauvignon blancs were big on green bell pepper flavors, not these. The Bruwer Family seemed to respect their positions as born stewards of their land and have helped the district of Robertson become a serious producer of fine wines, and not just wine grapes and apricots for the bulk market as it was in the past. Jeanette moved with an ease and patience that seemed to reflect the vibe of Springfield (and that she already exported all over the world)-it was a place where there's no need to rush and where life is dealt with one dog at a time. Her brother, and winemaker, Abrie, is a small engine pilot and is known for leaving early on Friday to fly off to their weekender in Namibia. Over the weekend I headed to a wine show on Walker Bay highlighting the wines of the Overberg, a large area on the Southern Cape including Elgin, Hermanus, and Greyton to name a few. I made the two hour trip to Hermanus along False Bay admiring SA's great ocean road hugging the side of Buffelstalberg Mountain. I had made contact with Peter Finlayson, the iconoclastic winemaker at Bouchard-Finlayson, one of SA's best known pinot and chard producers, earlier in the week and he invited me to watch the South Africa vs. Australia Tri-Nation rugby match at his home in Hermanus on Walker Bay and to stay for dinner and the night. This was a big deal. I was at Newton Johnson winery in the Hemel-en-Aarde (Heaven and Earth) Valley admiring their gravity fed cellars when I called Peter to find out where he was at. There was a silence on the other end of the phone when I said I was at Newton Johnson tasting a smoky Elgin pinot noir. He was at the Hermanus Wine Fair and said he'd meet me down the road at Bouchard-Finlayson in 5 minutes. I followed him to his home to watch rugby and was greeted by 3 other couples there, including his affable son, Peter-Allan. The match was won by South Africa, thankfully, and it raised the group's spirits for the delicious feast to come. I was able to pick up a few pointers about rugby, but the biggest newsflash was a balanced chardonnay from Crystallum, a new negociant project from Peter-Allan Finlayson and his architect brother, Andrew. The wine tasted great and the pinot noir Crystallum made in 2008 called "Cuvee Cinema" was lithe and subtle, with good length. This will be one to watch, as was Peter's face when someone pulled and opened a rare 2001 Bouchard-Finlayson pinot noir from the cellar during dinner. The Finlayson's are in the process of building an eco-friendly straw bale (a la rammed-earth) constructed winery in a nature reserve off Walker Bay. At the end of the visit I think Peter Senior and I were getting along. He has a wry sense of humor, a keen photographic eye, and a great love for his country's abundant wildlife. He and his goldsmith wife Geta, Harbour Gold, are great people and made my trip to the Overberg a rich and heady one. I look forward to seeing where our relationship heads. The next night Geta Finlayson pointed me towards Ocean 11 guesthouse on Walker Bay. It was nice watching the whales jumping around breeding in the bay whilst lounging poolside. Security is tight, and there is always someone wandering along the trails on the coast keeping an eye on things. Which is an interesting point about SA. Colored folk greet you when you get out of your parked car in order to let you know they're going to watch it for you. Same goes at a gas station; full service windshield wiping and gas pumping will cost you a few Rand (7 Rand to the dollar), no pressure, of course, but the look you get if you don't cough up something is a bummer. It's something the locals pay, since they may get a flat tire and need help out there, but as an outsider (and as a New Yorker) it seems bizarre. There are many mysteries surrounding these issues that I won't delve into here. Don't get me started about the people walking on the side of the road or the autobahn-like driving conditions. Suffice to say pedestrian road casualties are numerous in SA. On a completely different note, I met a very cool Californian winemaker at the Finlayson's named Samantha O'Keefe. She single handedly runs the pioneering Lismore Estate that was the primary force in gaining recent appellation status for Greyton. Lismore makes finely etched viognier that could be a new benchmark for SA, as well as classy chardonnay and sauvignon blanc. The vineyards are in a cool area and are still getting their roots down as Sam figures out the terroir's demands, but the place will be one to watch. The home is grand and sits at the foothills of the Sonderend Mountains. I had a wine epiphany sitting on Lismore's verandah taking in the mountainous landscape. Looking out over the newly planted vineyards, I was washed over by the immense amount of labor and passion that it takes to truly benefit from the proper choice of the best vines to thrive in a specific soil, on a completely individual site. The force of one's will to grow something special on a completely indifferent mountain. The trial and error involved to find the right combination of plant and micro climate before even thinking about irrigation, or what barrels to use, or which labels will get across the right message is rigorous. Thoughts of Samantha's story becoming a Dickensian novel crossed my mind. I then proceeded to forget all about it as I shifted my focus to igniting a big log fire with large lion-hunting dogs lying next to me in the comfort of this beautiful homestead. Lismore is at the beginning of an epic journey. There is no finer setting for a wine estate in the world, although you can find yourself saying this many times traveling around South Africa's winelands. From Greyton I zoomed up to Swartland on my final afternoon, north of Cape Town, at the end of my trip to taste Eben Sadie's (2005 Sequillo or the 2006 Columella) and Adi Badenhorst's (ex-Rustenberg) wines over a leek and chicken pie by the fire at Bar Bar Black Sheep in Riebeek-Kasteel. Southern Rhone style reds are coming out of this region in good to great quality. Badenhorst's red was one week's wages (US$50 or 350 Rand) for my waiter. "One week in that bottle there!" he exclaimed. I offered him a glass, but he declined. Mullineux Family is also a young operation (ex-Tulbagh Mt. Vineyards) that looks promising. I drove like Jehu from the Swartland, the swathe of cereal-growing fading fast behind me, to get to the airport in time to catch my 22 hour flight back to Australia. Strangely enough, I was happy to be heading home. Partially from a desire to get off the highway before I was involved in a collision and partially from a wicked cold building up in me from lack of sleep. I'd met a lot more people, driven a lot more kilometers, and tasted a lot more wines than I expected and can reasonably report about here. Safe to say that the South African wine industry is growing at a fast clip, and from the gang I met, it seems to be heading in the right directions: great values, rich diversity of styles, consistent vintages, terroir respect/exploration and organic farming to sustain it. All wrapped up with a bow by a group of headstrong, well-travelled winemakers at the helm. Today there seems to be a better awareness of what each vineyard is best at and smaller producers are daring to specialize in one or two wine styles. The slow but increasing focus on location in wine is the core to the evolution of a mature producing nation. The dogged question remains, unfortunately, how do we get those key tastemakers to jump on the bandwagon, as well? You can count me in, and with any luck in 2010 there should be a small army of these dynamite SA producers available in the US in time for the kick off of South Africa's international debut as host of the World Cup.

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.

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.

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.

Racing Acidity in the Finger Lakes

North of Manhattan by 5 hours in upstate New York is a fascinating geological wine region called the Finger Lakes. Glaciers, like sharp fingernails, scratched out eleven slender, very deep lakes that maintain enough heat through the Summer to help this otherwise nordic climate ripen grapes. I'd been there a couple times in the warmer months, a beautiful time to visit, looking for wines for Bouley Restaurant and, in more leisurely moments, to go swimming. I was eager to return on a recent trip to NY. A wine shop in Soho called Vintage New York, which showcases NY State wines, was the first place I tried a Finger Lake wine in 2002. I was especially impressed with a dry gewurztraminer from Standing Stone Vineyards. The wine was varietally correct with a typical nose of lychee and hybrid tea roses, except it was much drier than many of the overly exotic gewurztes you find from the grape's homeland of Alsace. Sourcing this particular wine was a challenge, which made me all the hungrier to have it. After spending weeks trying to procure it, I actually poured the wine by the glass for a while once I got it. This decision surprised many people, since Bouley was a 4 star French restaurant and, therefore, was expected to serve French wine. But it was a good wine, that gewurzt, certainly esoteric, and turned a lot of my guests on to the Fingers. Like Long Island, here was a semi-local wine region doing admittedly sporadic, but interesting work. The fairly hefty drive limited my visits. A former girlfriend whose folks live near Buffalo was probably the only reason I even made it up there, since the Finger Lakes were on the way to their home. Fortunately, I did. I came out of my first trip there with mouthwatering rieslings wound tighter than a magnet's coil from Hermann Wiemer, Red Newt, Heron Hill, and Dr.Frank, musky Vidal Blanc from Atwater, and an elegant pinot noir from Chateau Lafayette Reneau. That pinot noir was later served blind to serious wine drinkers at Bouley who absolutely loved it. The look of astonishment on their faces when the wine's identity was revealed was priceless. They still talk to me about that wine and having the nerve to serve it to them. It was one of my proudest moments. Unfortunately, the wine was a one-off due to the erratic weather conditions vintage to vintage. The region is pretty far North, near to the Canadian border, and it gets hammered by frosts, both early and late winter damage, as well as lower daylight hours. The vines closest to the moderating influences of the lakes do best, or, at least have a chance of surviving a bad winter. Every year there are issues - drought, disease or cold damage. As Rob Thomas of Shalestone, a veteran of the area and one time winemaker at Lafayette Reneau says, "One of the essences of the Finger Lakes is that it is never the same year to year". Some reds are good, like Shalestone's and McGregor's "Black Russian Red" made from old Russian clones of Sereksiya Charni and Saperavi. But it's better to stay with the aromatic whites and the late harvest gear. Botrytis, the fungus that grows on grapes in damp conditions and is responsible for luscious sweet wines, grows on your shoes in this moisture laden environment if you stand around long enough. Most of these wines have a highly attractive racing acidity that cuts through rich sauces and fish dishes like a blow torch through butter. The best restaurants to drink local wines with good local food, if they're open, are Dano's Heuriger, The Stone Cat Cafe, both on Seneca's eastside, and nestled in the cozy booths at the Hazelnut Kitchen in Trumansburg. Ithaca can boast a quintessential American-icon greasy spoon called the Lincoln Street Diner: one woman cooking eggs behind a bar. They don't have diners like this in Australia. With over 90 wineries in the area, it's hard to sort through it all, so let me help. The best wineries are found along the east and west shores of Seneca and on the westside of Keuka Lake. Do your best to avoid the sickly sweet wines from the French-American hybrids like Cayuga and Concord that still linger from the nearby production of that Kosher favorite Manishewitz in Widmer. The most consistent of the wineries in the district have been the ones already mentioned. The grouping of lakes, aptly called "Finger" due to their long narrowness and paralleling North/South aspects resembling the fingers of a hand to early mapmakers, are time consuming to travel around. There are no bridges. On a recent snowy Spring visit with Katie Marks, Atwater's general manager and a great champion of the region, we covered hundreds of miles in a day. This wasn't a problem, however, since the land between the lakes rises dramatically like the corrugated piped Choux pastry of a chocolate eclair. The higher altitudes offer a variety of pleasing vistas from which to view the attenuated, tapering blue lakes.

Katie and I had a thoughtful visit with Rob Thomas, the soulful pioneering, quiet spoken winemaker behind Shalestone. This visit was in stark contrast to a raving Thomas Laszlo at Heron Hill, arguably the appellation's most talented and passionate dry riesling and sweet wine producer. Legend has it he hunts and butchers his own meat. I think he's great. By the time I left we met many more lovely people; all striving hard to be recognized, and, hopefully, to help put their quirky, emerging wine region on the international map. As appealing as the wealthy Napa model of wine tourism looks on the surface, however, be careful what you wish for. Or as my green grocer says, "beware of beautiful fruit".