Truffled Life

This past weekend, I attended the Oregon Truffle Festival  (the underground fungus, not the chocolate) with my camera in hand for four days of fun work, new friends, and forest foraging. A fellow guest I met while shooting Friday night’s  One Big Table awards dinner said, “I bet not all your jobs are this much fun.” “Actually,” I replied, ” they are!” Because of our involvement in the food & wine industry, I have fabulous times, memories, and countless friends all met around the table with a toast. That’s where I thrive shooting. Give me a plate of gourmet and a glass of glee, and my Canon 7D sings!  If you’ve been following my blog at all, you know I’m a devoted wife and homeschool mom, and that is my primary “job.” And, through Luis’ amazing career, I’m blessed not to “need” to work… but something inside me lately has been so clearly showing me that I have to work. If I don’t shoot, write, and create…move,  I feel as if I’m dying. Standing still. Stuck. And, I hate that feeling. I thrive on momentum. And, this momentum seems to be gaining supernatural speed since I’ve clearly identified that who I am must write (thanks, Jeff) must create,  must share… and must toast! 

Something in me experienced a paradigm shift before this weekend’s event. I was there to shoot, sure. Write for an awesome new publication- Latin Connoisseur- cool! Learn about scent training our truffle dogs, the lagotto romagnolo. But mostly, I was there to connect. Make friends. Experience authentic community around a passion (cuisine) and a table. And this event if truly where my greatest passions merge. Food, friends, wine, dogs- and the pursuit of the undiscovered. The food was art: full of the sensuous seasonal Oregon truffles from morning’s hot cocoa and eggs to evening’s main course and desserts- and everything in between. Amazing chefs including Josh Feathers from BlackBerry Farm and winemakers (like friends at Big Table Farm) gathered to share their art as I created some more. Food, photography and faith, and of course,  our truffle dogs were the topics of my conversation.

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I discovered something with each artful bite. In the crafting of the masterpiece on a plate lies the difference between gourmet and glutton. It truly takes a team of committed and passionate people, and a few miracles, to feed the masses with style.  I was blessed to glean from renowned authors, and now good friends, Molly O’Neill and Kathy Gunst. I tasted everything from Merry’s award winning parsnip and celery root soup with shaved oregon white truffles and pomegranate arils to Chef Josh’s two-day roasted white truffle beef short rib with white truffle purée, and finished nothing.  Yet,  savored everything. People, places, experiences, and tastes.

Stay tuned for interviews with some of the amazing people I met this week, recipes (tomorrow will be wild mushroom and truffle risotto after our dinner tonight) and more photos. If you were there- or wish you were- post a comment below!

Business cards, phone numbers, and emails exchanged. Friendships formed. Pass the seconds, please.

Cheers!

What reminds you of your grandpa?

I had my first experience with Romana Black Sambuca liquor while working as the director of marketing for golfer Greg Norman and chef Todd English at their concept restaurant in Myrtle Beach when Todd English himself was still new. It was the chef’s (Dave) favorite after work drink- Black.

I’m not a fan of it’s clear sibling, but oh, the dark one.  Most people have not heard of Black, and it’s only behind the bar of finer dining establishments.  With my first sip, I was in love with a flavor and sensation I had not experienced anywhere else- or so I thought. It’s not something I enjoy drinking quickly, like Dave did as shots- but for me, it’s much like sipping a perfect latté- a desert treasure for the palatte with each lick of my lips. (excuse me while I go fix a glass) Even now, at midnight – missing my husband away on business- alone on the balcony listening to the waves, the thick, syrupy texture transports me to a moment of silence, reflection and thanks. Rocks glass with one piece of ice. Swirl. Smell. Sip. Savor. Mmmmm. Chill.

In 2004, we literally sold everything we owned to spend a year abroad in Europe.  We lost most of what we had shortly after arriving (that’s another story.) Savoring everything took on a whole new meaning, and after months of traveling, we spent a day in Rome (the production home of Romana Sambuca) and I found a bottle for only ten Euros. Luis and I created a new meaning of savor as we extended the life of the half litre bottle to nearly three months. But, during that time of savoring, I realized why I loved Black Sambuca.  Its flavor has the ability to transport me back to my childhood through this “adult beverage” (as we call alcohol in our home.) Anything that can cause us to be childlike at heart in my opinion is a good thing.

I was probably eight years old and my brother four.   We’d run in to our grandparent’s house  and  be barked at, licked and jumped on by Snoopy the poodle and give Bompa a quick and not-to-tight hug.  He was not the affectionate type- but boy, was he cool! Looking back- a regular James Dean. I’d hold my palm open for a piece of black licorice. Unfailingly, it was always sitting in a large glass screw- top mason jar next to his recliner alongside the smokes. This intense anise candy wasn’t consumed around my house- my mom didn’t like it. And quite frankly, I could do without the sticky mess on my teeth.

Bompa rode a cool Honda cruising motorcycle, smoked a pipe, a cigar, a cigarette, and probably anything else he could smoke. His wrinkled and gray haired forearms that didn’t hug too often covered faded black navy tattoos. But he had a great chuckle, a big smile and always plenty of love to go around in the form of black licorice. I guess that’s how he knew to dish out love. He died pretty young and suddenly and I never did get enough of riding on the back of that motorcycle. Or of that black licorice.

This flavor and the memories attached to it were bottled up for many years, until that summer at the Grill. And, I’m still amazed how real yesterday feels when I have a glass. It leaves me excited for tomorrows if they can be that real for years, too with something as simple as a cordial.

Now, my boys call my dad bompa. Maybe one day, I’ll invite him to a glass of Black  and see if he feels like a kid again. And, maybe I’ll tell you what reminds me of my other grandpa too. And, while I’m at it, I think I’ll share this with my grandma. What reminds you of your grandpa? What do flavors unlock for  you? I’d love to hear…

Until then, stop. Sip. Savor. Salud.

Making a Master Sommelier- a wife’s view (part one)

   While I’m helping Luis study for his Master Sommelier diploma (a title just over 150 people worldwide hold) I find I’m constantly sharing what this prestigious exam consists of and how he is “studying.” Here’s what happened one morning this week…

   It’s just after 10 am. We have dropped Makani off at Kindergarten and I’m feeding baby Luke. Luis goes to the garage to workout and pray while I set it up- the 6 bottle blind tasting that is. Today’s theme is “old world classics.” I stop to change the stemware to be congruent and for another moment to change the baby’s diaper.

   I have to make sure the bottles and even bottle tops are covered because their shape and appearance can give them away. Rioja has a foil cage around the bottle, Italy has the DOCG official tape across the top, and the Chateauneuf du Pape has a peculiar bottle shape. We’ve returned last night from a two and a half week trip and the things that have seemingly unpacked themselves (CD’s, books, toys, leftover snacks) on the dining room table are shoved to the side to make room for the wines.

   Opening 6 bottles in a row with a sommelier’s wine key makes me wish we still had that automatic wine opener someone gave us a couple years ago for Christmas but we gave away because we could do without. A couple lead foil cuts on my fingers later and it’s time to polish the stemware and pour.  (Luis later compliments me on my equal distribution across the 6 glasses; I guess I’ve had plenty of practice in his eight years of studying!) I make sure I’ve wiped away the sediment and tartrates when the bottles are opened and am surprised when the older vintage Barolo’s (2001) cork is so stuck that it actually breaks away a piece of the glass when I pull it out. But, I can’t tell Luis that or it will skew his perspective and he’ll be looking for an older vintage wine from my subtle hints.

   Lastly, I find a white napkin for a background to help Luis assess the true colors of the wines: color is a big indicator in the varietal and age. The setup process takes me just over 40 minutes. I bring a coffee cup for a spittoon and get the digital timer. He will have 24 minutes to analyze all six wines.

   I’m preparing to sit across from him and take notes into a spiral bound journal in which he is expected to “hit all the boxes” of proper descriptors and then by process of analysis, elimination, research, flavors, reasoning and just plain guessing- come up with the initial conclusion (containing 2 or more varietals and countries) and then a final conclusion- country, region, varietal, vintage, quality level.

   Luis sits to taste and tries to focus over the background sounds of Luke’s “Praise Baby” DVD. He’s hitting all the boxes. His form is great. Will he get them all today? (I’m praying as I’m checking the boxes!) Not all of them, but three of them. Seriously now- how is your palate? He’s feeling encouraged, though as another one was right in his initial conclusion, and he keeps gaining confidence with the exam approaching July 6-10. Stay tuned to see how the next tasting goes.