John Marshall Chapter of the American Wine Society

AMERICAN WINE SOCIETY
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John Marshall Chapter

APRIL MEETING: Terroir in the Middle East – Wines of Lebanon, presented by Mary Anne Wassenberg

Mary Anne Wassenberg took the podium to present eight wines from Lebanon. It is safe bet to say that most of us came in with low expectations. If the wines were any good, we’d know about ‘em, yeppers. So the evening was punctuated with the thud of jaws hitting the floor as we bit into some excellent grape juice. Prices were a little high for everyday plonk, but for special occasions, these could make a bold statement and a great quaffing treat. The wines she poured were those shown in the table below.

The wines themselves were only half the story though. Inspired by the theme, Dining Diva Jennifer and partner Rex pulled an almost all-nighter rolling stuffed grape leaves for the event. Also on the menu were hummus and pita bread, tabouli, and assorted fresh fruits. Bob Dierker observed, curmudgeonly, that he didn’t care for the white wines at all until he tasted them with the native fare. That provoked a discussion about pairing local wines with local fodder. Praises be to you guys, Jennifer and Rex, there’s a comfy place in paradise reserved for you.

Producer		Year	Cost	Comment
Ksara	Blanc de l’Observatoire	2002	$12.00	First social wine - the first two wines let us know we were about to be surprised
Ksara	Blanc de Blanc	2002	$12.50	Second social wine
Chateau Kefraya	La Dame Blanche	2002	$13.50	Favorite among the whites
Chateau Musar	White	1996	$27.50	Priciest and least favored of the whites
Ksara Chateau	Red	2000	$22.00	Favorite among the reds
Chateau Kefray	Les Breteches	1999	$13.50
Chateau Muscar	Hochar Pere et Fils Red	1999	$21.00
Ksara	Sunset	1999	(split) $17.00	Rose-colored dessert wine

MAY MEETING: Don't Cry For Me, Argentina, presented by George Wilson ~ Pearmund Cellars, Broad Run, Virginia; Social – 6:30 p.m.; Meeting – 7:00 p.m. (PLEASE RVSP if you plan to attend!)

NO one puts on a wine presentation like George Wilson. No one. In the past, he’s hosted the Virginia gold-medal winners, presented by their respective makers; the big Argentina wine event, presented by real Argentineans who flew in to do the honors, assisted by George in his polo leathers; and who can forget the legendary celebrity wine bash, with Fess Parker, Francis Ford Coppola, and of course, Pamela Anderson, who presented her jugs. Of wine. That was a showstopper.

Next week will be yet another bigger-than-life event; so big, in fact, that The George has reserved the stately Pearmund Cellars to hold the expected overflow crowds. His subject will be Argentine reds again — partly because George spent a goodly portion of his adult life down there chasing polo balls and partly because the red wines from that country are astoundingly good. As last year, these wines will be presented, not in a vacuum, but with Argentine beef, cooked on the premises by a gaucho. George himself will be in center ring, directing the show with his polo mallet. And, for those who like what they taste that night, it is expected that our own wine negociant, Rick Stafford, will be on hand to take case-size orders. Caramba, amigos, que grande!

NOTE: To minimize waste and maximize our enjoyment, PLEASE RVSP if you plan to attend! Call Mike Schlosser at 540-752-4709, or email him at mwschlosser@yahoo.com. A head-count for this one will be greatly appreciated! Do it now, why don’tcha?

Directions:

From I-66, take Gainesville exit 43 south (Route 29 to Warrenton).
Travel approximately 7 miles south to New Baltimore.
Pass the Route 600 stop light and take the next right at Route 674.
Travel 1.5 miles to the Pearmund Cellars entrance on the left.
Follow the signs through the vineyard to the winery.
For more directions and a map, see http://www.pearmundcellars.com/directions.htm.

JUNE MEETING: Your Chance to Host a Meeting ~ Grace Cathedral, The Plains, Virginia; Social – 6:30 p.m.; Meeting – 7:00 p.m.

June had been reserved by the redoubtable Shaws, Kearney and Marilyn, who had planned an expose of the Chilean-French Connection. But they have begun a home-based business recently that now dominates their time, so they have had to beg their excuses. This throws the doors wide open to all of you who have been nursing an idea and would like to host a meeting or have someone else host a meeting with your idea. Wines for sultry summers, maybe? Or pairings with spicy oriental foods? A mano a mano between Pennsylvania and Virginia? Perhaps an evening of exotica, with only wines whose names you can’t pronounce. Whatever captures you, contact Mike Schlosser at 540-752-4709 or mwschlosser@yahoo.com with your notion, and we’ll help you pull it off.

In the meantime, we all extend our thanks to Kearney and Marilyn for their past help with our club, as membership chairpersons and providers of delicacies. Also, many thanks for the great July tastings they provided on their deck. We wish you both the best in your new business and hope to see you once in a while anyway.

WINO WISDOM: The Manly Art of Wine, Part IV – The Few. The Proud. The Beefeaters.

[To briefly recap, we have been noting here for several months the passing of manhood from the American scene. Boxing, mud wrestling, football, drag racing — women are doing them all. The ladies even do really dumb stuff like tractor pulls and cigars. Soon, women will begin opening their own wine bottles — thanks to the misbegotten screwcap. Yes, the tumbrils are rolling in the streets, gentlemen. Put away your corkscrews and get in line. We’ll go quietly, madame. Just be quick.

But wait! There’s a glimmer of hope. Yes, we can turn the tide — with sabrage! I can see it now: strong men and true, dressed like beefeaters, slashing the tops off wine bottles everywhere. The nation is astounded, awestruck, dumbfounded. Corks return to bottles en masse as America embraces the sword. Huzzah! Unused screwcaps fill the dumpsters. Huzzah! And, the American male, back from the brink of extinction, reclaims his place in the pantheon of heroes. Whew! What a country!

Yes, mates, the way is clear if we are up to it. This is where we stand. If you did your homework two months ago, you have purchased your saber and have practiced your backhand on bottles of salad dressing and soy sauce. This week you can invest $4.00 and try your hand on a bottle of Andre champagne. Follow the directions that came with the sword; you’ll be fine. You might wear a full-face motorcycle helmet this time, though.

Last month your assignment was to order the uniform of Her Majesty’s Royal Dragoons, the Beefeaters. "Why a Beefeater," asks a newcomer. Nice of you to stop by, bloke, here’s why: credibility. It’s Brit, so Americans will immediately ascribe to you the sophistication of James Bond and the brains of Stephen Hawking. It also explains why you’re packing a sword. Now on with today’s lesson.

That tall bearskin hat (faux-bear for us, thank you) presents an immediate and appealing identity, but it also presents some challenges. You will notice it is held in place with a substantial chin strap, so that, as we eat-beefers like to say, "Where goes your hat, there goes your head." Two situations are particularly pernicious and need to be addressed now.

The first is doorways. You see, Beefeaters bow their heads to no man save the Queen. That means THE Queen — not the Queen of Belgium, not the Queen of Siam, certainly not the queens of Dupont Circle. So how does man in tall hat traverse a typical doorway? Simple. As you approach the portal, you simply bend your knees and proceed, squatting, straight ahead, head and back erect, ascending again on the other side.

Rubbish, you say, that looks like a duck. There’s a resemblance, I’ll grant you, but it is common practice for us Dragoons. You don’t see us duckwalking when we’re changing the guard at Buckingham, but when we’re out fighting wars, for instance, and have to use the outhouse, we do it all the time.

"But that looks like Groucho Marx," you say. "Where do you think he learned it," say I. He saw them on the telly, just like the rest of us. Stay up late one nite and watch the BBC coverage of Iraq. You’ll see Beefeaters duckwalking into the outhouse, sure enough. (Once inside, regulations allow them to remove the hat. Most of us choose not to.)

But let’s move on, because there is another, far greater danger for you that requires close attention here. As you know, we all have certain fatal weaknesses: Achilles had his heel, Samson had his hair. The Dragoon has one too. Let me now present to you the cautionary tale of young Staff Sergeant Lieutenant (pronounced leftenant) Reginald Sir Throckmorton Norknork Thistlewhistle-on-Tyne Biffy.

Have you ever noticed how the Brits muck about with names, piling them on and on? Or, how about naming a boy Ralph but asking us to pronounce it Rafe. Pretentious bloody rot, that’s what it is. All mouth and trousers, the whole lot of them. And further on that note, some readers took issue with my observation last month that people named Nigel turn into silly twits. May I simply point out, dear froth-mouthers, that in its 150 years of knocking doors and taking names, the US Bureau of the Census has uncovered NOT ONE single American-born male named Nigel. During that same period, Americans have won two world wars, put a man on the moon, and invented the car brassiere. Mere coincidence? I think not.

Back to the story. Sir Reginald was attending a major gala at Buckingham Palace where he was the designated sabrageur, assigned to open all the wine bottles with his sword. As the crowd gathered around to see the mighty spectacle, Sir Reginald stepped up to the table and surveyed the bottles at hand, seven of them, lined up in a row. He slowly unsheathed the sword. His eyes narrowed a trace as he gauged the angle and gradually twisted into his backswing. You could hear pins dropping. Suddenly, without any warning or apparent cause, Sir Reginald was flying across the room, tumbling like a rag doll, knocking people over in his path, toppling tables, food flying as he careened thru the crowd until he hit the opposite wall full force and crumpled into a black and orange heap on the floor.

What happened? Did he step on a big wad of kryptonite? Was he possessed of seven devils? Alas, nothing so nefarious. He simply entered the arc of a ceiling fan, and not just any ceiling fan. This was a five-bladed, turbocharged Tornado-maker. The palace butler had it turned on high to keep the flies off the food.

So there you have it, gentlemen. Two challenges lie before you: doorways and ceiling fans. Surmount them and the world is yours. You’ll be on the Today show with Katie and Matt, then Regis and Kelly, soon walking that red carpet with Access Hollywood, and then, one night, Larry King. Like Neil Armstrong, you’ll have taken that giant leap for mankind.

Do I hear a voice in the back? You say this is a lot of work just to wear a big hat. You’re going to wear the Dragoon uniform but with a baseball cap instead? GREAT IDEA, Bubba. And just to really impress everyone, put the cap on backwards!

Bubba has reminded us again that, with dorks as with horses, you can take ‘em to drink but you can’t make ‘em water. The rest of you guys practice, practice. Next month I will send you out into the world, to cover yourselves with glory, and to make it a safe place again for corks and cork pullers. May man prevail. Yowza!

Buenas noches, paisanos. See you next week at the Pearmunds!

Your humble scribe,

~ Bruce ~

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