Something very good.
It's Cassoulet Season at the Kessler's again!
We gathered Friday night in Napa. A sign of our eagerness came as Roxi and I were pulling into their street, fretting about being ten minutes early, and we spotted the other invitees milling around outside. We were the last to arrive early. There was Mark Anisman (okay, his wife had to show up later because of the kids), doughty winemaker and Forum Celebrity Steve Edmunds, the mysterious will-o-the-wisp of winedom, Alan Bree, and Jason Brandt Lewis and Lynn Gorelick, and all were waiting not too patiently for Lou to start the evening.
When we finally crowded in, exchanged hugs and handshakes, and commented on how wonderful everyone was looking an entire year after our last ceebration of cassoulet magic, Lou lined up a series of whites and officially proclaimed a free for all, so we dived in. There was Groom 2005 Adelaide Hills Sauvignon Blanc; no less than two Hirtzberger 05s, a Gruner Smaragd and a Riesling Smaragd; a William Fevre 2002 Chablis Montee de Tonnerre; and a do Ferreiro Cepas Vellas Albarinho 2006.
Sustained by the nourishing little tidbits Bl had just casually thrown together---such as an intriguingly different salmon on crouton with lime zest perked creme fraiche (!!!), green olive tapenade and parmigiano (perfection itself), button mushrooms that were the essence of earthiness, and other such savories---we plumbed the depths of the wines. The Groom SB was vibrant, aggressive, and boxwood-pungent, leaping out of the glass with an Aussie shout. The Fevre Chablis was a good, but not great, alas, rendition of what Fevre and Chablis is----but it had the pale watermark and oyster shell crispness of its origins. The duo of Hirtzbergers was intriguing; a crisp and creamy (how do they do that?) GV with a green celery crunch, and a curiously floral/apricot soft fruited Riesling that still managed to show the pure unalloyed steel underneath it all. For me, the Albarino was the knockout of the line up though, with its astonishing linearity and depth, so tight it vibrated with acidic tension, yet with such intense, unending depths of fruit that it seemed unplumbable.
Repairing to the dining room table, we were served a deliciously rich, incredibly creamy shrimp bisque, and with it a couple of bottles of Bollinger Grande Annee 1990. The Bolly was at its absolute peak of perfection, suffused with aromas of fresh baked bread powdered with toasted hazelnuts. And after a moment, I blurted out 'Almond Roca!!!' No sweetness, mind you, but that toffe-ish almond and toast thing that called up the candy so vividly. And the champagne went in marvelous counterpoint to the sweet creaminess of the bisque, creating a perfect balance of flavors to start the meal. We lingered long over this, but eventually it was time for cassoulet.
No frou-frou nonsense here, no worrying about sides or companions or compliments, just buttery fork tender carrots alongside a mound of cassoulet, studded with cordovan lozenges of confit, browned saucisson Toulousienne and spicy red bits of andouille, all wrapped around with the most enticing smells and supported by the white beans that still held their shape and texture. A long silence descended; it was our communal appreciation of what BL had once again done for us to enjoy. I don't know how she manages to make it better than it was the year before, but why question it? Just dig in.
Of course, Lou delivered up some appropriate wine somehow, conjuring from his cellar twin bottles of Michel Ogier 1998 Cote Rotie. Steve marvelled at how young and vigorous and inviolate the wine was, how inutterably old school CR it was, and how it seemed it would simply go on forever. And it did. Shy and reticent at first, it stepped up gamely with violet fruit and bloody meat to match the challenge of the cassoulet; yet even then it had more and more to give, continually evolving in the glass and showing more complexities as it breathed in more air. (To those who have any: don't worry about this wine; it will likely outlive you.)
After the second passing of the cassoulet (and for some hardy souls, the third, but we won't name names), Steve popped open a bottle of a little something he had brought from home: a 1989 Port O'Call New World Red wine he had forged together from Zinfandel, Mouvredre and...Charbono! Another revelation for California, where the red wines do not age; this wine had totally shed it tannins, but still had a taught acidic structure under the fruit, and the wine was seamless, with nary a rough spot, just consistent, berry fruit and a tangy, spicy undertone to liven it up.
Anisman, down the table a bit, kept trying to convince us the first Montus Madiran 1990 he opened wasn't corked (It was; it was.), and that the second, while not tainted with cork smut was not nonetheless downright weird and undrinkable (It was. It was.) He was good, but not good enough, as we weren't buying. Or drinking.
After a nutty chocolate cake was served to us already overstuffed and moaning diners, Lou decided to toy with us in our delightful misery, and passed around his mystery apres dessert wine, asking us what we thought it might be. The usual wild array of guesses ensued...and even amongst the lions of winedom, I don't think any of us had a real clue as to what it was. And what it was, was a Taylor's Oporto 1963. ( I was thinking Banyuls, honestly.) I would never have pegged it as one of the legendary vintages, and it did not appear to me to have the force majeur I always associate with the declared vintages, even the older ones. Excellent, mind you, but not what I thought it was; not at all, not at all.
All of BettyLu's labors came to this: for me, the best evening of dining of the year, and each year an occasion to rejoice in good company, with superb food made with loving hands, and wines selected with superb taste for superb taste, to make a memorable evening for all.
Thanks to Bl for an amazing dinner, to Lou for an impressive selection of accompanying wines, and to the whole motley crew for a perfect evening.
but bribe! Bribe! Me, who comes from the loan shark center of the universe--Brooklyn's Lucchese family turf--pay a bribe?