Scotland Part Two - Auchentoshan

The night before Dan and I went to Auchentoshan we got curry take away.

Now I have what they call an "iron stomach." I can count on one hand the number of times I've been sick from food from anywhere. Wouldn't you know, this instance uses up that hand. I love curry, all curries. But when I woke up the next morning I wasn't feeling right at all. It was as though I was on a boat in high tide, even though the ground was stable. But I pressed on. Stirling palace might be closed for renovations, the cool jail might not be open for another week, but damned if I was going to miss an opportunity like getting a personal distillery tour with the Master Distiller.

I had met Jeremy Stephens at a Distiller's event in NYC in the winter, where we had a long conversation about light and dark spirits and flavors and aromas that can trick the brain. Specifically about how certain mezcals can smell like peaty scotch. He wrote me an email a few days later complimenting my spirits knowledge (blushes) and said he'd be glad to show me around the distillery if I ever came to Scotland. Well, Dan, as it turns out, had just done a week-long internship there and became very friendly with him. So it all worked out that he would show us around. He gave us a lot of his time that day and despite my queasiness, it was a fantastic visit for which I am forever grateful to both of them. Especially after subsequent distillery tours that were not nearly as personalized or in depth.

Auchentoshan is triple-distilled for smoothness.

So psyched I managed to snap this shot of the mash just as the blades were approaching!

Barrels in the warehouse...

Getting to bang the crap out of a barrel to force the cork out so we could taste some yummy vintage juice. It wasn't easy...

Took a few more tries (plus I was weakened by my stomach bug or whatever), but success!

Jeremy used a "thief" so we could try some Scotch juice.

Mmmmmm. Scotch juice! Cheers!

But the BEST part? Jeremy took us into the Blending Room where there was an entire cabinet filled with samples of rare and vintage casks dating back to the 60s.

And then he just let me have free reign to pull and pour samples! Jeremy, you are the coolest!

Really? Anything I want? WHAT stomach bug?

I quickly got comfortable.

Dan with "The Precious."

A lineup of what all we sampled. Don't worry, just a small nip of each.

Dan and I agreed these were our two favorites of the bunch: Vintage 1974 from refill sherry cask and 1965 from refill bourbon cask.

We carried a glass into the conference room and after a short presentation about the triple distillation method, it was time to head back to Glasgow and then Edinburgh. By the time I made it home, I was so wiped from holding it together for this excursion that I stayed in that night, despite having all of Edinburgh for the taking, and slept for 10 hours. Well, that definitely wiped out whatever residual jetlag I might have had. I woke up the next day pumped and ready to take on the town!

Scotland Part One - Stirling

Hard to believe this trip has actually happened and I'm back already! What a whirlwind trip it was.

We'd all be here forever if I summed up in my usual writing style. So instead I'm going to make a sort of list of activities and events and let the images speak for themselves. I'm breaking this up into four parts so y'all aren't too overwhelmed. Or as they say in Scotland, "nay bother."

I came there to spend time with my friend Dan from NY and his Scottish girlfriend, Yvonne, who had painstakingly planned an amazing itinerary of sights, excursions, appointments with distilleries and noteworthy dinner reservations for the next eight days. Sadly, not even an hour into my trip as we were on our way to a decadent late lunch, Yvonne got word that her gran had died suddenly of a stroke. Dan and I were awkwardly wondering how to proceed. What now? Luckily, Yvonne's family are so lovely, gracious and understanding. Yvonne would come with them while Dan and I proceeded mostly as planned with their blessing. We could end some trips earlier so Dan could spend time with them. And he was constantly in touch. I just felt so bad for Yvonne and family, as they were clearly shocked and bereaved.

I have no pics of the first night after this sad turn of events. But Dan and I made it to Leith and the Scotch Malt Whisky Society for a couple of drams, then a fab meal at Fisher's seafood restaurant, a cab back to town and some cocktails at Bramble, then, ugh, tequila at Garibaldis. Dan had purchased a rare bottle of Littleton scotch at the SWS that got left either there or in the next cab home. Either way, when trying to reclaim it next day, nowhere to be found. We think most likely Garibaldis had quite the Dram of the Night special as a result. Despite having been up for more than 24 hrs due to the time change and travel, I managed to stay up till 11:30 to be on Scottish time. Well, at that point, I could have been anywhere. So didn't need that tequila.

Next day, despite fatigue and hellacious hangovers, we took at train to Stirling so I could see the Castle and Dan could spend time with Yvonne and family, who happened to live there. A dream come true for me. Finally get to see the very place where Mary Queen of Scots resided!

Dan on the wall before we met Yvonne for lunch.

Robert the Bruce.

Dan spent time with Yvonne while I toured the castle. This is the back garden. 

 Walking up into the court, that's the back of the main palace.

The sandstone Great Hall, where all the lavish banquets and ceremonies were held.

Would you fucking believe? I come all the way to Scotland after longing since I was a teenager to see this palace, and it's closed for renovations through the summer! Here's what was on the scaffolding in front:

Sigh. But I had a good look around and even got one of those cheesy headset things. There were a lot of intricate statues, carvings and reliefs on the buildings.

That's a statue of King James VI on the corner of the palace, over the gate connecting it to the Great Hall.

I love these little reliefs of a mermaid and lion on the side of the Great Hall.

Cool stone walkway alongside the building with the main kitchen, leading to outer buildings and fortresses.

There are many little glassless windows at the front of the castle in the area where the cannons were set up. Here's one looking out into the garden.

Down the street is the Argyll House, where I believe one can stay the night.

This is just a couple of blocks from the Church of the Holy Rude, where Mary's son James was crowned James VI. My camera couldn't capture the wonderful stained glass inside for some reason. But you get the idea.

Loved the adjacent cemetery. But I had to rush off to meet Dan, so didn't get to spend much time. I really dug this cross over one of the headstones.

This is also right down the street from the historic jail. Again, my timing is perfect. The exhibit opens a week later, the day I leave the country.

I met up with Dan again and we took a short drive across the hills to the William Wallace monument. There we parked the car at the bottom of a very steep hill and walked all the way up. Killer, breath-crushing, knee-whooping incline. But worth it. Here's what you see when you finally crest:

A statue of Wallace at the front. Don't look much like Mel Gibson, does he?

So you have some perspective, here's the view from the monument, with Stirling Castle in the distance.

Not much went on that night as we had to get up early. To drink whisky at Auchentoshan.

Bon Voyage!!!

Well, I'm finally off to Scotland!

Things looked a bit touch and go there thanks to that Icelandic Volcano Beotch, which decided to belch its filth back in the air again past few days, but it seems (fingers, toes crossed), on this rainy afternoon, my plane is still scheduled to depart from JFK to Amsterdam, where I connect to Edinburgh, on time.  I need this trip like you wouldn't believe. Lifelong dream to see the land of Mary Queen of Scots and some of my favorite whiskies. Everything seemed to come together so nicely. Air miles transferred to me, my friend Dan with a place for me to stay and the most generous capacity to plan activities and guide me around. Plus I just need out of dodge for a bit. A way to reset. See the world. Get away from the hurries and worries and allow myself to relax and play without feeling guilty about it. Being out of work has been really exhausting. I know that sounds crazy. But it is. The stress. I mean, look at how much weight I've gained!

Plus, sadly, what seemed like a great, nurturing relationship ended very suddenly over the weekend. Yes, there were outlying problems that I knew would surface, but that I hoped we'd work through. Alas, the boy freaked out about them sooner than later. I understand why this had to happen. He's a good person. A great person. It's sadly just another casualty of bad circumstances and crossed stars. Hey reality, thanks for dropping in! Your timing is fabulous as always.

Ah well, at least Sunday I was able to spend the evening with great friends on a terrific sunset cocktail cruise, the Manhattan Cocktail Classic Three Hour tour. Very well curated by Jason Littrell and the Tippling Point crew. Drinks were delicious (personal favorite, the Scotch Fix, which was a simple mix of Ardbeg, lemon juice and honey syrup. Runner up was the Landing Strip: 10 Cane Rum, Pineapple juice, coconut water, lime, simple syrup, Angostura Bitters and sage leaves. Foamy and very refreshing!). By sunset a few of these drinks and others, these lovely views, good snacks, great conversation, definitely feeling no pain. They even gave us each mock passports to stamp at each cocktail station.

So here's hoping that menstral volcano from hell can cool it long enough for me to get where I need to go. I'm guessing if she acts up again once on the other side, won't mind it one bit. Nope. See you kids after the 27th!

Cracked

It's been a really weird couple of afternoons here in Unemployment Central.

On Wednesday, I was having an email conversation with one of my best friends, who was telling me about some trouble he'd gotten into the night before. I can't name names. And I can't say what he did. But for all intents and purposes, let's say he got drunk and ate a whole cake, possibly two of them, and woke up next to the crumbs but doesn't remember what happened or how the cake or cakes might have taken his keys. So as we're having this going back and forth I walk into the living room and see that somehow, noiselessly, this friend's picture is suddenly face down on the floor, and a large couch cushion has been used to knock it down and was now resting beside the picture. But it couldn't have just fallen off the couch or been nudged accidentally. Someone HAD to have moved it.

It wasn't me.

And it wasn't my cat Bruce. It's too big for even him.

No one else had been in the apartment all day.

Plus, as I said, this act happened without any detectable sound, like the crash of the picture onto the hardwood floor or the thud of the cushion, or anything.

Now, I've suspected there might be a ghost here for some time. I live right next to a funeral parlor, after all. And there are niches in the stairwell in this house, a.k.a "coffin corners." That's never bothered me. But often items I know are kept in certain places disappear or get moved, not by me (things I wouldn't move, even when I'm drunk). And there is occasional knocking on the wall that gets louder and quieter then louder again. But this is a new one. And let me tell you. This freaked me the HELL out.

A librarian friend sent me some public records about the house, and it turned out that there was a certain Elizabeth Montgomery (yes, sharing same name as the actress on "Bewitched") who died here in 1898. Could have been her, could have been someone else, but I've been going around calling out to her since I found out. She has yet to respond. Makes me feel a bit like Red Foxx's Fred Sanford on "Sanford and Son" when I do this. "ELIZABETH!!"

And then: Thursday morning I take a shower and the water refuses to drain out of the tub. I have one of these old school tubs with the stopper on the outside, a "standing drain." It seemed the weight was just not engaging with the mechanism so the tub could empty. Some back and forth with my landlord and he called a plumber, who said he'd get back to me with a time he could come over to fix it. Long story short, he doesn't show up when he's supposed to. Then when he does, I get quite the treat.

It seems that in the three or so odd years since my landlord Andy needed him, he's developed quite the drug habit. Now, be that as it may, I think he probably had Tourettes even sober, but the combination made quite the doozy of an afternoon. So here's this guy, using a power charged plumber's snake in my tub (despite me telling him I didn't have a clog, but a problem with the drain itself) squatting in six inches of now mucky water. Every once in a while I'd hear the snake turn off, some barky cussing to the air and what should have been inner dialogue to some unseen person, who apparently didn't have a very nice mother (perhaps maybe he was talking to an unseen Elizabeth?) and then loud snoring (!!!!) that would last a minute or two. Then the machine would start up again. So great. Andy sent me a Narcoleptic Junkie Plumber with Tourettes!

I tell you, I would have preferred the requisite ass crack to this.

The job was taking forever as he kept dozing off. And I needed to leave for an appointment. He said he had to go out to his car, which is when I called Andy and told him what was happening. He immediately came over and said he'd stay there and take over the situation so I could leave. I spied the plumber wandering back up my block in a daze as I turned the corner. Andy assured me that when I came home, come hell or what was literally now high water, my tub would be fixed. Sure enough it was. Andy is an ex-cop.

It's Friday and I'm happy to report that thus far, the tub is working, and Elizabeth seems to be amusing herself in the after life in other ways. All's quiet on the cracked up front.

Drinking Nancy's Wine

Max just called and told me the terrible news. It is with heavy heart that I report the person for whom I wrote this entry back in April, Nancy Kranz, has passed away today, November 21st 2010, after suffering a sudden, massive stroke. It is sad news, but she is a lucky woman. She did things her way until the end with little compromise. She lived in the house she loved, she drank her husband's wine, and no one had to take care of her in an undignified way or tell her what to do or where to go, and she went peacefully and with little pain. My heart goes out to her family who will miss her very much. And I hope her house, belongings and remaining treasure of wine is appreciated to the fullest extent by those she left behind.

Here is the original post from April:

I've known Max and Shawn for a few years now. Ever since that first great Alfama Rectangular Table dinner (see blog post Summer 2009: The Season That Killed) that sparked our friendship, I'd heard tell of Max's step-grandmother Nancy's insane wine stash. Her husband, Peter, was an avid Burgundy collector, with a special penchant for Joseph Drouhin wines, and he also enjoyed good Bordeaux and German Rieslings. They lived in a crazy house he designed himself, in Darien, CT, with their own cellar. He died a few years ago before he could drink them all, so the wines, some dating back to the 1930s, were now in the process of being enjoyed by his widow and whoever wanted to come by and help her drink them. Would I like to come to CT some time and try some?

Well, what has two thumbs and likes old wine, especially Burgundy?

It took nearly three years for us to put this together. And in this time, Max's brother, Ry, has helped himself to a significant amount to store on his own, not to mention Nancy is drinking somewhere around a bottle a day. But there are still good things to be had. Thus, on a rainy April Monday, myself, my good friend John, our friend Liza (pronounced Leeza) and Max set out for Darien, greeted there by Shawn, Max's mother, Charlotte, and Nancy herself.

Below is what the cellar used to look like:

This is what is was like Monday (a little dark, but you can sense depletion):

That's Shawn on the left, and Max and me. Peter had devised a map system to relocate the wines. The wines were listed alphabetically with a code to their "coordinates" in the cellar, with a corresponding, hand drawn map for reference. The shelves were marked with these codes. Unfortunately, much had been depleted, but not crossed out, so hard to tell what would still be there. But we found some gems and took them back upstairs, up the spiral staircase, which oddly was built slightly under an unusable "bridge" from the living room to bedroom. We knew there was a good chance some of the bottles would be corked or past their prime (the conditions are not ideal, dark, yes, cool and damp, yes, but still fairly open to the elements, making the bottles un-auctionable, which is fine, as they were all intended for nothing but private consumption anyway). Nancy assured us we could always make other selections if we hit a bad bottle. They had gotten in the habit of lining up the corked bottles on a shelf down there.

Here is the beautiful view we enjoyed while drinking. The whole house is a big, open window. Gorgeous, but, sadly, impossible to heat. Still, the view in springtime, even in the rain, is spectacular. Peter had this idea of digging a pit, and through the house's history, it just kept getting bigger and bigger. On this day, it was filled with water, looking like quite the picturesque pond scene.

The first wine we tried was a 1964 Rheingau Spatlese. Hard to tell exactly who the producer is from this deteriorated label. And dig the creepy Hitleriffic logo! Shawn's joke, "Well, if this is wrong, I don't wanna be Reich!" The first bottle was badly corked, but we found another. It seemed a little past its prime, but once it hung out in the glass, oxidized dried fruit flavors with good acid balance came to life. Our glassware was not ideal, but it did the trick.

The next bottle was a 1969 Drouhin white Burgundy. The label was way too deteriorated to know appellation and producer. But it was full of flavor. Deep, rich apple, citrus peel and burnt sugar with good acidity. The back of the bottle had this helpful label on it. No, those are not floaties IN the wine. The bottles have a lot of crud on them. We cleaned them off best we could before drinking.

Here's some pictures of us enjoying the spread. And yes, that's an old surf board made into a dining room table! That's John and Liza below.

Liza and Charlotte.

Nancy and John.

The next bottle was a 1976 Drouhin Chambertin. Quite full of flavor, despite being a tad past its best consumption time. Wouldn't kick it out of bed though, as they say.

Next up, a 1970 Jaffelin Clos du Vougeot.  We couldn't tell much from the label, as you can see, but luckily the cork held a lot of answers. The wine came out cloudy, and didn't have much on the nose, but what an amazing concentration of flavor! Great fresh cherry, lots of herbs dried and fresh, including basil. This kept getting a lot better in the glass, and the aromas began to emerge.

 

Charlotte: "Shall we open the Musigny?" Shawn: "Only if there's also a Squirreligny..."

1971 Joseph Drouhin Musigny. The first time I'd ever tried a wine from my birth year! Lots going on here. Very warm cherry and plum flavors, juicy, luscious, with some pine cone and cedar notes. Very much alive and in prime. A real thrill for me to have the opportunity to drink! Sadly, I don't have a photo of this bottle, the label was pretty far gone.

Aside from mapping his wines in the cellar, we also found out that Peter had meticulously kept much of his Playboy collection in a three-ring binders, which we easily found in a nearby cabinet. Max and Shawn happened to pull one from the early to mid seventies, with one spread, if you will, of a very young, stunning, pre-Superman Margot Kidder!  Nancy sat by amused as we looked through it, at the old liquor adds, at the unabashed shots of real, untrimmed bush, at the unenhanced breastage and soft lighting. Those were the days... Glad she still wanted those around. Well, there was lots that was in essence Peter's personality around that house. As I wandered about, looking at pictures and objects, I became very moved, imagining those two around the time the wines were originally purchased, living their lives, laughing, loving, drinking, traveling. They must have been a great couple to be around. 

By now it had gotten dark, and we were quite happy.

Liza on the porch having sips and a smoke.

Bageera the cat.

This is his litter box, no joke.

Next up, a 1970 Corton. The label was way too far gone to read any more about it. No idea of producer. But let's just say this bottle was quite devoid of suckage. Really delicious and well within drinking dates.

We ended with a 1964 Grand Pontet Rousan-Segla, St. Emillon, Bordeaux. It was way mossy, musty and earthy on the nose and I was worried it would be awful. But in the glass, lots of concentrated black fruits, spice, chocolate, prune, moss (in a good way) and dirt. This was excellent right out of the bottle (note that none of the wines were decanted, but we still enjoyed them!), and kept getting better, as long as we could stand to let it sit in the glass. John said this was his favorite of the bunch.

By now several hours had passed, Nancy was getting tired, and John, Liza and I needed to get back into the city. We said our goodbyes and thanked Nancy again and again. So good of her to share these precious bottles and sit and drink them with us (none the worse for wear, rumor had it, Nancy would soon be enjoying a Manhattan while watching the Daily Show). It's a day I was beyond lucky to experience, and I hope I live as full a life as Nancy to continue to enjoy this great memory. Thanks so much to Max and Shawn for finally making it happen! Cheers to you, Charlotte and Nancy!