Finally Got My Vatan

Some time in the distant past, I was told by a clerk at Crush, the East Side wine shop, that they were getting a shipment of Sancerre from famed winemaker Edmund Vatan. I should pre-order, I was advised, because Vatan had threatened that this would be his last year making wine. Now, I don't usually pre-order, because I'm a pauper. But I bit this time. I had a little money not doing anything, so I signed on for three bottles.

And then I waited. April became May. May became June. Where was the Vatan? It was late. Crush was apologetic. They blamed the French. (It's easy to blame the French.) A strike or shipping delay or some such labor thing. Finally, last week, I strolled into the shop quite by happenstance, expected to be disappointed yet again. But, lo and behold, the Vatan had arrived. (What? No phone call?) I happily skipped out the door with my three vessels.

The clerk offered advice again: have one now, one in five years, and one in ten. Sounded OK. Especially the now part. I'm not a big one on having to wait a decade to see if the wine I bought is any good. I uncorked it on Sunday, and, can I say, my friends: it was worth waiting for.

Some say Vatan is the best maker of Sancerre around. I don't know about that. I haven't tasted every Sancerre. But I do know he makes the best freaking Sancerre I've ever tasted. Complex, wide and deep, full of subtle, nuanced fruit and minute flecks of minerality throughout. It is simultaneously mellow and easy, and bracing and edgy. Terroir all over the place. Above all, the structure is awesomely impressive. This wine holds so much inside it, because its housing is flawless.

Bad news? Now I only have two bottles left. I've got to find some more money that's not doing anything.

The Case of the Sweet Sazerac

I enjoyed a good many Sazeracs while in New Orleans attending "Tales of the Cocktail." I freely admit to never having experienced this drink until exactly one year ago (last year's TOTC). Still, in the 12 months since then, it has easily become my favorite cocktail. I love the fussy preparation that goes into the making of it, the rarity of some of the ingredients (most American bars are not equipped with Peychaud bitters, Herbsaint or even Rye), and find the layers of flavors to be profound. The drink lends itself simultaneously to rapturous enjoyment and deep contemplation.

Still, being I novice, I do not pretend to know everything about this cocktail's journey through time and space. And so—after imagining I was having the best Sazeracs in my life last week—I was surprised when a gentleman at the cocktail bloggers panel informed my that no less an authority than Robert "Drinkboy" Hess has been theorizing that bartenders have been erring on the sweet side regarding their Sazeracs, adding too much simple syrup.

My mouth dropped open. Had I been enjoying bastardized Sazeracs? Did I know a true Sazerac when I saw it? Hess' theory is that bartenders in New Orleans, catering to the louche crowd on Bourbon Street, have been tarting up their Sazeracs to appeal to infantile taste buds. Could be. Could be. My mind reeled. After that, all the Sazeracs I had drunk seemed insipid. Well, not insipid, just too sugary. Hess might have something there, I thought.

Still, upon further contemplation, I had to admit, I still thought the Sazeracs were damn enjoyable. Perhaps too sweet. In fact, definitely sweeter than the more academic Sazeracs I had had in New York, or even the ones I make at home. Gotham bartenders don't use simple syrup. They're such wonks, and so tied to theory, they muddle a sugar cube, and so the sweetness ratio remains unchanged from drink to drink.

But I enjoyed those Sazeracs, too! My conclusion? I just like Sazeracs. A little variation can't destroy the pleasures of this drink. Just make sure it's properly chilled, and don't feed me any fucking Bourbon.

Maybe There Is Such a Thing as Bad Publicity

I received a surprising e-mail yesterday. Jennifer Malone-Seixas, the sommelier at Fleur De Sel in the Flatiron district, whom I had profiled in the New York Sun July 18, wrote to tell me that five days after the article appeared, she was dismissed by the restaurant. She said there was no clear explanation. (I feel it's all right to reveal this, since she stated that her comments were on the record, even though I offered to keep them off the record.)

This struck me as strange. Past sommeliers I've profiled have received nothing but positive feedback from my "In the Cellar" columns. Making Fleur De Sel's action all the more peculiar is that Jennifer's picture was featured in Wine Spectator the very same Wednesday. Publicity for your wine program is good, no? Or isn't it?

One can't help but wonder if professional jealousy played a part. After all, the Sun chose to place the article on Page One—something they'd done only twice before with the column. And the pieces featured not one but two pictures of Jennifer.

These events are particularly ironic since part of the thrust of the article was the paucity of female sommeliers in the wine world. Now there's one less.

Gone to the Dogs

There's a rather lame-ass bar near where I live in Brooklyn. Their stock is limited, which is probably a good thing, since there aren't many drinks in the bartenders' memory bank. But people still go there because there's a really good Mexican restaurant on the second floor of the building.

It's always best to just order beer here, and one of the saving graces of the bar has been that they carry the fine Belgian brew Chimay and serve it in a real Chimay glass. But yesterday, I ordered my customary Chimay and the bartendress gave me a regular rocks glass. "Don't you have the Chimay glasses anymore?" I asked. She just shrugged and looked blankly at me.

So I drank my Chimay in the wrong glass. As I exited, however, I noticed a little dog—the bar dog evidently—lapping up water from his bowl. The bowl? A Chimay glass.

In the Cellar With Fleur De Sel

For the July "In the Cellar" column in the NY Sun, I featured Jennifer Malone-Seixas of Fleur De Sel, the intimate French bistro in the Flatiron district. I sheepishly admit that she is the first female sommelier I've interviewed since I began the column a year ago. What can I say? They're not exactly easy to find. I enjoyed talking to Jennifer. She was salty and funny and didn't pull any punches. Nor does she buy into the current sommelier dogma, viewing the elevated position and on-and-off pomposity of her profession and colleagues with considerable skepticism. It was refreshing to speak with her.

Here is the piece:

Breaking the Wine-Glass Ceiling

Jennifer Malone-Seixas stood out among her classmates when she took the American Sommelier Association's six-month "Viticultural/Vinification" course. It wasn't because she was one of just a few women in the class, or that she was the only non-industry person in the room. What really set her apart was that she took the program while pregnant.

According to Ms. Malone-Seixas, who has a talent for wry understatement, the director of the course didn't notice her condition until she handed in her final exam. Of course, baby in mind, she spat out every vintage she tasted during that half-year. That is, until the end. "When I took the exam, I did have a glass of Champagne," she said recently. "I was like, ‘Forget it!'"

In an industry dominated by men, Ms. Malone-Seixas is a rarity: a female sommelier who is not only employed by a respected restaurant, but actually runs its wine program. She has been the wine director at Fleur De Sel, chef Cyril Renaud's French bistro on East 20th Street, since November. The position follows two years at Alain Ducasse, where she was the only woman in the entire restaurant staff, and a two-week stint at Gordon Ramsay at the London. She left just before the opening.

The life of a woman wine steward is not always easy. One must frequently prove oneself, to both employers and clientele. Male diners, when first seeing her, frequently ask to see the man of the house. "It happens less here," she said. "Much more so at Alain Ducasse. They think: I'm a female, there's no way I know anything about wine. A couple times when the situation did happen, a woman would kick her husband under the table and apologize for him. But other times, I wonder if I'm to blame, when I pour the taste to the man at the table rather than the woman."

As for the people who do the hiring, while Ms. Malone-Seixas won't say there is a glass ceiling in play, she did observe that "there were quite a few women who took the ASA class with me," inferring that a concomitant percentage on New York dining floors is not in evidence. "That should be an indicator. It's curious."

Ms. Malone-Seixas's life was pointed in a completely different direction when she graduated from Vassar College with a degree in art history 15 years ago. Following commencement ceremonies, "I did what all good liberal arts graduates do and went to graduate school almost immediately after," she joked. She studied art for two more years, then got a Master's in teaching and worked for a while at the Museum of Modern Art.

After a while, however, she was itching to try something different. Her husband encouraged her to pursue her curiosity about wine. "I was always a wine drinker, but never had been interested in it in a professional sense." Growing up, there had always been good bottles in the house; her father considered Brunello di Montalcino the perfect accompaniment to any meal. "He's an Irish New York guy who wishes he had been an Italian prince," she said. She did well enough on the ASA exam for ASA president and cofounder Andrew Bell to recommend her to Ducasse. "I was like a kid in a candy store," she said, remembering the restaurant's cellar. "The tasting knowledge I built up there was invaluable." She also recalls the sheer fright of testing her newly won wine skills in such an intimidating setting. "It was nerve-wracking," she laughed. "I was so worried I was going to spill wine on people."

She no longer seems nervous. In fact, she's quite comfortable with challenges. "It adds a bit of spice to things when people are pissed. They look at the wine list" — Fleur de Sel's cellar offers nearly 1,000 choices, include pages of Bordeaux and Burgundy — "and say ‘Argh. It's so hard.' It's intense. If everyone was always happy and giving you $500 to pick a bottle, it wouldn't be a challenge."

She's also sure enough of herself to oppose certain oenophilic fads. "I steer people away from wine pairings. I don't like them, so I get very personal about it," she explained. "It's in vogue at a lot of restaurants to have a wine pairing with the tasting menu. But I think they're unnecessarily complicated. I think they're interesting in a casual way. Personally, when I'm sitting down to eat, I don't want the sommelier with me the whole time. It's not about me; it's about the wine, the enjoyment of the experience. I'm there to help people. It's not ‘Take pictures of me. I'm your sommelier.'"

Quotable Quotes

I told you I might not be done.

I just want to record a few memorable quotes from my four days at "Tales of the Cocktail" before the rye burns off and my memory slots away in the vapor.

Chuck Taggart (author of the "Gumbo Pages" blog): "Growing up in a New Orleans, I grew up in a drinking household. We had a bar in the back. My dad taught me how to make an Old Fashioned when I was 12."

Jeff Berry (Tiki drink expert and author): "When a drink is really good, you can't find the words for it, it's like music."

Wayne Curtis: "If you are an aging bartender who worked at Don the Beachcomber's and are lying in a hospital, the last face you might see is Jeff Berry saying, `What was the secret ingredient in that drink?!'"

Paul Clarke: (author of the blog "The Cocktail Chronicles"): "That's what I like about Tales of the Cocktail. You're standing in the lobby, minding your own business, and somebody hands you a drink."

Wayne Curtis: "Every spirit family has its bad relatives, and with rum it's Pina Coladas and Rum and Coke. Or worse: Rum and Diet Coke."

The City's Best Sazerac?

Twice during the Tales of the Cocktail, I've heard a local authority say he had had the best Sazerac of his life at Bayona, Susan Spicer's praised French Quarter restaurant.

One was Chuck Taggart, New Orleans cocktail blogger, who called his first Sazerac at Bayona a life-changing drink which set him on his current passion for good drinks. The other was Brobson Lutz, a doctor who has ever reason to be loyal to Galatoire's, having dined and drank there countless times, but who said his recent Sazerac at Bayona was the best he had ever had.

I have known many Sazeracs over the past few days—at Commander's Palace, The Carousel Bar, etc.—but was I missing the best? So, the last thing I did in New Orleans before catching a plane home was to have lunch at Bayona. They seated me right away, and my Sazerac came soon after. It was served in a smaller glass than usual, and the color was very vibrant (extra Peychaud's?). I drank. It was exceptional, very smooth, a bit on the sweet side. I can't say if it's the best I've ever had, but it certainly stood out and would be up there in the top three or so. I'm glad I had it.



My lunch consisted of a kind of Ceviche, a lump crab meat salad, and a pork and shrimp wonton soup. Each dish was delicate and flavorful and nearly perfect. Bayona deserves its rep. The table one over from me was a big group celebrating the 60th wedding anniversary of an elderly couple. Everyone seemed quite jazzed about the occasion—except the couple. Just another day in the marriage. There was a priest at the table; he had a chardonnay.

And, as has been the case all week, I can not go anywhere in New Orleans without running into a Tales of the Cocktail presenter. As I entered Bayona, Allen Katz exited. The night before I saw Gary Regan at Commander's Palace, sitting at the chef's table. Dale DeGroff, Charlotte Voisey, Junior Menior and Julie Reiner (of Pegu Club) were at Acme's Oyster Bar when I had lunch at the bar. Another guy, whose name I can't remember, but with whom I shared a cab to the airport, had actually been at Tipitina's when I was there Friday night. Small city.

This may be my last Tales of the Cocktail post. But don't hold me to that.