Still thinkin’ Reuben

Tacos and enchiladas I’d expect at Scottsdale’s Mercado del Rancho Center. Not a genuine New Yawk deli, yet there it is: Chompie’s, founded a quarter-century ago by the Borenstein family from Queens.

Now, as you loyal readers know, Cornichon loves a good pickle and a good Reuben, and Chompies offers several on its mile-long menu of mile-high sandwiches. Ordered the variation called Bob’s Brisket and glad I did: moist & tender braised beef, grilled red onions, coleslaw, 1000-island dressing, jack cheese, held together by properly grilled [not just toasted] rye. Juicy, with unexpected sweet flavors from the caramelized onions, and crunch from the coleslaw. Pickles crisp and garlicky, too.

Didn’t need the side of gravy, or even the fries; Reuben alone well worth the $10.99. No surprise that Chompie’s was voted best deli in the Phoenix area.

Chompie’s, 9301 E. Shea Blvd., Scottsdale, AZ 480-860-0475

Jolie Croque Madame

Pretty woman, that Jolie Madame. Parisian crooner Charles Trenet sang her praises 20 years before Roy Orbison. The great French designer Pierre Balmain named a perfume Jolie Madame in 1953 (gardenia, bergamot, jasmine, leather).

But hey, enough of this perfume & pop-music vamp. This is a food column, so let’s get to the classic Croque Madame, a staple of French cafes for the past century.

3 PM and we’re in an elegant development called Kierland Commons on the dividing line between Phoenix and Scottsdale. The place is the tres tres French Zinc Bistro, and the “Off Hour Menu” features an intensely flavored onion soup; mussels steamed with white wine, leeks and thyme; and as ideal a Croque Madame as you can hope for: brioche bread, a layer of bechamel sauce, thin slices of ham, melted Gruyere, and (this is what sets it apart from the Croque Monsieur) a perfectly poached egg.

Served with a (literal) tub of fries, it’s all of $12. Add a small carafe of Macon blanc for $8 and you’ve got yourself a fine, fine meal. Merci, Madame!

Zinc Bistro, 15034 N. Scottsdale Rd., Scottsdale AZ, 480-603-0922

They came, they poured, they left

What if you’re not Chateau Margaux, Veuve Clicquot, or Domaine de la Romanee-Conti, with international renown and worldwide demand? What if your name is Luc Luyckx, for example, and your property, Chateau Famaey in the Cahors appellation of southwestern France, is unknown to American importers, distributors and consumers?

The answer, for some 15 French wine producers, was the classic one: go on the road, pour your samples for whoever shows up…and hope for the best.

Proprietary red wine from Tramier; buyers from Ray’s Boathouse taste Alsatian wine.

Back in France, Maison Tramier sells three million bottles a year of a blended vin de tablecalled Secret Royal, and not a drop of it from supermarket shelves, either. Instead, it’s literally marketed door-to-door, by shoe-leather reps who come right into kitchens and living rooms with their samples. Export manager Laurent Dufouleur knows he can’t duplicate that business model in the US, but he’s hoping the wine’s modest export price, 2 euros, will help him build a market. Great wine? No, but decent enough, especially if it can come in at a shelf price under five bucks.

But there’s the rub. Importers and distributors won’t take on a new line unless there’s a demand; retailers and restaurants already have a wide range of choices. Which is where the French Trade Commission comes in: setting up trips like this for producers, organizing tastings, “facilitating contacts” between visitors and home team.

Luc Luyckx and Jose Salinas at dinner for visiting wine producers.

Puzzled by our quaint customs, our complicated regulations, our bizarre tastes, our foolish pride in homegrown vintages, they do what they can while they’re here to make an impression. They visit Chateau Ste. Michelle and Costco, then “Au revoir, merci,” and they’re gone.

Beyond Gold: Platinum

A wine judging, like life, is unpredictable: you often wonder how much luck is involved. But when a handful of Northwest wines comes out on top in competition after competition, you can be pretty sure it’s because they’re more than lucky: they’re really, really good.

Starting with 233 Northwest wines (some good, some lucky) that had already won gold medals or better in 30 national and international wine competitions, a panel of judges assembled by Andy Perdue of Wine Press Northwest retasted everything and designated their 23 top selections as Platinum, 6 of them with the rare distinction of Double Platinum. Knockout!

Perdue with some of the Platinum wines

Andy spends half his time as the brains behind the Tri-City Herald website, the other half as editor of Wine Press Northwest (a quarterly magazine, an extensive online presence and a weekly e-newsletter). Started the Platinum thing six years ago. Unassuming, unprejudiced, he’s got my vote for “Pope of Northwest Wine.”

Double Platinum wines: Columbia Winery 2001 Columbia Valley Merlot; Vin du Lac 2003 Cabernet Franc; Jackson-Triggs 2003 Grande Reserve Sparkling Riesling Ice Wine; Sumac Ridge 2003 Gewurztraminer Ice Wine; Three Rivers 2002 Champoux Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon; Thurston-Wolfe 2003 Burgess Vineyard Syrah.

Download a complete list of eligible wines and winners (PDF format).

“Burgundy At Work”

Leave your tassled loafers at home; this trip, end of March, is a jeans-and-flannel wine tour with British wine merchant Martin Raeburn.

“It’s not the traditional trip with a leisurely morning tasting, a long lunch and an afternoon nap,” says Raeburn, the director of Amadeus Wines Ltd. “It’s a professional trip for me and at the most four guests; we’re going to be in the vineyards and the cellars and tasting, tasting, tasting. It’s serious business.”

Not to mention that it’s likely to be cold, wet and windy. But you’ll be well-housed, well-fed, and drink great wine.

I’ve known Martin for years. He’s not one of those show-biz media types at the center of glamorous tastings in hotel ballrooms. Instead, he’s down among the barrels with the winemakers and cellar masters, or in the fields with the vineyard managers, doing the real work of Burgundy: putting his money on the line to actually buy commercial quantities of the wines he likes.

In the cellars at Louis Jadot and Bonneau du Martray.

Download a PDF of the complete itinerary by clicking here.

To book the trip, go to the InTouch Travel registration page. Because of the extremely limited number of guests, full prepayment is required to hold your booking. Call me if you have any additional questions: 206-770-9567.

Should you go? Read on.
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Going to bat for Fledermaus

UPDATE. Jan. 18: Jane Eaglen writes in Slate today about her opening-night tribute to the late Birgit Nilsson.

It’s sometimes translated as Revenge of the Bat, a Viennese operetta, composed 150 years ago, a frilly entertainment with musical staying power beyond its flimsy, conventional plot.

Dialog in English, with lots of fresh, topical jokes. Lots of lively tunes, too, though 19th-century English lyrics frankly on the musty side. (Many options when it comes to translating opera lyrics … more shortly.) All ends happily, as required by the operetta form, with giant bottle of Moet & Chandon champagne making welcome appearance. .

Domaine Ste. Michelle’s excellent bubbly poured in lobby for $7. Perfect to jump-start the afternoon.

Fledermaus poster; the sensational Sarah Coburn (top); glass of bubbly at intermission

Soprano Sarah Coburn gets loudest applause as chambermaid Adele. Additional sustenance, if you can call it that, from Grant Neale whose non-singing jailer Frosch provides big slab of ham.

This witty, sumptuous Seattle Opera production of Die Fledermaus was directed by Chris Alexander, twice named the company’s Artist of the Year, and conducted by music director Gerard Schwarz.

Champagne gets the blame for everything at Prince Orlofsky’s decadent party.

Die Fledermaus through Jan. 28. Tickets online or call 206-389-7676

Hawks 20, Skins 10

Was going to write about beer from Georgetown, a snappy pale ale called Manny’s, but got distracted. Epic rainfall: 27 days & counting. Worst weather in memory. Ark jokes no longer funny.

Historic football game: first playoff appearance for hapless Seahawks in decades. Best-ever season earns them home-team advantage, supposedly worth a “12th Man.” Capacity crowd at Qwest Field raucous, capacity crowd at Sport Restaurant in Fisher Plaza pumped as well. TV monitors everywhere, unattached women everywhere! (Who knew?)

Order my Manny’s, finally. Bartenders slammed. Endless draughts of Manny’s, ESB and Bud, non-stop shots of tequila and Knob Creek, gallons of cosmos. Occasionally the kitchen sends out a burger or a pizza. Four women at bar down shots of Jaeger, then switch to greyhounds. Alexander fumbles, leaves game with concussion; bar goes quiet. Then Jackson catches TD pass; another round of Jaeger! Hasselbeck runs for TD, another! Hawks win! Euphoria!

They’re going to do this again next week. Without me, I suspect. Plan to file next report, about performance of Fledermaus, from Grand Tier at McCaw Hall.

Location, location, location

Now we’re getting somewhere: a clear example of terroir. On one side of the road, the wine smells like violets, on the other side like kid gloves. Distinctions like that are no longer Burgundian; they’re here.

Example: two wines from the same winemaker, L’Ecole No. 41, same basic “Bordeaux blend” of 90 percent cabernet sauvignon and merlot, grown in Walla Walla Valley vineyards just 10 miles apart, but with markedly different profiles. If they’re siblings, one of them’s the evil twin …

Apogee (the furthest point from earth on the lunar orbit) comes from Pepper Bridge Vineyard, planted on ice-age deposits. Spicy, forward fruit, aggressive tannins.

Perigee (nearest the earth) comes from Seven Hills Vineyard, planted on rich, wind-blown aloessial soil. Elegant, balanced, firm, with black fruit and tobacco overtones.

Pepper Bridge and Seven Hills vineyards: close, but no cigar.

Let’s be clear: while I much prefer the Perigee, both sell for the same price, between $45 and $50 depending on the retailer.

So it’s really one for the wine geeks. Elegant vineyard profile (link to PDF) here; graphic soil profile below. Da rest of youse can move on.

Return of the Pleasure Police

First an international caveat on caviar, now a fatwa against foie gras? That’s what Rep. Brendan Williams of Olympia says: he’s introduced legislation to ban the force-feeding of birds. Never mind that most American foie gras is produced out-of-state, by a French family (of course) in upstate New York, Williams is against it.

Williams admits he did eat foie gras once, but tells the Everett Herald he didn’t know where it came from. (Right, and Clinton didn’t inhale.)

Shocked, shocked he was to learn it involved gavage, overfeeding to enlarge the duck’s liver, a centuries-old practice that engenders modern outrage when applied to animals but remains enshrined as freedom-of-choice when it comes to Twinkies, Big Macs and venti double-chocolate-chip Frappuccino. With extra whipped cream, please.

By the way, there are some ghastly alternatives to foie gras out there for the PC crowd, made with mushrooms and tofu. Be my guest.

Contended geese–foie gras on the hoof–along the Dordogne River in southwest France.

Gavage with softened grain has been practiced since Egyptian times as winter approaches to encourage the natural accumulation of fat in the goose’s liver.

Bellini, Seattle Style

Drink called Bellini , classic cocktail, was invented at Harry’s Bar in Venice, where it’s made with a puree of fresh peaches and prosecco. Great atmosphere! Six or seven euros, can’t recall, under ten bucks.

Suite 410, here in Seattle, adds a grace note: a spring of fresh thyme to give the peach aroma a little nudge as it wafts toward your nostrils. Brilliant touch! About nine bucks.

Mixing Bellinis at Harry’s Bar; Bellinis at Suite 410

Then you walk a couple of blocks to the urban megaplex and get a ticket for Casanova. Hearthrob Heath Ledger and siren Sienna Miller cavort along the Canal, plow through the Piazza, canoodle in the Palazzo. Good, clean fun…but would have preferred a bit less plot, a lot more Venice.

Gondolas, Heath Ledger, Grand Canal