by Patrick Hamilton
We were finished with another tedious and tough several hours of fine wine tasting up and down nearby Dry Creek Valley, visiting some of its many famed Zinfandel producers, and there was still time in our day, so we drove across the Redwood Highway over to Alexander Valley and stopped at a little corner country store near the road to The Geysers.
It is one of those small local markets which used to carry goods like Bayer aspirin in tiny tins stuck on a cardboard display, coveralls, fishing tackle, candy, warm nuts, boots, tractor logoed hats, and soda pop and such. But now, similar to other stores in the wine country, it has been transformed into a sort of cutesy, chic place carrying artisan products like $6 hot pepper jellies, mustards which have certainly pushed the limits of acceptable flavoring agents, vinegars with leaves and branches floating in cork-stopped bottles, fancy olives cured not far from here and their homemade tapenades, arugala and sunflower seed pestos, and so on.
Good things, especially for folks visiting this area, but I liked the place before, too, when they had in-house charges written up on a tablet and put in a recipe box.
Among the stylish new merchandise were these little jars of wine jellies made from some of the local varietals like Gamay, Chardonnay, Cabernet and Merlot. The prices on those teeny itsy-bitsy specialties were up there - - something like $4.25 for two ounces. The pretty ribbons around the lids were nice and all, but, come on, $4 plus for what? Wine, sugar, pectin, a really small jar?
So, Kathy and I began to think, and we put our chins in those temporary holders made by bending an index finger and thumb into an ellipse. We stroked the bottom of our respective jaws, pursed and then pouted out our lips and exchanged meaningful head nods. I scratched my goatee. Fortunately, she was unable to. We both thought of the same thing: we sure were glad that she did not have a goatee. Just kidding; that's not it. We said, "Let's go buy some wine and make some jellies ourselves!"
We Sonoma-countians know now only high-falutin wine language to explain to lesser-educated folks the nuances of our vintages, but we also command low-falutin talk to allow as how low-priced, good wines can be valued, too. Try Pepperwood Grove Syrah 2000 for $7.99 at Safeway, or Delicato Merlot 2000, in the magnum size, for $8.99. We used 'em both for our jellies.
We had a few cases of 4-ounce jars, the bottles of wine, some pectin, sugar, and the know-how, so Kathy and I put up some jelly and... with each other.
While experimenting with various sugar amounts and how much to reduce the wine, etc., we cooked down some local strawberries, strained and added them to a Merlot jelly batch and the result was very, very good.
The conversation went differently. I started thinking, so I spoke (often it's been the other way around), "If wine jelly, why not beer jelly? How come no Guiness spread for cheese crackers? One could make a bitter and a bit sour Belgium ale jelly to spread on baguette points to go with steamed mussels, caramelized leeks and black chanterelles. Too heavy? Make a light beer jelly.
"And maybe if that is too heavy, something lighter yet. Like water jelly. Nobody's doing that." Kathy's glance was not meaningful, or at least, not understanding, but I was unstoppable with this new food idea.
"You could start with a well-known source, perhaps Evian. Tasters could use our pseudo-snooty languaging: 'Hmm, this is obviously from a little-known and shy, approaching but not quite self-effacing, yet surprisingly proud and exquisite, artesian well high above the Loire Valley, beyond Sancerre.
"You could have blind tastings with the little jars covered in tiny little brown bags. Use other brand-name waters and slip in a city water jelly too, for added fun. Serve them with water crackers! This might catch on like Tupperware parties. Just a though."
Anyhow, that was then and this is not. Let me know if you make some. We can trade recipes. There are other things that I do in my kitchen. With the summer just over here in Northern California, that means that the mushroom season is just beginning and the first that usually show are the Chickens of the Woods. Those gorgeous excretions that ooze their young fluids are the ones to go after. Picking them is even legal (in most states, except Oklahoma on Sundays).
I love to make sandwiches out of unconventional food items and the following recipe fits. Gather only the very freshest mushrooms and remember that they sprout in arid conditions and dry out rapidly. I made this last fall and remember it as being pretty darn tasty. It was adapted from the Alice B. Toklas Cookbook.
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1/4 lb sulphur shelf or other wild mushrooms, sliced thin
Saute the mushrooms and shallots in the butter and oil together until almost done.
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Mushroom, the journal for all seasons