I’ve been undergoing a change this year. Or, more specifically, a narrowing.
While I’ve always been a big fan of both beer and wine, lately I’ve been shifting my focus much more to the latter. I stopped trying to keep up with new craft beer releases in Toronto. I haven’t even been to the reborn Volo, which would have seemed unimaginable a few years ago. I’ve even mostly stopped drinking it, except for when I take advantage of a newly-discovered trove of excellent beers at the Rosedale Diner that turn half-priced from 3-5. Anyway.
In lieu of beer I’ve been leaning toward wine. I have lots of it at home, I live down the street from an excellent all-Ontario wine bar, and I’m taking an intro wine course at George Brown. People laugh a bit when I say that because it sometimes seems to them like I know a lot about wine, but really I’ve just tasted a lot. This course has been super helpful in understanding a bit more of the method, the nomenclature, and how to properly describe what I get on the nose and palate. We’ve already covered the major areas of France, Eastern Europe more generally (flitting over Germany, Austria, Hungary, and Greece), Italy (which I missed whilst in Chicago), and, yesterday, Spain & Portugal.
Earlier this week I happened to also get an early look at Spain in a tasting event with John Szabo. He walked us through wines from several regions of Spain, throwing in notes on food, history, beauty, architecture, etc. as well. It all just made me so excited for my trip (or trips?) to Spain early next year.
I mean, it’s not like I needed an excuse to get more into wine. But here we are.
A couple weeks ago we decided to take a little impromptu trip. There were three reasons:
We both needed a couple of days away from work (though this ended up being much more the case for me than for Lindsay)
Lindsay had never been to Chicago and had mentioned a desire to visit
I needed to book one more flight to maintain my Porter status for 2020
And so, after some last-minute (for me; I usually plan trips months in advance) bookings we were off to the midwest.
This was Lindsay’s first trip post-fracture, but she and her ankle came through it like a champ. Porter flies into Midway, not O’Hare, which I thought would mean less walking, but all the construction had us wandering all over god’s green acre. Anyway, we escaped, and the taxi ride downtown was short, but hair-raising.
We’d booked at the Chicago Athletic Association hotel, an old private club restored in recent years to be the same type of destination hotel we found in The Line DC. It’s a gorgeous old Gothic building from 1893, still full of knickknacks and curios. We had a big spacious room overlooking Millennium Park (albeit only from the 3rd floor) and, given the late hour, we didn’t have much in us that night except a quick drink and snack in the room and then sleep.
On Friday morning we ate breakfast downstairs in one of the hotel’s restaurants, the Cherry Circle Room. I had braised pork belly & polenta w/ Brussels sprouts, carrot, hazelnut, and vadouvan. Lindsay had grilled lamb Merguez sausage w/ tomato ragout, poached eggs, pickled onion, and Manchego.
We did both have work to do so we retired to the drawing room — essentially a great cozy hall just off reception — and set up shop next to a fireplace. Eventually, once the hour was respectable, we supplemented our work with a Negroni and an Old Fashioned. Or two.
After working away for a several hours we needed lunch, so we popped next door to Acanto, a casual-looking Italian wine bar. What was supposed to be a simple, light lunch (we had a testing menu booked at a Michelin-starred restaurant that evening) turned into a bit of an affair.
Soppressata
Robiola Langhe 3 milk cheese
Salad special w/ salmon
Lobster Spaghetti w/ Maine lobster, Calabrian chili, fennel
A bottle of I Custodi ‘Aetneus’ 2010 Etna Rosso
It was all pretty damn good, but that bottle of wine was special. And we had such a good time chatting with our server that he brought us some polenta cake (better than it sounds, trust me) on the house.
Back in the room it was basically nap time. Like, nap so hard time. As I said, we had a late, fancy dinner booked. Not that 8:30 is that late, but given the time zone difference and the recent daylight savings change, it felt like 10:30 to us and, well…I’m old. Anyway, I stayed conked out until the end, but Lindsay at least took advantage of the big soaker tub.
Dinner was at Smyth, a two Michelin starred restaurant in an old warehouse. Gorgeous decor. Precise but unstuffy service. Fully open kitchen, so you get a show with dinner. And the food lived up to the Micheliny hype. They kindly printed off the entire menu with wine pairings; I stupidly forgot it at the table. [UPDATE: they mailed the menus to me! Corrected/updated version shown below as of 11 Dec 2019.] However, the online version seemed to match it exactly; I’ve provided what I can remember about the wine, but didn’t capture the producer, nor the vintage.
Maine uni glazed in egg yolk
Ruinart NV brut rosé Champagne
Squash with quince & chestnut
Shima Aji, barley & frozen turnip
2015 J.B. Adam “Kaefferkopf” Vielles Vignes Alsace Grand Cru Riesling
Aged lamb with “The Farm” Lima beans and fermented black truffle brioche doughnut
2007 Le Macioche Brunello di Montalcino
A bar of milk chocolate, raspberry preserves, and shiitake mushrooms
Egg yolk soaked in salted licorice with frozen yogurt meringue
1979 Chateau Riveyrac “La Cuvee des Aigles” Banyuls Vin Doux from Rivesaltes, Languedoc
Koji caramel apple
NV Billecarte-Salmon demi-sec Champagne
Earl Grey tea
Saturday we had breakfast brought to our room, largely because we couldn’t move. Lindsay had more work to do so I went out and wandered around Millennium Park a bit and got a coffee from Fairgrounds.
Our plan that afternoon was to get a Chicago deep dish pizza, drink some beer, and visit the Museum of Contemporary Art. Through a combination of misadventures we accomplished very little of that — the Gino’s East we landed at was not the brewpub but rather a family restaurant. Lindsay didn’t think to bring her ID, but they ID’d her, so she couldn’t drink what few decent beers they had. The pizza was…fine. And we were so thrown from the whole thing that we opted to not even go around the corner to the MCA. We needed to recover this afternoon.
After a bit of an arduous walk we put the recovery plan into action at Pops For Champagne. It’s exactly what it sounds like: a Champagne bar. Our (extremely sweet, extremely attractive, extremely Kiwi) server guided us through the options, and I think we did a good job. She told us we were her favourite table, and I’m sure she never says that to anyone else.
Glasses of Egly Ouriet Blanc de Noirs
Oysters
A bottle of Vilmart & Cie Grand Celier D’Or 2013
Fries
Glasses of Moussé L’Or d’Eugene Blanc de Noirs (Lindsay) and Pierre Moncuit Blanc de Blancs (Dan)
The afternoon thus salvaged, we went back to our room for yet another afternoon nap (only on vacation!) before yet another monster dinner, this time back downstairs at the Cherry Circle Room.
Cocktails (Lindsay had a Nice New Outfit; I had an Improved Whiskey Cocktail with Westward single malt whiskey from Portland, along with something else so strong it took me the whole dinner to drink 3/4 of it)
Oysters on the half shell w/ fresh horseradish, japaleno mignonette
We thought hard about one more cocktail at the Milk Room on our way out, but it was full and about to close, and as it turns out, it probably would have seemed like a very bad idea the next morning. So.
Our flight left at 5:30pm on Sunday, so we had time for a bit of a leisurely last day. Lindsay had more work to do, and did it. I relaxed and read and got more coffee from Fairgrounds. We Uber’d over to the Museum of Contemporary Art again; even though we only had an hour or so we did see the main exhibition we were interested in, and another quick one, before heading back to the hotel for check-out.
We still had a few hours to kill; luckily we’d managed a reservation at Cindy’s, their (extremely popular) rooftop restaurant + bar. Looooooooooots of selfies happening there. But the food was pretty good too: we had oysters (for some reason we were loving the oysters in Chicago!) and chilaquiles and cocktails and Lambrusco and beer and coffee, and we left absolutely stuffed. Like, in pain.
Our trip back to Toronto was unremarkable, except that our cabbie at the Toronto airport almost got in a fight with another cabbie. Moral of the story: take Ubers.
So yeah, we didn’t do very much of Chicago except eat its food and admire its architecture, but doing wasn’t the point of the trip. We ate and relaxed like champs, and Lindsay’s ankle held up pretty well, and I had Monday off, so…great trip.
At the base of the pylons is the Torch Bearer standing near a statue of a young dying soldier. The Torch Bearer has taken the torch from the figure of the Spirit of Sacrifice. He then takes up the fight, and strains up to the highest points on the twin white pylons toward the eight figures representing The Chorus [ed: Justice, Peace, Faith, Honour, Hope, Charity, Knowledge, and Truth]. This is a reference to one of the most famous poems of the First World War, ‘In Flanders Fields,’ by the Canadian Army Medical Corps officer, Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae.
Almost forgot: on that flight to/from Calgary I watched a couple new movies.
Spider-Man: Far From Home (imdb | rotten tomatoes) was really, really good. So fun. I know they’ve rebooted Spider-Man, like, eleven times now, but this incarnation might be my favourite. I know they’re aiming for a younger audience, but that cast is so charming it works for everyone. I especially like seeing Martin Starr play a fussy teacher. I actually lol’d on the plane a couple of times.
Unfortunately, Godzilla: King Of The Monsters (imdb | rotten tomatoes) ruined the flight movie score average. Big, boom-y rubbish with wooden acting.
Last Saturday Lindsay and I and our friend Sarah, after drinks at our place, made an impromptu trip up the street to Ruby Watchco. We hadn’t been in quite a while, and my last experience there wasn’t the best, but we were hungry and the menu looked good and Lindsay could limp there, so.
Stupidly I forgot to write down what we ate, and it was of course gone from the website the next day, so to the best of my memory here’s what we had:
cocktails
a salad that I can’t really remember at all
smoked trout rillette
rosé, which I think was the 2018 ‘Beausoleil’ St. John’s from Languedoc
Thai lemongrass-marinated steak
butternut squash & ricotta dumplings
uh, some red…honestly, I can’t remember what for the life of me
Ontario cheddar
Chardonnay, which I’m relatively sure was the 2016 Rickshaw from Santa Barbara
Today I got back from a quick 36-hour work trip to Calgary, with a little side trip to Banff.
I flew in late Wednesday night, crashed at the Calgary airport Marriott, then early Thursday morning drove out to Banff to speak at a partner’s event. It was my first time out to the mountains in a lot of years, and the mountains made me feel as calm and peaceful as ever, even if I was only there for a couple of hours. This was the view from the Rimrock, where the event was held:
Later that day, after another work event back in Calgary, I had dinner at The Wednesday Room. The upstairs had a Shining theme; the downstairs was like eating in a 1970s basement rumpus room. The food & drink was pretty solid though:
Yesterday was Lindsay’s birthday, the first time in a couple of years we haven’t spent it in Europe. It was a much more low-key day, but had a seriously delicious ending. We went back to Maple Leaf Tavern for the first time since we went for my birthday last year and, frankly, we killed it.
bread (red fife, sourdough, potato Focaccia) and butter
This was never going to be a normal Thanksgiving weekend. I had a big — very big — work thing scheduled this weekend, which was going to run from Friday night through at least Sunday, and maybe Monday, to the point where it didn’t make sense to plan much at all.
The work stuff started Friday night and kept me awake for most of it. Saturday I managed to get a hundred things done in between calls, and we even ducked out to White Lily for dinner. We both got the hot turkey sandwich, so…check off one Thanksgiving tradition.
On Sunday I went to the office, and since there were dozens of us working onsite, the team brought food in. I was actually stuffed all day, but still couldn’t resist a piece of pumpkin pie, which the coordinator thoughtfully added to the menu, since everyone was giving up their holiday Sunday. Check a second Thanksgiving tradition.
I don’t want to jinx it, but it went well yesterday, such that I actually got home in time for dinner with Lindsay. I forgot that I didn’t have any Champagne in the house to celebrate with, but a bottle of Lightfoot & Wolfville 2012 Blanc de Blancs filled in nicely.
So yeah: no turkey, but no biggie. A huge work thing seems to have gone well. Lindsay and I might finally have a semi-relaxing day. Our families are good. Kramer’s good. Check check check.
Lindsay started watching Breaking Bad, and I’ve jumped on board. I almost forgot how good it was. All these scenes. All these characters. We recently met Saul. Then Gus. Then Mike. And I keep thinking ahead to all the scenes yet to come, and getting giddy.
Anyway, we’re trying to blaze through it quickly so El Camino (imdb | rotten tomatoes) doesn’t get spoiled. But not too quickly.
We were overdue for a wine-vertical-hangout with Laura like the one we did in February. This time we moved just down the road from Thirty Bench to Hidden Bench, and three vintages of their top-end Bordeaux blend: La Brunante.
The 2010 (33% Merlot, 31% Cabernet Franc, 19% Cabernet Sauvignon, 17% Malbec) got better in the glass as we drank it, but was just beginning to give over to vegetal characteristics.
The 2012 (80% Merlot, 12% Cabernet Franc, 4% Cabernet Sauvignon, 4% Malbec) packed a wallop. I’d have sworn there was more Cab Sauv in there, but Laura called the blend early. It tasted like chocolate fudge cake, though the fruit still showed through. Merlot, you’re slowly but surely changing my mind.
It was probably too early to open the 2015 (50% Merlot, 26% Malbec, 21% Cabernet Franc, 3% Cabernet Sauvignon) as it just didn’t have the depth or power of the other two, but you can sense it coming, with the flavour bubbling under the structure. Here’s hoping, anyway.
So the star of the show was the 2012, with the 2015 showing lots of promise. Luckily I have another bottle of each stashed away.
Skirl | Dan Dickinson 