grades K-10, established in 1995 -- 1 to 4, adult/child ratio
4100 Red River, Austin 78751 -- 451-7044 -- www.samschool.org |
J
udging from the roar of conversation
and the lack of wiggle room, I have to
conclude our Christmas party was a
success. Neighbors generously provided
cookies and other rich fare, and the New
World Deli donated a fine smoked salmon,
served with red onion, cream cheese and
capers.
A few minutes before the party started Alan Marburger
noted that we had nothing to drink. I nipped
over to Fresh Plus market and picked up a couple of
six packs of Pacifico cerveza, and a small selection of
red and white wines. I was interested in the neighbors' reactions.
I did overhear one veteran beer drinker declare
that the Pacifico being pulled out of the ice tub was
"as cold as any that's been served in these parts in
years."
A few days later I received the following email
from Rollo Treadway, arguably Hyde Park's most
knowledgeable oenophile:
"Hi, guys. Loved the party. Naturally, I made a beeline
for the wine table. The chardonnay tempted me, but I
decided to make the acquaintance of the 2002 Bella Sera
Sangiovese. I'll be forever grateful that I did.
Despite being served in a plastic cup, the bouquet
was heady and lush, chock full of berries, vanilla bean,
cassis, and a nice bit of oak. On the front palate there was
the expected rush of tannins, but also some surprises:
pomegranate, banana, blackberry, fresh basil, dried lavender,
smoked meats and olives. The complexity was unexpected
and immediately got my attention.
Then I encountered a big joke. It seems our Italian
cousins were having fun at the expense of us Americans:
there at mid-palate were substantial, half-mocking dollops
of peanut butter, bubble gum, Pez lozenges, Coca-Cola and
Smith Brothers cough drops. The humor was so unexpected
and overwhelming that I almost burst out laughing.
My wife was spared this embarrassment by the sudden
emergence, still at mid-palate, of something dark, oily, and
faintly menacing.
I couldn't place the taste precisely, but it called to
mind the stuff I used to put on my baseball glove to keep
it from drying out. The effect was unsettling to say the
least. It is certainly possible that this was nothing more
than an unfortunate reaction of the wine with the capers
accompanying the salmon. But at my age [Treadway is 77]
and in my condition, there was also the very real possibility
that I was suffering a little mini-stroke.
I was spared further harrowing by the arrival of a
bountiful botanical harvest at back palate: pear, mango,
