New York Cork Report

Book Review: M.F.K. Fisher Comes Passionately to Life in 'An Extravagant Hunger'

By Evan Dawson, Managing Editor

There will come a time, long after we are dead, when writers and researchers will wonder who some of us were. Not that we existed, but who we were to our core, what drove us, how we responded to challenge and tragedy. I suspect that the ease of communication in the modern era will make a full accounting of written communication more difficult for researchers. After all, who keeps many emails or text messages in the way we once filed letters away?

We can be thankful that M.F.K. Fisher came to prominence in an era that required hand-written and type-written notes and letters. And we can be thankful that such records, carefully preserved, found a thoughtful writer in Anne Zimmerman to make sense of them.

An Extravagant Hunger: The Passionate Years of M.F.K. Fisher is an extraordinary book, careful and diligent and often wise in its estimation of the famous food writer. Most impressively, it's an outstanding read, a true page-turner in league with the best narrative non-fiction.

Author Anne Zimmerman clearly spent many, many days studying the letters and writings of M.F.K. Fisher. Zimmerman seeks to tell the story of who Fisher was (and what led her to become the woman she was) in her early years. The book covers Fisher's childhood through her second marriage, which ended tragically.

It is simply fun and inspiring to read M.F.K. Fisher in her own private words instead of trying to decipher the woman through her public writings. Zimmerman does not overwhelm the narrative with excerpts, but uses them nourishingly and effectively. And we find that Fisher was undeniably a tremendous writer, as even her daily musings sound effortlessly poetic.

But it is also an emotional grind to follow the passionate years of Mary Frances Kennedy Fisher, because they are often wrenchingly sad. From Fisher's misguided first marriage to her loss of the true love of her life, we journey around the world and back with a young woman who seems followed by sadness.

It is easy, thanks to Zimmerman, to understand why M.F.K. Fisher became so enamored with food. Her first view of food was literally of forbidden fruit, thanks to a traditional grandmother. Then food became the outlet for her creativity and her passion, rising while her relationships fell.

Zimmerman relied on letters, but she was cleverly selective in sketching the portrait of the young M.F.K. Fisher. Zimmerman notes that Fisher's letters home from Europe often contradicted her other writings, so instead the author uses the more frank and intimate letters from friends to Fisher and her responses to them. Those are the moments when even the enigmatic M.F.K. Fisher could hardly obfuscate. Zimmerman trims away the confusion to allow a clear view of this remarkable writer.

M.F.K. Fisher could easily have been a modern-day blogger. That is not a pejorative. The great food writer would chronicle each meal and write in bursts, and blog writers are wise to study Fisher's work.

In the end, readers are likely to feel satisfied and nourished, having experienced just enough spice to keep the book interesting. That is, it turns out, exactly what M.F.K. Fisher loved most about food. Whether Zimmerman attempted to parallel that with her writing, we don't know, but she pulls it off beautifully. The language only rarely attempts to dazzle, like a carefully spiced dish that allows each element to shine without one ever overwhelming another. Anne Zimmerman should be proud of her work. It seems certain that M.F.K. Fisher would be.

Book Review: The Wild Vine by Todd Kliman

By Evan Dawson, Managing Editor

The Wild Vine is not, at its core, a wine book in the most common sense. It is a story of outsiders, connected over the generations by a common sense of purpose and discovery. And like The Billionaire's Vinegar, it is such a compelling work of narrative nonfiction that I have reccomended it to friends who don't care much for wine.

But if you do care for wine, Todd Kliman's book takes on an added weight. And if you care for American wine, it becomes essential reading; the fact that it's gripping and well paced is merely a bonus.

Kliman tells the story of how the Norton grape came to be the American answer to the great wine grapes of Europe. His exhaustive research takes us back centuries, when settlers strove to create a wine society but failed repeatedly. The history and storytelling is so interesting that there is a sense of drama and relief when Dr. Daniel Norton creates this wonder grape; we know it's coming, but it's exciting nonetheless. 

But you might wonder: What's Norton? Even the most ardent wine lovers in this country know little or nothing about Norton. That's apparently a problem of modern marketing, but it's also a result of the unfortunate history of the grape and some of its champions, as Kliman details richly. Shifting from the past to the present, Kliman sketches parallels that are hard to miss.

Unfortunately, Kliman seems determined to make sure we don't miss them, so by the book's end he has hammered us with overt declarations. I found myself wondering why he seemed to lose faith in subtlety as the book progressed. After all, he has written such a lovely story that we couldn't possibly miss the connections he wishes us to see.

Without ruining the plot, I'll simply say that Kliman might have been better served to trust his readers a bit more.

There is also the issue of purple prose, a term used to describe over-writing. Twelve pages in to the Wild Vine, I tweeted, "Todd Kliman can write his face off." He is a better writer now than I will probably ever be. But just because you can write your face off does not mean you should actually try to do so. Kliman has so many wonderful tools in his arsenal, but too often he attempts to use them all instead of carefully choosing the best weapon to employ. The first 76 pages of The Wild Vine, comprising Part One, represent some of the very best narrative nonfiction I've ever read. Part Three was a bit tiring, because Kliman seemed set on using two or three adjectives where one would suffice.

But do not let my criticisms convince you I didn't enjoy The Wild Vine. I am now determined to seek out some Norton from Virginia and Missouri. I want to know what the modern-day supporters of Norton are making. The book is a triumph of research and storytelling, and there are stretches of some truly brilliant writing. Kliman is the food and wine editor and restaurant critic for The Washingtonian, and this is his first book. I expect he'll write more, and we'll all benefit if he does.

Evan Dawson's Book "Summer in a Glass" is Available for Pre-Order

By Lenn Thompson, Executive Editor

Today is a big day for our friend and managing editor, Evan Dawson and we couldn't be prouder or more excited. His book "Summer in a Glass" is finally available for pre-order and he launched his new book-focused website today as well.

Check it out today to learn more about the book, read a sample chapter and find out how you can order your copy today.

I've read it already and I can't recommend it enough.

If you're a reader of this site, you already know that Evan is not only an excellent writer, but is also gleefully afflicted with an uncommon, energetic love for wine.

With this book, he reminds all of us that wine isn’t just fermented grape juice on a store shelf. It is a confluence of people, place and passion, and he take us inside the lives of those who put all of themselves into the bottles we uncork every day.

Whether you’re a wine geek or are new to wine, this book will leave you thirsty -- not only for Finger Lakes wine, but for more tales of love, loss, frustration and redemption.

Congratulation, Evan. You've been working long and hard on this book for years -- it's a pleasure to see it come to fruition, and be such a great read. You'd better get working on that sequel. The publisher is going to want one.

Watch the book trailer above and then head over to the website to learn more.

Book Review: Reading Between the Wines

By Evan Dawson, Managing Editor

The book about why wine is important is going to end up taking its place among the most important wine books ever written.

Beauty, according to the brilliant importer and writer Terry Theise, is what we're ultimately seeking in life. Start there. Everything else is exposition. And the beauty in Theise's prose is his refusal to be ashamed or embarrassed by genuine emotion. 

This is no insignificant point. If you're a man, you can probably think of many times in your life where you fought tears because revealing a soft spot would have been seen as effeminate. If you're a woman, you can probably think of men to whom you've implored, "Don't you ever cry?" 

Terry Theise cries. And he laughs, and he thinks, and he's not afraid for you to know it. What's more, he cries about wine. That's perhaps not entirely fair, because for Theise, wine is not something to be scored, but rather a connective tissue that can tap into our deeper emotional selves. Wine can connect generations, even those long since passed. Wine can recall places -- sometimes the place of a milestone in life; other times a seemingly routine walk down a quiet path. 

His explanation for why scores -- and blind tasting, for that matter -- are misguided, well, it is extremely powerful stuff. To wit:

The wine was a 1966. So juicy still... What a vintage! A slightly scorched note came on as the fruit faded. Next Jean-Baptiste's wife, Karin, came in, carrying the new baby, with another daughter at her side. The older girl seemed about six. She took the baby, who looked around and cooed. Old wine, new life, what can you do? It all floods in.

How many "points" is this worth? Lives lived in wine; three generations sitting with us and paying tribute to a fourth.

As an importer who knows the power of big business, Theise is careful to say that many wines evoke no real emotion at all. Rather, he seeks out wines with a sense of place, a kind of humanity imbued into the very tannins and acids. Does that sound hokey? Theise wouldn't give a damn if it does.

He stumbles only when he seems to shift and lecture against taking every wine too seriously. It's actually quite an important point -- after all, wine lovers are prone to going overboard, as this writer has been known to do. But that section reads more like Theise's subdued cynical id, trying to poke a hole in his sentimentalism. It's the typical condescending "get over yourself" side that must be created in Theise's subconscious simply to offer an occasional break from the emoting. 

This book blends into the discussion of where New York wine is heading. Understandably, there is so much effort just to make viable wine that the notion of a wine's special sense of place can be lost or ignored. But the slowly emerging and powerful sense of place in some New York wines are not all that unlike the wines from Germany and Austria and the Loire that Theise loves most. And while New York wines lack the big-money backers that have propped up emerging regions like Walla Walla and, 40 years ago, Napa Valley, Theise's book reminds us why that might be a blessing for wine lovers. The small production wines earn the constant attention of their vintners here. There is room for discovery.

There are so many ideas, so many observations, so many turns of phrase offered in this book that I could highlight them for hours. Instead, I will conclude with this: Buy this book. Read it once, let it sink in, and then read it again. 

And open yourself to the kind of emotion that is waiting to be uncorked. The closing line in Reading Between the Wines is the most powerful closing line I have ever read. It haunts me still, and taking a cue from the author, I'm not afraid to admit it moved me to tears. 

Reminder: TasteLive this Wednesday with Finger Lakes Pinot Noir

By Lenn Thompson, Editor-in-Chief

Just wanted to most a quick reminder in that our third a series of Finger Lakes Taste Live events will take place this Wednsday, March 31 at 8:00 p.m. ET.

I'll be moderating for Finger Lakes Wine Country (FLWC) in conjunction with their newly launched TasteLive page.

This time around, we're going to be tasting five pinot noirs:

• Atwater Estate Vineyards 2007 Pinot Noir
• Damiani Wine Cellars 2008 Pinot Noir
• Hazlitt 1852 Vineyards 2008 Pinot Noir
• Heart & Hands Wine Company 2008 Pinot Noir
• Ravines Wine Cellars 2007 Pinot Noir

Pinot noir is showing great potential in New York, so this should be an interesting tasting that will undoubtedly open up some eyes.

We will kick off the tasting at 8:00 p.m. ET, so make sure that you join us on Twitter and on the Finger Lakes Wine Country TasteLive Site.

Book Review: The Billionaire's Vinegar

By Evan Dawson, Finger Lakes Correspondent

The Billionaire's Vinegar by Benjamin Wallace is, quite simply, the fastest and most enjoyable wine-themed book I've ever read. It is not, to use a rather nebulous term, the "best" book about wine I've read -- that distinction rests with Neal Rosenthal's Reflections of a Wine Merchant -- but it reads like fabulous and fabulist fiction, and that's a real credit to the author, considering it's not fiction at all.

The Billionaire's Vinegar tells the story of the most infamous bottle of wine ever sold, but it tells much more than that. In fact, I've spoken to several readers who found themselves let down initially that the story of the Thomas Jefferson bottle was wrapped up rather quickly. However, they all changed their minds after witnessing how Wallace employs the Jefferson bottle as a launch pad to take us deep into the world of the rarest and most avidly sought wine. Tasting a 1784 Yquem? You'll find not only the tasting notes, but the elaborate parties (some that lasted days) that were put together simply to affirm the majesty of such a bottle.

Wallace's sharpest skill is his tireless and proving research. He tells the stories of the wine world's most celebrated names -- Robert Parker, Michael Broadbent, Jancis Robinson -- drawn into the intoxicating chase for the rarest and most glamorous wines. The background, interviewing, and document digging alone must have consumed hundreds of hours for the author. Woven together, the story plays like The Da Vinci Code of wine, with one important exception: When you have finished reading you won't feel embarrassed to have been so captivted with the material.

Wallace's weakest moment as a writer comes when he strangely glosses over a hugely important point. The rare bottles were inscribed with the initials "Th. J.," but there were doubters out to prove that someone had faked the inscription -- that Thomas Jefferson himself had nothing to do with the bottles. There is a connection to the Finger Lakes here, and I was surprised to see it covered so loosely. Without giving anything away, I can mention that Wallace writes, "Elroy had the bottles examined by two experts, one an engraver who worked near the Corning Museum of Glass in upstate New York." The subject gets a scant two paragraphs and is then dropped. Wallace should have identified the moment as the zenith of the investigation; the reader wonders from the beginning of the book whether those initials were legit or not. And as a bonus for New York state readers, the answer is revealed by local specialists!

Alas, not even the Corning Museum of Glass can provide more detail. A spokesperson told me that the expert cited in the book was not an employee of the museum: "The museum makes a point not to assess other people's objects," the spokesperson told me. "But we're happy to refer folks to other experts." Given that, I'm not sure why mentioning the museum was relevant to Wallace, but no doubt the folks in Corning are happy to have the free PR.

Hollywood is busy crafting a movie out of The Billionaire's Vinegar, but I'm not sure it will work. There is a delicious villain, but there is not a single "hero" worth cheering. Schadenfreude is not a lead character on the silver screen (though it plays gorgeously on the page).

In the end, ignoring the provenance of the wines, the reader has learned a great deal and enjoyed the lesson, thanks to sterling quotes uncoverd by Wallace -- this one from the dean of California winemakers, Andre Tchelistcheff: "Tasting old wine is like making love to an old lady. It is possible. It can even be enjoyable... But it requires a leetle bit of imagination."

Book Review: The House of Mondavi

By Evan Dawson, Finger Lakes Correspondent

The other day I had a conversation with a friend and we tried to answer this question: If a winemaker can truly say that he or she focuses on quality, and carefully tends the grapes and makes the wine, how many cases (in terms of production) is realistic? Five thousand annually? Seven thousand? Ten thousand? Twenty? We went back and forth, as there isn't a concrete answer. But I can say without hesitation that 1.2 million cases of wine was not in the ballpark of "quality."

All of which is to say, reading the life story of the Mondavi family is like reading about a sect of aliens making wine on Saturn (which, if you listen to Michael Mondavi, might happen sooner than later at his family's urging). As a Finger Lakes wine writer, it is hard to imagine one operation making millions of cases of wine each year, and it is ludicrous to hear the Mondavis talk about making millions of cases of wine while still focusing on quality. But such is the story of an American wine dynasty in Julia Flynn Siler's "The House of Mondavi" (Gotham Books, New York).

At nearly 400 pages, the book reads surprisingly quickly thanks to Siler's deft handling of a wide range of subjects. She captures the drama of a self-destructive family, and she uses her skills as a Wall Street Journal reporter to convert banal financial details into a riveting plot. While occasionally lacking in her prose, Siler delivers the necessary pace to keep the reader hungry for the next plot turn. And there are a myriad of twists and turns, as the Mondavi family takes the brakes off their avarice-laced wine freight train.

The forced sale of Mondavi to Finger Lakes-based Constellation Brands is instructive. Siler writes that before acquiring Mondavi, Constellation was known for making "gutter wines" and used the sale to raise their profile in the fine wine business. Then, immediately after the sale goes through, we learn (or perhaps I should say our suspicions are confirmed) that Constellation immediately cuts staff and makes decisions aimed at improving the bottom line at the assumed expense of quality. Fine wine, indeed.

Given Siler's description of Constellation, consumers of New York state wines should be relieved that Constellation has declined to pursue the best producers in the local industry. And, given production volumes, why would they?

My biggest complaint is that Siler fails to capture the true desires of each Mondavi family member, with the exception of Timothy, who was the only one fighting for smaller production and higher quality. We're left to assume that Robert and Michael loved the venal thrill of global wine dominance, but we're never allowed to find out if they truly love wine. I kept waiting to hear Michael explain what kinds of wine inspired him, what individual wine experiences stayed with him. Perhaps there is not much to say in this regard; Siler portrays Michael as a narcissistic businessman who eschews quality for dollars, and I just wonder if he were always that way.

Cheers to Julia Flynn Siler for a thorough and enjoyable read. And cheers to our small producers who can say with straight faces that quality remains a driving force.