Last night, some friends and I met for our somewhat bi-weekly, whenever-we-can-get-a-critical-mass-of-people-together wine club.
We gathered at a friend’s apartment to try out a variety of wines (each club member brings a bottle to share). The evening included a lot of sniffing deeply into wine glasses and swirling the juice of fermented grapes on our tongues to pick out the hidden flavors – a little raspberry or plum here, the scent of hot chocolate and smoke there. Along the way we nibbled on exotic snacks – spanish marcona almonds, a vegetable terrine, and baked camembert cheese with a balsamic reduction – and enjoyed feeling terribly sophisticated on otherwise ordinary Monday night.
The whole thing actually felt like a good Passover seder – it was relaxed and participatory, with people calling out interesting tidbits they found in the various “haggadot” we had available (Windows on the World Complete Wine Course
and The Oxford Companion to Wine
. And, of course, there were four – or maybe a few more – glasses of wine.
A few of the folks in our midst have some wine knowledge – I once worked on an organic vineyard, another couple has traveled in Europe’s wine regions, and a third – our resident expert – works as a sommelier at a kosher restaurant in Brooklyn. But as the hour turned late and the the last drops of deep red liquid pooled in the bottom of our glasses, I realized that it didn’t really matter. We were there to taste wine, sure – but really the whole “wine club” thing is just another excuse to get together and hang out. And I’ll happily raise a glass to that.
Start your Own Wine Night (below the jump)
Despite the exciting abundance available at farmers’ markets all summer, it’s not until the
concord grapes arrive in early fall that the true celebration of the New England harvest begins. Tonight, as I enjoyed my first bunch of the season’s juicy, purple slip-skin bounty, I began to investigate their unique place in my local and cultural foodshed. Love them or hate them, concord grapes are a symbol of New England history and harvest, having been developed in Concord, MA in 1849.
My last omer-centric post celebrated the yeastiness of a sourdough starter. Today I wanted to focus on barley. Let’s not forget that the omer period itself is named after the measure of barley, known as an “omer” that was brought to the Temple on the second day of Pesach, marking the beginning of the transition from the barley harvest of early spring to the later wheat harvest of Shavuot.
Hmmm…yeast, barley….what else might be used to celebrate this period? Some commentators say that the transition from barley to wheat marks the transition of the Israelites from a slave people (who lived like animals, the main consumers of barley) to freedom (since wheat bread marked the culmination of civilization). Not so fast, says professor Charlie Bamfourth in a recent Scientific American article:
The first seder I ever went to, I hosted. I was deep into conversion classes with my husband-to-be and we had tons of questions. It was the opposite of scripted. We used a Reconstructionist haggadah a friend’s family had put together, and the conversation flowed. The older generations regaled us with their memories. Though it was over 10 years ago I remember it well. There was just one problem. My food was warming on the stove and in the oven, forever. Who knew that you spent so long talking before eating the meal? I ruined my first seder. Everything was dehydrated to shoe leather, the matzoh balls leaden after simmering for so long.
If a recipe ends with “serve immediately,” it is not for Pesach. That was my first huge lesson. I think I’ve hosted almost every first night since then, but I’ve picked up a lot of things on the second nights when we’ve gone to other people’s houses. The whole evening has changed with the advent of our children, as well. Here are some of our evolving traditions:
The beginning of Passover is just one week away. While you’re searching your house for chametz, and polishing your silverware for the seder, check out Hazon’s list of:
Healthy, Sustainable Passover Ideas
You’ll find tips to green your chametz search, add a creative, sustainable twist to your seder, and serve a seder meal that is delicious, healthy, and good for the earth.
We’ve also compiled ideas for Getting Rid of Chametz - both the crumbs behind the blender, and the superfluities of life.
And if you’re looking for a good, organic Kosher for Passover wine, check out The Jew and the Carrot’s Kosher organic wine list.
Leah’s recent post about organic kosher wine made me think back to my visit to Four Gates Kosher Winery, which was now six and a half years ago.
In July of 2000, I spontaneously left New York City after living there some eight years, to try California (where I grew up) for a year. I immediately went to work at the Jewish Bulletin of Northern California – now called j. weekly.
After three months on the job, we got a call from a guy named Benyamin Cantz; he told my editor that he ran what he believed was the only kosher organic winery in the country, and the recent spell of hot weather was causing his grapes to ripen more quickly than usual. I think he was hoping that we would put a notice in the paper to recruit volunteers to help him pick that Sunday. They did no such thing. They sent me instead.
Hazon just added a kosher organic wine list to our resources section. Keep an eye out for more resource lists in the next week or two. Here’s a sneak peak:
- Healthy, sustainable Seder ideas
- How to host a sustainable kiddush (or book club, or Hadassah meeting)
- How to get rid of your chametz (and we don’t just mean crumbs!)
Epicurious tells us about the best kosher wines. “Dry, balanced and delicious varietals from around the globe.”
On how they’re kosher:
The law specifies that for a wine to be kosher, it must be made under strict rabbinical supervision and with equipment that is used exclusively for the production of kosher wine. In addition, products used in the winemaking process, such as yeasts, must be certified kosher. The grapes and wine can be handled only by Sabbath-observant Jews — in other words, those who refrain from work of any kind from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday.
