AnimaMundi

Okey-Doke or Okey-Dokey

Phil Schaap, "that most obsessive of anal obsessives", has hosted "Bird Flight" on Columbia University's WKCR for 27 years. You could say that he has been Parkerized.

...in the capital of jazz, he is its most passionate and voluble fan. He is the Bill James of his field, a master of history, hierarchies, personalities, anecdote, relics, dates, and events; but he is also a guardian, for, unlike baseball, jazz and the musicians who play it are endangered. Jazz today is responsible for only around three per cent of music sales in the United States, and what even that small slice contains is highly questionable.

"Lawrence Lucie, who celebrated his centennial in December, was glad to hear Schaap talk about his days with Fletcher Henderson. And when Schaap asked him if he remembered the name of the song that Benny Carter opened with at the Apollo seventy-four years ago, Lucie said, “I know, Phil, but do you?”

“Sure, it was ‘I May Be Wrong (But I Think You’re Wonderful).’ ”

“That’s right.” Both men laughed.

“And you played the first notes,” Schaap said. Indeed, they were the first notes played in the Apollo when, in 1934, the theatre opened under that name and began admitting African-American audiences."

Treme

Wynton Marsalis presents The Faubourg Treme Documentary Project. Check out the trailer of the winner of the Golden Gate Award at the 2008 San Francisco International Film Festival.

Mother's Day

In the matriarchal age, everyday was mother's day.

Lunetta, Rioja Fest & Cacio e Vino

Thanks to Gastropoda, I had a fine lunch at Lunetta on Wednesday. The place was happening so I grabbed a seat at the small oval bar. The panini of prosciutto, fontina and marinated arugula came on Sullivan Street Bakery crust-heaven bread with a generous side of fresh baby arugula dressed with a light touch. The panini made me sit up and take notice. The wine prices were steep by the glass and the offerings were not that enticing, so I had local water.

Later I stopped at Astor Wines to browse their selections. On the wait out I noticed a banner that read "Rioja Wine and Food Festival" so I naturally went in. How could I not? The people were very gracious and ushered me into the tasting-classroom room where cooking demo's and wine seminars are held. I arrived at the midpoint of a tasting of about 30 Rioja's. Unfortunately I sat next to a very critical and vocal blond woman of a certain age who kindly offered me some of the wines that had already been poured. She told me that she had been raised in a vineyard. Maybe she might think of going back there. Everyone was talking vintages and the Spanish requirements for Crianza's and Reserva's. I was drinking the wines. Two stood out for me: the 2001 Monte Real Reserva and the 2003 Roda Crianza. The Monte Real ($15-$20) had finesse and balanced purity. For the money a very fine Rioja. There were two Roda's: Roda and Roda 1 ($40 & $70). One was aimed at the cherry high pitched fruit lovers and the other at the blueberry plum lovers. I loved both. Solidly centered with lots of legs. Through the translator, I said to the gentleman from Rioja: "Viva La Rioja! Do you happen to have any spit roasted lamb to go along with these great wines?" Everyone chortled and he thanked me and said that a variety of tapas would be provided later in the early evening along with all the wines that we had tasted. I stored the 6:30 time in my databank. After walking, I returned to my room and napped. I awoke to find that it was 6:30! I quickly made it over to Astor to find the windows darkened. As I drew closer, I saw candles. My heart started to beat a little faster. There was food and wine a plenty left. The room was buzzing and people were beaming. The tapas, spicey albondigas for one, were quite good and I abstained from drinking any gratis Rioja reserva's. If you believe that then you don't know me. After bidding farewell to the kind Rioja people, I strolled over to Cacio e Vino. You gotta love the music on their site by Shai Bachar. Since I wasn't that hungry I sipped some Fondo Antico Versi that is a blend of Nero d'Avola, Cabernet and Merlot. It was ok, though I'll take their Nero d'Avola over it anyday. I wound up ordering a small Caprese pizza that was quite good. Crusty and chewy with toppings of high quality. The staff and owner were welcoming and helpful. The pasta dishes looked tempting. All in all, a good day and night. I was tired, but happy.   

Shopsin's Map To The Men's Room

I didn't have the "Blisters on My Sisters". I had a pulled pork Cuban that was good, but somewhat heavy, like the owner. There is no sign, but there is a long line on the weekends. Two highly tatooed guys who are regulars were engaging the owner. There is instant comradery here. The owner's son mentions that some food magazine has an article about the Kenny's place. I haven't seen it yet, nor do I care and she, the writer, is a fucking asshole. Some guy sitting next to the owner asked him what's good. The owner said how the fuck do I know what you like? Then I mentioned to the owner that I recently learned that Alice Trilling died of a heart attack on 9/11/01. Her heart was weakened by radiation treatments to her lungs in the mid-70's. Many people think that she was in the World Trade Center that dark day. He said a lot of people died that day. A look appeared in his eyes and face for a nano-second. The Trillings were friends and regulars at the original location in the West Village on the corner of Morton St. He named things on the menu after the Trilling's daughters. From the stereotypical kinds of people who get tatooed, to presidential power, brainwashing, eating habits, eating out in upscale restaurants to Myanmar (Burma) so it went. The owner said that the death toll from the recent cyclone is nothing compared to the slaughter of people by the regimes in that part of Asia. He was trying to recall what Myanmar (Burma)'s most important export was. I said Burma Shave. He laughed and said that those highway signs would not be allowed under current ecological rules. The key to the men's room is on a spatula on which is a very tiny handwritten map that are the directions to said men's room. It's unreadable, but I found my way. I hadn't paid yet and as I got up to go to the men's room I told the owner that I did not plan to bolt. He said if I did bolt that he wouldn't have to see me again. A true New York character.

On The Joe DiMaggio Highway

When I left NYC on Friday morning it was cold and rainy. I walked to Chelsea Market in the raw wind for some stiff cappuccino and food to take home. I saw Malcolm Gladwell in the market at 9th St. Espresso on Thursday morning. Part of his inspiration for writing "Blink" was the fact that he had recently grown his hair out. The NYPD picked him up one night on the street in Manhattan because to them he "resembled" a suspect that they were looking for. In fact, he did not look anything like the suspect at all. I recognized him from pictures on the web. His hair stuck out and so did his eyes which seemed like they were 2 feet in front of him in thought. He is so distinctive looking that I don't think I could confuse him with someone else, but the NYPD did in a split second. I told him that I enjoyed his books and he said thank you and nodded.

On the Joe DiMaggio Highway on my way to PJ Wines, I grinned at this Amfar billboard. Spritzer we hardly knew ya'.

Lines and Home

Tim is an engineer for the Army Corps of Engineers. Yes, that Corps. It has been interesting following his struggle to rebuild and relocate after his home was destroyed by flood waters. After 22 months in a miniscule FEMA trailer, he and his family are finally moving into their new home. Rebuilding at the same location was out of the question. The cost was outrageous. Reluctantly, the family had to leave their neighborhood, but they have found a new home.

And Then It Rained

From Toulouse Street in New Orleans, Mark Folse tells about a special moment at Jazz Fest 2008 when Terence Blanchard performed selections from his "A Tale of God's Will (A Requiem for Katrina)".

Sagana

Cusamano's 2005 Sagana is a very good example of a Sicilian red that is somehow not baked into submission by the venerable Sicilian summer sun. The vines, clinging low to the torrid soil, gather their nutrients from the ferocious summer sun of the island that burns most greenery into a withered pale brunello. This wine is a dark morello cherry purple triumph over the legendary sun and lack of moisture. It is somewhat of a miracle, as are most Sicilian wines. If you have been to the island in late September, you know what I mean. Days upon days of limitless blue. Not a cloud, unless you are near the puffs of condensed cotton over Etna. Sun on sun on land, parched and begging for rain. In late September, a sunrise in Sicily is followed almost immediately by heat. The sea seems to roil in constant haze. A wine waiting for the summer rains that start at the end of September. The Sagana bears all of this alchemical tension within it and much more. It offers its mysterious essence to you from a blessedly sun burnt and fertile land. With an understated nobility, it is like Lampedusa describing his family's home in Palermo after it was decimated by American bombers during WWII. He called it his home, not a palazzo. The Cusamano people are not fooling around. They are producing wines that evoke images that hug the land and speak from the island's bedrock. When a wine can do this the winemakers are artists working in consort with our Mother, Nature. Ancient strains and notes from a volcanic land distilled in a liquid made from the earth and sun and air and water.

P.S. Thanks to my friend Alfonso Cevola who tells me that "sagana" in Sicilian means "a hidden supply reserved for only for close friends or family". Now I know why they chose this name for the wine.   

Under Alba

The commune of Alba is the wine center of the Piemonte wine province. A very large percentage of DOC Italian wines are produced here. Under the streets of Alba is the renowned Pio Cesare winery. Alfonso, On The Wine Trail in Italy, takes you through the Pio Cesare winery. It's pretty remarkable that all this exists unseen beneath the streets of Alba. Speaking of old pitchers, I swore, to whom I forget, that Alfonso told me that he was bringing me back a case of 1997 Pio Cesare Barolo Ornato. It must be that he just has neglected to mention the sacred wine to me after making it alive through the week that was. Or maybe it's still in transit. Italians are on a different meridian. Eco turf: post the Prime Meridian. Although, he could have mentioned it to me and I could have forgotten that he mentioned it. Highly unlikely. Pio Cesare 1997 Barolo Ornato, non.