WINE

Wine is the very stuff of life. Liquid pleasure. Almost, but not quite, as good as sex.  When I was going to Missile Technician B School in Vallejo, we used to take a short jaunt over to Napa Valley and visit some wineries. Of  course back in 1963 wineries in Napa weren’t the big deal like they are now. Besides the fancy wineries there were some down and dirty places like Italian Swiss Colony and Virginia Dare.

Later on, when the ship hit Japan, instead of swilling down Asahi beer all of the time in the sailor bars, I would drink Akadama Wine.

I mention all of this because I feel like the mustang of wine drinkers. FYI, a mustang in the Navy is an officer who has come up through the ranks. My, so called, palate has earned it’s stripes, paid it’s dues.

Fast forward five years and I am now living near the foothills in Glendora. We had it all. Three bedroom house with a pool. Two cars and motorcycles the whole suburban disaster. I started making wine at home.  Sourcing the juice from several sources and getting into the whole world of wine. The Los Angeles Times ran a wine column twice a week. One in the LA Times Sunday Magazine and the other in the Thursday food issue. It was written by the Wine and Food Editor Robert Lawrence Balzer. Twice a year Balzer even had a beer tasting with his friends and wrote about the results. The winner(s) of the tasting varied back and forth between Pilsner Urquell from Czechoslovakia and Bohemia from Mexico. Needless to say, I was a regular reader. I had an image of Mr. Balzer in my mind. He was to be rather tall, somewhat slim with a thin mustache and a slight English accent.

I the early 1980’s, I had a friend named Jon who assisted Mr. Balzer in a class offered by Long Beach Parks & Recreation on California wines. He said that I should sign up and take it, which I did. I finally met Balzer and far from being the tall thin suave gentleman, he was a short little queen. But he was very knowledgeable on wine, very well connected in the industry and was an accomplished raconteur. The class was limited to 75 people and was always sold out by people who had been attending it for years and years. They brought cheese n crackers and chocolate to class. It was a wine snob convention every Monday evening. The class offered tastings of  fifteen to twenty  different wines at every class meeting.

We would start off with three, or four champagnes and then five or six whites. After the whites were five of six reds and lastly two or three desert wines. These were all offered as part of the $150 to take the class. The program followed a formula. Each week Robert talked about a different California appellation. Napa one week, Carneros next week Monterrey and so forth. Being that Robert was so well connected, he got all of  these fine wines for free as this was a good advertising ploy. He also had speakers come in to talk. The speakers were the wine makers of the various wines or the owners of the wineries.  

I really enjoyed the classes and the wines but $150 every twelve weeks was kind of rich for my blood. Just after the class was over, my friend Jon told me that he was moving to San Diego and Robert would be in need of a replacement assistant. I unabashedly volunteered to take Jon’s place.

The job consisted of  putting the champagnes and whites on ice and then  writing numbers on brown paper bags for the blind tasting. I once mentioned to Robert how I had higher expectations than drinking  wine from brown paper bags. We both had a good chuckle at that. After the champagnes and whites were on ice and the bags were numbered the reds were uncorked and the all 108 of the wine were slipped into their bags. Then we, Robert and I, went to dinner. Robert picked up the tab. Than was my remuneration for my labors. Dining at a fine restaurant with the LA Times food and wine critic was a new and enjoyable experience. Waiters hovering around the table ready, willing and able to fulfill your every wish. Once however, when we went to Mum’s Restaurant in downtown Long Beach  on Pine Ave nobody knew who he was.  John Morris the owner of  Mum’s and I go way back for thirty years. He stopped as he walked by our table and we chatted for five minutes. Robert, who had an ego as big as Texas, was miffed at  not being the center of attention but was impressed nevertheless at our being recognized. We usually had a wine maker or winery owner accompany us. Over the few years I helped Robert, I became fairly well connected myself.

I remember one time I was at some winery in the Santa Ynez area and asked if they had any Viognier wine. The gal at the bar asked how I knew about this relatively unknown variety and I told her I was Balzers assistant down in Long Beach. She looked me straight in the eye and said “Here try this, you don’t want any of this commercial mouthwash”. She reached under the bar and brought out what she called THE Good Stuff. Another time after I was done with a job up in Chico I drove through Napa valley and stopped at Beringer. It was Friday July third and naturally the next day was the Fourth. I asked if the wine maker by name was in and she asked if I knew him. I gave her the old Balzer’s assistant spiel and I knew him when came down and had dinner with us. She told me the wine maker had taken the day off but she would be more than happy to serve me. I sampled a lot of the Good Stuff and mad about twenty selections. As she was checking me out at the counter she casually said that I would get “the industry discount”. She said the industry price was four dollars a bottle. I was sorry I hadn’t bought a dozen cases.

Once, Robert asked me if I would help him out on a Saturday. He explained that some lawyer had won a private tasting and talk in a silent auction. We got there early to set up. The lawyer’s offices were the whole very top floor of the Union Bank building which they owned. The offices were a cozy little set up which included a large restaurant quality kitchen and a rather small bar. As I was icing down the whites and enjoying the Sam Adams beer which was on tap there I started looking at the pictures on the wall. There was Ronald Reagan enjoying a cocktail at this very bar ar was H W Bush. That was impressive enough but the picture that really impressed me was the one of Margaret Thatcher imbibing at this bar.

At the tasting, my job was to bring a bottle in it’s paper  bag to the crowd of vultures while Robert lectured. A very sweet looking lady looked up at me with very sad eyes as to say is this one any good. Her husband, sitting next to her, didn’t notice me shake my head no. About the third wine, I smiled at her as I handed her the bottle and nodded yes. After all of the whites were sampled, Robert had his “beauty contest” for the whites. He asked who liked number one and a few hands went. When he asked who liked number three only her hand was raised. She looked at me like did you set me up and then Robert said “Very good madam”. Then we did the reds. I gave the nice lady a nod when I gave her the bottle that I knew Robert really enjoyed. When she responded again with raised hand, Robert said “Madam you have very exquisite taste. Her husband turned and looked at her like who the hell knew? She was beaming from ear to ear. I knew that I had just punched my ticket into heaven that day.

On Tuesdays, we’d drive up to Beverly Hills for the weekly season. The BH folks were much better healed than their Long Beach brethren but not as well savvy in  the world of wine. As I would hand out each bottle some of them would whisper to me “Did the people in Long Beach like this one?”   

Over the course of time, Robert and I became good friends. We, Dave and I, had several Thanksgivings at his home. Robert was surprisingly a very good cook. He not only talked the talk. He walked the walk. He showed me haw to make a proper omelet and other skills at the stove.

He was also an ordained Buddhist monk. He smoked a lot of cigarettes and one day I asked him why he didn’t quit smoking. He replied that he did quit once and it threw his palate all out of whack.

He did live to be 94 and did pass a few years ago. I still keep his number on the directory of my iPhone.