Thursday, April 1, 2010

The Other Side of Hearst Castle

"You lay down your life to the outfit as a cowboy."
— Cliff Garrison, Ranch Manager, Hearst Ranch

Cliff is pictured above, at right, along with Roland Camacho. They are two of the seven cowboys working and living full-time at Hearst Ranch in San Simeon, California.

What makes the Hearst Ranch such a unique entity in today's world is not the quality of their beef. We tasted oak-grilled examples of their sirloin, New York strip (on the bone), and rib eye. All were very good but the strip steak, for my $$/pound, was the standout.

It's not their farming practices. Purely grass-fed beef, all free range, with a "never-never" approach to hormones and antibiotics. If antibiotic treatment is medically necessary, which is apparently rare given the bracingly healthy environment, the treated cow will either be sold or put to pasture, never processed and/or sold under the Hearst brand.

It's not the sheer size of the ranch, though that's undeniably impressive. Just over 80,000 acres, nearly 128 square miles, stretching along fourteen miles of coast land hills from just south of San Simeon all the way to the Monterey County border. And that's not including the other 70,000-acre "parcel" located further inland.

It's not the fact that those seven cowboys, working with only their own trucks, horses and the team of cattle dogs they each maintain, manage that entire 80,000 acre ranch.

What does make it unique is what makes it all possible in the first place — the curious mix of ostentation, privacy and philanthropy that have been part and parcel of the Hearst family legacy for the past 150 years. That and the sheer beauty of the place....

I'll let the following pictures, and just a few more words, round out the story of the ranch. Our visit was a rare privilege, one I fully savored.

* * *

Views like this greeted us at every turn as we climbed the ranch road from PCH1, just above sea level, to a high point of around 1800 feet.

The cows, an assortment of primarily Angus, Hereford, and Red Hereford, seemed just as inquisitive about our sudden appearance on their turf as we were in awe of their surroundings.

Hearst Castle, just over the ridge from the part of the ranch we visited, sees approximately 700,000 annual visitors. Groups like ours, though, are apparently a rarity on the farm, which is a very private affair. Even so, the ranch facilities aren't without a certain sense of humor.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

On The Abalone Farm: Partaking of the Ocean Rose

Up and over a short but steep stretch of hard-packed dirt road, just beyond the hills separating California Pacific Coast Highway 1 from the Pacific itself, somewhere along the relatively untouched stretch of coastline between San Simeon and Cayucos, lies a most unusual farm. There are no grazing animals in sight, no furrowed fields of lettuces or crucifers, no orchards or berry bushes. There's nary a vine, for here we're too close to the ocean for the practice of viticulture. And no, (I know what you're thinking), there's not even a camo-netting system hiding a grove of what might just be California's largest cash crop from the prying eyes of fly-by DEA agents.

What you would find, were you to be an accidental trespasser on the site, are a handful of relatively nondescript, weathered outbuildings along with what might easily be mistaken for some sort of water processing plant. A pumping station sits at the highest point on the property, below which lies, in a stair-stepped line to the sea, a series of concrete tanks, water bubbling from one to the next in serial fashion.

Remember now, this is a farm. What's passing through those tanks is nothing other than unfiltered sea water, pumped directly from the Pacific and fed by gravity from one level of the farm to the next. It's all for the sake of the crop being raised in that poured concrete network: abalone, red abalone to be exact, what they call the "Ocean Rose" here on the farm. And in spite of relatively humble appearances, this happens to be the largest abalone farm, albeit one of only a few, in the United States, lending credence to its simple name: The Abalone Farm.

Brad Buckley, Sales Manager at The Abalone Farm, led our group on an informative, hands-on tour of the farm. You'll see plenty of his hand(s) in the pictures to come.... Brad's a bit of a jack-of-all-trades around the farm, overseeing production and distribution in addition to sales and marketing.

The concept of sustainability, in many and sundry of its nebulous manifestations, was bandied about throughout our trip. But one thing that struck me over the course of our tour was the thoroughly self-sustaining nature of the operations at the abalone farm. It's occasionally necessary to head to Bodega Bay in Northern California to dive for and harvest wild abalone for breeding stock, as it's currently illegal to harvest wild abalone along the Central Coast. Otherwise, just about all of the needs of the farm, from breeding to feeding, rearing to harvesting, are handled right on the farm or provided for from the farm's immediate surroundings.

The farming cycle begins with breeding stock selection: a combination of the best he and she studs from among the specimens on the farm along with wild abalone, brought in from up north to foster genetic strength and biodiversity. Abalone are broadcast spawners, meaning the females release their eggs, males release their sperm and fertilization ensues in the water. For control purposes, the sexes are kept separate in the farm's spawning tanks — which look very much like smaller, shallower versions of the tanks shown below — and the eggs and sperm are then introduced. This is the only point in the process at which the sea water is filtered in any way; the filtration being necessary at this stage to reduce the incidence of bacteria-induced mortality during the abalone's larval stage of growth. Spawning is conducted, as it would occur in the wild, at full moon in the lunar cycle.

What came first: the abalone or the egg? I should make it clear that I have no pretensions to being particularly well versed in marine biology. The descriptions that you'll find here are simply based on my understanding of what we learned during our visit. Please feel free to elucidate if you see fit....

Once larval stage is reached and the brood stabilized, the crop is moved to the hatchery, a simple structure housing row upon row of circular, open-top tanks (shown above). The orange/brown matter in the tanks is the mixture of algae and seaweed upon which the infant abalone feed. At this point in their development, the abalone themselves are not much larger than coarse grinds of black pepper. The strip around the top of the tanks is AstroTurf, which, after some experimenting with various materials, proved to be the ideal texture to deter the little critters from crawling up and out of their tanks.

Sheba the guard cat, who apparently doesn't enjoy eating abalone nearly so much as she does keeping an eye on them.

Once the infant abalone reach a certain size and vitality, it's outside they go.... The juvenile abalone cling to sections of PVC tubing, which serve primarily to increase the surface area within the submerged baskets.

As the abalone approach adolescence, the PVC pipes are removed and the creatures are free to roam within the confines of their submerged baskets.

Finally, as adulthood approaches, the baskets are removed, giving the abalone free range within their respective concrete tanks.

As the abalone grows, its shell grows with it. The holes along the top of the shell allow oxygen to flow through to the animal's respiratory organs. With age, the oldest holes will close while new ones grow. The notch at the front of the shell in the picture above, just over the abalone's head, is the beginning of what will eventually become a new hole.

Abalone, by the way, are one-shelled, one-footed marine snails. Though they fall within the phylum of mollusks, they are generally not considered to be shellfish. It takes four-to-six years for a farmed abalone to reach harvestable size. During that time frame, the abalone are constantly sorted for size, as some will mature and grow more rapidly than others, shutting out their smaller counterparts if left together.

At any given time, there are approximately five million abalone on the farm, with an annual harvest of about one million. Those five million snails go through a combined average of 60 tons of kelp, dulse and algae per week.

Dulse (above) is grown in seawater tanks on the farm. It makes for a pretty tasty snack if I do say so myself.... Algae forms naturally in the abalones' tanks. And kelp, the primary constituent of the abalone's diet, is harvested (if I understood correctly) just off shore; a very sustainable model given that the kelp grows back just as quickly as the abalone eat it.

When The Abalone Farm was established in the 1960s, the majority of its produce went to export markets in China and Japan. In more recent decades, however, the US has become the farm's largest single market, no doubt helped along by the explosion in popularity of sushi and other styles of Asian cuisine that most often utilize the abalone.

When dining on the farm, it's tough to divorce one's association between food and from whence that food comes.... Most abalone is sold in two forms: whole, live abalone and abalone "steaks."

Fresh abalone is crunchy and just a little flexible and fleshy to the bite. If you've been served rubbery abalone at a sushi restaurant, it had either been frozen or kept around for too long. It doesn't get much fresher than this....

For his sashimi preparation, Brad simply shucked the abalone from its shell, trimmed off the fringe and the majority of its black pigmentation, gave it a quick polish to remove a little more of that pigmentation, and then sliced away. Just a spritz of fresh lemon juice can be used for flavor, never enough to acid-cook the flesh.

The steaks are simply whole, fresh abalone that have been cleaned, pounded/tenderized into flat portions and then vacuum packed for shipping. They're available in two styles: polished and rustic. After first sprinkling them with salt to draw out moisture, Brad grilled up a few of each for us to taste, adding nothing else other than a light brushing of olive oil.

The polished abalone steaks, above, have literally been polished — lightly buffed on a grinding wheel to remove the black, pigmented portion of the flesh. They're mild in flavor, very tender, and reminiscent of fresh grilled squid but with a slightly richer and more mineral flavor.
The "rustic" steaks, pictured above, are left with some of their pigmentation still in place, rendering a more pungent, full-flavored result. I definitely preferred this version. Texturally, the rustic steaks were no different from the polished, but their flavor was more intensely of the sea. Think of the brininess of an oyster crossed with the earthy, umami flavor of squid ink and you'll be on the right track.

The Abalone Farm is not regularly open to visitors but private tours can sometimes be arranged upon request. You may find it worth the effort to contact them (especially if you've read this far...) when next you plan to be in the area.

The Abalone Farm, Inc.
PO Box 136
Cayucos, CA 93430
877-367-2271

Monday, March 29, 2010

Templeton Gap at Dusk

Clouds dominate the skyline at the onset of dusk, as seen from a high point in the Templeton Gap, Paso Robles, CA, March 24, 2010.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

DoBianchi On Vajra, and Two Long Lost Friends

Synchronicity implies accident, so on this occasion we'll just have to settle for mutual admiration and timely agreement...

I've known for a while now that my friend Dr. Jeremy Parzen, scribe responsible for the wonderful blog Do Bianchi, availed himself of the opportunity to visit Aldo Vajra during one of his recent trips to Piemonte. I've been waiting for details of Jeremy's visit ever since and, finally, he's unleashed them, along with some terrific photos of his tasting session with Signor Vajra.

Jeremy and I seem to be on an ever coincidental path of like circumstances. He's in California now, a state from which I returned just days ago. And he's at last written about Vajra just a few days more after I had the chance to revisit – just before my trip west – two of Aldo and his son Giuseppe's wines that I hadn't had the opportunity to try since I was last in situ in Piemonte, a little over four years ago.

Sadly, neither Vajra's Langhe Bianco Riesling nor his Langhe Freisa "Kyè" have historically been available in my local markets. It was thanks to the good graces of another great friend, one that does a little shopping south of the Mason-Dixon Line, that I finally got to taste these two long lost friends.

Vajra's expression of Freisa is unlike any other Freisa I've ever tasted: totally still, dark, brooding and almost savagely tannic, yet loaded with beautiful, rustic fruit that has no problem handling the wine's deep, spicy wood-tones. The 2006 is a baby but is already oh-so delicious.

And the Langhe Bianco Riesling? When last I tasted it, over lunch with Aldo at the wonderful Ristorante Le Torri in Castiglione Falletto, the wine hadn't yet resolved its primary fruitiness and yeastiness (it was the 2004 vintage) but was nonetheless already showing its underlying intense minerality. The 2008 vintage, at roughly the same point in its evolution, is even more promising, more mouthwatering, simply brimming with white fruit and vibrant stoniness.

I found myself tempted to proclaim it the best Riesling I've tasted from anywhere outside Germany or Austria... but forget about that. It's just great Riesling, plain and simple. Jeremy would seem to agree. Don't miss his observations.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Taste You Later, Paso

It's 3:30 AM Paso time and I'm packing up to head for the airport, back to Philly. Just thought I'd leave you with a little something to set the tastebuds tingling: fresh bacon headed into the wood smoker at Thomas Hill Organics.


More to come in the days ahead....

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Spring in Paso Robles

March 24, 2010:
Bud break on a head-trained zinfandel vine in the Dante Dusi Vineyard, just off Highway 101 on the West Side of Paso Robles.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Just in Case You Weren't Sure...

I guess you know you're in wine country when the turndown service at your hotel leaves an enormous cork on your pillow....

Chardonnay Vines in San Luis Obispo

It's been a long day today, what with a pre-dawn start, travel across multiple time zones, flight transfers, and multiple meet and greets. So I'll bid you a quick goodnight and leave you with a photo from our first stop of the day: reasonably old Chardonnay vines owned by Sextant Wines, located adjacent to their tasting room in the township of Old Edna, on the outskirts of San Luis Obispo.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Look Out Paso Town

By the time you're reading this, I'll already be on a jet plane, Paso Robles bound for a whirlwind three-day press junket. Yep, you read me right: a press junket. This is treading new ground for me. Not just the trip — I've never been to Paso (don't know if anyone calls it that but I've decided to) — but especially the idea of accepting an expenses paid, tourism-board-sponsored visit.

The offers have been coming fast and furious (at least relative to a previously absolute dearth...), this one landing hard on the heels of the invitation I was unable to accept to attend the Barbera 2010 meeting in Asti. The ringleader of that trip, Jeremy Parzen, along with my fellow band of brother (and sister) bloggers faced similar concerns when deciding to undertake that trip as I do now. And it all comes at a time when the s**t is apparently flying fast and furious around the Internet and Blogosphere regarding questions about the merits of wine blogs, the seeming futility of writing them, and the worthiness and credibility of their authors.

At least as much if not more so than my friend Jeremy, I've been trying to keep my nose above those waters, to avoid getting sucked into the fray. Instead, I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing. Enjoying wine, eating food, drinking an occasional beer, traveling, riding my bike, listening to tunes, working an honest day job in the wine biz and — when the mood strikes and I have something to say — writing about it all. Unlike fellow wine writers on the payroll of "brick and mortar" publishing houses, magazines, newspapers, etc., I'm not accountable to any editorial board or corporate parent. But I do hold myself accountable. Accountable to me. Myself. I. And you. And I can say with my head held high and an unflinching stare that that's enough for me. I hope you feel the same.

I'm going on the trip to see what there is to see, to find what there is to learn. I know there will be some destinations that I may not have normally chosen to visit, a winery or two that might veer more toward the market-driven norms than I'm usually prone to seeking out. I'm looking at that as a good thing, an opportunity to push my own envelope. If you only ever look at one side of a coin, you'll never know what's on the other... and that's no way to live a life.

Obviously, the Paso Robles Wine Country Alliance (sponsors of the trip) and the various wineries, restaurants and farms we'll visit are hoping I'll write about them. Obviously, I most likely will. But like my other Asti-trippin' friend Cory, whose coverage of Barbera 2010 was not only extremely well done but also highly personal and sometimes stridently opinionated, I'll write only when I have something personally meaningful to say.

I'm looking forward to the trip and hope you'll look forward to reading about the experiences that come of it.

* * *
Oh yeah, when this was all bouncing around in my head, along came a tune that wouldn't let go. Just replace "Jackson" with "Paso" and you'll hear it too.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Throwing a Changeup

Sometimes I wish I didn't know.

Tasting Vincent Ricard's most recent release (summer/fall 2009) of "Le Vinsans Ricard" a few days back, I would have guessed — and it took me a while to put my finger on the flavor and aroma signatures — that it was produced from Romorantin. I wasn't tasting blind, so that guess would have been made in full knowledge that the wine comes from the Loire, from Thésée in particular, not far from Cour-Cheverny. Romorantin country. The Monaco of Loire vine footprints.

What I do know is that this batch of naturally pétillant "Vinsans" was produced from Sauvignon Blanc. I sell the wine (when it's available) in the course of my day job, where it's part and parcel of my work to know such things. Anyone could find out that it's Sauvignon, as Ricard tells us so in succinct fashion on his website. But Vincent chooses to make no mention of the vine on the wine's label. He easily could, as it is not an AOC-designated wine, just a humble "Vin de Table Mousseux;" but again, he doesn't. I kind of like it that way. It keeps the focus on the wine, not the grape. It lets what's in the bottle speak for itself.

The previous release of "Vinsans," circa summer 2008.

If you rewind to a year earlier, you'll find that notion reinforced by the fact that the previous couple of releases of "Vinsans" — the first two ever if I'm not mistaken — were produced from Gamay. Gamay with traditional maceration on the skins, so we're talking about what was previously a sparkling red wine. Again, there was no mention of variety on the label. In fact, the only labeling changes from batch-to-batch were minor typographical and layout adjustments.

The change proved tricky from a retailer's perspective, as shoppers who'd fallen in love with the red, Gamay-based version and were excited to see the wine back on the shelves had to be alerted to the fact that the wine was now white, was now Sauvignon. Without holding the bottle up to the light, there would have been no way for them to see the difference. Why warn them? Why does it matter? Expectation. I can only imagine how many of the bottles would have been returned, along with an "I thought this was supposed to be red...."

As a consumer in my own right, albeit one who spends a good deal more time than normal thinking about things like this, I like the unheralded shift. The surprise. The fact that it keeps the focus on what is in the bottle, not on what is supposed to be in the bottle.
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