It is an inescapable fact that men have an unquenchable fascination with large chunks of meat. This is not meant as some social commentary rather a simple empiricle statement of fact. Its the driving force behind such uniquely manly endeavours such as big game hunting, deep sea fishing, bear hugs, T-bone steaks, Mideval Times & occasionally a go round of a Stranger (define THAT and stay fashionable).
Take for your consideration my recent fascination with weekend roasts. It began 3 weeks ago when I decided to braise a rather large brisket, enjoy a tasty dinner, and then live on the leftovers for a week to follow. In addition to the glorious fatness of a braised beef dinner, the resulting days of experimentation lead to the most gangster Bucatini Brisket. Then it was the holidays so it was only natural I find nearly 20 pounds of bird, brine that turkey, and unleash an unfinishable feast upon my family and friends. Like your Chem teacher with a bunson burner, I mad scientist'd my way into a firey, turkey club kafta.
Cue this weekend, and the launch of that other, oh so manly of activities, NFL playoff football. This was a next level. A simple piece of meat would no longer suffice. Bigger. Better. Faster. Stronger. I am flexing even as I type this.
And thus (with a little bit of assistance from "Its Always Sunny In Philadelphia") Rum Ham was born. Started things off with a sexy, skin on, bone-in, pork shoulder roast. Brined that bad boy in rosemary, sage, thyme, peppercorns, garlic, onion, sugar and salt. Timing required a 30 hour brine, so i busted out the pen and the pad and math'd my way into a lower seasoning-to-water ratio that kept everything in balance. How I came to having notes on all my previous brines is not important and should be ignored by the concerned reader. Fired up the oven to 450 and with the skin face up, docked the beast for 30 minutes of searing heat and removed to cool it down to 325. Its a key step in getting that eventual crackle into that just right state of crispy perfection. the next 5 hours were a slow bath in a baste of Havana Club 7 and pineapple juice.
And we weren't done there. Braised apples were to make that special side (which doubled as sauce). And with the braised apples being simmered in riesling, the final, most epic piece of the puzzle came to light. The guests assembled, the Seahawks spotted the Skins a 14 point lead, and I guided them through a 6 wine flight pitting the best of Niagara Rieslings vs 3 German counterparts.
We began with a 2011 Estate Riesling from Thirty Bench. Sous Chef and world traveller, Sir Alex Guido began right away calling out the distinct petrol notes jumping from the glass. Its a varietal signature I feel is central to the experience of Rieslings from both Niagara as well as Alsace. But those crazy krouts love their fruit-forward Rieslings and with our next glass we could see how these off-dry gob-monsters need some time to really show their stuff.
While super tasty, the 2011 St Urban Hof Kabinett riesling was mad young, and all that ripe fruit and residual sugar just masked what could be only assumed lied beneath.
Next up was the Vineland Estates St Urban Vineyard 2011 Riesling. This seemed to tie the best of both previous wines incredibly well and was instantly the crowd favourite. Oddly enough the one guest who didnt like the wine, was someone who I tasted this same wine with 2 months ago over a tasty lunch at Vineland Estates and found it one of that days bests. Its proof that there is no science to this. Wine is like our lovers. Some days we love them, others we loathe them. In wine as in romance, the best we get is something we always want to go back home to.
I cannot sum up wine 4 any better than Sir Alex Guido.
"Does anyone else find this wine reminds them of weed brownies?"
Best.Wine.Descriptor.Ever.
While I couldnt quite wrap my twisted brain around that number, the crowd built the bridge, bringing to light a buttery, baked goods side, that wrapped in the unctious fruit, gave birth to a momentous fan favourite. The 2007 Dr Herman Riesling Spatlese was as demonstrative as some old bearded deity parting the Red Sea for the Isrealites. There is no shame in fruit driven rieslings. In their youth they cannot hold a candle to the leaner, acid-driven styles of Niagara and Alsace, but give them time and something special can happen.
Something special was happening inside the glass tubes of my terribly antiquated television set too. Russel Wilson and the Seahawks were doing that thing that makes playoff football so incredible. They were playing for their lives (insofar as death is an early trip to the golf course and a possible ticket to the Pro Bowl in Hawaii).
As we rolled into round 5 we were most definitely burned out under an avalanche of pig fat and riesling. Pity then it was the round that showcased, MY pick of wine of the night with the 2010 Old Vines Riesling from 13th Street. I once made the comment that this wine reminds me of a 2001 Ostertag Heissenberg Riesling I recently enjoyed (read the last article for proof). The nose truly delivers this old school, Alsatian vibe, that I can only compare to listening to old Beach Boys records. while waxing ones 57 Chevy, upon returning from exploring the grimey wine caves of the Loire Valley. Cool beans.
We finished the flight with a 2005 Spatlese from Bollig-Lehnert. Not the best wine of the night, but the most fitting conclusion in the demonstration. Another off dry heavyweight, its most advanced age, really showed us what Riesling can do in time. Everyone is in such a hurry to age their Cabernet and Grenache that they forget whites like Riesling and Chenin Blanc are every bit worthy of that MILF treatment.
Behind the wine, the big game finally turned, a stubborn coach risking his clearly ailing franchise QB, leading to a collapse rivalled only by the kneee of Robert Griffin III. Those rugged upstart Seahawks gave birth to a new playoff legend. While Wade Davis and Jared Diamond warn us of the perils in the extinction of oral history through vanishing ancient language, a new digital history is being created before our eyes. New legends for a new world, telling that same story. That ongoing struggle in rising above our enemies and setbacks in salute to defiance and victory.
I'm thumping my chest. Believe that.
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