Dining at Vino Wine & Tapas Room
Recently, my wife and I moved to Tarzana and have been scouring the neighborhood looking for delicious restaurants that don’t break the bank. We visited several that were quite the fail and then we found our current favorite. I present to you: Vino Wine & Tapas Room. Located on Ventura in Encino, this small, comfortable eatery whips up delicious fare.
We have been to Vino several times now and they have many different dishes and wines. Although their wine list has a nice array from different regions around the world, we usually pay corkage. We took my grandparents recently and had a wonderful time at a semi-private table near the back. I brought one of my favorite rosé Champagnes, Billiot, and it paired wonderfully with many of the tapas. Billiot is a grower champagne with grapes from Ambonnay. All Grand Cru juice, the value is outstanding. Pairing with the Billiot, we had Manchego, a thick slice of the cheese on a croqueta smothered with a sweet tomato vinaigrette. We also had Albondigas, a sirloin meatball on top of savory mashed taters. I love how rosé Champagne (or any rosé for that matter) pairs with so many different foods and can even cross over and pair with meats. The Billiot rosé is beautiful and offers a nose of dough, cinnamon, orange zest, and berries like raspberry and cherry. Full creamy bubbles and delicious lip-smacking acidity constitute the palate.
My favorite “big” small bite is the New Zealand Lamb Chop. I love pairing lamb with Syrah, and one of my favorite Syrahs is JL Chave Crozes-Hermitage from the Northern Rhone valley. It pairs magically with lamb. Soft tannins with tart raspberry flavors, all meshed together with fresh cracked black pepper, this is a classic French Syrah. Syrah is fast becoming one of my favorite varietals. It’s very versatile with food and I simply relish the peppery flavors. The chops are prepared with, what do ya know, pepper and herbs encrusted with a wine reduction sauce on top.
The ambience is terrific and on most weekends, they have live saxophone crooning at the front of the restaurant. The chairs are very comfortable and the service is super friendly. I like to describe the lighting as happy and dark. All wine is served in Riedel stemware (specifically, Vinum Extreme). For a less personal experience, there is always at least a small crowd at the bar where energetic conversations abound. I highly recommend checking Vino out, but make sure you come by and pick up a couple bottles from me, custom matched for your food.
Cheers!
48 Hours in Chicago – Rinds, Dogs, & Dancing
Summer solstice weekend was the only time of year I could bring myself to go to Chicago, a city widely known to have the worst weather in the country. With the exception of the tempest that kicked off just as I touched down, whipping winds and sideways rain for 20 violent minutes, the weather is soft, skies flooded with blue and buttery light, and deciduous greenery dancing on currants of cool air. After a shower in River North, we hop into a cab and speed to the spot Anthony Bourdain calls “the holy trinity of pork rinds, oysters, and beer” – The Publican on the Fulton St. Meat Market. The 2009 Michel Delhommeau Cuvee St. Vincent Muscadet Sur Lie satisfies the Fire River and Moon Shoal oysters we’re slurping, while NV Renardat-Fache Cerdon Rosé of Gamay and Poulsard gives wings to our crunchy handmade pork rinds dusted with powdered cheddar and cayenne. Flesh-lovers unite.
But we are still hungry. We stroll next door. To our delight, we find on the menu a burger, which turns out to be a dripping hunk of ground sirloin smothered in salty Fontina cheese and served between two slices of fried green tomato. The “Erotoburger” went seamlessly with a 2008 Seguret Cotes du Rhone. At once spicy, balanced, and indulgent.
Morning: Gooey French Toast and bellinis at Toast in Lincoln Park. Then we head on foot, through parks of orange daylilies and pines, through the zoo, to the cerulean, lapping, lake-like-an-ocean, where more friends meet us for a picnic. Out of the basket I’d been lugging I pull the 2010 Masianco Pinot Grigio/Verduzzo, a funky Veronese white that’s wicked inexpensive and guzzleable. Also, a crisp, limey screw topped 2010 Man Chenin Blanc (I LOVE screwtops,) and a pop top 2008 Winter dry Riesling liter bottle. The wines are cold. The sun nails us to the grass, lovingly. We watch people on bikes enjoying the rare perfection of the weather, pretty girls in bathing suits splashing, seagulls hovering. I don’t understand this lake. I lie back and watch light scatter through undulating maple leaves.
Up and at ‘em. Hotfoot it to Wicker Park to dive into the crowds at Big Star. Queso Fundito with Poblanos + pitchers of salty margarita and Schlitz + dirty jokes = joyful friends. A cab brings us back to the flat in River North to shower before late night dance party at Danny’s in Bucktown.
My final afternoon in Chicago yields the holy grail: the Chicago-Style hot dog. At a friend’s in Lakeview we steam the beef dogs and toast the poppy seed bun. Chop green tomatoes, pickle spears, and onion. From the fridge we take pickled sport peppers, piccalilli (neon green relish) and yellow mustard. Finish off with a dash of celery salt. Swallow in three bites washing it down with the 2010 Tablas Creek dry rosé which tastes like red chili pepper jam. Complete Chicago. I may not ever need to go back.
36 Hours in New York – Breakfast Riesling & Rosé
It started at about 11:30 AM on Sunday morning. At the generosity of a close friend, I caught a red eye for one night and two days of drinking wine and running around sultry, sticky New York City. The air in July clings to you like a sweater.
If only every day in Manhattan were Sunday morning! Empty streets give the feeling that the city belongs to you, not the reverse. After a coffee at Cafe Select, I tapped on a friend’s door on St. Marks and 1st. Crackly buzzer, indecipherable words, perspiration dripping down the back of my knees on the 5 floor walk up. He had prepared a feast. Home made jalapeno poppers, baked eggs with Irish Cheddar, roasted potatoes, imported truffle Dijon, homemade Romesco sauce, and French press coffee from freshly ground beans. The Pièce de Resistance: Breakfast Riesling. 2007 Prager Klaus Smaragd. Austria at its fullest, richest, and fattest. Pure delight.
We hit the streets. In Thompson Square Park we looked at hipbones and forearms, New Yorkers scantily clad. At Goat Town we polished off a glass of Olga Raffault Chinon Rosé, darker, like a cerasuolo, and jalapeno-y. So cold and quenching against the heat. Then to a big competitor retailer for market research. But we ended up buying the Andrea Calek ‘Blonde’ – funky, spritzy, Chardonnay & Viognier blend from the Ardèche. Back at the flat we sacked out with AC and the cidery Blonde watching Women’s World Cup final till another friend came through to sweep me back out along the streets.
Down to another retailer in the South Street Seaport where a friend was giving out free shots of Aquavit. After 2 anisy blasts to the gullet, I bought the Reverdy Sancerre Rosé 2010 and the Domaine de Bagnol Cassis Rosé 2010 as gifts (which would eventually get opened by me, in intoxication). In summer in New York, it’s too hot to drink anything but rosé and clean white. Well…maybe not. We drifted to The Randolph to see a friend bartending. He hugged me, dipped me, and poured an icy cucumber mint gimlet down my throat. Then a White Port & soda. Other friends arrived. It came together out of nowhere. It’s easy to make a call, reluctantly ditch your AC, and head out into the streets. We sat at café tables on the sidewalk on smelly Broome Street and smoked.
Back at the loft on Wooster Street we tried to recover ourselves for a long dinner at L’Artusi. But the rosés got opened anyhow. Once we arrived at the spot on W. 10th street, a friend who works there poured us glasses of the Lini 910 Lambrusco Bianco , which we had with scallop crudo and a salad of anchovy and vinegary chicories. With the La Crotta di Vegneron Pinot Noir Bianco Vallee d’Aoste came delicate Hamachi tartare, then spaghetti with parmesan and green chilis and crispy sweetbreads with sunchokes. We stumbled sated back out onto the sweaty streets.
Sleep? Not much. The second day was a lot of walking. 60 blocks to be exact, after half a hangover cheeseburger at Burger and Barrel on Houston St. And… I missed my flight back to LA. Sacked out on the couch back at the loft dripping in perspiration, I woke every hour or so, until finally my friends got home from the bar around 4:30 AM. My (new) flight was at 7 AM so the timing was perfect. As I was presented with a glass of breakfast rosé, a Vin de Pays de Mediterranée called ‘Vrac’, it dawned on me that though it was early morning for me, it was still last night for them. I sipped the icy pink juice, and made myself a ham sandwich.
