Whiskey Business at Finch & Fork

Nothing could serve as a better rejoinder to the anti-DEI madness coming out of Washington than this Sunday's Chef's Table event at Santa Barbara's Finch & Fork--BBQ and Bourbon with Uncle Nearest. You might know of Uncle Nearest--in 2024 Forbes estimated its valuation at $1.1 billion, making it the fastest-growing whiskey brand in American history. Black-owned, it's named in honor of one of the pioneering heroes in Tennessee whiskey--Nathan "Nearest" Green, who helped develop sugar maple charcoal filtering, a process brought from west Africa, leading to delicious, clean, smooth liquor. (It's also what separates Tennessee whiskey from Kentucky whiskey, but we don't want to go too deep into the distillation weeds, do we?) Green is a resurrected giant in Black history, which is American history, of course, no matter what some political idiots say. (Oh, he also mentored some other guy you might have heard of first, since he was white--Jack Daniel.)

The distiller today at the acclaimed Uncle Nearest is Victoria Eady Butler, Green's great, great granddaughter. How's that for a tale of what makes our country great?

The dinner certainly made a delicious case for the whiskey. The communal tables were laden with platters and bowls of smoked baby back ribs, smoked chicken, collard greens, cornbread, mac 'n cheese, baked beans, and chocolate cobbler for dessert. I passed on the chicken as I still have deep sympathy for the hens we owned long past their laying days and well into their ingratiating pets period. But the ribs were delicious, more bite-off-the-bone than fall-off-the-bone, but perhaps more rewarding as you had to work for it. I'm always a sucker for smoky flavor. The greens were not just appreciated as the only veg of the night but also served right at al dente, where you want collards to be. Similarly the beans were cooked but not mush, and I would vouch the pleasure of eating beans that retain their architectural integrity is undervalued. They tasted great, too, with plenty of red pepper and bacon to add more zip. We do a home mac and cheese featuring what looks like too much dry mustard and too much panko topping but neither is extravagant that is my Platonic version of the dish, so I don't mean it as a slight that F&F's straightforward version pleased if not thrilled. (You can please me easy--thrilling me is an effort. And no, it's not just because I'm old.) The chocolate cobbler was a fascinating, gooey dark cacao mess (in looks) that was a tad too sweet for me, but Chryss loved it. It certainly paired well with the final pour, a Single Barrel that is 121 proof. It's also as smooth as any of the other whiskeys of the evening.

Speaking of those, the reason Uncle Nearest has been so successful isn't just its terrific origin story. The stuff is delish. While most of the drinking involved probably 1.5 oz pours of the five Uncle Nearest varieties for sale in California (and CA is one of only five states where Nearest Green is available, so kudos to us once again!), the evening kicked off with a Paper Plane made with the UN 1856, their first product and still their flagship. Bottled in bond and a four-recipe blend, it's meant for your whiskey cocktails that need some oomph, or just for contemplative sipping. That Nearest Green is kind of the starter pack pour, a mere 84 proof, but certainly dangerously smooth--one could knock back a lot of it gleefully. Oddly the 1884 Small Batch seems a bit hotter at 93 proof than the closing, stronger Single Barrel, but as SoCal market manager and host for the evening Sergio Nicholas put it, "It's got bite, not burn." 

And then there's the Uncle Nearest Rye. I'm a sucker for rye as I like its biscuit and white pepper notes and that it's not quite as unctuously caramel as bourbon can be. (I tend savory over sweet when it comes to taste.) As Nicholas joked, "You can't grow rye in the south--instead you sprout onions," and as most folks know, Canadian whiskey is a way to say rye whiskey--so that's where Uncle Nearest gets its rye, from Canada. It's blended and barrel-aged at the TN distillery to perfection, velvet smooth, crisp, with a long finish and richness and nothing close to a burn. It leaves its drinker with a big smile. I'll give you one guess who asked for seconds.

Somehow I left out the conviviality at the communal table--lots of fine conversations and the room's noise grew as the evening went on (sure, you can blame more whiskey being drunk if you'd like). 

If this kind of Chef's Table sounds intriguing, Finch & Fork will be holding the next one April 2, a crab bake with chardonnay.

Getting the Most Out of Going Grand at WOPN

Assuming the country isn't fully closed for business in a week (at the rate our fiends in DC are going, it's possible), we get to celebrate the World of Pinot Noir February 27-March 1 at the Ritz-Carlton Bacara. It's even the 25th anniversary for this fest, with, as usual, numerous, worldwide fine purveyors of Burgundian wine there to celebrate.

You can go check out the full schedule of events at the WOPN (yep, pronounced as in a hoppin', WOPN good time) website to see all the seminars--you really do learn stuff as you drink at these, plus folks tend to be funny in either charming or ornery ways (turns out farmers and winemakers are good at both those traits). Then there are lunches and dinners, chances to discover new food and wine pairings, while delighting in some more info and some sparkling tableside repartee. 

But let's face it, the major action happens at the Grand Tastings on Friday and Saturday. See that picture above, that's one of them one of these years. It's a scene, which is part of the fun. The event will be a tad smaller this year than some previous, particularly prior-to-Covid editions--59 producers on Friday, 77 on Saturday--but that just gives you more room to move and an easier job to focus. But not too easy, as each producer generally shares two to four wines. You do the math, but do it before you start tasting anti gets hard.

So you still need a plan. I've tried to do the tip thing in previous years, but here's my most comprehensive stash of ideas:

If you can financially swing it--just ask some baby DOGE bro who has spied on your bank account, he can tell you--do the VIP Grand Tastings, as you get a bonus hour with a much less congested room. Think of it like an old school Disney FastPass, but instead of Space Mountain, you get to hang at the Louis Latour table. 

At least peruse the website to see which wineries will be pouring on the day of your grand tasting. Start deciding who your can't miss Pinots will be. Make one of those the first table you hit--you might even get a chance to chat that way. Don't forget to cheers. (This is a wine event--have some manners.)

No matter when you begin, scan the room before tasting anywhere. Some years it's completely alphabetical, some years regions are clustered together. Find the water table and know where food is. This will help you move more efficiently later.

At best, if you wisely do the sniff-sip-sip-dump tasting method (which I know, hurts, you're pouring out some fine juice, but you don't want to be sloshed an hour in, do you?), you can taste about one wine every 4 minutes (this is based on past experience, promise). You are not going to taste everything. Find whatever is slightly zen in yourself and say that's OK. It might even make what you do taste more precious. (Like life.)

Be strategic. Only drink Pinots from one region, or only drink wines of a single vintage or focus on wines with stem inclusion or only one Pinot clone (as I've written before, there will be so much talk of clones, you'll feel as if you're in a sci-fi movie). 

Be random. Choose based on whether you like the outfits worn by the pourers. Only visit a table when no one else is tasting there (plus then you're sure to get someone to chat a bit). Consult an oracle.  To be honest, having a specific plan or none at all can be just as fun. (Like life.)

Drink water. At the least, a bottle (there will be tables with bottles) an hour, if not more. Don't worry, the bathrooms are very swank at the Bacara.

Eat before arriving--belly ballast helps soak up the wine--but you can snack up at the event, too. All part of the entry fee, after all.

When a place has sparkling--or only has it, and there'll be a few--go for it. Scrubbing bubbles help reset your palate. And given you'll be mostly enjoying Pinot Noir for hours, something to taste beyond cherry/strawberry is very helpful. (And might even be your most memorable sip.) Similarly, if a place will pour you any other varietals, take them. Obviously there'll be some Chardonnay, but on occasion a Syrah might lurk under the table for someone acting appreciative of a winery's official offerings.

Develop tasting table manners. Don't hog the spot in front of a person pouring. Pay attention to other attendees hoping to get their Pinot on, too. Sure, slip to the side if you have a question, or if the pourer is chatty and really wants you to know about their barrel program or their vineyard's limestone composition. Do watch blocking dump buckets, too, not just to be kind, but to avoid a spendy dry cleaning bill afterward.

Take notes. Everyone thinks you're serious, then, so wineries like you better and other WOPN-goers admire your gravitas. Doesn't even matter what you write, although it is good to at least list everything you taste, since the better and longer that list gets, the shorter and poorer your memory will get, too. It's a mathematical proportion, promise. Another bonus of notes--you can laugh later when you try to read them and see how your handwriting deteriorates towards the afternoon's end.

Don't drive yourself home. We're 45 years past the founding of MADD. I don't need to explain this one.

A Review of "99% Perspiration: A New Working History of the American Way of Life" by Adam Chandler

A few weeks into the oligarchical hell of “Trump II: This Time We Leave the Country Stripped on Blocks,” Adam Chandler’s 99% Perspiration: A New Working History of the American Way of Life can seem downright roseate in its desire to consider what work means and how we might re-invent it. One way to think of Chandler’s engaging, thought-provoking book is to compare it to a Last Week with John Oliver: your narrator/host will make some funny jokes at his own expense, will bring the receipts for all the facts and figures carefully chosen to enlighten and not overwhelm, and will follow a pattern of how did we get here/where can we go from this unappealing here. “Writing this makes me feel a bit like the most stoned kid on an ultimate Frisbee team, but America isn’t what we’re told it is,” he confesses in his intro. “I’m not saying anything that you don’t already know.”

Chandler’s false modesty aside—he tells us plenty we don’t know, or perhaps haven’t quite considered via his long-view perspective—no doubt many of us feel snookered by what he bills the “American abracadabra,” that hard work always brings big rewards. As he says, we are meant to believe “anyone who fails to make it here in the Land of Opportunity must not be trying hard enough.” But as he also points out, citing a 2022 study, “35 percent of families in the United States with full-time workers don’t earn enough to cover basic needs such as food, housing, and childcare.” (And that’s all before the current crony capitalists further strip-out Medicaid, Medicare, SNAP, and then painfully tax everyone’s necessary goods with tariffs.)

Care to read the rest then do so at the California Review of Books.

Review also posted at the Santa Barbara Independent on February 21, 2025.

Mission City Serving Sandwiches by the Santa Barbara Seashore

It sounds like the setup for a joke: a pizzaman walks into an ice cream parlor and exits as a sandwich shop owner. That’s the story behind the new Mission City Sandwich Shop, a charming new addition to the Mesa (where Sweetie’s most recently scooped frozen treats). Born-and-raised Santa Barbarans Nate and Paige Simandle hope the spot becomes a go-to for those looking for delicious sandwiches in an atmosphere that Nate calls “fun and inviting, comfortable, nostalgic, but not crowded or claustrophobic — the walls won’t have rabbit heads with antlers.”

Care to read more than do at the Santa Barbara Independent's site.

The Glories of Another Garagiste

In our current age--that is these terrifying last few weeks of Muskocracy--it's especially good to remember the wonder of a world writ small. Not everything has to be about huge numbers (of dollars, or corruption, or case production). Enter one of my annual favorite events, the Garagiste Wine Festival. This year we were fortunate enough to attend Friday's "Rare and Reserve Kick-Off Party," even more kicky as it featured a buffet of Cajun delights from Clean Slate Wine Bar. Chef Melissa Scrymgeour rocks it, even at the catering level, especially as she's sure to feature something for those who don't do meat (in Cajun that's spelled p-o-r-k). This night it was Gumbo Z'herbes, rich, redolent, and full of everything that grew green. This repast was perfect ballast for an evening of serious wine tasting.

In case you're new to what Garagiste means, it refers to folks who might, and sometimes do, make wines in their garages. We're talking tiny productions--you can't pour at the festival if you make over 1500 cases per year. For comparison, Meiomi--which some people consider wine--makes over 2700 cases of their sweet Pinot a day. 

That means what gets poured at the Solvang Veterans' Memorial Hall is made as passion product, as experiment, for the love of wine and agriculture and the hope to please people. That's highlighted even more on Friday, as winemakers pour their rare and reserve--older vintages, barrel samples, stuff so limited in supply that you couldn't buy it if you tried to bribe someone. But it does give you a beautiful picture of what creative, committed folks are up to in the wine world.

At least on this evening, most of what was poured was red, and much of that was more, let's call them chewy varietals--think Tannat, Tempranillo, or two grapes that despite their names aren't tiny in the slightest, Petit Verdot and Petite Sirah. Much of it was from Paso Robles, too, which might explain the grape choices--it's a lot hotter up there. So Fuil Wines' barrel sample of 2024 Sauvignon Blanc from Vogelzang Vineyard truly did stand out, but might have even in a more crowded white wine field. For as Chryss put it, "I want it to be summer, drinking this wine." And the red-heavy focus didn't stop the occasional oddball, like Winespread Panic Cellars 2022 Mourvèdre that looks light as a rosé, comes in at 12.9% ABV, and they suggest you chill. Owner Mitch Cahoon was happy when I suggested it was a summer porch wine, responding, "You can pound that shit!" Now that's not your usual marketing ploy....

But if you want the usual, you don't attend Garagiste. Instead you get things like Exprimere Wines, whose website has pages for both "Philosophy" and "Science & Art." The name, btw, is Latin for "to express or intone" (it just sounds like a fancy way to say experiment). What made their two pours rare was 2022 was their first vintage, and what you get is two Santa Rita Hills Pinots (I was told from Peake Ranch), that then gets trucked up to Sonoma where they do their magic. The Mia ferments at a cool temp, while the Persey gets exposed to some outdoor sun/heat during ferment. The former is lighter, racier, the latter richer, deeper. Given all the rest of the winemaking is consistent, it really does seem like some controlled experiment after all.

Then there's Boyd Shermis at Tomi Cellars, natty in his striped sports coat, sharing a no longer available Interlaced, a Syrah/Grenache blend. While a combo of those two Rhone grapes isn't anything new, Tomi's is, as they blend older Syrah, to give it more time to round and age, with younger Grenache. The result is a non-vintage wine with components from (in this case) 2019 and 2020. The result is a fully integrated delight. (There is a new NV blend out now, don't fret, but don't wait, either, as Tomi tends to make wines in 25 case increments.)

Speaking of small, we sampled the Pinot Noir and Syrah from Etnyre Wines, whose vineyard is a massive two acres in the SLO County AVA only 3.5 miles from the Pacific. Talk about complete care and control. Talk about cool climate, ocean effect. The Etnyres also had the good fortune to lean on more established wineries in their region to get started, with Alban clones for their Syrah and Talley Rosemary's clones for their Pinot. (People in the business can truly play nice.) Pouring library offerings, the 2016 Syrah was a true standout--gamey in that good Rhone way, with plenty of blueberry fruit and spice and a long finish. 

Garagiste also often gets to show off how those with day jobs in the business working for bigger concerns still run their own tiny labels. Take Sapien Wine, run by Trevor Bethke. He's also assistant winemaker at Cordon Wines and consulting winemaker at Buellton's Easy Street Wine Collective, so he's a busy man. But he's also got a crazy background with degrees in Biochemistry and Bioanthropology. Add it up, especially when he's accessing grapes like Pinot from Fiddlestix and especially an iron fist/velvet glove Grenache from Kimsey in Ballard Canyon, and you've got impressive, elegant wines.

Our only regret Friday was knowing we weren't coming back to do the full tasting with even more winemakers pursuing their visions on Saturday.