Author: meganheadley

Steakhouses, one of the few truly American culinary genres, maintain their appeal by being, in large part, the same the nation over. They typically sport dark wood and leather, a suited host, a wine list heavy on Napa Cabs, iconic starters and sides, melt-in-your-mouth steaks, and frightful prices. Testosterone-dripping man caves, the Scotch flows neat and big business deals are cut here between bites of sizzling meat.

Despite the ‘e’ on the end, I assumed that The Downtown Grille was no exception to this machismo paradigm. But since we all know what assumptions make out of you and me, last week I put on my high-heeled boots and met two girlfriends at the tinted-windowed spot that’s stood on the Downtown Mall for 13 years.

We watched four bemused lobsters work their way around a tank in the vestibule before walking in to find managing partner Robert Sawrey befittingly dressed in a suit. He took our coats and seated us in black leather chairs at a candlelit table set with tented starched napkins and handsome steak knives. It was all according to expectations and, from what we could see, the staff was entirely male. Yet, we felt remarkably comfortable. Our server, Tito, didn’t even flinch when we ordered champagne cocktails and started talking about makeup and relationships.

Turns out, this was no men’s club. We watched two young women come in after work to catch up over pomegranate martinis, burgers, and truffled fries at the angled bar. The banquettes and tables in the 110-seat dining room were filled with mixed company laughing loudly. And for every Gordon Gekko-type, there was a hipster in a hoodie or a prep wearing pink argyle.

The prices, while certainly higher than the average restaurant, didn’t even give us heart palpitations. The steaks cost between $30 (for the 8-ounce filet) and $40 (for the 24-ounce porterhouse). The Downtown Grille uses U.S. Choice beef (from grain-fed Harris Ranch cattle in Selma, California) for its steaks, rather than the pricey U.S. Prime, which costs more with every drought and ethanol fuel company. Not to mention that Prime only accounts for 2 to 3 percent of beef overall—and most of it goes to the New York steakhouses where there’s the clientele to afford it.

Of course, it’s a concession that few would notice in taste. The steaks that Executive Chef Sam Rochester sends out of the open kitchen are tender enough to render you weak in the knees and your steak knife redundant—unless you order a wedge salad (and you should). The steaks stand alone, as is the steakhouse norm, but with massively portioned sides all under $10, you only need to order one or two for the table. Even the baked potato—crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, and best slathered with whipped butter and chived sour cream—can be cut into four to six pieces. Or, order the nest of onion strings—addictively savory renditions of what’s traditionally just garnish. Save the dressings from your wedge salad (roquefort or balsamic) for tastier dipping than just ketchup. And, if you are looking to prime your palate with something more than the smooth-as-a-baby’s-butt rolls, a range of appetizers—from shrimp cocktail to cornmeal-crusted fried oysters—all come in at $13 and under.

Bring a non-beef-eater for a cheap date—the asiago-crusted chicken and fruit-compote-topped pork chop are both under $20. Pescatarians will find their entrée choices all under $30—unless they go for a 2.5- to 3-pound lobster from the lobby.

Don’t go expecting much to change. Even the catch of the day (rockfish the evening we dined) comes with vegetables that pay no heed to the season, but few could argue over the indulgence of asparagus with hollandaise.

The Downtown Grille’s wine list, which boasts 20 wines by the glass, 125 by the bottle, and wins a Wine Spectator Award of Excellence every year, will seduce oenophiles especially fond of reds as meaty as their steaks. Single malt aficionados will get more than a dozen choices.

Our dinner had already been an exercise in sheer gluttony, so the thought of eating dessert—bananas foster, cheesecake, crème brulée, and key lime pie among them—was more than we could muster. As Tito tidied our table with a golden crumb scraper, we asked him if anyone orders dessert. “Definitely! Especially the ladies!” So, we ordered a slice of the espresso chocolate torte to share, reapplied our lip gloss, and then giggled our way down the Mall.

This is it. On Friday, December 21, we’re all going to die. Our Christmas gifts, 401(k)s, and unexpressed love will go unclaimed. It’d be highly irresponsible for me to advise liquidating your bank accounts, but I can suggest liquidating a pearl or two from your wine cellar (or sock drawer) to enjoy with loved ones—and as many carbs as you can manage—on Doomsday. Even if we wake to utter normalcy on Saturday, you’ll have made a memory and can restock the cellar in time for the next apocalyptic prophecy. Here’s what some of our area’s winos plan to go down drinking.

Dean Andrews, Pippin Hill Farm & Vineyards: “A cocktail we call The Kiss Royale—Pippin Hill Sparkling Blanc de Blanc, pomegranate liqueur and pomegranate seeds.”

Jake Busching, Grace Estates Winery: “A 2005 vintage of 12-year Glenlivet Single Malt that I received as a gift and still haven’t opened.”

Bill Curtis, Tastings of Charlottesville: “To quote Eliot—some say the world will end in fire, some say ice. If it’s fire, then I’ll need to cool down with Egon Müller Scharzhofberger Riesling Auslese 1999. If it’s ice, then Domaine Romanée-Conti 1990 ought to keep me warm just a couple of seconds more.”

Scott Elliff, DuCard Vineyards: “DuCard Vineyards Petit Verdot 2009—it’s long been sold out but I have a few remaining in my personal cellar, er, underground bunker. And since we’re not exactly sure what time it’s all supposed to end, guess I’ll have it for breakfast.”

Matthieu Finot, King Family Vineyards: “I’d overnight my bottle of Domaine Jean Jacques Confuron Romanée-Saint-Vivant 1998 (I worked there that vintage) from my cellar in France.”

Richard Hewitt, Keswick Hall: “I plan on breaking into Bill Curtis’ private cellar and drinking the first bottle I can get my hands on! ‘The Mayans made me do it’ has never been used in an affirmative defense.”

Christine Iezzi, The Country Vintner: “Several bottles of Billecart-Salmon Rosé Champagne.”
John Kiers, Ox-Eye Vineyards: “I will be in the smokehouse at Wheatlands sipping expensive champagne and eating oysters, of course!”

Dave Kostelnik, Feast!: “When I go out, it will be with a bottle of aged Virginia wine —a very big bottle—the magnum of Barboursville Octagon 2004 we received for our wedding.”

Richard Leahy, author of Beyond Jefferson’s Vines: “Götterdämmerung (twilight of the gods), a Cabernet Franc-dominant Meritage blend by Valhalla Vineyards. It’s forward, plush, and hedonistic. The back label reads: ‘When you hear that enemy missiles will impact in 20 minutes, this is the wine you will want to be drinking.’”

Pamela Margaux, Margaux & Company: “Champagne, champagne, and—just in case the world ends—more champagne.”

Nicolas Mestre, Williams Corner Wine: “Ulysse Collin Champagne Extra Brut Blanc de Noirs 2008 from the Second degorgement [see Winespeak 101]. I could easily die with a glass of that in my hand.”

Luca Paschina, Barboursville Vineyards: “Believe it or not, it is both my daughter’s and my birthday, therefore I have a lot to celebrate—Marchesi di Barolo 1961 Barolo.”

Emily Pelton, Veritas Vineyard and Winery: “A bottle of Didier Dagueneau Pouilly-Fumé Silex. I don’t have it in my cellar, but my Dad has it in his—and we will happily sit and share this wine together, I am sure.”

Kay Pfaltz, Basic Necessities: “I’ll be taking a candlelit Solstice walk with a few pagan friends and a bottle of Château Musar 1972 from my cellar.”

Andy Reagan, Jefferson Vineyards: “36-year-old Cardhu Single Malt would make a good lifecap.”

Elizabeth and Tony Smith, Afton Mountain Vineyards: “We’re gonna be drinking Champion beer at the grand opening! Once we are headed for the fallout shelter, we’ll choose Pierre Gonon Saint-Joseph 2008—one of our favorites from our hiking trip through the Rhône.”

Rachel Stinson, Stinson Vineyards: “Cardinal Point 2012 Green (a blend of Chardonnay and Petit Manseng)—I’ve been really into Vinho Verde this winter.”

WINESPEAK 101
Disgorgement (n.): The process of removing the lees (deposits of yeasts and other materials) from champagne (or sparkling wine made in the champagne method) by freezing a small amount of the liquid in the bottle’s neck and then removing the plug of ice that contains the lees.

I find few things more exciting than being invited to someone’s home for a dinner party. Not a potluck or cocktail party, but a sit-down soirée with mixed company and food cooked and served by someone other than me. It’s a generous act of yore that seems now to be endangered if not entirely extinct. Surely we remember our parents entertaining at home, falling asleep to the sound of muffled laughter downstairs. And the first thing you do as a child when you make a new friend is invite her over, so what’s changed?

The popularity of restaurant dining’s certainly at play, yet breaking bread with people in a home setting deepens connections much faster. There’s no time wasted looking at a menu, ordering, or deciding on wines. You can linger without the staff sighing loudly behind you and there’s no awkward moment when the check arrives.

Of course, time, that elusive luxury of which we all get the same amount, is the ubiquitous excuse. But if we have time to cook for ourselves, take a photo of what we’ve made, and then broadcast it to all of our “friends,” then we have time to invite a few of them to eat with us. Spending less time on our virtual social life frees up more time for socializing in the flesh; besides, no one’s expecting the eight-course, aspic-laden affair with chargers and napkin rings that Emily Post outlines in her 1922 etiquette guide. Entertain with simple, weekday meals even—meatloaf, mac-n-cheese, build-your-own-tacos—just remain fully clothed when you get home from work and eat at the table instead of from the fissure between the couch cushions. You can laugh out loud instead of LOLing and bring up topics without assigning any hashtags.

Even with loftier aspirations, don’t burden yourself by cleaning the house from top to bottom. Chances are that if you are a hoarder, or have 18 cats, the people you invite will already know that and either forgive it, or decline the offer. If you’re just a person with unremarkable dust bunnies and a pile of dead ladybugs in the corner, then guests won’t notice. Tidy the bathroom and any linens they’ll use, light some candles, dim the lights, keep their glasses topped up, and your cleanliness will appear next to godliness.

It’s a drag slaving away in the kitchen while your guests make merry at the table, so come up with a menu that you can cook ahead. Baked dishes like lasagne or braises like pot roast can be warming in the oven (with their aromas at critical mass) when guests arrive so that all you need to do is toss a salad. And, if you think of the meal as four courses (appetizer, salad, main, and dessert), plan to make two courses, buy one course, and then take one person or couple up on their offer to bring something.

You always want to have drinks and nibbles available right away, so buy the appetizer components. Put down a cheese board with fresh or dried fruit, wrap prosciutto around grissini, or set out bowls of pistachios and olives tarted up with orange rind and fennel seeds. Tasking guests with bringing dessert (or even just gelato to top some box-made brownies) makes for a welcome mission and alleviates them from bringing wine.

Consider the number of guests you invite. Six can converse as a group without any factions splitting off, and if you want to introduce two singles, the other pair will provide a buffer if sparks don’t fly. The dinner table’s a great leveler, so go ahead and invite two big fish and watch them both act a little less big for their britches. Stay away from vitriolic topics, though don’t be afraid to delve. Ask your guests what they would have eaten first in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, or what part of themselves is physically perfect.

Invitees have a few rules to follow too. If you need to cancel, do so with no fewer than two hours notice (and not via text message). Don’t bring uninvited guests and don’t turn up sloshed. If you have a genuine allergy, let it be known to your host ahead of time; however, if you are just obnoxiously picky or health-conscious, eat everything you’re given, or else don’t accept the invitation. Send a follow-up thank you note—written is best, but electronic suffices. Most of all though, always always return the favor. It’s the only way to keep the dinner party alive.

When I told a wine-loving francophile that I’ve been drinking wine from a box, he looked at me with such horror that I quickly followed up with, “I pour it into a glass first, of course!” His disgust had nothing to do with the image of me holding my mouth below the spigot in my fridge, but rather with the notion of drinking what he presumes is swill. It’s a prejudice held by many, yet, surprisingly, it’s us new world Americans upholding the stigma more than the old-world Europeans.

Fair enough, if we were talking about the boxed junk of the 1970s. However, not only is the wine inside today’s boxes the same quality wine that goes inside a bottle (and often at half the price), it’s also likely to taste better longer since the collapsible plastic bladder within the box creates an airtight seal down to the very last dribble. Europeans already know this—nearly half of the wines sold in Norway and Sweden are bag-in-box wines, and even in wine-traditional France, they account for about 18 percent of wine sales. Stateside, bag-in-box wine has been the fastest growing segment of the market for a couple of years now, though it still occupies only about 10 percent of market share.

Michael Shaps, who splits his time making wine in Virginia and Burgundy, says that half an aisle of his French grocery store is devoted to boxed wines. “The French are price conscious as well as very green. If you drink wine at lunch and dinner, then the box goes a long way,” he said. In late 2010, he and partner Philip Stafford took the cue and put three of their already value-oriented Virginia Wineworks wines into a three-liter bag-in-box. Now, instead of paying $16 per bottle, customers can get the equivalent of four bottles for around $40—buy two-and-a-half and get one-and-a-half free. It’s exactly the same Virginia-made wine from Virginia-grown grapes that goes into the bottles, so how can it cost so much less?

It all comes down to the costs of goods sold, and Shaps broke it down for me. Each pre-made bag costs 50 cents—and a glass wine bottle costs 75 cents. Since the bags get filled with four bottles worth of wine, the per-bottle cost for the bag becomes 13 cents.

The recyclable boxes that house the bags cost 60 cents, or 15 cents per bottle. The labels, corks, and capsules (see Winespeak 101) that bottles require cost a minimum of 60 cents and a maximum of $1 per bottle. Even using the minimum cost, we’re at 28 cents per bottle for the bag-in-box and $1.35 for the glass bottle.

And there’s still labor to figure. One person can operate the bag-filling machine, sealing 2,000 liters (or about 2,667 bottles) in six hours. At a $20/hour rate, that’s about 5 cents per bottle. The bottling line, which requires four people (though only four hours) to seal the same amount, brings each bottle’s labor cost to 12 cents.

Add it all up and compare the bag-in-box’s 33 cents total to the glass bottle’s $1.47. That’s a $1.14 savings.

Consider too that 2,000 liters of bag-in-box wine can be stacked to occupy 160 square feet, whereas 2,000 liters of wine in bottles fill 56 cases, which go on to four pallets, occupying 384 square feet. Also, bags in boxes weigh less and are at little risk for damage (in fact, Shaps jumped on a filled bag to demonstrate their durability), thus shipping costs less.

None of this even speaks to the bag-in-box’s environmental friendliness—it’s estimated to use 91 percent less packaging than bottled wine and has only 21 percent greenhouse gas emissions.
It seems that in a state where our wine’s quality-to-price ratio is often up against scrutiny, more Virginia producers might be bagging their wines, yet Virginia Wineworks remains the lone soldier. The demand’s certainly there—both the Virginia Wineworks Chardonnay and Viognier bag-in-boxes sold out months ago. Shaps and Stafford tripled their bag-in-box production this year and are adding a line of $32 nonvarietal boxes for sale in the tasting room. The new Chardonnay and Viognier will be out before Christmas, and the blends by January.

Across the pond in Meursault, Shaps, who recently bought out his French partner, will start bagging some of his Maison Michael Shaps wine for sale in both France and Virginia. Maybe next he’ll start selling his Virginia boxes in France.

WINESPEAK 101
Capsule (n.): The wrapping that covers the bottle closure and most of the bottle’s neck. Once made of lead, they are now made from plastic, tin, aluminum, or composites.

As tightly knit as Charlottesville is, newcomers are likely to feel intimidated—especially so in our food world, which is as inextricably linked an industry as any. Evermore daunting would be taking the helm of a restaurant that’s collected a massive following in the five years it’s been open. But more now than ever, the connections between farmers and chefs are crucial, so when there’s a new chef on the block who’s unwaveringly committed to sourcing locally, he’s welcomed with open arms.

Tommy Lasley came in July via upstate New York to take the executive chef post at Orzo after Bryan Szeliga moved to Philadelphia. A North Carolina native, Lasley attended the Culinary Institute of America at Hyde Park (graduating in 2007 and meeting The Rock Barn’s Ben Thompson along the way), then stayed in the area to work at Blue Hill at Stone Barns. This particularly ambitious farm-to-table restaurant that’s also a year-round working farm crystallized Lasley’s desire to be a seasonal chef taking Mother Nature’s lead, and a local chef buying farmers’ products.

Getting a hard sell on Virginia every time he spoke with Thompson led the earnest 31-year-old chef here—and diners are only beginning to experience what Charlottesville has gained with his arrival.

Respecting the loyal customer base built by owners Charles Roumeliotes and Ken Wooten, Lasley’s been gradual and studied in his approach to change. He spent the first month working with his staff and Szeliga’s menu. By early September, he began running his own dishes as specials, and even though the menu’s now his, he gauges the interest (and resistance) of guests at every service. Comforting pasta dishes had always been a cornerstone of Orzo’s menu, and since Lasley recognizes the potentially mutinous implications behind taking away a regular’s beloved baked penne, he’ll happily make the old favorites by request.

On the other hand, we eagerly accepted Lasley’s invitation to leave us in his hands. And, welcoming the opportunity to abandon all decision-making, we even asked Roumeliotes to pair our wines.

Piquing our palates with cava and baguette dipped into lemony hummus, we noticed that while the scene on a chilly Wednesday night was as warm and lively as it always is at Orzo, the diners seemed decidedly more focused on their food—admiring, discussing, and Instagramming. And then a slate dotted with petits fours-like canapes stole our attention. Smoked trout on farro flatbread anointed with roe and chives and a pork croquette dipped in beer mustard were both glorious. Olive oil cornbread with squash and goat cheese looked like macarons, and the square of pork terrine between two crackly chocolate crisps looked like fluffy nougat.

Butternut squash soup with hazelnut oil and toasted hazelnuts arrived piping hot from just enough time spent in the oven to melt the cranberry marshmallow on top. It invoked (yet far surpassed) the sweet potato casserole that’s a requisite on Thanksgiving.

Roumeliotes came by with a tropical and briny Albariño to accompany seared scallops with sweet potato, Brussels sprout leaves, and a golden beet emulsion. And a crispy farm egg atop porcini, chickpeas, pecorino, and roasted rapini leaves was a Scotch egg gone gourmet.

We hadn’t looked up once—and the delights just kept on coming. Crispy rounds of chicken mousseline took to a plate strewn with roasted baby beets, walnuts, arugula, and ginger yogurt; and satiny discs of butternut squash joined fried cubes of squash, mizuna, and pumpkin seeds. Variations on an earthy theme that sang between sips of white Burgundy.

Pasta was next, and though the butternut squash ravioli with crispy amaretti, pear mostarda, crispy sage, and brown butter was far more refined than Orzo’s former pastas, it was no less comforting. Half moons packed with peppery, prosciutto-braised greens and mascarpone then studded with crispy chicken sausage met their match with an herbal and juicy Ruché from Piemonte.

When the black wine of Cahors was poured, we were warned that the end was in sight. And the grilled octopus with merguez, potato gnocchi, chili oil, and crème fraîche, plus the Rock Barn pork with Brussels sprouts, apples, and rutabagas, made for quite a finale.

We were still digesting the sheer glory of it all when Lasley came by. We couldn’t help but gush. While he hasn’t had time to dine around town much, he visits local farms every day. It will be a while before he can cook his locavore heart out, but he’ll still work with plenty of farmers throughout the winter, because as he puts it: “We only cook what we can get.” Well, we’ll take it.

Nothing makes a wine columnist feel the freakishly swift passage of days more than the realization that it’s Thanksgiving wine recommendation time yet again. Every year, I consider taking a different approach—or even skipping it entirely, hoping that no one will notice the omission of what’s become an annual expectation. (Especially tempting after our beer columnist, Hunter Smith, proffered some mighty fine beer suggestions last week.)

It’s not that I don’t enjoy Thanksgiving as much as the next starch-loving, gluttony-welcoming American; it’s just that with a meal that’s such a patchwork of flavors, there is absolutely no right wine answer. And what’s the point of having a pulpit if I can’t be right?

I jest, of course, because there’s plenty of merit in debating the reds and whites of the matter. After all, having drinkable wine on your turkey table benefits everyone. It ought not cause undue stress though. Just follow these few basic guidelines, buy what you like (and plenty of it), and you’re in store for a happy, happy holiday.

Part of the utter joy (and oddity) of Thanksgiving is that, unless you are the host, you’re in for an entire day with absolutely nothing to do except yell at the television, brainstorm at least one thing you are thankful for in case you get called on at the table, and consume inhumane quantities of food and drink. Since pre-feast nibbles tend to be fatty and salty (as most good appetizers are), you’ll want to start with a drink that’s thirst-quenching, not palate-fatiguing. Think of lithe, zippy little numbers with bubbles and/or high acid and low alcohol. Our area’s artisanal ciders offer all three qualities and pair beautifully with everything from a cheddar cheese nut ball to bacon-wrapped anything.

Wines for the table should be easy and ambidextrous. Most families have at least one trashy dish at their spread that they’re mildly embarrassed by, yet would be loathe to ever give up. Whether it’s the sweet potato casserole covered in marshmallows, or the mushroom soup-canned green bean casserole, it’s part of what makes Thanksgiving so loveable. This same kind of open-armed, free-for-all acceptance should apply to the wines too. Set a smattering of reasonably-priced bottles in white and red on the buffet table and let guests help themselves. Since the meal is traditionally served as one giant feedbag—I mean, course—there’s no need to pour in courses either.

For whites, stick with young, bright wines with plenty of acidity, aromatics, and, if not a touch of residual sugar, at least lots of mid-palate fruit. Austerely dry or overtly oaked wines become positively punishing with cranberry sauce and downright dehydrating with sausage-studded stuffing. Best bets include Albariño, Chenin Blanc, Gewürztraminer, Grüner Veltliner, Petit Manseng, Pinot Gris, Riesling, and Viognier, all of which have the body to stand up to the big bird himself, but also the acidity to cut through those butter-laden mashed taters.

Versatile choices for reds include lighter-bodied, fruit-focused reds with invigorating acidity. Barbera, Dolcetto, Cabernet Franc, Chambourcin, Frappato, Gamay, Grenache, Pinot Noir, and Zweigelt will all wash down that lumpy gravy and have you reaching for more. Tannic wines like Cabernet Sauvignon and Shiraz are best saved for steak night.

Thanksgiving isn’t the time to bust out your cellar’s treasures either. The funk and evolving complexity of age-worthy wines require more serious food (and drinkers) to be fully appreciated. You don’t want to pull out a 2001 Puligny-Montrachet just to have your Aunt Velma make a goblet-sized white wine spritzer out of it.

Save any polarizing wines (Pinotage and Norton come to mind) for another occasion. You’re bound to get enough vehemence with the in-laws and “that guy” who always brings up politics at the table.

Finally, since the drinking starts early—sometimes once the whites of Al Roker’s eyes appear on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade—steer clear of any wines above 14 percent ABVs unless you want a man down in the pumpkin pie. Zinfandel, a favorite Thanksgiving recommendation among retailers and wine writers because of its all-American heritage, often clocks in at 15-16 percent alcohol. Those almost port-like proportions are more likely to put you under the table than at it. Save the high-octane stuff for dessert, when you can sober everyone up with coffee or a swift kick out the door.

So you see that while there’s no one answer to what to pull the cork on this Thursday, there’s more than a caseful of solutions, all of which should make you very, very thankful.

WHAT WILL BE ON MY TABLE THIS YEAR
Foggy Ridge Serious Cider, Feast!, $18
Patrick Janvier’s Jasnières Cuvée Silex 2010, Tastings of Charlottesville, $28.95
G.D. Vajra Langhe Rosso 2009, Wine Warehouse, $15.99
Broadbent Madeira, Market Street Wineshop, $16.99

Nowadays, restaurant menus are more likely to tell you where the chicken was raised than how it’s prepared. Four years running, the National Restaurant Association has voted locally sourced foods the top trend. But here in Virginia, where our soil takes a long winter’s nap, what’s a locavore chef to do when the growing season ends?

At Brookville Restaurant, Harrison Keevil fulfills his 90 percent locally sourced goal, no matter the season. He’s outspoken about his belief that a chef’s responsibility is to buy our farmers’ products first. “The flavor generated from these farmers’ hard work is second to none. And our money should be going into our community and into our great farmers’ pockets, rather than the big national distribution companies,” said Keevil.

Ian Boden, chef at the recently opened Glass Haus Kitchen, thinks that by now, sourcing locally should be a given for restaurants. “Today, if you are a chef in the United States, and not doing all you can to use local products, you are being irresponsible,” said Boden, who vows to get 90 percent of the menu from local and regional sources in the growing season. He plans to maintain a winter menu that’s 60 to 70 percent local by preserving, pickling, and freezing peak season produce, and by working directly with farmers with root cellars and greenhouses. “It’s just about being smart, not wasting anything, and training my staff to have the same respect for the ingredients that I do and that the farmers do,” said Boden.

While Keevil admits cooking locally year-round is no small feat, he believes it can be done with creativity and commitment. “[Chefs] have to have the mentality of not creating a menu and then looking for the ingredients, but rather looking for the ingredients and then creating the menu,” he said. He believes that diners also need to better understand seasonal eating, taking cues from Mother Nature herself. “To get through the hot summers, we need fresh plates of foods; in the cold winter, we need the warmth of braised meats and root veggies that stick to your ribs and warm you to your core for an entire day,” said Keevil.

Local Food Hub founder Kate Collier acknowledges that the pickings get slimmer come winter. “November to May is tough, but apples, squash, and potatoes store well and we start to distribute more meat,” she said. Last week, for instance, the Local Food Hub still had 50 active clients (compared to 120 in the height of the season) that had three pages of available products from which to choose. Outreach & Development Director Emily Manley estimates that 75 to 85 percent of their two dozen chef clients remain active throughout the winter. And a large part of the nonprofit’s efforts and resources go towards working with farmers to build greenhouses and high tunnels to encourage an extended season.

According to a recent USDA analysis, farmers producing for local markets generally provide 1.3 full-time jobs compared to 0.9 for farmers who sell through traditional wholesale markets. And the crops grown by local food farmers tend to generate higher sales per acre ($590 versus $304 for the average farm). It’s clear from the success of our own farmers’ markets that we’re willing to pay a higher price for food that’s grown by hands that we know. However, sticker shock sets in when dining out. And since the bottom line’s always there for restaurants too, is it economically feasible for chefs to cook this way?

Keevil feels certain that local foods’ higher prices are a deterrent to chefs and he would like to see a tax credit or rebate for restaurants that can prove that they source a certain percentage of their food locally. Collier agrees that a government-sponsored incentive program would help, but in the meantime, she strives to applaud industry supporters the old-fashioned way. Every year, the Local Food Hub recognizes the devoted efforts of area farms, retailers, and institutions with its Community Food Awards. She also hopes that participating institutions will exert some positive peer pressure. With hundreds of mouths to feed and minds to educate each day, it’s institutional chefs that Collier believes have the best results.

Still, the small, independent restaurants are leading the chef charge in this grassroots movement with a massive impact. Keevil’s aspiration for Brookville to be an entirely local restaurant inspires him every day to find farmers who will help make that happen: “If they grow it, Brookville will cook it.”

Cider may be indelibly written into American history, but no matter how many pints John Adams drank with breakfast, it’s a beverage that confuses us. Cider, to everyone but Americans, implies the presence of alcohol; here, unless we preface it with “hard,” we picture the hot, spiced variety that warms us up after a romp through fallen leaves. Even then, the hard ciders sold on American shelves differ vastly from sweet and mass-produced to bracingly dry and hand-crafted.

So, the drink requires a bit of education. Luckily, Virginia lays claim to eight cider makers that not only make complex, artisanal cider, but that also dedicate themselves to preaching its colonial-turned-modern word. And from November 9 through the 17, they’ll get a stage to do so. Virginia’s first Cider Week, an event made possible by grant money from the Virginia Wine Board and the colossal organizational efforts of board member and Foggy Ridge Cider owner Diane Flynt, is only the second in the nation to exist.

A gubernatorial proclamation, made at a launch party at Brookville Restaurant two weeks ago, came from Virginia Secretary of Agriculture and Forestry Todd Haymore, who impressed us with the fact that our state’s 20,000 acres of apple trees make it the sixth largest producer in the country, generating $33 million in sales. And that’s even before the apples get pressed and fermented into drinkable form.

If Flynt, the first of the bushel to market her cider in 2006, is the movement’s grande dame, the guys behind Potter’s Craft Cider, Tim Edmond and Dan Potter, are its newest poster children. The 27-year-old friends from Princeton quit conventional careers to make livings as cider makers in 2011, and now have bottles and kegs of their Farmhouse Dry Cider in more than 50 retailers and restaurants across the state. And with a young, moving-and-shaking network around them, the duo has added the stamp of cool to this local libation that’s as akin to fine wine as it is to craft beer.

Cider Week’s your chance to meet the cider makers behind Albemarle Ciderworks, Bold Rock Cider, Castle Hill Cider, Foggy Ridge Cider, and Potter’s Craft Cider, to taste their cider, and to discover just how versatile a partner it is with both dinners out (from MAS Tapas to Keswick Hall) and dinners at home (from macaroni and cheese to Thanksgiving meal). So, get out there and taste the history. You’re bound to like dem apples quite a bit.

Drink up!
Here are our picks for Virginia Cider Week. Visit ciderweekva.com for a full schedule and for a list of where to find your favorite ciders:

Friday, November 9, 4:30-6:30pm at Feast! ($15)
Get the party started with a cider and artisan food tasting and a welcome from scholar in residence Gary Nabhan. Purchase tickets in advance at Feast!, or or by calling 244-7800.

Saturday, November 10, noon-2pm at Fifth Season (Free)
Fancy making cider at home? Learn how-tos straight from the experts, buy your own kit, and put all those apples you picked to good use.

Sunday, November 11, 5-8pm at Albermarle Ciderworks ($65)
Dine on delights from chefs Jason Alley of Richmond’s Pasture and Comfort restaurants, Lee Gregory from The Roosevelt, and Angelo Vangelopoulos from the Ivy Inn while sipping cider, listening to apple experts Tom Buford and Gary Nabhan, and supporting event beneficiary Southern Foodways Alliance. Purchase tickets at hill.holler @gmail.com.

Monday, November 12, 7pm at The Whiskey Jar ($55)
Savor the season with a fall menu that includes quail in cider glaze, wild rice, housemade sausage dressing, Hoppin’ John-stuffed pumpkins, and, of course, cider to wash it all down. Call 202-1549 for reservations.

Tuesday, November 13, 6-8pm at Market Street Wineshop Downtown (Free)
Taste them all, pick a favorite, and stock up for the holidays.

Wednesday, November 14, 5-7pm at The Local (Free)
Enjoy cider while you meet and mingle with the people who make it.

Saturday, November 17, 2pm to 6pm at Castle Hill Cider ($20)
Usher Cider Week out with a bang at the final hoorah, where there’ll be cider makers, edible treats, live music, and plenty of cider. Limited reservations available. Purchase tickets at info@castlehillcider.com or by calling 296-0047.

An apple cocktail a day…
While cider’s delicious straight-up, it also makes a perfect cocktail component. Belly up to one of these bars during Cider Week for one (or all) of these special cider-based cocktails. Visit Cider Week’s Facebook page for latecomers’ concoctions and to vote on your favorite!

Beer Run’s “Eve’s Black Heart”
Albemarle Ciderworks Royal Pippin, Victory Donnybrook Dry Irish Stout, Laird’s Applejack Brandy

Horse & Hound’s “The Hound”
Bold Rock Virginia Draft Hard Cider, Crabbie’s Original Alcoholic Ginger Beer, Maker’s Mark, lime

MAS Tapas’ “ChichicapaBangBang”
Single Village Mezcal, Potter’s Craft Farmhouse Dry Cider, salted apple, prickly pear purée

Whiskey Jar’s “Cider Press”
Foggy Ridge Handmade Cider, Buffalo Trace Bourbon, St-Germain, brown sugar simple syrup, fresh apple

Zinc’s “The Sandy Potter” (above)
Potter’s Craft Farmhouse Dry Cider, Jack Daniels, Cointreau, Fee Brothers Bitters, lime, orange, housemade non-fermented apple cider, orange twist

Merlot is making a comeback. Or so the prediction has gone for the past three years. According to retailers though, sales haven’t even begun to rebound, yet we keep reading that they have. So, has this grape that went from golden child to outcast in the span of 20 years really risen from the depths of our drains, or is it just an industry agenda to aid in its climb to cool again?

First, a look at Merlot’s day in the sun. In the early 1980s, several California and Washington producers were using Merlot as a blending varietal (just as in its native Bordeaux, where it’s the most widely planted varietal) to soften the fiercely tannic Cabernet Sauvignon. It didn’t take long for enterprising Americans to realize that the varietal could easily stand on its own. Single-varietal Merlot started popping up in the mid-’80s, with producers like California’s Shafer and Duckhorn and Washington’s Leonetti Cellar and Hogue leading the charge.

Fast forward a couple of years and Merlot, with its one-word, easy to pronounce name and uncomplicated palate, had become a sensation like Madonna and Prince and parachute pants. Grab your best pair and pour some Merlot on me.

Everyone wanted a piece of this Pac-Man-era pie, so producers started planting it in spades on marginal sites and bottling juice from underripe fruit. They assumed that as long as the label read Merlot, we’d lap it up. And we did, until its wimpy structure and taste of green bell peppers led producers to vamp it up into an ocean of alcoholic black cherry vanilla Coke. Wine-flavored wine to go with cheese-flavored cheese. Merlot had become a joke.

The 2004 movie Sideways issued the ba-dum-ch when fictional, frumpy, Pinot Noir-lovin’ Miles threw a temper tantrum at the prospect of having to drink any bleeping Merlot. It was a below the belt (albeit unintended, according to the movie’s writers) blow that deflated Merlot sales by 2 percent in the 12 weeks after the film was released, by 12 percent come 2006, and by 10 percent for the last three years running.

Something good came from Merlot’s denigration though. Faced with a glut of unwanted swill, producers started growing and making less, thus focusing on a return to quality, which, in its best examples, is a lush, plummy mochaccino of a wine. Merlot’s primed for a rally, but is anyone buying it?

Neither Market Street Wineshop’s Robert Harllee nor Rio Hill Wine & Gourmet’s Doug Hotz are seeing a resurgence of sales. “Cab is still king. But something like 85 percent of affordable Bordeaux (under $15) are mostly Merlot. In fact, it’s hard to find a majority Cab in that category,” said Harllee. Even in California, where cult Cabs often require deep pockets and a waiting list, you can get fantastic Merlot at a reasonable price. Hotz sells a Merlot from Annabella (Napa) and St. Francis (Sonoma) for under $20. “Both offer serious bang for the buck,” he said. There are exceptions, of course, like Château Pétrus, which is almost entirely Merlot and costs, by the caseful, as much as a new car. However, generally speaking, Merlot’s glass ceiling is about 50 percent lower than Cabernet’s.

Sommeliers love Merlot because it can be enjoyed at a younger age and with a wide range of foods. Keswick Hall sommelier Richard Hewitt says he’s selling more Merlot these days and that it seems to have regained the face it lost after Sideways. A great deal of his Merlot sales are from Virginia wineries, where just about everyone agrees the grape does really well.

Six of the 12 wines in this year’s Governor’s Case contained Merlot, and Keswick Vineyards earned one of those spots for its 2010 Merlot, a 100 percent single varietal. Keswick winemaker Stephen Barnard praises the grape for its predictability and consistency in a climate that’s anything but. “It ripens early, so most years you can get good, clean, ripe fruit which allows you to make a consistently high quality wine,” said Barnard. He tends to favor a European, fruit-forward style of Merlot that’s more elegant and supple than its harsher, boozier West Coast counterparts, but it’s still a wine with some vigor to it. The Octagon wines from Barboursville are blends driven by Merlot and have at least eight to 10 years of cellar life in them.

So what’s an overexposed and underappreciated grape to do? Wait for its white knight to grant it the respect it deserves? Virginia might be just the place for that movie.