The Dewdrop World

the pure light of high summer

It's still high summer at the Farmer's Market.

That means: colorful peaches, plums and nectarines all overly ripe); tomatoes and green beans; and even some new potatoes. Dahlias still abound ing and abiding ("buy three for my tequila," says the flower man every week); and fragrant herbs --thyme, rosemary, basil, and oregano (ours we tried growing remain inedible).

And berries galore: a trio blueberries, blackberries and raspberries. 

For fish, is swordfish and wild Colorado salmon.

I still haven't managed to eat eel yet this summer. Did you know we switch from white miso in winter to red in summer (blending the two in autumn and spring)? Red is salty, perfect for the heat of summer, people say. People say it, and I agree.  

And speaking of fermentation....

Lawrence Osbourne, in his book, The Wet and the Dry, writes movingly about Dionysus; reminding us that the poet Pindar compared the god of the vine to that of "the pure light of high summer." 

That is the kind of wine (wine light) I want to drink right now-- a wine that embodies the pure light and sunshine of the season.

So far, that means the volcanic babies of Sicily (Long live Arianna Occhipinti!) and the glorious amphora whites from Georgia. 

We loved this wine from Baia's Wine (Baia, like Arianna is a young and very talented and amazing wine maker!) "liquid honeysuckle and thyme--" without the overwhelming sulphur of the Sicilian COS amphora either. Lingering sunlight and perfume... sunny and cheerful wine.

Venissa, too, if we can afford another bottle someday... 

All those lesser known grapes that are not on the road usually traveled, the legendary dorona grape, the Tsitska, Krakhuna, and Tsolikouri from Georgia; the zibbibo in Sicily and waiting in great anticipation to try the Hamdani, Jandali, and Dabouki white grapes from the Holy Land. Always love Cassis. 

For sunshine reds, so far, the only light summer red we have had is the 100% sangiovese from il Borro and the COS "pithos" feremented in an amphora from nero d'avola and frappato grapes. (nero d'avola is one of my favorite red grapes).

Like Galileo reportedly said, wine is a compound of moisture [humor] and light (il vino è un composto di umore e di luce). Mood, moisture and light...? 

So, there is light, but the other quality I have been trying to evoke is more noticeable fermentation. 

I guess most people around here have a favorite Feynman quote. Mine is from his famous discourse on wine-- an aside during one of his lectures at Caltech, where he said that "Life is fermentation."

For years, I thought that "life is translation." That was my motto--typical translator, but I did feel it fit things perfectly.

Not anymore though. Now, life is fermentation. For sure! 

Osbourne goes on to explain that the ancient Egyptians, like the Cretans, designated the rising of the star Sirius in high summer (July) with fermentation. And this to them suggested the life force (fermentation and intoxication, life from decay...) 

And in the Amber Revolution, Simon Woolf off-handedly mentions that the huge amphora (qvevri) were sometimes used at the end of life, in death, cut to allow for a body in burial.... like in Borneo).

 

Lawrence Osbourne's The Wet and the Dry: A Drinker's Journey 

Simon Woolf's Amber Revolution

Alice Feiring's
For the Love of Wine: My Odyssey Through the World's Most Ancient Wine Culture

Kevin Begos' wonderful Tasting the Past: The Science of Flavor and the Search for the Origins of Wine

caponata

My friends in Japan always insisted that eating is best in the fall--after the harvest.

Oh, it's true those autumn foods in Japan are to die-for.

But summer is not bad either! Cold sake and cold noodles, eel and mugi tea. In California, summer bursts at the seams with tomatoes.

One of my favorite foods for summer (is this my phantom Southern Italian heritage?) is caponata. "The perfect food for a hungry man" (and woman?) someone said....

I love the colors-- and more, I adore the sweet and sour tastes--like amarone wine, it is a surprise of complementary tastes. Giorgio Locatelli, in his book Made in Sicily, says caponata is Sicily's "baroque heritage at its best!"

Everyone makes it differently. But the basics are sacrosanct: eggplants, celery, and green olives with vinegar (1/4 cup) and sugar (2 tablespoons). 

I read that some people serve it with garlic. Not me. Some with almonds. Not me. Some make fancy caponata with lobster or octopus... Never!

For me, I love it like this: saute the yellow onion and add the passata. Then, capers and pine nuts with chopped celery, green olives, pine nuts, anchovies --salt and pepper; sugar and vinegar and simmer for twenty. Later I add in the eggplant (which was dried in salt two hours, rinsed and fried and then chopped). Served in my caponata dish, I make a meal out of it as with eggs and cheese. And lots of Etna Rosso! 

Amazing to read that in Sicily they have winter caponata (with artichokes and lemon!) and Christmas Caponata with almonds, green olives, celery, raisins and pomegranates! I am definitely going to try that sometime! 

 

Wine for Summer (the amber revolution)

Today at the farmer's market was more peaches, white nectarines, tiny plums, and apricots--maybe the last refuge of the truly seasonal in America? These summer fruits are the only food I really can't find at other times of year. 

But it wasn't just peaches. There were colorful carrots, and heirloom tomatoes (not as many tomatoes as I would have expected, though); there were the most perfumed herbs-- basil, thyme, rosemary, mint (the one's we tried growing this year are inedible!) I wonder if fish is seasonal here? Today was Alaskan salmon, halibut and swordfish--and the most staggeringly huge scallops, which I didn't dare get.

And dahlias.... the flower man calls them "his tequilas" and if you don't buy three armfuls for $20, he complains that he won't have enough money for tequila... he says, that some of his customers don't like his jokes...!!

Dahlias were named after a Swedish botanist who "discovered" them in Mexico, where they had been cultivated--thank you very much-- by Aztecs since the beginning of time. They were eventually brought back to Europe by Spanish explorers, where my book says they did not take Europe by storm--except that I once read that they did indeed take Europe by storm. It was in the book about tulips, I think, where I read that dahlias became high fashion after the tulip bubble burst and French ladies went mad for them--paying enormous prices and wearing them in their décolletage like diamond necklaces!

They are also the national flower of Mexico and remind me of my sister!

In Japan, it was so easy to follow the seasons since in Tochigi people base their menus around them. For summer, is eel! But also shaved ice, cold noodles, ayu (fish), watermelon, and the much loved (by my son) ramune drink! Sake is--of course-- served cold.

Thinking of sake, my mind turned to wine--were the seasonal wines? I guess Rosé is a famous summery wine. I much prefer Cassis.... but for me the most summery wine of all are the Etna Biancos--New York times article here! I love the volcanic quality--reminds me of the sulphur hot springs up above Nikko where we used to go. Maybe because we always did that in summer --and the smell of the sulphur overwhelmed--or maybe because walking in Volcanoes National Park (my second favorite national park), where it smolders sulphur, it is always hot and humid.... for whatever reason, I associate volcanic smells with summertime.  

Who would make wine near a volcano anyway, right?

The first time I had an Etna Bianco was in Italy. It was a glass of Occhipinti wine (SP68 bianco Arianna Occhipinti) which I was served as part of a tasting menu at Massimo Bottura's famous Osteria Francescana in Modena (at that time considered the best restaurant in the world). Arianna's wines were not terribly expensive, and I fell totally in love. It was the first time I have ever been bowled over by wine --and I guess that Sicilian bianco really was my "first." I also love her reds --and think she is totally awesome! (I love it with Pesto Trapanese) 

I was recently intrigued to learn about amphora wines, though.

Not only are these natural wines harkening back to the original manner of creating wine--dating back thousands of years in Georgia--homeland of wine and great opera singers! But that Italians and Oregonians to name a few had also taken up the trend of amphora wine--and in Sicily none other than Arianna's famous uncle, Giusto Occhipinti, was involved in a successful amphora wine project at his vineyard COS. (O=Occhipinti).

Did you know that Georgian wines are still primarily made in amphorae? Not a barrel around!

I once read that the invention of pottery extended human life by a decade.

Think about it. A decade! How many inventions can be said to have had that kind of impact on human life?

I am reading a fantastic book about Georgian wine (Armenia and Georgia are places I long to visit!) called For the Love of Wine, by Alice Feiring. Also really interesting is a book, called Tasting the Past, by Kevin Begos, about a very quixotic journey into a glass of wine the author once tasted in Jordan. Unable to get it off his mind, he traveled back in time along the ancient wine routes (read Georgia!) to figure out what it was. 

If Amarone is the perfect Christmas wine (That is what I think anyway), then these refreshing and really unique amber amphora beauties (join the amber revolution) are perfect for summer. In fact, I am wondering how the COS amphora white might go with Japanese style eel... hmmm...?

Heaven and Hell in Modena (2016 3QD)

Simon Woolf's Amber Revolution: How the World Learned to Love Orange Wine

Kevin Begos' Tasting the Past: The Science of Flavor and the Search for the Origins of Wine

Alive Feirling's For the Love of Wine: My Odyssey through the World's Most Ancient Wine Culture

100 Flowers and Tulipmania

 

with jewels as bright as stars

Argus, you lie low; the light you had in so many eyes is extinguished,
And your hundred points of light are now all dark.
But Juno saved the eyes, and set them in the feathers of her peacock:
She filled its tail with jewels as bright as stars.
(Ovid, Metamorphoses 1,720-23)

So much quieter now that mating season is behind us, we were surprised to spot a party of five birds, two females and three males, parading down the street this morning.

It's been awhile since they've been around--though we still hear them at night. 

Chris wondered if these weren't immature juveniles--the chicks of last year maybe?

++

According to the calendar, we have entered the season of Great Heat 大暑 .

The first five days are when the grass begins to rot in the steaming heat--turning into fireflies 腐草為蛍

Liza Dalby, in her book, East Wind Melts the Ice, has a wonderful explanation of the way ancient peoples--east and west-- saw the natural world in terms of transformations. This included believing that certain things could be seen transforming into other things... so in the same way the Chinese saw warm grass igniting into fireflies, the Greeks believed that hawks changed into cuckoos; but Japanese believed that hawks changed into doves in the spring.

No less a mind than Aristotle argued against the belief that hawks became cuckoos and presented his scientific proof therein. 

And what of moles turning into quails --and rotting yams becoming eels!

Dalby describes how much she misses the fireflies of Japan. So do I. But I would argue that probably one of the few creatures even more magical than fireflies are peacocks...

Though again, Aristotle put that to rest by calling them vain...

Because they molt in autumn with their feathers coming back in the spring, peacocks in Europe came to represent resurrection and the Reborn God. 

So they perhaps properly belong to spring.

And Easter.

This is why you you can spot them in Christian artwork from mosaics and reliefs in the basilica of San Marco to depictions in Renaissance paintings by Antonello to Fra Angelico and Fra Filippo Lippi.