The earnestly kind folks over at DeLille invited Salty Seattle to come out and experience the oenological delights featured in their winter release yesterday.  We eagerly accepted the invitation, thrilled to be a part of what promised to be a superlative tasting.  The release featured five wines in total, one white and four reds.  We started with a crisp and healthy pour of the Chaleur Estate 2008 Blanc. It is 62% sauvignon blanc and 38% Semillon.  BIG DISCLAIMER: I typically loathe white wines. I don’t know what it is- I love reds, champagne is my very best friend, and a crisp rosé on a spring or summer day does me right nice. I’ve yet to wrap my palate around a bottle of white, but not for lack of trying. That being said, the Chaleur Estate Blanc was a refreshing lightly fruited nutty glass of rich smooth flavor.  I was very impressed with its ability to keep me drinking despite my prejudice. 

Next up- Harrison Hill 2007. This classic Bordeaux-style blend is predominantly cabernet sauvignon and all I have to say is LOCK UP YOUR DAUGHTERS! After a couple meaty pours of this big, dark old-vine wine I coined it “Dirty Harry” and all hell broke loose from there.  People were clamoring to purchase Dirty Harry- lined up 10 deep to take case after case off the DeLille boys’ hands.  Bewitching, silky and in need of a cellar age or a good long steep in the decanter, this wine is the stuff of legend.  Read more

I’m three days into the United Way Hunger Challenge and I have $59.83 left to spend.  Good thing too, since tonight is Jonas’ birthday, and I have to at least make it somewhat special, which led me down an entirely different train of thought.  We agreed to do this challenge despite having several events (like a birthday) this week that would be tricky to work around.  I recall feeling a bit miffed at the beginning of the week, thinking “couldn’t it have been a different week?” and oscillating over whether to actually go through with it. 

Well midway through the challenge I look back at my three-day-ago self with disdain.  There are people who have to scrape together for kids birthdays, spouses anniversaries, holidays and the like on the budget I was given for a week only they have to do it 365 days a year.  What kind of little princess bitch am I that I mumble and moan feeling sorry for my family when we only have to do this for five days? And we are doing it voluntarily at that? And I’m writing about it and documenting it for my blog, which is an even further luxury?  The bright side is that in three short days I’ve learned to be a humbler person, and to appreciate my lot in life.  In fact, if everyone like me were to live on slightly more moderate means there would surely be more to go around, but that’s a different matter entirely. 

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Got a multi-day Coq au Vin simmering away in the Le Creuset? Need a quick amuse bouche to wow your guests while you’re putting the finishing touches on the wine-soaked coq? Do I ever have the perfect little niblet for you.  Brace yourselves, I’m rolling around in the quince paste again, people.  I can’t get enough of the stuff ever since we had a bountiful quince harvest here in Washington State last month and I made a batch of paste large enough to feed Tiger Woods’ bevy of buxom blondies.  It really couldn’t be easier to make; just slice some quince, toss it in a pot with water and sugar, and let a hot burner and nature take its course.  After an hour or so you’ll have a thick, creamy paste that you can spread on everything from toast points to tater tots. Well, not really tater tots, I just liked the alliteration, you know my weakness.  Sub the tater tots for taleggio and we’ll all be happy in one big alliterative, tasty bubble of quincey ooze. 

In all seriousness, quince is the new caviar in some social circles, and these little babies will tide your guests over right nice.  Three ingredient appetizers are often spectacular, I think it’s that whole rule of thirds thing.  Just slice some manchego cheese, slather it in a smear of quince paste, dollop a Marcona almond on top and prepare for closed-mouth ooohing and aaaahing from your happy hostees.

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When your birthday is three days before Christmas and you grow up in the United States, there is very little you can do to separate the day from the ever-eclipsing holiday mayhem.  There is the inevitable dual gifting you’ve heard about, I’m sure, coupled with an incessant round of holiday parties that tend to fall on your birthday itself, negating any possibility of a romantic birthday dinner sans red and green cheer.  I’ve always been ok with this though, preferring to look at it as merely a challenge to make my party the party of the season- the one people still feel the hungover effects of come Christmas morning.  When I was in my more “free-spirited” phase, the parties would be laced with glow sticks and body paints with all manner of eclectic music punctuating the reverberating cacophony.  The problem with those parties lie in the fact that no one would really remember anything about them either during or afterward, much less the fact that it was my birthday.  Now that I’ve got a burgeoning reputation as a social maven to uphold, a bit more organization and thought goes into planning each fete, and this year was no exception.

I went with a Mad Men theme, if you haven’t seen the show you ought to.  It’s set in the early 1960’s and filled with a cast of advertising execs on Madison Avenue and their wives/mistresses.  I chose the period for the attire and cuisine, thinking it would be easy and fun to transport ourselves into that world. I didn’t bargain on the fact that everyone would really get into the attitude as well, which is what made it a resounding success.  As many of you remember and some of you can imagine, a major focus is on the cocktails- drinking on the job from morning ‘til night is de rigueur a la Mad Men.  I so wanted to find a seven or eight year old to bartend, since kids back then would frequently mix drinks for their parents, but I couldn’t get anyone to volunteer their child, despite the major résumé-building potential!  Instead my dear husband Jonas transformed himself into a downright dandy bartender adopting the persona of a confident boss mixing up a bourbon concoction for a coworker before a “meeting.” 

I wanted my food and drink to match what likely would have been served back in the day so I went the class and sophistication route (ha ha) with homemade cheese balls, bonbons, rumaki, Swedish meatballs, a Roquefort molded salad mousse, deviled duck eggs, and Waldorf salad. 

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A few years ago, starting in the month of February we purchased, gutted and remodeled our home with our own four hands (between Jonas and I, that’s four, right?).  We didn’t entirely plan on sub-contracting ourselves and consequently having to execute the whole nine, it just happened that every sub-contractor we hired kind of sucked and showed up late expecting lots of money.  Eventually it just became easier to hang the sheetrock, cut and lay the tile, cut and lay the hardwoods, engineer, fabricate and install the steel staircase, et cetera all on our own.  We typically started working when we both got off work, around 7pm.  We continued until midnight or more, went “home” to our previous residence that was about to sell, and started the whole thing anew the next day. 

Did I mention that we were also planning our international wedding, slated that May 24^th? And that our previous house had to hit the real estate market before it began its now ubiquitous descent (of which we were hearing rumblings, since I’m a real estate agent by day)? Yeah, there really wasn’t much of an option but to get to work, so we hit the hack saw hard those few months.  We hadn’t yet met the neighbors, but I could tell they thought I was something of an anomaly. I’d arrive at the house in Louboutins and pencil skirts but I’d come out shouldering 2×4’s two minutes later in coveralls spattered in paint and spackle. 

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Chris Upchurch, winemaker, talks wine

If I told you that one of the most esteemed wineries in Washington state, rather the United States, was an idea hatched on a cocktail napkin many years ago, wouldn’t that make you love it all the more?  Many accolades have been bestowed upon DeLille’s wines, and while I’ve certainly been known to wax verbose about a big red or two in my day, for the purposes of this entry I’m going to leave that to Robert Parker and the rest of the big boys.  Instead, I’m going to give you a little insight into the history of this award-winning wine Chateau situated on a humble hill in the heart of Woodinville wine country. 

DeLille Estate

The great success story that is DeLille winery mirrors that of the life of Charles Lill, the beloved granddaddy co-founder of DeLille who passed away in 2008.  By all accounts, Charles Lill was a real gentleman and a hard worker throughout his topsy turvy life.  A descendant of Huguenots who fled persecution in France during the 17th Century, Lill ended up in a then-German controlled region of what is now called the Czech Republic.  During World War II, Lill became a Luftwaffe pilot, and ended up in the hands of the Soviets, confined to a Russian prison camp. 

He was treated with slightly more deference than his compatriots since he wore the Luftwaffe uniform, thus he enjoyed the special privilege of cooking for the Russian officers.  This position gave him the freedom to recognize an opportunity to flee the camp when he boarded a passing Swiss train one day while harvesting potatoes for the officers’ meals.  He escaped to Switzerland, and post-war, found himself in Munich where we worked as a statistician for the US government.  He was able to save just enough money to secure passage to Vancouver BC and eventually Seattle, albeit with only $20 in his pocket. 

He began rebuilding the great legacy bestowed upon him as a descendant of the DeLille family the second his feet hit the Seattle pavement as an insurance salesman.  Over the centuries, his DeLille family ancestors were hit with a series of life-shattering hardships, including losing land that was once a winery in a territorial dispute. They are obviously of hearty stock; Charles Lill proved yet again that a DeLille phoenix can rise from the ashes of war and strife, and in this case make some damn fine wine.  Lill’s hard work for decades allowed him to retire from business in the early 1990’s, however his son and a couple of friends had grand plans for Lill’s golden years. 

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