The Rake Magazine

If you've ever fallen in love too quickly or divorced with ire or married the same person twice or threatened to maim your new spouse on your honeymoon (and meant it), you must see Private Lives, the 1930 Noel Coward comedy now showing on the McGuire Proscenium Stage at the Guthrie. As someone who's done all of these things, I feel uniquely qualified to tell you that the story holds up incredibly well and -- until the last act, where events devolve in traditional screwball mode -- feels current nearly 80 years later.

More important, the theater is a simply gorgeous place, cloaked in brilliant red with a remarkable set that makes you feel sorry for all those poor New Yorkers who must make due with Broadway while we have this lush, stunning venue plus the brilliance of artistic director Joe Dowling (who did not direct this production, but had the good sense to hire Peter Rothstein) AND it costs only $5 to park. . . .

Private Lives is the story of a divorced couple, Amanda and Elyot, who just happen to meet up five years after parting when they are each on their second honeymoons -- in adjoining hotel rooms in France. It sounds like a Frank Capra set-up; and, indeed, Coward had a great deal in common with the beloved American director of romantic films like "It Happened One Night." Only the British playwright was deliciously nasty about the whole messy deal. "Certain women should be struck regularly, like gongs," says Elyot in reference to Amanda. And when his new young wife is mewling: "I'd like to cut off your head with a meat ax." There's also a beautifully-drawn scene of the two ex-spouses discussing their sexual liaisons, in which Elyot says, "It doesn't suit women to be promiscuous." Politically correct this is not, but it does capture a variety of passions. And two things save this play from sinking into misogyny.

The first is, of course, context. Period costumes and a bizarrely frequent use of the word "gay" to mean carefree remind you that this is a different era -- one in which a man in high society could demonstrate his love for a woman by spanking her. The other is Amanda herself, a strong, sharp-tongued woman (unlike the bafflingly stupid romantic heroines of today), who spanks right back and responds with, "It doesn't suit men for women to be promiscuous."

It is for both of these reasons -- context and the character Amanda, who is played by the absolutely marvelous, smoky-voiced Veanne Cox -- that I recommend you try Amanda's Ambrosia. The Guthrie came up with this cocktail specifically for the run of Private Lives: a canny concoction of sparkling wine, Campari, and puréed passion fruit.

Frankly, it looks pretty awful in the glass, all murky and orange-ish and rather thick. But it's an odd thing about this drink -- though I don't care for the intensely tropical taste of passion fruit (which, by the way, has been proved to help lower blood pressure) and I'm bored by the majority of cheap sparkling wines, together, these ingredients become weirdly interesting. The effervescence of the wine softens the acidic quality of the passion fruit; and it, along with the Campari, stiffens the candylike wine just a bit. As in the case of Amanda, her namesake ambrosia is an acquired taste: aggressive and unique, bold, colorful, and unapologetic. But even if you don't care for passion fruit or sparkling wine or slinky but outspoken women, it's well worth a try.

It's also a great way to get into the spirit of the play, where brandy flows and glasses shatter while two people locked forever in a tumultuous love affair pummel one another before breaking into a kiss.

I don't. In fact, between summer allergies and the recent heat wave, I've been driven indoors. But luckily, there are equatorial creatures who actually thrive in this weather. One of them is John Schneider, my friend, colleague, and loyal reader -- a man whose palate I trust like my own. He celebrates the season by going to Zelo several times a week and drinking a New Zealand wine called Kim Crawford Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc 2006, which he tells me "cuts through the bullshit" with a sharp, clean, thirst-quenching taste. Others clearly agree: Wine Spectator gave this wine a 92 and amateur raters crow about its notes of gooseberry and passion fruit. So go, sun yourself and enjoy. Me? I'm huddled in the air conditioned comfort of my dining room drinking Zinfandel and dreaming of fall. . . .

You may have noticed (at least I HOPE you've noticed) that I haven't posted much lately. This is because I've been suffering from a monstrous head cold that's made me pretty useless as a wine taster. It's odd: feeling as if your one high-level skill -- that ability to smell a whiff of nutmeg in an otherwise austere wine -- is dependent upon something so pedestrian as post-nasal drip. Alas, it's also true.

I haven't quit drinking wine altogether over the past week, but my consumption has been a great deal less enthusiastic. There were a couple nights when I couldn't taste a thing and I decided it would be a waste to uncork anything that cost more than $10 a bottle. So mostly, I drank tea.

And after a time I asked myself: Is this abstemiousness, in some ways, a healthy thing?

I'm not, by most standards, a heavy drinker. I have roughly 2 glasses of wine a night -- occasionally, I'll have three when I'm attending a dinner that involves many courses; often, I'll stop at one on a summer evening when I plan to walk or run.

And I believe ardently in the health benefits of wine; in fact, I would say I even feel them. . . .But I'm also a woman over the age of 40, so the question of breast cancer does play on my mind.

Apparently, it plays on yours, too, because I do get questions about wine drinking and women's health. Even more frequently, however, people [of both genders] write to ask me about wine drinking and weight gain.

"I'd love to follow your advice," one man wrote when Beyond the Cask launched. "But I'm trying to lose 30 pounds, so wine's off limits."

Well, here I am, all sniffly, my olfactory system hardly up to snuff. So I decided now would be a good time to research all those questions about hearts, gums, tits, love handles, and wine.

The latest news to cross the transom is that wine may help prevent cavities, due to its antibacterial properties. It's long been thought that red wine (in particular) prevents heart disease by raising good cholesterol (HDL), lowering bad cholesterol (LDL), and reducing clotting -- but it's only been in the past few months that scientists figured out why: a substance called resveratrol which has, according to an article in Science Daily "antioxidant, anticoagulant, anti-inflammatory and anti-cancer effects." And one Harvard researcher is, apparently, trying to figure out how to synthesize wine-based resveratrol into an anti-aging drug so even beer drinkers can pop a pill and live longer.

Those are all the widely-publicized feel-good stories: Wine is wonderful! Drink up! And you wonder (or at least, I wonder), Who's paying for these studies? Gallo?

Anyway, I went on a crusade to find out the truth about the two big questions:

1. Does wine drinking make you fat?

and, far more important,

2. Does it increase a woman's risk of breast cancer?

Here's what I found (please assume all the typical disclaimers about the fact that I'm a wine critic and not a physician):

1. No, wine drinking does *not* typically make a drinker fat. And it's a mystery as to why. . . .A case in point: I'm the sort of woman who gains weight if I lift a doughnut from one platter to another and lick the residue off my fingers. So you would think that adding two glasses (roughly 200 calories -- the amount in two 6-ounce glasses of dry red wine) a day to my diet would cause weight gain. This is exactly what I did: I was a teetotaler while pregnant. After my last child was born, 12 years ago, I began drinking wine regularly with no discernible effect on my weight. I suppose it's possible I've cut those 200 calories out of my diet subconsciously (I hear lab rats do this. . . .), but I don't think so. For whatever reason, the calories from the wine just don't "stick" the way they would if I consumed them in, say, butter. And I'm not the only one who's noticed this. In a 2003 Wine News article, Dr. Harvey Finkel, a professor at Boston University Medical Center, wrote that research shows "moderate drinking usually helps correct weight excess and reduces the risks of diabetes and cardiovascular disease by several means." These include energy "wastage" and a generally salubrious effect on the metabolism.

2. About breast cancer, however, I'm far more circumspect. And serious. I am a habitual wine drinker. I also eat a low-fat, high-fiber diet, exercise daily, and avoid food additives, hair dyes, synthetic hormones, and toxic cleaners. I had three full-term pregnancies before the age of 30, breastfed each of my children for more than a year, and (this is the big one), I do not have a first-degree relative -- mother, aunt, sister, or daughter -- with breast cancer. Were any of these things different, I would be far more careful about my alcohol consumption. Even the way things are, I'm mindful. . . .I think there is NO question that there is a link between alcohol and breast cancer. The American Cancer Society has come out saying "for each 10 grams of alcohol consumed a day, the lifetime risk of a woman developing breast cancer increases by almost 10%." But add to that this confusing bit of information: a recent study in the journal Cancer Research shows that red wine actually inhibits breast tumors. For women, it seems, a moderate amount of wine can be both a potential danger and a potent cure.

I'm not a sweets eater -- not unless it's something magnificent. I love a really flaky scone with my morning coffee. I'll indulge in pecan pie with heavy cream at Thanksgiving. And my husband is addicted to a combination of dark chocolate and halvah that I must admit is a mighty aphrodisiac.

But ordinarily, I prefer dry wine, salty snacks, and savory food.

At the Sample Room one night last week, I made an exception. It's no secret that I adore this place -- every food critic has a few restaurants that he or she patronizes *personally* (as in, when they're meeting friends and actually picking up the tab) and the Sample Room is in my top five. I love the ambiance, the simple but quality wine list, the fresh, uncomplicated food.

And whereas I won't heed the recommendation to try a sweet wine from much of anyone, I will here. Which is how I ended drinking the Peltier Station Petite Sirah 2005.

This wine is *not* as sweet as I'd feared it would be. Or rather, it was at first -- simple and fruity and full of berry juices -- but then it changed on my tongue, becoming ever-so-slightly (and pleasantly) tannic, with the clean flavor of wood.

Shortly after I finished the glass, however, chef Peter Maccaroni appeared with a blackberry cobbler he wanted me to try. Now, ordinarily, as I say, I wouldn't be inclined. . . .But this is Chef Maccaroni, after all, so I took a bite and was entranced: fat, juicy blackberries swimming in a compote spiked with mace (spicier than cloves -- closer to pepper than most dessert flavors dare be) and topped with just a smidgen of buttery crinkle-cut crust.

It turns out, Maccaroni has a pastry fetish. He's a chef's chef, a line cook -- but he's always had the yearning to try out pies and sweets. Since becoming top guy at the Sample Room he's been expanding the after-dinner options. Lucky us.

And if this weren't enough, the bartender snuck over with a bottle of something I'd never heard of before: Toschi Nocello Walnut.

Now, I swear, this liqueur is not my thing. It's thick and syrupy and as confectionery as wedding cake. But there was something about that slippery slope down (or up?) into the hinterlands of sugar that made me weak. So I sipped this liquid that was full of gold and walnuts, while eating Maccaroni's cobbler and left quivering with a sweetness that is -- I assure you -- utterly unlike me.

Say what you will about St. Paul and its quaint Norman Rockwell roll-up-the-streets at dusk culture -- its dearth of "urbane" fine dining and plethora of ultra-conservative politicos. No place has neighborhoods like St. Paul. Mac-Groveland, Frogtown, Highland Park. And my favorite: Selby-Dale.

Maybe it's because when I was 15 and living in an apartment about a mile from the intersection (long story), Selby-Dale had the shivery mystique of being where all the drug dealers and hookers hung out. But today it is what we in the big cities call "gentrified," which means, I think, that we made all those down-on-their-luck shifty characters move somewhere else so condo developers could come in. . . .Even so, I can't help but love it.

And nowhere but in this resurrected area could a restaurant like Il Vesco Vino exist, inside a crumbly turn-of-the-last-century building with a glorious patio half again as big as the dining room itself. I'll leave the sunning and eating to others, however, and sit inside every time. Because this is where Irv "Junior" Williams -- bar manager and son of Irv Senior, the legendary jazz saxophonist -- works and pours his wares.

Il Vesco Vino is the place where I tasted the De Angelis Lacrima Christi cited in my last entry (see below). This is, in fact, that rare Midwestern bar that specializes in the wines of Campania: "If you took Italy and look at it like a boot," says Junior, "Campania is the shin." It's also the site where grapevines grow in the volcanic soil of Mt. Vesuvius, giving them an ancient, ashy, earthy taste.

I tried several of the region's wines and while I loved the Bianco Lacrima Christi, I cannot say the same of its cousin, the De Angelis Rosso Lacrima Christi 2005. I found the red version of Tears of Christ overwhelming, with a bouquet of overripe fruit, dust, and piano wire, and a long finish slick with star anise. If you like jammy wines and black licorice (I do not), this one may be worth a try.

If, however, you're more of an earthy bent, I heartily recommend the Donnafugata Nero D'Avola Sedàra 2004 -- as rank, meaty, and sexy a wine as I've ever drunk. The aroma is rife with peat, almost sweaty -- eau de men's locker room, and I mean that (truly) in a positive way. This is a wine filled with dark fruit and tannins, tobacco, and what the tasting notes call a "persistent" finish. Very persistent.

Likely, the Sedàra isn't for everyone. But if you're the sort of once-lost soul who walked ungentrified windswept city streets and watched the streetlights flicker across people wearing tattered clothes, smoking cigarettes, and patiently waiting for dawn, you just might find something familiar here. (14% alcohol)