The Rake Magazine

So, we're riding through the Upper Peninsula last night and decided to stop in Hancock, Michigan. Walked into a little mom-and-pop liquor store called The Shottle Bop -- I'm not kidding -- and right up to a shelf with The King Cabernet Sauvignon 2003, third edition. The bottle features a photo of Elvis from his glory years: white suit and lariat-style belt, microphone in hand, bulges in all the right places. (Note: the label pictured above is different, without the enviable groin, but I was unable to find the one we purchased on the Graceland Cellars site, so maybe it's a very rare collector's item. . . .)

In any case, we had to buy it. Wouldn't you? We took it back to our Holiday Inn Express (damn, don't we travel in style), uncorked it and breathed in the plummy, purple essence of The King. This is not a subtle wine -- I mean, not even for a Cab. It doesn't just sit on the tongue, it puddles there: rich, dark fruit, anise, and chocolate flavors, like a Hershey-covered black cherry soaked in some kind of syrupy, blackberry hooch. Not that it was bad. In fact, I kind of liked it in an against-my-better-judgment Hunk of Burning Love sort of way.

I probably won't be drinking The King on a regular basis, however. Because I awoke this morning with a not-hungover (I had less than a glass and a half) but racy feeling -- likely more from the sulfites and sugars than the alcohol content (12.9%). But still, there's that bottle. . .

Looking for a late afternoon glass of wine that costs less your morning latté? Try Gigi's Cafe. Be forewarned: this is not a place to visit when you're in a businesslike mood. It doesn't have air conditioning, wireless Internet, or table service. And the staff tend to shuffle in circles, stirring up homemade salads, brewing iced tea, and arranging enormous muffins on a plate, totally oblivious to the waiting crowd. Then someone with dreadlocks anchored by a knit cap will glance in your direction and ask -- utterly without irony -- "Are you being helped?" If you say no, odds are good he'll put down his spoon and amble over.

But if you can get past all this, putting your type-A personality defects aside, you'll find the food is amazing -- wholesome and inexpensive. Gigi's bakery produces giant cupcakes, fresh-baked fruit tarts, and bread pudding as warm and comforting as your favorite blanket. Plus, every weekday afternoon from 3-6 p.m., house wines are Happy Hour-priced at just $3 a glass. Yesterday's pick, an unusually light, organic Malbec, was easily worth twice that. For all of these reasons, Gigi's happens to be the hangout where Jeremy Iggers and I meet to confer about restaurant reviews and blog posts on old-fashioned seltzer makers (check this out: it's "vintage" Iggers). Critics: we're all about long slow afternoons and cheap wine.

The outlook is rosé

My father is a Harvard-educated economist and a Jew of the highest moral order, who believes it is what a man leaves behind him on this earth -- from offspring to good works -- that determines his worth.

He's also wont to say things such as: "I believe that, in his heart, George W. Bush just wants to do what's best for our country." and "I don't care if gay people want some sort of civil union, but they shouldn't call it marriage." and "No scientist has proved to my satisfaction that global warming even exists."

I love, admire, and respect my Dad. But on most issues, we're simply going to have to disagree. Violently.

And so it is with Bill Summerville, partner and wine expert at La Belle Vie. (Well, except for the love part. Sorry, Bill, I just don't feel we've gotten that close.) Summerville is one of those ridiculously young culinary savants [he wouldn't disclose his age, but when I guessed he was in his 30's, the bartender guffawed] who got into the business via D'Amico and has shot straight up through the ranks. At Solera -- Tim McKee and Josh Thoma's other restaurant -- Summerville was staff: a front of the house man who put together a wine list made up mostly of Spanish wines. When the partners moved LBV from Stillwater to Minneapolis in late 2005, they promoted Summerville. A good move.

He's confident and well-dressed -- like one of those guys who runs the dining room in a Gregory Peck film -- and he knows his stuff. But Summerville is wont to say things like: "Robert Parker favors these wines with gobs of hedonistic fruit so his descriptions don't mean anything." and "As you become more sophisticated, you go from appreciating big wines such as Zinfandel to liking lighter, more 'feminine' wines like Burgundy." and "In the summertime a red is too heavy; real wine lovers drink rosé."

I'm not saying Summerville is 100 percent wrong, but I happen to disagree on all counts. I concur with Parker eight times out of ten. Anyone who's been reading this blog knows that I adore a big, sexy Zin. And if it's 95, I'll just move inside to drink it. I like a lot of whites, too. But rosés? Frankly, most of them take me back to junior high and strawberry lip smackers. They have that eau de Bonne Bell.

Yet, I'm always willing to rethink my opinions. Not about gay rights or global warming, but about wine.

So I sat down with Summerville to taste several pinkish varieties. And one of them -- I have to admit -- was interesting. I could drink this with a spicy paella or a really meaty fish. The Chateau Grande Cassagne Costieres de Nimes; I would give you a link but I'm damned if I can find the winery's site. It's a Rhone blend with a rubier color than most, a fruity scent, and the oddly admirable taste of wet shale on the flat of the tongue. This wine has character: a long, sort of starchy finish and a mystical, herbal echo in the mouth.

Remember, too, that Summerville has a bunch of other rosés he'd love to have you try. In fact, he'll pour you a flight of four for $10. And given the sumptuous Man in the Gray Flannel Suit quality of the La Belle Vie bar, that's quite a deal.

Like Harry Potter -- OK, not quite like Harry Potter -- but in the same vein: the release of Bogle Vineyards Phantom is an event which hordes of fans await. We've even been known to line up outside stores, credit cards at the ready, and rush in to buy cases of the thick, red, potent brew. While it doesn't have the household cachet of Gallo or Beringer (a good thing, in my opinion) Bogle is one of the top 20 wine companies in the country -- a family of vintners specializing in ruby fruits and vivid wines. Phantom is a proprietary blend of Old Vine Zinfandel, Petite Sirah, and Old Vine Mourvedre, that the Sacramento Delta winemakers release only once per year -- a limited case run that usually sells out in three to four weeks. This year's vintage, Phantom 2004, is rich and sweet -- almost dessert-like in its mouth feel -- with a lot of blackberry on the sides of the tongue, hints of vanilla and clove, and a hauntingly peppery finish that lingers like. . . well. . . the ghost of a long-dead friend. As well it should, with an alcohol content of 14.8%. Local stores, including Haskell's, just received their shipments of Phantom. So I suggest you put down your copy of the Deathly Hallows this minute so you can run out and buy your share.

Howard Hawks' magnificent film noir classic, The Big Sleep, opens with a stark, moonlit scene of a car being dragged out of the Malibu Bay with a dead chauffeur inside. Never in the course of the film -- which has Humphrey Bogart as private eye Philip Marlowe investigating a blackmailing scheme and falling in love with his client's elder daughter -- is this adequately explained. The chauffeur's murder is not only left unsolved, it's very rarely referred to as the mystery/love story unfolds.

This is what's known in the movie business as a "MacGuffin," a device with little relationship to the overall plot that serves mostly as a provocative tidbit to drive viewer attention. And so it is with Harry's poutine.

When Harry's Food & Cocktails opened in early July, much was made of the fact that chef Steven Brown would be offering poutine: a lethal Canadian delicacy comprised of French fries, cheese curds, and gravy. Potential diners easily could have been left with the impression that this was a restaurant good only for the sort of ill-advised thrill-seeking you might get from parachuting into a wind farm. I know I was.

Imagine my surprise when, after a lovely afternoon movie date and a walk down Washington Avenue, John and I stopped in and found -- yes -- burgers and fries, but also "breakfast" radishes with butter and sea salt, sautéed arugula, striped bass with truffle caviar, and an assortment of wholesome salads.

Now, this is the Steven Brown I recall from Levain: a man with a healthy respect for fish, grains, and vegetables. Goateed and silver-haired, he was standing in front of the line at Harry's, inspecting dishes as they went out, holding a towel (NOT a ladle full of gravy) to wipe off their already pristine rims.

We had the Sunflower Salad, a truly inspired combination of butter lettuce, golden beets, smoked salmon, and sunflower sprouts that tasted sunny and smoky and fresh. We also had a really nice 2004 Washington Cab, prosaically named Pine and Post -- which was young and fruity, as cold-hardy Washington grapes tend to be -- for a mere $6.50 a glass.

In fact, for a place that bills itself as a "cocktail" bar (which can be code for $15 martinis), the wine list is incredibly reasonable. There are a number of six to eight dollar by-the-glass options, including a Toad Hollow Rosé and a Hogue Fumé Blanc. If you're willing to spring for a bottle, you can get everything from a $24 Willamette Valley Pinot Grigio to a $30 Argentinian Malbec.

But best of all is the music at Harry's. General Manager Steven Kleitz is a Kansas City native with a weakness for the blues, who plays mixes featuring Robert Cray and Stevie Ray Vaughan. This was, hands down, the most pleasant dining room I've spent time in lately.

And all the talk about poutine? I think, perhaps, that was more publicity stunt than menu planning: the MacGuffin Brown and Kleitz used to get our attention.