Wine and Aioli Recipe: To Hold us Over

I hope that all will forgive me for posting photo of hens and chickens succulents bursting their first spring blooms instead of my herbed aioli, around which the post centers. My aioli is shy and does not photograph well, whilst the pretty little plants did.



March is one of those months when vendors at the farmer’s market appear so bored with their produce offering that they can’t look at the potatoes or parsnips while bagging and they post signs saying “ripe strawberries here soon, we promise.”

And I feel their pain. However, while I’m waiting for the cute little favas and delicate green beans to be released in the markets, I have something that I do every March to tide myself over. I make a delicious batch of herbed aioli (garlic mayonnaise) and feature the very dip-worthy veggies of late winter and early spring on my dinner table. Then I invite friends over and politely suggest what wine they bring (see below) to bring out the bright aioli flavors.

Quick notes: Although I thoroughly respect those who use a mortar and pestle to make their aioli, I have neither have the patience or the virtue required to partake such an arduous task. I use a food processor or have my husband whisk in the oil by hand. Also notable is that I use raw eggs in the aioli. I always do this and have not yet had a problem, but I use the absolute freshest eggs available, and buy from a reputable company.

Herbed Aioli:
Pulse one room temperature egg yolk in a food processor until yolk is broken. Add two teaspoons fresh lemon juice, ½ teaspoon Dijon mustard, two cloves crushed garlic and pulse for three seconds. Begin to add two tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil in a very slow stream. By the end of this recipe, you will have used a full cup of olive oil. After the first two tablespoons are thoroughly blended in the food processor mixture, continue adding the remainder of the cup of olive oil, pausing after every ounce or so to make sure that the oil is thoroughly incorporated in the mixture before adding more. After mixture is emulsified, add half a bunch each of roughly chopped fresh tarragon and chervil leaves, salt, and freshly ground pepper to taste.

What to dip: steamed artichokes, blanched asparagus and broccoli spears, fresh radish and fennel slices, hard-boiled egg slices, and even seared and sliced chicken breast (if vegetarians don’t protest). Or basically anything else you favor that won’t fall apart in the aioli.

With the fresh vegetables and lush olive oil goodness served on aioli night, a racy, high mineral wine with bright acidity is the way to go. In the realm of whites, I’m all for a lime and guava laced New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc like the 06 Blick from Marlborough. Another white that would pair nicely with aioli and veggies would be the Domaine de Peyreficade Picpoul de Pinet, whose snappy green apple, lime, and juicy stone fruit flavors of the grape keeps it as light and fresh as an aioli dinner. Then, becauseaioli is after all, a spring thing, I’d choose the 07 peach, and raspberry scented Copain Primtemps Grenache and Pinot Nor Rosé. That’s about as dark as I like it paired with a spring aioli dinner, but as I know some of you are red-centered, may I suggest the Wild Hog Pinot Noir or Scurati Nero D’Avola. They both have the perfect combination of juicy red fruits and acidity to fare well with aioli and fresh veggies.

Signing off, with three cheers in honor of garlic mayo

San Lucas Seafood, Puerto Vallarta

We spent our recent honeymoon on the beach in the Vallartas of Mexico- Puerto and Nuevo, and for the most part, we did absolutely nothing. It was fabulous. After the long, harrowing, ebullient, tiring, fabulous, stressful, and joyous year of planning and being the stars of a wedding, all that you really want to do is lay on a beach, swim in the ocean, sleep, and drink pina colodas and beer. So we did. With guacamole on top.
And then one day, we put down our frosty, lime-garnished beverages and left the resort. We took a bus to Puerto Vallarta, where we walked around, took a couple of photos, and ate what was the best meal of our vacation. This post is a story of that meal.
Being the food geek that I am, I did research back in Oakland about where to go in Puerto Vallarta for some awesome, non-tourist trap seafood. Then I left the sheet of paper with my notes at home. So where we ended up, and the gloriousness that our meal happened to be was truly a gift from the food gods, for all that we did was stop walking when we got tired and decide to give in to our growling stomachs.
The joint was called San Lucas, and located over a motorcyle tourism shop. We identified the restaurant through a street sign that directed us to the second floor of the establishment, where we found red tiled floors, brightly colored table clothes, wooden railing serving as walls over the bustling street below, and a kitchen that was five feet away from our table, also completley open. After a quick menu browse, we ordered our food.

Normally I order wine at a restaurant. However, I was a little discouraged because the resort where we were staying featured Gallo as thier vino de casa and I hadn't seen much more in the Vallarta region to indicate that better wine was being offered. Hence, I stupidly did not ask to see the wine list, and regretted my decision as we were leaving when I saw some local workers swirling white wine in thier glasses. Stupid. Stupid. But if I did order wine at a restaurant like this, the varietals that I would seek would be very citrusey, and white or pink. The lemon or lime flavors in a wine would highlight this streak in the food. I would choose white or a rosé, because it was smokin' hot and humid in Puerto Vallarta, and I wanted to wrap my hands around something chilled. I'd happily sip a Vinho Verde from Portugal, for example, or a French, Spanish or Mexican Rosé that has that citrus "pop!" and acidity to it. Anyway, the beer worked very well.

Then our food came. The first dish to arrive on the table was our tostadas. We ordered ceviche and octupus to top the crispy, lard-fried tortillas, and were absolutley wowed by the quality and tenderness of the seafood. The ceviche was made of beautiful fish, marinated in lime and a touch of garlic. Salt, sure, but nothing much else. Just big, fresh flavors with little interuption. The octupus on the other tostada couldn't have been better either. Ordering octupus is always a tricky thing. Some people cook it well- they tenderize it either by cooking it for a long period of time, or they pound the hell out of it until it screams for mercy and softens. Lesser cooks cook it until it resembles a fine rubber. But the restaurant had a feeling about it that suggested that the cooks really knew what they were doing, so we ordered the octupus. I am happy to say that the cooks really did know what they were doing, and it was some of the best octupus I've had in my life- super tender, soft, and fresher than Will Smith. And did I mention that it was on a lard-fried tortilla? Swoon.

The last dish to arrive was our Camarones al Diablo. It's a traditional dish of the area which is a blend of Spanish and Mexican cultures- gigantic Mexican shrimp, onions, tomatoes, chiles, peppers, green olives, and SPICES. Sometimes. It seems to morph into an different dish wherever I see it. Sometimes with olives, sometimes with a salsa instead of cooked onions and tomatoes. Here, it was at its height. The flavors melded perfectly, the tomatoes provided an acidity that inspired the sweetness of the shrimp to shine, and the size of the camarones made my hand look small (see above picture). We each had our own shrimp and split the last.

Ah.... the last benefit to the meal was the tequilla tray. After our bellies began to extend and our beers were nothing but bubbles at the bottom of the bottle, our waiter rolled a tray to our table. He explained to us that we could pick anything off the tray, free of charge. Our choices ranged from tequilla, creme de menthe to khalua. We choose tequilla, and the waiter set down lime slices for the pairing. We salted ourselves up, shot the tequilla, and finished the meal with a lime and a smile.

All in all, it was an awesome experience that was the cherry on top of our uber-relaxing trip. And although it wasn't exactly a food and wine pairing post, I couldn't help but want to share this experience, even sans vino, because I know that someday, one of you will want to know where to go for the best seafood ever in Puerto Vallarta. And maybe you wont leave your notes at home.

First Blog: Why Rose Membrillo?

My name is Rosé Membrillo. Today. But be advised that my name will shape shift when it feels fit, when it's so inspired by a wine and food pairing that it can't stand to exist in its present gastronomic state any longer.

Why Rosé Membrillo today? Because the flowering trees outside my apartment window remind me that its Rosé season (a.k.a: spring), and one of my favoirte pairings for the pink juice is membrillo served over Manchego cheese slices, set down next to a chilled Rosé of Grenache. Preferably also next to Marcona Almonds. Classic Spanish pairing.

Rosé (not white zin) is a wine made from crushing red wine grapes such as Pinot Noir, Grenanche, etc.... and only leaving the juice briefly in contact with the squashed grape skins. The wine absorbs a rosey hue rather than a dark red because the color is dictated by the length of time that the skins are left in the tubs. The less time in the tank, the closer color to Barbie's pink mansion. Leave the skins in longer, and the hues going to more resemeble Julia Robert's lipstick in Pretty Woman.
Membrillo is made by cooking the quince fruit- believed to be indigenous to Greece- with sugar and lemon like you're making jam. Upon cooling, the high-pectin quince forms a thick, preserves-like paste that can be sliced. It's sweet, a little tart, and floral. Hint-when I buy this stuff already made into a paste at Mexican markets, it is of top quality and just as good as the overpriced membrillo sitting on gourmet shops shelves.
Manchego is a Spanish sheep's milk cheese with a sharp, bold taste that begs for sweet membrillo.
Marcona Almonds are skinless Valencian almonds that have been fried, salted, and oiled. As addicting as the crunchy things in the bottom of a KFC extra crispy bucket.
With this blog I hope to introduce and deepen the conversation of wine and food pairing online. Without snobbery. As revealed in my profile, I manage the wine bar section of a wine shop in the SF Bay area. I graduated from the California Culinary Academy in 2000, cooked in California and NYC, studied anthropology in UC Berkeley, and now continue to explore food and culture through cooking and wineful means. I love that my job gives me the oppurtunity to play with food and wine, talk about pairing wine and food, in public. Maybe this blog will extend that oppurtunity.