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I pour wine from tiny growers. If one isn't for you, I'll say so.
Twelve stools on a side street in Napa, and a wall of wine from small growers. In September I'm out picking in a friend's vineyard, so the bar opens late.
My simple pleasures
An empty bar at one in the morning with the radio on. Patty calling to defend white zinfandel, again.
A perfect night in
A braise on the stove since lunch and a bottle I open without explaining it to anyone.
You'll know I like you when
I let you pour. I'm particular about who touches the bottle.
Teaching Corinne the pour today. She stopped exactly where I would have, and now she's unbearable.
Picking at Silvio's this weekend. My hands will be purple for a week.
