The Malbec Diaries

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05.07.08


wine country

I could have been zipping through California wine country on a brisk autumn morning if it hadn’t been for a few minor details. It was late March, for one. The familiar scenes to my right—vineyards, a Wal-Mart, a rushing river, dry hills—were backdropped by snowcapped peaks, as if the Sierra Nevada towered directly over the Napa Valley. I turned my rented Volkswagen onto Cobos Road, somewhere along which I had a 10am winery appointment. Here was a picturesque adobe winery, but it was in ruins. Some miles farther on, a uniformed guard let me past a gate, and I drove between acres of neatly trellised vines toward a distant . . . Mayan pyramid?

I was lost in “upside-down wine country,” hard on the trail of Argentina’s best wines. Although Argentina is the world’s fifth largest wine producer, until recently it has been rare indeed to encounter that wine on North American shelves. In the past decade or so, Argentina’s modernizing industry has vinted itself from obscurity and is poised to become the next Australia. The chief wine region, Mendoza, is being likened to Napa of 30 years ago. The world is taking notice. But will this anticipated renaissance forever be a day or two away? I traveled to this far-flung land to boldly ford wild rivers of wine and find out.

As in California, Spanish missionaries with a thirst for sacrament brought the grape. The price of wine in Buenos Aires, carried by oxcart from Mendoza, was regulated as far back as 1620. In 1885, the railroad usurped the oxcart, and it’s been boom and bust ever since. By some accident, an obscure French cultivar became the second most planted red grape. Malbec plays a minor role in Bordeaux, and it’s a principal in Cahors, but many believe that it only really shines in the New World as a success reminiscent of Zinfandel. As Argentina reinvents itself as a debutante in the premium export market, Malbec has emerged as its signature varietal.

My first Malbec was a $2.99 La Boca from Trader Joe’s. Named for a famously colorful neighborhood in Buenos Aires, it was an uncomplicated, juicy dollop of purple fruit. Since Malbec is promising on the bottom shelf, does it attain heights of finesse on its home turf? Is it, indeed, akin to Zinfandel—the few exports of which don’t begin to address the rich variety of powerful wines that we enjoy in California? To answer that question, I began my investigation in Buenos Aires.

A once wealthy nation, Argentina fell into a half-century slump. Then in 2001, the peso, which had been pegged to the value of the dollar, crashed, and in the ensuing crises, the country went through presidents like talk shows go through callers. The Néstor Kirchner administration achieved some stability; in 2007, he was succeeded by his wife, Cristina Fernández (as Argentina’s first elected female president, she’s more Hillary than Evita). The nation recently observed the 30-year anniversary of the military coup that lead to a brutal repression called the Dirty War; “disappeared persons” stared out from political posters throughout the country.

Six years after the meltdown, word is still getting out about affordable Buenos Aires. Often called the most “European” Latin American city, it’s a bustling, exhaust-choked, cosmopolitan metropolis where stray dogs defecate on deteriorating sidewalks in front of preciously hip new restaurants. In wine shops, I could only find domestic wines, even in ritzy Recoleta. Of course, that’s just what I was looking for: Argentina’s best, floor to ceiling. Many top-shelf wines are priced not more than $10; everyday vino can be less than $2. The peso’s mischance has been a boon for export wines, and more and more are showing up on U.S. shelves.

Buenos Aires is rife with wine bars—at least in the guide-books. To do some serious winetasting, I had to go 600 miles inland, where the desert meets the mountains and whitewater rivers churn down arid canyons: Mendoza province. To get there, I chose from dozens of bus companies (Argentina’s excellent rail system was dismantled in favor of free-market chaos). But contrary to a common American misconception that Argentineans would find mortifying, bus travel does not involve sharing a seat with caged chickens.

The city of San Juan’s tree-shaded, tiled sidewalks are bordered by two-foot deep canals that would be a source of endless personal injury lawsuits in the States, but which are this city’s life source. A bus ride to the dusty outskirts reveals that the real environment is desert. I visited Cavas de Zonda, a sparkling-wine facility gouged out of a solid rock mountain like the secret lair of a James Bond villain, and the organic microwinery Anahata, where the vineyard is tilled by mule and plough.

While wandering a few kilometers lost in the gentle countryside, I stopped at a gas station to ask for directions. Here, cheap wine was for sale in the pump island, right next to the oil, in big demijohns like those that Jack London wrote about in his epic drinking stories of a century ago. It’s domestic consumption on this scale that is responsible for Argentina’s fifth-largest-producer status.

But what about that 10am appointment? It was 100 miles south of San Juan, where the Rio Mendoza cuts a gravelly swath eastward. Then Highway 7, the main route to Chile, winds toward the mountains for several miles past the austere, modern wineries Séptima and Ruca Malen, until the vineyards end abruptly in desert scrub at the foot of the Andes.

No wonder I couldn’t find Viña Cobos (and found the Catena Zapata pyramid instead). There was no sign, no address, and it’s out in the middle of an orchard with a few grazing horses. A tall, freckled woman wearing a Paul Hobbs baseball cap met me at the unfinished winery. Mariana, public-relations manager for Cobos, told me they had just started their first crush. My 40-minute detour wasn’t a problem, as presently a taxi carrying a family from Sebastopol arrived for the tour. We watched as a battery of workers scrutinized each grape that bounced down a conveyer belt. I heard a familiar voice when one worker replied in English to a question, and stared for a minute in disbelief—she was a friend of mine from Occidental. “Small country, isn’t it?” I ventured.

It wasn’t exactly a one-in-a-million coincidence. Sebastopol’s Paul Hobbs has been making the Sonoma-Mendoza circuit since he consulted for Nicolás Catena in 1988. He shares the Cobos venture with winemakers Luis Barraud and Andrea Marchiori. Their $150 signature wine is stunningly dear for Argentina; they also produce an entry-level line called Nativo. The playful, mythical-animal label of El Felino Malbec was created by a leading Santa Rosa graphic designer. While the tasting room was not up and running, the wines can be found in California.

North of Cobos is Lujan de Cuyo. With its green central square, Lujan de Cuyo is a mirror image of a wine country town like Sonoma. However, instead of teeming with tourists, it’s a sleepy town where the best I could do for lunch was pizza and a Coke. Here, the fancy action is not in the country; the provincial capital Mendoza is the place for fine dining, shopping and jumping-off points for adventure tourism. As in San Juan, burbling canals bring snowmelt throughout the streets, an irrigation network begun a thousand years ago by the Huarpe Indians.

While hiking across town, I accidentally stumbled upon Mendoza’s greatest resource for the wino abroad. The Vines of Mendoza offers winetasting flights in its lounge, and in an adjacent office, English-speaking staff help visitors set up tours and appointments. Several Americans founded the Vines in 2004, cannily anticipating that growing numbers of wine tourists would confront a daunting task if they thought they could get by on their high school Spanish. The Vines’ Acequia wine club ships direct from Napa, and its ambitious plans include “fantasy winemaking” packages in which customers vint up a barrel while staying at a planned resort and spa, and even purchase a personal parcel of vineyards in development in the Uco Valley.

At the modish tasting bar, lit from underneath with frosty white light, I eagerly checked out the introductory flight of Classic Malbecs. I quickly found that their enthusiastic tasting notes diverged somewhat from mine. “Seductive flavors of boysenberry and raspberry” became “light and plummy.” These were fine, structured clarets, but not the Malbec I was expecting. I thought that Mendoza’s finest would be similar to that rough, fruity La Boca, but more nuanced and complex. Was this bright-cherry incarnation the real thing, are winemakers trying too hard to tame a brazen grape or had I bombed my palate out with Quilmes beer?

Finally, I agreed that the 2003 Enrique Foster Riserva was rich with notes of chocolate and plum. Of course, I could have ponied up 100 pesos ($30) for the reserve tasting, but by that time in a trip rich with $3 lunches and $1 wine, I was happy to peg my budget to the peso.

Wine tourism elsewhere in Mendoza is not the predictable, belly-up-to-the-bar model as in California. Experiences can run the gamut, from a tour of the “wine museum” and labyrinthine cellars of Bodega La Rural and a grudging pour of the house red to a personal tank-tasting at family winery Hacienda del Plata, followed by a home-cooked lunch of empanadas, grilled steak, chorizo and even more steak. Silver-haired Carmelo Patti is so enthusiastic about sharing his wine with visitors that he doesn’t bother selling it on the premises.

In the flat plain east of Mendoza, the vineyards of Familia Zuccardi are trained to the traditional South American arbor called the “parral. ” The vines form a roof, and grapes hang down in dappled sunlight. I was drawn to Zuccardi because of its organic wine I’d found at Whole Foods, and because they are experimenting with Zinfandel (too bad it was not bottled yet), among offering other unusual varietals. Zuccardi puts out several premium brands, but after the obligatory tour of tank farms, all that was poured was the uninspiring Santa Julia brand, both red and white. After several excellent tasting-only experiences, here was wine for sale but not for tasting. Did I mention that this was upside-down wine country?

Time to revisit that pyramid of Perdriel, Bodega Catena Zapata. Wishing to create a unique monument to the new wave of Argentine wine, Nicolás Catena decided on a Mayan pyramid styled on historic examples in Mexico. Constructed of locally quarried stone, it is solemn and impressive. A bouquet of aging wine wafts up from a center pit that’s reminiscent of some temple from an Indiana Jones movie.

Catena took his place in a generations-old family wine business, but he was inspired by Robert Mondavi during a visiting professorship in California. When Catena returned, he turned his bulk-wine-oriented business upside down, and became known as the “Mondavi of Argentina.” Opus One&–like mystique has certainly not been lost on him, but the winery impressed me for its immaculate equipment and tricked-out tanks. After marveling at the stainless steel wonders and taking in views from the balcony, the tour group was ushered into a parlor grandly detailed with native woods.

After one taste of the entry-level Alamos, Catena charges up to 24 pesos ($8) a pour. That’s big pesos by local standards—and not exactly the Napa of 30 years ago. The 2005 Alamos Malbec was bright, with light tannins, and characteristic cherry notes. The 2002 Angelica Zapata “Alta” Malbec was smoother, more structured, and . . . there it was again. That unmistakable burnt cherry, candied rubber tire taste. Like it or not, from Perdriel to Paso Robles, this seems to be Malbec’s distinctive characteristic. Finding the ultimate in Malbec, if this was not it, would take more than a week of diligent research. (Or it might profit from blending, after all.) Perhaps the real secret is to drink it with heaps of grass-fed, grilled beef.

One afternoon, I took a joyride to Villavicencio, the namesake of a popular spring water. The road shot through a flat stretch of desert, then cut into jagged purple mountains. The little VW chugged above the clouds on a narrow road etched into the mountain and alarmingly strewn with boulders. A herd of long-necked guanacos grazed in the mist; signposts randomly predicted a scenic viewpoint yet another few twisting kilometers further. Finally, the promised mirador, amid a desolate landscape. Alas, Aconcagua, the highest peak in the Americas, was totally obscured in clouds. In a howling silence, I stared into the mist.

Did I glimpse the cumbre, the apex of premium Argentine Malbec? It proves plentiful yet elusive, even with centuries of tradition and gleaming new facilities pumping out wine for export. A wide-ranging survey effort was stymied by the antique local model of wine tourism, while progress made through selecting from enticingly stocked wine shops was slowed, despite the long nights, by the limits of decorum. It would be grandiloquent to say that Argentina is still waking from its nightmares—of vast quantities of plonk. The boom has just begun, and Malbec is ready for a breakout. If not today, maybe tomorrow.

Locally Available Malbec

Catena Zapata 2004 Alamos Malbec ($7.49) Full bodied, dry like the wind from high desert mountains, notes of rubber chicken on a grill.

Catena Zapata 2005 Malbec ($20) More intense than what I tasted in Mendoza; viscous, ruby-violet with aroma of lingonberry syrup and new wine. Chalky tannin, piquant acidity.

La Boca 2007 Malbec ($2.99) Vintages vary in quality, not bad for the price. 2007 is a great improvement, medium-bodied, with a Petite Sirah&–like artist’s paint bouquet and sticky but not rough tannins. Structurally, a contender with some of the better-priced.

Melipal 2004 Malbec Mendoza ($15) Round, tannic, cherry cordials dipped in tar.

Tapiz 2004 Malbec, Mendoza ($15) Deep ruby, rhubarb pie, licorice, black currant, tire tread.

Viña Cobos 2006 El Felino Malbec ($20) A departure from the sour cherry and plum of 2005; this inky purple, full bodied and velvety wine is also reminiscent of Petite Sirah.

Quick dining snapshots by Bohemian staffers.

Winery news and reviews.

Food-related comings and goings, openings and closings, and other essays for those who love the kitchen and what it produces.

Recipes for food that you can actually make.

Wear It for Life

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05.07.08


Recycled clothing is nothing new for Emily Chavez, but turning it into wearable artwork is. Chavez, a 26-year-old Graton native and owner of Por Vida Art and Clothing for Life, describes herself as “a fashion merchandiser who works with local artists and uses their work to support social justice.” Por Vida was conceived as a grass-roots movement that would help bridge communities through the arts, using fair and sustainable business practices.

Chavez prints colorful designs by local artists on cards and second-hand and new clothing for men, women and children. She sells them at local stores, music festivals and community functions throughout California, and then uses the proceeds to fund the artist’s cause of choice. “The company logo, the ankh, is the Egyptian sign for eternal life,” Chavez says. “Symbolically, I feel really good about attaching art and activism to the statement ‘for life.’ It’s a universal statement. It’s ironic that my first artist happens to be a prisoner on death row.”

The artist in question is Dennis Brewer, a death-row inmate at San Quentin whose African-flavored designs depict sleek, spidery dancers, drummers and nudes in a vibrant palette of colors. He has contributed his art to support the cause Ubuntu, a youth group in Soweto, South Africa, dedicated to teaching sustainability and spreading the green movement to local youth. Chavez had never met him personally, but when he asked through a mutual friend how he could use his talent to help people, she agreed to create a product to merchandise his art. “I wanted to design,” she says enthusiastically. “I have the business mind and model. He had the art. We met in the middle.”

The result is a line of clothing that includes one-of-a-kind recycled pieces, from sweatshirts to slip dresses, that range in price from $25 to $50. “I choose whatever strikes my fancy,” Chavez laughs. “That’s the fun part of the business.” New T-shirts ($20) are also available for those who prefer not to wear preworn clothing.

Chavez is descended from a family of Sonoma County social reformers who taught her the values of green living before the term was invented. “I grew up in used clothing,” Chavez says with pride. “My grandma, Mary Moore, is a prominent activist in Sonoma County. She started the first used clothing stores in the area in the ’80s. I grew up going to flea markets, and respect the business of used and recycled goods. The used clothing business is conscious in its origin. We don’t need to import any more stuff from other countries.”

In 1997, three years after the fall of apartheid, Chavez and her grandmother attended the International Black Women’s Studies Cross-Cultural Institute conference in Soweto. There they met Dimpho Siphoro, a young activist who wanted to help her community by creating a center which would teach business and sustainability skills to empower Soweto youth. Ubuntu was born from Siphoro’s vision, coupled with Chavez’s passions for design and business. Siphoro subsequently was able to come to the United States and attended workshops at Real Goods in Hopland. She learned gardening techniques and the use of solar power, skills she has passed on to the youth in Ubuntu.

Chavez, a Sonoma State University graduate with a liberal arts degree, wears many hats. In addition to substitute teaching, she works at Pine Grove Consignment Store, which provides much of the clothing for Por Vida. She also cares for her 12-year-old sister since their mother passed away in 2005. Her newest venture is the signing of Por Vida’s next artist, socially conscious musician Blane Lyon. “I find artists who want to donate their art to a cause through word of mouth and I like it that way,” Chavez says. “It keeps it on a community or grass-roots level. You can help people on an everyday level without having to use the corporate system. You can keep it all in the family and, in turn, the communal family.

“People need a voice,” she says, “and that’s what Por Vida provides.”

To learn more about Por Vida, go to [ http://www.myspace.com/porvidaforlife ]www.myspace.com/porvidaforlife.


Between Sizes

05.07.08

[Clothing sizes are] one of the ways the fashion industry uses to keep us in our place.—Susan, 44, Sonoma

Flip through the racks of clothes, pull out a few promising items, try them on in front of the merciless mirror of the fitting room.

And most likely, not much fits.

Shoulders too broad. Shoulders too narrow. Waist too broad. Waist too narrow. Hips and thighs—too broad, too narrow. Long legs. Short legs. Fat calves. Skinny calves. No calves to speak of. Most of us have a mental list of what’s wrong with our bodies, the reasons why off-the-rack clothing doesn’t match our individual physical realities.

We personalize the differences between our shapes and the available clothing choices, thinking there’s something wrong with us because nothing fits. Eventually, most of us find ways of coping, but still we struggle with diet and exercise, trying to use self-control to make our bodies match what we think of as the standard sizes.

In fact, clothing sizes are a relatively new phenomenon, says Joan Jacobs Brumberg, author of The Body Project: An Intimate History of American Girls and a professor of history and women’s studies at Cornell University. Traditionally, clothing was made at home or by professional tailors and dressmakers, based on measurements of the individual who wanted the garment. Mass production of Civil War uniforms led to the first commercial sizing scales for men’s ready-to-wear, but women’s ready-to-wear took longer to develop. As late as the early 20th century, women still relied on home sewing and patterns that were adjusted to fit the wearer. That changed in the 1920s with improved mass-production techniques and national marketing efforts, as well as the rise of an urban middle class prepared to plunk down hard-earned money for the latest premade fashions.

“When clothes start to be sized by the clothing industry, you begin to think of yourself as a number. When domestic bathroom scales were introduced [after World War II], you have a weight—another number—to think about or worry about,” Brumberg explains.

For women who struggle with self image and body shape, clothing sizes almost always enter into it, says Chynna Haas, support services coordinator for the University of Wisconsin Campus Women’s Center.

“When we start talking about body image, we’re always talking about how going shopping is always stressful.”

She adds, “Modern women’s fashion doesn’t allow you to wear clothes that are actually flattering to your body type. It’s for a body type that most women don’t have. Women just kind of accept it for what it is. They try to find clothing that’s flattering.”

I don’t really enjoy shopping because it is always a pain when nothing fits right. I have larger thighs—I always have—and so I must get pants to slip over my legs. When I zip up the pants and bend a little bit, the pants are hanging off my backside because the pant size is not right for my stomach. I usually end up having to get this larger, [and then] I risk my underwear always showing in the back. What’s a girl to do? —Amy, 22, Novato

Gretchen, 38, of San Rafael, is trim, healthy, physically active, broad-shouldered—and she hates clothes shopping. “I was athletic from the day I was born, so I immediately had bigger thighs and at least one size difference top from bottom,” she says. “I never wore dresses for the longest time, because I couldn’t find any that fit up top and in my hips.”

Gretchen says that it’s not as bad now as it was when she was younger, because she’s found specific clothing labels that tend to be made more for her body shape. It helps that many designers are making more separates, instead of pairing tops and bottoms in a single size. And Gretchen’s income as a practicing attorney means she can shop for higher quality clothes than when she was a student, and they fit her better. But it’s still frustrating to not be able to find the styles she wants in sizes that fit.

“I still want to look cute. I still want to be able to wear those cute clothes,” she says. “I should be able to wear those cute clothes.”

Being between sizes, she says, pretty much sums up her life. “No matter what, I’m always going to be between sizes because of the way my body is built. I’ll always be a different size.”

She adds, “I never wanted to be petite. I just wanted to be normal.”

I don’t think there are ‘sizes.’ I always try on at least two of anything, but the main thing is, no matter what the quality of the garment, if you try three of the same thing, same size, they will fit differently. Then across brands, there seems to be a different view on sizes, so even with a mail-order company that says they get manufacturing to their sizes, there’s variety across items. It seems like irregular manufacturing is a bigger deal than being between a size that isn’t really there except on the label.—Kathey, 62, Los Gatos

Most clothing manufacturers start with a “fit” model who has desirable measurements—usually in the middle of the size range—and then use a set of rules to grade up and down to create other sizes, says Jim Lovejoy, director of industry programs for the Textile Clothing Technology Corporation. This nonprofit has created a reference database of measurements from 10,800 people who were scanned with a three-dimensional body scanner. Unfortunately, the reality of all those measurements doesn’t match with how clothing is often sized.

“The fit models are typically hourglass-shaped, and the majority of the population is not that hourglass. They’re more of what we call a straight shape,” Lovejoy explains. “You can’t just add an inch to everything or two inches and make the next size, because as people get bigger, they’re different shapes.”

It’s a challenge to fit everyone—perhaps an impossibility.

“Most apparel brands have a target audience and they’ll look to service about 80 percent of that target audience,” Lovejoy says. “The biggest and the heaviest and the smallest and lightest get left out.”

Adding to the confusion is the fact that there is no official standard for clothing sizes. The government adopted one in 1958, but it was rescinded in 1983 because the typical American shape had changed significantly over the years. Having no official sizing standards lets companies set their own.

There needs to be an understanding that everybody’s different. There’s short people, tall people, medium-size people.—Gretchen, 38, San Rafael

Most female shoppers know that the more expensive the store, the smaller the size will fit them. It’s called “vanity sizing,” and it’s evolved to the point that a garment that would have been labeled a size 12 in the 1950s or 1960s might be an 8 today. Some brands have switched to a size range that starts with 0 or even 00, allowing some women to proudly wear a size nothing—or a size double-nothing.

Even though many consumers might yearn for a mandatory sizing system employed by all manufacturers, few would be happy if that resulted in them wearing a larger-numbered size. Most apparel companies aren’t willing to risk offending their customers, so they resist the idea of industry-wide sizing standards.

Plus, many clothing manufacturers have invested in research and development to create their sizes and don’t want mandated standards, because they believe that what they’ve developed over the years is best for their target market and they’re reluctant to share that proprietary information.

“In some cases, they spent a lot of money developing their product, so they don’t want a cheap import to fit as well as something they might be selling at Nordstrom’s,” Lovejoy says.

The good news is that several companies are funding research of their customers’ actual sizes and are adjusting their products to better accommodate reality. There is now a wider range available, including different sizes of children’s clothing and brands targeted at larger women or the changing shape of those over age 55. High-tech companies are eager to develop the market, and assist apparel makers in fitting a greater variety of consumers.

“There’s a lot going on in technology,” Lovejoy adds. “It’s not perfect yet, but there’s a lot going on.”

Every now and then, my figure comes into fashion, and then I shop enough to get me through the lean times—like now. All the pants—slim-cut, low-waisted, what we used to call ‘hip-huggers’—make me look like a bowling pin with my shirt tucked in, which is how I like to wear it. An untucked shirt is OK for some things, but not really my style, and I’m way past the bare midriff stage of life! —Lara, 54, Sacramento

Susan, 44, of Sonoma, remembers always having to hike up her pants when she was in middle school and high school. Money was tight, and at least a portion of Susan’s wardrobe consisted of hand-me-downs from older, differently shaped girls in her neighborhood. But even when the family budget let her buy new things, it was hard to find something she liked.

“I hated shopping, because I couldn’t find things to fit me,” she says, making a familiar refrain. “My waist was too little and my hips were too big.”

At times, going to school was a trial.

“The days when I could wear something that fit, I did feel better.”

Now a single mom and a registered nurse, Susan says that one of the ways she’s coped with feeling “between sizes” is to develop her own personal style: a sense of the ridiculous. Her hobby is clowning, so she’s adapted that aspect in her everyday wardrobe. Whenever possible, she wears brightly colored and clearly mismatched socks. Her nursing tunics are covered with comical prints, the more colorfully outrageous the better. Accessories tend to be whimsical, with a dash of the happily extreme.

“It’s easier for me to wear ridiculous things, because then the pressure’s off. I don’t have to worry if things fit,” Susan says with a laugh. “I’ve been able to nail the ridiculous look, and to do it consistently.”

It’s her way of coping.

“I can succeed at it and it’s fun and I get a little attention. It fits me on many levels.”

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Fish for the Sea

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05.07.08

There are more than just fish in the sea. But it would be hard to know that from observing the progress of the Marine Life Protection Act (MLPA) in Northern California. The MLPA is a multi-year process to redesign California’s nearly 100 state Marine Protected Areas (MPAs) into networks of protected marine habitats.

But those working to implement the MLPA along the North Central coast are so narrowly focused on fish that they are missing the proverbial forest for the trees.

The MLPA is a forward-thinking law passed by the California Legislature in 1999 mandating that our state system of MPAs be redesigned using principles of ecosystem management for our marine environment. The first two goals of the MLPA mandate are that we “protect the natural diversity and abundance of marine life, and the structure, function and integrity of marine ecosystems” and “help sustain, conserve and protect marine life populations, including those of economic value and rebuild those that are depleted.”

The MLPA process along the North Central Coast is making great progress toward protecting fish. The level of conflict and tension between conservationists and the fishing community appears to have been replaced by cooperation.

That’s great for the fish. But maintaining healthy marine ecosystems means protecting more than just fish. It also means protecting those species that feed on fish, like seabirds, whales, porpoises, sea lions and all marine habitats from the range of threats to their marine ecosystem—including shipping.

The three proposals for new MPAs have failed to do both.

After a record number of endangered whales were struck and killed by large vessels in California waters last fall—including a humpback in Pt. Reyes—and the cargo ship Cosco Busan crashed into the Bay Bridge last November coating Bay Area beaches and the ocean with about 58,000 gallons of bunker fuel, scientific advisers to the MLPA came up with a good idea. They proposed Vessel No Traffic Areas be created to address these very threats to vulnerable bird and mammal populations in the region.

But these protections have been marginalized. The Blue Ribbon Task Force directed stakeholders to severely limit the use of these areas, also called Special Closures, regardless of the scientific data or the mandate by the MLPA to protect these species and areas.

While Vessel No Traffic Areas are a good first step, they are far too small to adequately protect the Farallon Islands, Fitzgerald and Pt. Reyes from the approximately 3,600 large cargo vessels and oil supertankers entering San Francisco Bay every year virtually unregulated by the U.S. Coast Guard. These jewels of our coastline lie in or near shipping lanes leading into the rapidly growing Port of Oakland, already the fourth largest port in the United States.

The Cosco Busan tragedy has yet to teach many of those planning the new MPA network a lesson. How well will these crown jewels of our new MPA network be protected from the 732 potential Exxon Valdez oil tankers entering the Bay every year with an estimated 400 million gallons of fuel in their holds?

The scientists working to advise the MLPA process need to be heeded. Otherwise harbor porpoises and threatened and endangered seabird and coastal bird species such as marbled murrelets, gray whales and humpback whales will remain completely unprotected.

Additional protections from vessel traffic would not just protect birds, porpoises and whales but also the very fish that is the narrow focus of the current planning process, as well as the many people who use our coastal waters.

In fact, we still have no information about the value of nonextractive uses of the ocean to the California economy. A planned study of the lucrative economic contributions of surfing, diving, snorkeling, coastal trail hiking, bird and whale watching, swimming and even beach visits has yet to be done.

 

Without protecting all the vulnerable threatened and endangered species of marine birds and mammals and addressing the threat of large vessels using our Yosemites on the Sea as on-ramps to the global economy the MLPA will fail to truly protect the entire marine ecosystem as the California Legislature intended.

Robert Ovetz, Ph.D., is executive director of Seaflow, a marine conservation organization based in Sausalito. See www.seaflow.org and www.vesselwatchproject.org for more information.

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Fight Club

05.07.08

There are some thwarted expectations in Redbelt, David Mamet’s middling, slightly baffling drama. A thoroughly honorable West L.A. jujitsu teacher named Mike Terry is played by one of the very best actors around, Chiwetel Ejiofor. As in seeing Philip Marlowe, we can tell at a glance that Terry is honest: he lives in L.A., and yet he has no money.

Through a chain of events, Terry encounters a powerful Hollywood star (Tim Allen). The star hires him as a consultant on an Iraq War movie he’s shooting in the nearby desert. On the strength of this new job, Mike’s wife, Sondra (Alice Braga), gets into debt.

All of this pushes Mike in the one direction where he doesn’t want to go. This black-belt, whose motto is “There is always an escape,” is forced into a free-style prize-fighting match he wants nothing to do with. The sinister gimmick: the fighters have to draw lots, a black or a white marble, to see whether or not a limb will be immobilized before the fight.

Richie (David Paymer), the loan shark, learns that he’s out $30,000. Instead of raging about it, he clutches his stomach in panic. It must be a variation of the proverb about how if you owe a large enough amount of money, you own the bank, the bank doesn’t own you. With a defaulting customer, Richie is now in trouble with his higher-ups. This clutching of the belly may be the most sensible reaction by a, er, microfinancier onscreen since Travolta’s Chili in Get Shorty noted that if break your debtor’s legs, how is he going to pay you off?

Similar common sense prevails in a moment where a traumatized rape victim (Emily Mortimer) is given her first lesson in self-defense. We also note some craft in the hard-bitten lines for Ricky Jay, here playing a fight promoter. The key incident in Redbelt, the story of a valuable watch, sounds like a true anecdote. (It may be something Mamet spun off from Maupassant, but it sounds plausible, like a piece of Hollywood gossip you just ache to believe.)

Mamet appears to be reaching out to an action-movie crowd. The foreign-language-training-tape quality of his dialogue doesn’t seem to echo off of the plywood of the sets, as it does in some of his other films. The gears mesh—it’s just that the machine as a whole doesn’t work.

It seems that Mamet trained in martial arts for five years, and he has all due reverence for his teachers. He insists on the selflessness and the good hearts of such teachers. Fair enough.

Even so, Redbelt has a Chuck Norris plot, no matter how much an intelligent writer-director refines it. Mamet would have thrived in the days when movies were 60 minutes long. Shorter running times would have let him glide by the weak spots, like the baffling behavior of a dumb but decent policeman who has fewer cops looking out for him when he’s in trouble than any cop you’ve ever seen in a movie. A shorter running time might also make up for the almost translucent thinness of the female characters.

And as always in Mamet, the women here are men, second-class. They might be promoted to men someday, if they keep up the good work.

‘Redbelt’ opens on Friday, May 9, at the Century CineArts at Marin, 101 Caledonia St., Sausalito. 415.331.0255.


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You Are What You . . .

05.07.08

For eight years, I was a dedicated vegetarian, but times change. I have since reverted to being the type of person who doesn’t feel particularly guilty about hiding the boxes of free-range chicken broth before the vegetarians come into the kitchen to test the soup. My rationale for this is simple: a little chicken broth is good for you, and the integrity of my recipes is more important than someone else’s dietary restrictions.

But when I call Brendan Brazier—professional triathlete, author of The Thrive Diet, a 12-week vegan meal plan and nutrition book, and the formulator of Vega, a plant-based nutritional product—I do not tell him that I regularly lie to vegetarians. Nor do I tell him that I crave caffeine, cheese and sugar more than I crave good health. Sure, I’d love to feel great all of the time, have no allergies, perfect skin and an immune system worthy of the gods, but not if it means I can’t eat cheese.

I’m half expecting Brazier to be a bit judgmental, dogmatic even. After all, doesn’t he have the right? He’s a professional Ironman triathlete and two-time Canadian 50 km Ultra Marathon champion who survives on plant proteins alone. I soon come to the conclusion, however, that he is the not the type who would ever lie about the broth. Not only that, but he does not make me feel bad about myself, even though I am a person who would. Brazier is friendly and unassuming. As he tells his story, I feel that even if we were sitting together in a small room and he was eating a hemp burger and I was eating a beef burger, he wouldn’t judge me (though he might do jumping jacks afterwards, while I sank down into my chair feeling mildly ill).

Brazier has been making Vega, his whole-food health supplement and meal replacement—which provides vitamins, minerals, protein, omega-3 and omega-6 EFAs, enzymes, probiotics and phytonutrients—since he was 15 years old. Only recently has it become commercially available through his partnership with Sequel Naturals, a Canadian nutritional-supplement manufacturer. Brazier tells me that at 15 he knew nothing about nutrition. What he did know was that he wanted to be a professional triathlete.

Throughout high school, he trained an hour before school, an hour after school and then again for another hour after dinner all while working to create a diet that would help him achieve peak performance. Once he graduated, he started training full-time. Brazier came to the conclusion that it is recovery time that defines the top athletes. The faster you recover, the more you can train. Eighty percent of this recovery time, Brazier believes, is due to nutrition, and, as one of the few people in racing who eats a 100 percent plant-based diet, there’s a good chance he might know.

In 2003, Brazier was hit by a car while cycling, an accident that temporarily pulled him off the marathon track. While healing, he wrote The Thrive Diet, which features a 12-week, day-by-day meal plan replete with recipes, nutrition and health advice and details of Brazier’s passionate belief that eating a plant-based diet benefits not just the individual, but the environment as well.

There is little point in contesting that mass meat production hurts the planet. Cattle are fed corn in huge amounts, an unnatural diet that adds to their release of detrimental levels of methane, which contributes to global warming. Land is cleared to accommodate both the mega&–corn crops and the mega&–cattle herds, and run-off from factory farms pollute our waterways. With food production being a number one draw on energy and fossil fuels, a diet based primarily on meats and refined foods leaves a carbon footprint the size of Goliath.

After speaking with Brazier, I can no longer avoid the next step in this journey. The time has come for me to prepare a meal from The Thrive Diet. I decide to make the dinosaur kale quinoa wrap with tahini dressing, and the almond flaxseed burger with black bean lime salsa. The recipes are accurate and easy to follow, and before long I have produced a vegan meal that would have been raw except I steamed the kale and fried the burgers out of habit more than necessity. The resulting dinner is delicious and surprisingly filling.

Though there are a few too many gourmet cheeses in my refrigerator for me to be willing to convert entirely, I plan to follow the advice that Brazier gives during our interview, which is that people should do as much they feel comfortable with. I think the first step for me will be to stop lying to my vegetarian friends. Baby steps, but nonetheless meaningful.

For more information on the Thrive Diet, go to [ http://www.brendanbrazier.com%3C/i ]www.brendanbrazier.com.


Lather Up

0

05.07.08

Though most of the songs on her new album were written in a fraction of a day, it’s taken Karry Walker years to pull them together. Breakup, relocation, death, reunion and marriage passed since the songs’ inceptions, beginning in 2003. “It’s only been in the last year that I finally picked this stuff up again,” says Walker from the Petaluma home where she and her husband live.

Walker was once the great trip-hop hope of Sonoma County, and her 1999 debut, Lipsbury Pinfold, met with critical success. But in the years since, Walker went underground and began recording songs that were less about telling a story and more about painting a sound-picture. Her new album, Foamy Lather, has a kitchen-sink eclecticism that’s equally creepy and playful.

“A lot happened in the last years,” Walker says of the period shortly after she separated with her then boyfriend (and now husband). “I went through a whole furious phase of writing.” She moved from Sonoma County to Oakland; meanwhile, her mother became very ill from cancer, and the music stopped. “There was about a year where I was living in Oakland, working in San Francisco and driving to my hometown, Turlock, twice a month to take care of my mother. During that time, music just dropped out of my life. I couldn’t even listen to the radio.”

But Walker wanted the recordings to see the light of day. “I wanted to get this record done for my mom, even though she would never understand it, ever. She was the original Ultralash.” Walker uses the word “ultralash” to describe a time in a girl’s life right before her uninhibited Supergirl powers become fettered with self-awareness; it’s a moniker she sometimes claims as a stage name as well. “[My mother] was able to maintain that spirit,” she says, “without getting caught up in what people thought about her.”

Walker began recording as Ultralash in 2002, when she released her second album. It signaled a new direction, with Walker stepping fully into the role of writer-producer, paring her songs down and then building them back up with out-there elements like obscure vintage instruments and found sounds. 

Concurrently, Walker became involved in the Immersion Composition Society (ICS), which Michael Mellender and Nicholas Dobson formed in 2001. In the ICS, members select one day and agree to independently write, record and mix as many songs as possible—the goal being 20—and then gather together in the evening for a listening party, where they celebrate and discuss each other’s output.

“I go to the listening party that night, and a lot of times I don’t even remember the stuff I’d recorded,” Walker admits. “Which is a great sensation. You wake up really early that day, and you start recording whatever comes out. And then you put it away, and you start writing something new.”

On Foamy Lather, all but one of the 14 tracks are from her ICS sessions, which gives the songs a palpable immediacy. Some are much more fleshed-out than others, but the fleeting fragments, such as the titular title track, color the album with a coy playfulness that let the texture of her music speak for itself.

“I’ve been much more interested in the production, putting sounds together and getting wrapped up in that, because I just think it’s a blast,” Walker says. “I just had this guy in Portland build me an Omnichord, which is a really cheesy autoharp put out by Suzuki. I bought one of these things and sent it to him, and he did a circuit bend on it and now it sounds freakazoid. I call it my Ouija board. You plug it in and there’s feedback you get out of it, but underneath you hear these little harp tones.”

Walker says that in order to focus on promoting Foamy Lather, she hasn’t been recording much, but she did recently participate in an ICS exercise where members drew made-up character names out of a hat, with the assignment to compose a theme for that character for a mythical musical opera. “So we did that, and my scrap was just called, in capital letters, ‘THE BAD THING.’ It wasn’t the villain—it was a bad thing that might happen. And the name that was drawn was ‘Meat Foam.’ And I was so tickled because I got that.”

Karry Walker’s North Bay CD release party will be announced soon. For music and more info, visit [ http://www.ultralash.com/ ]www.ultralash.com.


Pressure Drop

0

05.07.08

The blank stares usually materialized in the middle of the sentence, before I could explain myself. “There’s this totally great ska album that just came out,” I’d say, and—boom! —the clanging metal gate of further interest in the matter fell over people’s faces like midnight storefronts on Market Street. Friends, co-workers, total strangers—no matter whom I tried to hype up for the Slackers’ amazing 2006 album, Peculiar, the reaction was the same: Who gives a fuck about ska anymore?

Believe me, it surprised no one more than myself—I hadn’t liked a ska album since 1993. But there was something about the record that seemed certifiably honest, a refreshing departure from the third-wave goofiness of bands like Reel Big Fish and Less Than Jake. Despite the music’s harking back to ancient Trojan rock-steady singles, the lyrics reveal a very modern world. Songs like “Propaganda,” “International War Criminals” and “Crazy” perfectly express through bouncy, lighthearted music the anger and frustration of living in America in 2006, during an illegal and immoral war, in a way that no hardcore band ever has, and a hopeful, solemn version of Bob Dylan’s “I Shall Be Released” closes out the album in perfect postscript.

The Slackers, led by the Bronx-alleyway drawl of vocalist Vic Ruggiero, released their seventh studio album last week called Self-Medication, and hopefully the title is not a reference to the escapist spiral down which keen awareness of political reality too often descends. On the album’s bleak black-and-white cover, a rail-thin girl looks to be passed out on heroin, and the title track chronicles getting by on a daily diet of whiskey and weed. The music, as well, inhabits druggy zones. Ruggiero’s vocals ride on a strange echo effect throughout the record, and the songs “Estranged” and “Stars” even break into Brazilian-hued psychedelia at times.

I have never seen the Slackers live, but the one girl I’ve found who shares my love of the band—she works at a downtown coffee shop—swears up and down that they’re the most amazing thing ever. She, like myself, has had to deal endlessly with friends recoiling from the word “ska” as if it were an obscenity, but she knows and I know that the Slackers are a golden needle in the haystack. See them or forever hold your peace on Saturday, May 10, at the Mystic Theatre, 23 Petaluma Blvd. N., Petaluma. 9pm. $15. 707.765.2121.


First Bite

0

05.07.08

Editor’s note: First Bite is a new concept in restaurant writing. This is not a go-three-times, try-everything-on-the-menu report; rather, this is a quick snapshot of a single experience. We invite you to come along with our writers as they—informed, intelligent eaters like yourselves—have a simple meal at an area restaurant, just like you do.

The old Michele’s Restaurant in Railroad Square was a long-standing Santa Rosa institution, a pseudo-snazzy destination to affordably mark a special occasion—prom night, say, or perhaps a great uncle’s birthday. The first time I went there, it was to meet my future in-laws, and it’s fitting that they never actually became family. These things fall through. Sometimes young lovers never get married, sometimes old restaurants close.

Young love would have a better chance at Stark’s Steakhouse, should young love ever be able to afford it. Stark’s is a complete transformation from the building and budget we once knew, and though it attempts an “old roadhouse” feel, with all of its dark woods, recessed ceilings, fake fireplaces and stained hardwood floors, it’s more of a penthouse interpretation of an old roadhouse, with price tag to match.

We took the swankiness in stride and quelled it with a shared Cucumber Cocktail ($9), made with gin, a slice of cucumber and fresh squeezed lemon. We were then presented a piping loaf of fresh bread, served in a cast-iron dish and celestially slathered in butter, garlic and dill. I was sold. “God,” I said to my date, “is real, and he brought us this.”

A shared appetizer of potato and fennel gratin ($5) made us wish for seconds on the bread, the potatoes being on the hard side, but the arrival of the entrées sparked our anticipation. We were at Stark’s to celebrate a career change, and this was our grand reward. For my date, the beet and goat cheese ravioli ($20) was a well-curated concession to vegetarians. Hazelnut commingled with the goat cheese’s flavor, rounded out nicely with a truffle brown butter.

My steak arrived, a filet mignon ($36) with béarnaise. I cut into it, and I don’t quite remember what happened after I put it in my mouth, but according to my date, I nearly cried. After gazing in disbelief at the perfectly seared edges, I took another bite, just for proof. Yes, it was true: this was the best steak I’d ever had.

Our dessert of chocolate madeleines with a malt milkshake ($8) ended the night nicely. The madeleines were extremely rich, and the icy milkshake was just the right size.

Right before Michele’s closed, I went there one last time. The food wasn’t half as good as Stark’s, but I also didn’t have to hold my breath when I opened the bill, and I sat among regular working people. The steak at Stark’s is unbelievable, but be warned that the restaurant feels like a laminated tourism brochure instead of a place made for people like you and me. Keep it on the “extremely special occasion” list.

Stark’s Steakhouse, 521 Adams St., Santa Rosa. Open daily for dinner; weekdays for lunch. 707.546.5100.


Quick-and-dirty dashes through North Bay restaurants. These aren’t your standard “bring five friends and order everything on the menu” dining reviews.

Bad Cooks, Etc.

0

05.07.08

Put yo’ hands in th’ sky if ya can’t bake a pie!

Though my all-time worst kitchen disaster involves a solid wall of flame from the stovetop to the ceiling (don’t ask), last week’s baking debacle runs a close second. Owing to a leaky pan, I managed to ooze chocolate cake batter all over the countertop, the rug, the linoleum, my clothes and, worst of all, the oven’s floor. Thick smoke, beeping fire alarms and a frazzled feline spread throughout the house. I hung my head, a defeated man.

If only I’d had the foresight to videotape my elaborate failure, I’d have a shot at winning the lovably sanguine America’s Worst Cook contest. Now in its second year, the contest scours the destroyed pans and burnt potholders of America for the nation’s worst cook and offers, as first prize, a trip for two to take cooking classes in New York City. Entering is easy: just go to the website and in 200 words or less, along with a video or photograph, explain why you, or someone you know, is an exceptionally lousy cook. If the site’s video clip is any indication, you’ll be up against people who put Frosted Flakes in their omelets. See www.americasworstcook.com for details.

Quality cooking abounds this weekend at Cirque du Gourmet , a benefit auction dinner held by Harmony Ark, the nonprofit organization dedicated to enhancing the educational experience of students in the Harmony Union School District of Occidental and Salmon Creek. A dinner prepared from local ingredients by area chefs Snap Gonella and Pierre Bernier highlights an evening of slow foods, local wines and eco-awareness, while a jazz band, fire dancers, stilt walkers and other spectacles entertain the senses.

With promised funding for schools both this year and next taken away by Gov. Schwarzenegger, Cirque du Gourmet’s auction—with sports tickets, motorcycle lessons and a week’s vacation in the limerick-friendly hamlet of Nantucket—should assist the kids in getting the education they deserve. It all goes down on Saturday, May 10, at Occidental CYO, 2136 Bohemian Hwy., Occidental. 5:30pm&–10:30pm. $55. [ http://www.harmonyark.org/ ]www.harmonyark.org.

Quick dining snapshots by Bohemian staffers.

Winery news and reviews.

Food-related comings and goings, openings and closings, and other essays for those who love the kitchen and what it produces.

Recipes for food that you can actually make.

The Malbec Diaries

05.07.08 wine countryI could have been zipping through California wine country on a brisk autumn morning if it hadn't been for a few minor details. It was late March, for one. The familiar scenes to my right—vineyards, a Wal-Mart, a rushing river, dry hills—were backdropped by snowcapped peaks, as if the Sierra Nevada towered directly over the Napa Valley. I turned...

Wear It for Life

05.07.08Recycled clothing is nothing new for Emily Chavez, but turning it into wearable artwork is. Chavez, a 26-year-old Graton native and owner of Por Vida Art and Clothing for Life, describes herself as "a fashion merchandiser who works with local artists and uses their work to support social justice." Por Vida was conceived as a grass-roots movement that would...

Between Sizes

05.07.08 one of the ways the fashion industry uses to keep us in our place.—Susan, 44, SonomaFlip through the racks of clothes, pull out a few promising items, try them on in front of the merciless mirror of the fitting room. And most likely, not much fits. Shoulders too broad. Shoulders too narrow. Waist too broad. Waist too narrow....

Fish for the Sea

05.07.08There are more than just fish in the sea. But it would be hard to know that from observing the progress of the Marine Life Protection Act (MLPA) in Northern California. The MLPA is a multi-year process to redesign California's nearly 100 state Marine Protected Areas (MPAs) into networks of protected marine habitats.But those working to implement the MLPA...

Fight Club

05.07.08There are some thwarted expectations in Redbelt, David Mamet's middling, slightly baffling drama. A thoroughly honorable West L.A. jujitsu teacher named Mike Terry is played by one of the very best actors around, Chiwetel Ejiofor. As in seeing Philip Marlowe, we can tell at a glance that Terry is honest: he lives in L.A., and yet he has no...

You Are What You . . .

05.07.08For eight years, I was a dedicated vegetarian, but times change. I have since reverted to being the type of person who doesn't feel particularly guilty about hiding the boxes of free-range chicken broth before the vegetarians come into the kitchen to test the soup. My rationale for this is simple: a little chicken broth is good for you,...

Lather Up

05.07.08 Though most of the songs on her new album were written in a fraction of a day, it's taken Karry Walker years to pull them together. Breakup, relocation, death, reunion and marriage passed since the songs' inceptions, beginning in 2003. "It's only been in the last year that I finally picked this stuff up again," says Walker from the...

Pressure Drop

05.07.08The blank stares usually materialized in the middle of the sentence, before I could explain myself. "There's this totally great ska album that just came out," I'd say, and—boom! —the clanging metal gate of further interest in the matter fell over people's faces like midnight storefronts on Market Street. Friends, co-workers, total strangers—no matter whom I tried to hype...

First Bite

05.07.08Editor's note: First Bite is a new concept in restaurant writing. This is not a go-three-times, try-everything-on-the-menu report; rather, this is a quick snapshot of a single experience. We invite you to come along with our writers as they—informed, intelligent eaters like yourselves—have a simple meal at an area restaurant, just like you do. The old Michele's Restaurant in...

Bad Cooks, Etc.

05.07.08 Put yo' hands in th' sky if ya can't bake a pie!Though my all-time worst kitchen disaster involves a solid wall of flame from the stovetop to the ceiling (don't ask), last week's baking debacle runs a close second. Owing to a leaky pan, I managed to ooze chocolate cake batter all over the countertop, the rug, the...
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