X is for Xylem (of the Grape Plant)

While writing about Wine from A-Z, friends have asked (with a devilish grin): “What will you write for X?”

Never fear! The world of wine is so vast it even includes one of those tricky X words, specifically: xylem.

Xylem is the woody part of the grape vine that transports water and nutrients—the sap—from the roots to the rest of the plant.

Like what you're reading? Read more wine stories in Alicia Bien's book collection Evolution of a Wine Drinker.

You can visualize the xylem as a one-way street that runs vertically from the top of the roots to the top of the plant. The xylem is used in two cases.

First, the normal process of photosynthesis—by which the plant converts the sunlight it absorbs into chemical energy—causes the plant to become dehydrated thus requiring a transfer of sap along the xylem to the rest of the plant for rehydration.

Second, if there is water in the soil, the plant’s roots will absorb it, which causes pressure to accumulate in the roots forcing the sap to travel from the plant’s roots through its xylem up to the rest of the plant.

The xylem is a vital part of the grape vine’s growth and if I say so myself, pretty darn incredible. So to all you X-word doubters out there: you can wipe off that devilish grin, pour yourself a glass of wine and toast to the xcellent, xtraordinary xylem already!

You’re welcome!

W is for Wine Scores

“What about this one?” My husband said pulling a bottle off the store shelf.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“It got a wine score of 91.”

“I don’t know.”

“What will make you know?”

“Tasting it.”

90 - 95  =  Outstanding 

Most people only know if they like a wine after they have drunk it. I confess to being one of those people. The ability to sample a wine before purchase is possible in just a few cases, namely: 1) Winery visits; 2) A wine club; or 3) Your husband’s wine glass. The rest of the time deciding which wine to buy is left to you and your very dry mouth. Darn it!

Enter the Wine Score. Sensing the need to help wine consumers make educated choices about wine purchases, in the mid to late 20^th century wine critics started ranking wines through descriptive tasting notes and assigning a numbered score to them. Some critics used a 5-Star scale with 5 Stars being the best. Other critics used a 1-20 point scale with 20 being tops. However, the majority of the movers and shakers of wine criticism—including Robert Parker, The Wine Advocate and Wine Spectator magazines—used the 100-point scale, which is defined by Mr. Parker as:

96-100  Extraordinary

90-95  Outstanding

80-89  Barely Above Average to Very Good

70-79  Average

60-69  A Cleansing Product

50-59  RUN!

Like what you're reading? Read more wine stories from Alicia Bien in her collection Evolution of Wine Drinker.

Finally! An aide to help me buy wine before tasting it! With such a clearly delineated system, it would be easy to always choose the “extraordinary” wines ranked 96-100, if… if I didn’t have to pay for them. Because a funny thing happened to wine with the advent of wine scores: the higher the wine score the higher the wine’s price. Darn money!

But price isn’t the only method used in determining to buy—or not to buy—a bottle of wine. The occasion will also guide your purchase decision. Say I wanted to buy a business gift for my boss, I would spend more money on it than I would for a bottle that I’d use in the kitchen to marinate meat. If Robert Parker knew that anyone was using a 1947 bottle of Chateau Cheval Blanc Saint Emilion to make Grandma’s beef stew, I believe he would strangle said person with one vise-like grip. That $400 + bottle of wine (which he gave 100 points to) was meant to be drunk for a very special occasion.

Wine points, price and occasion—buying wine comes down to these three things, but the greatest of these is: What do you like? Because knowing what you like in a wine is paramount. For example, do you like flavors of berry, melon, mineral or oak? Do you like grapes of Reisling, Syrah, Tempranillo or Grenache? Do you like wines of the new world or the old world? Do you like wine at all?

Thus your best guide to purchasing wines is your own self-knowledge.

Back at the wine store my husband held up another bottle: “How about this one?”

“Is it a Cabernet Sauvignon?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s buy it!

"Uh... I forgot my wallet at home."
"Darn it!"

V is for Vineyard... in the Backyard

"This year let's plant tomatoes in the backyard," I said at the home improvement store.

"Sure," my husband said putting a flat of tomatoes in the orange cart.

"And zucchini."

"Sure."

"And Cabernet Sauvignon grapes."

"... Excuse me?"



PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

U is for Ullage, Uvula, U Know

U is for ullage, uvula, U know, it’s one of those weird U words. But in wine it serves a purpose.

Ullage is the small space of air in the bottle between the top of the wine and the bottom of the cork. This space is provided to allow for any expansion of the liquid during storage. As wine ages this space—the ullage—grows because the wine is evaporating slowly through the cork.

For centuries corks have been made from the wood of the—wait for it!—cork tree, which is a majestic evergreen oak native to the Mediterranean region. Fifty percent of the world’s cork is grown in Portugal alone. Like grapes, cork is harvested, in this case from a mature tree, which means the tree is not chopped down but rather layers of the living tree’s trunk bark are cut away to be fashioned into cork wine stoppers. One oak tree can be harvested a dozen or so times during its lifetime.

Like what you're reading? Get more wine stories from Alicia Bien's book Evolution of a Wine Drinker.

But with corked bottles, the ullage grows because precious wine—albeit just a little each year—is being lost. It's the 21st century, isn’t there a better way to seal bottles?

Enter the lowly twist off cap. Wine consumption continues to grow worldwide with China being the latest region to embrace the "nectar of the gods". Making wine for China's billions of people, as well as the rest of the world, has meant that demand for cork far exceeds supply. In response the past 15 years have seen a rise in the number of vineyards opting to seal their bottles with twist off caps.

Some of the first adopters of the twisties were white wine makers. Once opened white wine has a longer shelf life than red wine and if re-capped and stored in the refrigerator, can be drunk up to a week or more after opening. Once opened every bottle of wine is exposed to oxygen, at first this aeration will enhance the wine's flavor. However if the bottle is not consumed at one sitting and is re-corked with its cork wine stopper, the oxygen will continue to work on the wine through the permeable cork. Using a metal cap decreases the changes in flavor caused by aeration over time thus allowing white wines to be drunk over a number of days.

Nevertheless, some people dislike the taste of wines with a metal twistie and prefer wines sealed with cork.

It may be humble but a twist off cap also means the ullage doesn't grow during storage, which means more wine for you and all those billions of Chinese wine fans.

So the debate over which is better—cork vs. twist off—is irrelevant. Winemakers choose the best sealant option for their wines and business. So it's not cork or twistie, it's cork and twistie.

And that's what really matters: getting the best bottle of wine U can, U know? 

T is for Hosting a 20-Something Wine Party

     “I wish I knew more about wine,” my friend Roseanna said over drinks one night.

     “Host a wine tasting party,” I said.

     “I’m 25. I don’t have money for that.”

     “Can you afford to eat?”

     “Yes.”

     “Then you can afford a wine tasting party.”

Ahhh, being 20-Something. I remember those days of ramen noodle dinners, hand-me down furniture and buying clothes at thrift stores. I’m far from 20-Anything but I still shop at thrift stores because I relish the challenge of finding something great for a low price. Recently I found the most adorable shirt and pants by California designer Trina Turk in bright tropical colors and… but I digress.

Being 20-Something and not having a lot of cash does not prohibit you from hosting a swinging tasting party where you can learn about wine. Like thrifting it’s the challenge of doing something nice for a low price.

Like what you're reading? Get this, and more, in Alicia Bien's book of wine stories, Evolution of a Wine Drinker.

Here are 10 Tips to Host your own affordable 20-Something Wine Tasting Party:

1)    Every guest brings a bottle of wine. (No one is allowed to bring Trader Joe’s Two Buck Chuck because everyone already knows what that wine tastes like!)

2)    Open all the bottles and set them in a central location on the table. Encourage guests to begin tasting the sparkling wines (aka Champagnes) first, then move on to the white wines, after which they can sample the red wines.

3)    Make a list of the wines drunk and, based on the other wines being sampled, rate them from 1-5 (with 5 being “the best”). Discuss with your friends what you smell, taste and like about the wine. Even if everyone likes the Pinot Noir and you don’t, it’s okay! Remember the goal is to discover what wines are available and which ones you like to drink.

4)    Provide a “dump bucket” for the wine. If a guest samples a wine but after tasting it does not like it they can pour it into this dump bucket. Preferably use a deep dump bucket that is not clear glass. No one wants to see what’s been dumped.

5)    Host your party on a weekend where you have time the day of to prepare for the party. 

6)    Choose your music play list in advance. Some wine songs to include: “Spill the Wine” by the Isley Brothers, “Red, Red Wine” by UB40 and anything by Dean Martin.

7)    As the host, provide food to snack on. Do a colorful veggie tray with sliced cucumbers, red peppers, celery sticks, baby carrots and cherry tomatoes. Buy the vegetables whole so you can peel and slice them yourself, which is always cheaper—and healthier—than buying them pre-washed, pre-cut or pre-chewed.

8)    Make a cheese plate with mild varieties that will complement the wines, like Brie, Camembert, Gouda, or even a mild cheddar. (Cheese will be your biggest expense but a little goes a long way, which makes it worth it.)

9)    Decorate your cheese plate with thinly sliced apples, pears and/or red or green seedless table grapes. My favorite: Red Flame grapes.

10) Provide crackers to nibble on in between tasting the various wines. (Avoid salty crackers whose salt will mask the wine’s flavors.)

But which wines to buy? Here’s a list of 10 wines from our last tasting. I set a price limit: each bottle should cost $15 or less. Friends brought:

Sparkling Wines:

1) Cava: Freixnenet Cordon Negro from Spain. “The Spanish Champagne”.

Whites:

2) Sauvignon Blanc: Sauvignon Republic from Marlborough, New Zealand

3) Chardonnay: Edna Valley Vineyard from California

4) Pinot Gris: A-Z from Oregon

5) Vinho Verde: Aveleda Fonte from Portugal

Reds:

6) Red wine blend: Epicurio Aglianico from Italy

7) Merlot (semi-sweet): Balatonboglári from Hungary

8) Grenache: Bitch (R Wines) from South Australia (Its name is fun if you don’t take it personally.)

9) Malbec: 1 Antigal from Argentina

10) Cabernet Sauvignon: Ravenswood from California

10 tips to hosting a wine party + 10 wines that cost $15 and less = a terrific 20-Something Wine Tasting Party!

So whether you are 20-Something, 90-Something or somewhere in between, you can host your own affordable wine tasting party. I’m feeling so inspired I think I’ll host one myself. And I know just the outfit I’ll wear—the most adorable shirt and pants by California designer Trina Turk in bright tropical colors…

S is for a Simple Sauvignon Blanc

“You want anything from the store?” I said into the phone as I left work.

“Some Sauvignon Blanc,” my husband said.

“What kind?”

“Just a simple Sauvignon Blanc.”

Ahhh. Famous last words.


PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

R is for Retsina Wine Drinking

“Welcome to Greece!” my cousin, Mike, said embracing me.

“This calls for a celebration,” my husband said hugging Mike.

“I know just the place to go,” Mike said.


PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

Q is for Las Quintas Wine Tasting (in Portugal)

"I’m planning our vacation," I said pulling my husband toward my desk.

"Okay."

"We're going on a wine tour."

"Okay."

"To see Las Quintas!"

"… huh?"

PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

P is for Pregnant (not) Wine Tasting

"Taste this Châteauneuf-du-Pape," my husband said pushing his wine glass toward me.
"No, thanks."
"It's delicious."
"No, thanks."
"Just a sip?"
"No, thanks!"



PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

O is for Oak Wine Barrels

When making wine, there’s more than one way to skin a cat. These days winemakers can use various techniques to create a quality vino for the market. One of the most versatile elements in the winemaker’s tool kit is oak.


PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed. 

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

N is for New World Wines (with apologies to West Side Story)

Which is better: New World Wines or Old World Wines? It's a battle immemorial pitting:

The New vs. The Old; 

The West vs. The East;

The Sharks vs. The Jets!



PLEASE NOTE:

Do you like what you're reading? You can find more wine stories in my book collection Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

M is for Moscato Wine

“Enjoy your trip to wine country today,” I said pouring a cup of coffee for our guest.

“Come with us,” Stephen said.

“I have to work—” 

“In no time it’s the present, as you Americans say.”

“That’s not the expression,” I said.  
But he wasn’t listening. 




PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed. 

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

L is for Languedoc-Rousillon (French Wine Country)

"Want to spend our honeymoon in France's wine country?" my newlywed husband asked over breakfast.
"I do!"




PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

K is for Kosher Wine

A minister, a  priest and a rabbi walk into a winery and the the minister says "I've come to taste your dry white wine." The winemaker pours her a glass and the minister days, "Delicious."

The priest goes up to the winemaker and says, "I've come to taste your dry red wine." The winemaker pours him a glass and the priest days, "Delicious."

The rabbi goes up to the winemaker and says, "Where's the closest juice bar?"



PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

J is for Jesus the Winemaker

Jesus and his disciples were invited to a wedding at Cana. The mother of Jesus was there, too. When they ran out of wine, the mother of Jesus said to Him, “They have no wine.”

Jesus said to her, “What does your concern have to do with Me? My hour has not yet come.”

His mother said to the servants, “Whatever He says to you, do it.”



PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

I is for Italian Wines

“Teach me Italian,” my friend, Gloria, said seated next to me on the train.
“But we’ll be in Rome,” I looked at my watch, “in ten minutes.”

“Teach me something.”

“Questa è deliziosa.”

“…Delicious…-o.”



PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

H is for Hybrid Wines (aka Two are Better than One)

Have you ever visited New York City, London or Tokyo and said, "What a great city, I bet I could make it here!" Then you move there by yourself and suddenly you’re overwhelmed by subway maps, "agonising" over funny spellings and inundated with big-eyed animé characters. And you realize you’re not thriving in this new environment, you're barely hanging on, so before you wither and die there, you pack your bags and move back to where you came from.

That’s how it was for wines.

PLEASE NOTE:
This Blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my book collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available at Amazon.com.

Thanks!
--Alicia

G is for Girl's Wine Trip

INT. TASTING ROOM – VINEYARD – DAY

Dripping with diamond jewelry, Gigi and Feefee sniff glasses of wine.

GIGI

Oh, Feefee dahling, look at the legs on this wine.

FEEFEE

Oh, Gigi dahling, the bouquet on this wine is devine.

PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

Like what you're reading? You can find more wine stories in my book collection Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

F is for Films about Wine

I can’t chase bad guy spies like James Bond. I can’t scale Dubai skyscrapers on a Mission Impossible like Ethan Hunt. I can’t fight evil in an Ironman suit like Tony Stark. But drinking wine with a couple of friends à la Sideways, that—yes that—I can do.




PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed. 

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

E is for Eiswein (aka Ice Wine)

“Merry Christmas!” my boss’s wife said setting a festive wine bag on my desk.

“You shouldn’t have,” I said with a smile, then extracted a thin bottle. She saw the puzzlement on my face.




PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

D is for Decanting Wine

"I brought the wine you asked for," my husband said setting the bottle on the kitchen counter.
"Excellent," I said rubbing my hands together with anticipation.
"It's young."
"Excellent."
"So young that when I bought it they were still stomping the grapes."
"Excellent!"




PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

C is for Chardonnay

“I’m looking for a bottle of wine,” I told the wine shoppe specialist.

“That’s difficult,” he said scratching his head.

“It’s for my women’s wine group.”

“That’s easy,” he said pushing a bottle of Chardonnay into my arms.

PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

Do you like what you're reading? You can find more wine stories in my book collection Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

B is for Boxed Wine

“You made it!” my sister said greeting me at the airport terminal.

“That was the bumpiest, most-delayed cross-country flight ever,” I said collapsing into her bear hug embrace.

“As soon as we get to the house I’ll pour you a big glass of wine!”





PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

A is for Drinking Alone

“Look at those people sitting at outdoor cafés,” I said walking down the cobblestone street.

“Talking, reading, drinking wine, it looks like they’re having fun,” I said back to myself in a very one-sided conversation.

PLEASE NOTE:

This blog post has been removed.

However you can find it, and more, in my collection of wine stories called Evolution of a Wine Drinker available on Amazon.com!

Thank you!
--Alicia

An A-Z of Wine--All Month!

During the month of April The New House Girl—which would be me—is taking a break from the comedic chronicles of Mr. Wonderful, our coo-coo cat and nosy neighbors to do something a little different. 

This month I’m writing blog posts about wine. Yep, an alphabet’s worth of blog posts starting with “A is for Drinking Alone” and running through our 26-letter alphabet all the way to “Z is for Zinfandel”.

Afterwards, the adventures of the New House Girl will resume here!

In the meantime, I hope you’ll join me on this wine tour. And remember: no whining, just winning!

Let the wine fun begin! CHEERS!

The Easter Bunny is Here!

“You should put your bunny away at night,” my neighbor said retrieving the newspaper from his driveway.

“We don’t have a bunny, Harold,” I said fetching the paper from my driveway.

“He was in your yard.”

“We don’t have a bunny.”

“He’s white.”

“We don’t have a bunny!”

“Yeah… right.”

Harold held plenty of opinions that I didn’t espouse most famous among them were that: grass was the best garden plant; guns were great at repelling squirrels and the prettiest woman’s outfit was a poodle skirt and saddle shoes. But this bunny business was different because it didn’t deal with opinions but cold, hard facts. Fact: I lived in my house and I’d never seen a bunny in the yard. Fact: Harold was 86 years old so maybe his brain was playing tricks on him? Or maybe he’d dreamt of the bunny in our yard? Or maybe Harold was just plain blind. I needed a second opinion.

“Have you seen a bunny in our yard?” I asked Mr. Wonderful as I laid the newspaper on the table. Mr. Wonderful shook his head while biting into his egg salad sandwich.

“Harold says we had one in our yard.”

“He also says we’re idiots for killing our grass,” he said.

“That’s his opinion.”

“In his mind, it’s a fact that we’re idiots.”

Mr. Wonderful had a point about Harold. I went outside to look at my plants for any bunny nibble damage.

“Happy Saturday!” our neighbor Charles said grinning and waving. “Hey, your bunny is cute.”

“Charles, we don’t have a bunny,” I said.

“He was in your yard last night.”

“We don’t have a bunny.”

“He’s white.”

“We don’t have a bunny!”

“Take it easy,” he said backing into his house fast.

First Harold, now Charles?! This bunny business was sweeping the neighborhood! It was epidemic like the plague, the flu or lactose intolerance. I marched to the corner to clear my head. Passing by Jerry’s garden I caught the scent of roses in the air. I paused to smell his crimson blooms.

“Your bunny is real cute,” Jerry said popping up behind a rose bush wearing his San Francisco 49ers baseball cap.

“We don’t have a bunny!”

“I saw him in your yard last night,”

“We don’t have a bunny!”
"But I saw him--"
"There isn't a bunny," I said marching off to the park and leaving Jerry speechless. This walk around the neighborhood would calm my nerves and help settle the score. All of my closest neighbors said they’d seen “our” bunny. Were they playing some big joke on me? I checked the date, it wasn’t April Fool’s Day, but still I felt like a fool that all of our neighbors had seen a bunny in our yard and I hadn’t.

After several laps around the park I returned home just as our yard was cast in afternoon shadow. When suddenly right in front of our house, nibbling on my baby nasturtiums, I saw it: The bunny! It was white and so cute. But it didn’t belong to us. It belonged to Harold, Charles, Jerry and everyone who saw it because it was… our Easter Bunny.

Happy Easter! Wishing you joyful beginnings at this splendid time of year!

What to %$*& Plant?

“The lawn is almost dead,” Mr. Wonderful said holding out his wine glass.

“Yep,” I said pouring wine.

“You have a plan for what happens next?”

“Yep.”

“You going to show me?”

“Nope.”

Mr. Wonderful and I had done so many things together—buying a house, adopting a cat, dealing with never satisfied mother-in-laws—but this planting thing, I needed to do on my own. While the lawn gasped its last breaths of photosynthesis, I was busy plotting the next adventure—its replacement!

In theory I knew what I wanted to plant. In theory I knew it would be beautiful. In theory I had a plan: Wherever the turf had been I would replant with something that was: 1) Drought tolerant 2) Low maintenance and 3) Inexpensive. In other words: the Impossible Dream.

But what would I plant exactly? With all the horticultural options available, I needed to get some specific ideas. I started close to home by looking at the plants growing in my neighbors’ gardens. Of course! If a plant grew well in their yard, it would grow well in mine, too!

“Hey, Harold!” I called out to my 86 year-old neighbor as he rolled his garbage bin to the street. He waved back as if he were giving me a lazy karate chop. I bounded over to him. “Harold, in your garden what’s your favorite plant?”

Without a hint of irony he said: “My grass.” I scanned the dry dirt patch he called a lawn. This Gobi Desert was his favorite thing? He adjusted his baseball cap and continued, “You should have seen it five years ago. It was green, lush—”

“You men, alive?” Harold continued waxing poetic about how his lawn used to look but I wasn’t into “used-to plants” I needed now plants. Besides, I’d been killing my turf for weeks, there was no way I was going to replace it with more turf!

As Harold rambled on about his lawn’s good ole days, I jumped in my car and headed to the ultimate plant idea factory—the nursery! The place was jam packed with seedlings in tiny containers and row after small potted row of annuals, perennials and semi-tropicals all watched over by millennial staff members with nose piercings and tattoos, like OMG. Every time I saw a new plant the ideas buzzed in my brain. I jotted down the plant’s needs, I drew plant sketches, I harassed the millennial clerk for the plant’s Genus and species—“It’s a plant, like, whatever”.  Like a starved honey bee I zipped from plant to plant gathering the nectar of ideas. Ideas! What joy! Then I tried to imagine these plants in my garden and I… blanked. Every affordable plant was too small and every big plant was too expensive. The Impossible Dream! Arghh!

Then I realized: It’s called a plant “nursery” not a “college”, “work station” or “corner office”. As lovely as all these plants were in their pretty little pots, I needed to see full-grown specimens to imagine them in my garden plan.

Back in my car I put the top down, cranked the music and took a road trip across Los Angeles. I drove to Beverly Hills, over the Hollywood Hills and through the Valley. I avoided the freeways and kept to residential streets where I had uninhibited views of adult flowers, mature shrubs and in the-prime-of-their-life trees. I gasped, I snapped photos, I was bowled over by the creative variety of Angeleno gardens. Oh, boy! Now I had ideas! Like this:

And this:

And this:

Armed with these photos I could show Mr. Wonderful my planting plans because a beautiful, drought tolerant garden was a Possible Dream.

Of course the %$*& garden wouldn’t be cheap but at least now it was possible!

Daruma and Books--March Read

Killing a lawn takes a long time. Lucky for me I had other things to keep me busy, like reading and complaining how long it takes to kill a lawn.

In March I read a couple books and kept my New Year's Resolution. Actually my New Year's Resolution was to read one book a month, so I'm ahead of the game--times three. Go me!

I started with Calvin Trillin's About Alice, which is a moving portrait about a man's love for his wife, written with humor and affection. Trillin has been a contributing writer to The New Yorker for, oh like 195 years, so he knows a plethora about writing, life and his dear wife Alice.

Here's the first line of the book:
"One condolence letter made me laugh."
What an opener--sad but funny! And his story delivered on both fronts--in spades. I'll be re-reading this book and discovering so many of his others for years to come.

Next I read Zen and the Art of Surfing by Greg Gutierrez. Call me crazy but oh, like 1,500 years ago, I don't think the monk, Daruma, had surfing in mind when he created Zen Buddhism. Although he should have. This collection of short stories treats those epiphany moments you have surfing, loving or just living. I'm not a surfer and this book did not make me want to learn how to surf instead it put me in the pipe of the wave and for the glorious moments of reading it I felt that I was a surfer already. That's good writing.

The last book I read this month was The Tin Horse by Janice Steinberg, a book I found at the Southern California Writer's Conference. The Tin Horse was inspired by a passage Steinberg read in the Raymond Chandler mystery, The Big Sleep:
"I shoved on back into the store, passed a partition and found a small dark woman reading a law book at a desk... She had the fine drawn face of an intelligent Jewess."

The Tin Horse fleshes out this Jewish woman by explaining how she came to be in Los Angeles circa 1941. This book is a rich, multi-generational character study about Boyle Heights, an Angeleno immigrant family and the tumultuous Jewish history of the 20th century. The writer has included Chandler's Phillip Marlowe--complete with tough guy talk, steaks and scotch--as well as a riveting mystery. The chapters about working in the film industry reveal that people have been trying to make it in this crazy place called Hollywood for, oh like a zillion years.

Which is still a shorter period of time than it takes to kill my lawn.

Wishing you all happy reading!

The Squirrel Villain

Batman had The Joker.

Superman had Lex Luthor.

And I had… The Squirrel.

In the world of comic books every great superhero had his villain. Not just any villain but a real bad guy who was his match in wits, strength and devilish plans. My life in California’s suburbs was imitating comic book art because I too had found the evil Yin to my heroic Yang and his name was… The Squirrel.

The Squirrel had thwarted me by eating apricots off my tree and decimating my internet connection with his fierce jaws. But he didn’t stop there.

In winter’s chill he scaled a palm tree and shredded the palm fronds causing them to rain down on my front walk like a biblical Egyptian plague or that weird scene in the film Magnolia with the falling frogs.

In summer’s heat he stole a massive steak tomato from my garden.

Now in spring I’d sprung a plan to be rid of The Squirrel forever. My plan had one step—it was so simple that it had to work! I removed all the fruit, vegetable and mineral elements from my front and back gardens and—as everyone knows—without food The Squirrel would move onto another garden to wreck havoc there.

Everyone on the planet knew this except Mr. Wonderful who spent Sunday outside chatting long distance to his college pal while eating walnuts. When he came across a walnut he didn’t like he tossed it on the patio where—Duh, duh—The Squirrel appeared, ate it and laughed.

“Squirrels can’t laugh,” Mr. Wonderful said.

“You don’t know The Squirrel,” I said chasing it out of our garden. “Now that you’re feeding it I’ll never conquer my villain.”

“Excuse me?” he said but I didn’t have time to explain.

This morning before breakfast I saw that The Squirrel was back. Seated in the same area of the patio waiting for a walnut handout from Mr. Wonderful. Typical. But I wasn’t the only one who saw the rodent. Jackson crept across the kitchen then slipping through the open sliding glass door he met The Squirrel head on. The Squirrel freaked! I saw the panic in his beady eyes! Jackson chased it to the property line and watched it race up the camellia tree and collapse on the fence

Have you ever seen a Squirrel have a heart attack? Today I did. And it was beautiful.

For 30 minutes Jackson crouched at the base of the camellia tree keeping watch. Once The Squirrel recovered from his massive coronary failure he crawled onto the roof and scampered away, all the while Jackson watched every step.

Jackson, my Jackson! How proud I was of him! Fighting The Squirrel was a fulltime job but finally I had help. Jackson the Cat was now my sidekick—my Robin, my Lois Lane, my hero.

Once a Killer...

As my mother used to say: "Once a killer, always a killer."
Or did Michael Connelly say that?

Ever since I began murdering my lawn, death had permeated my sunny California life. It started innocently enough: I was just a girl who desired to save water, the planet and my sanity by creating a drought-tolerant garden; so I suffocated my front yard's turf.  Murder struck again when I stomped out the life of a black widow spider (it was either her or me). Murder spread en masse when I over-watered my potted succulents before a rainstorm thereby wiping out generations of Hen and Chicks. It was horrible.

Although the last murder was a total accident (I swear), I had to admit that killing was getting easier. It was as if the 19th century's Wild West code of kill or be killed was alive and well in the 21st century's City of the Angels. However instead of packing a gun, I wrecked destruction with black plastic, a watering can and my fingers. It was horrible.

Then I noticed dozens of green blades shooting up all over my garden beds. I was thrilled to find something living in my death and destruction zone and felt that perhaps my murdering streak was over. Perhaps the horror was finally over.

On closer inspection I realized these green shoots were growing under our nine palm trees. I pulled on one and it separated from the rich garden soil with a balled seed at its base.

It was a palm tree seedling. Our huge Mexican Fan Palms were self seeding--everywhere! What good was killing my turf if it was being replaced by an army of palm seedlings that would grow in to 65 foot tall trees? Those fresh young blades were horrible and had to go!

Nope, my murdering spree was far from over, as John Paul Jones used to say, "I have not yet begun to fight!" 

Or did Minnie Mouse say that?

What to Do on St. Patrick's Day!

I love St. Patrick's Day: the green, the beer, the whiff of spring in the air!

If you need ideas on what to do in Los Angeles for this unofficial holiday, check out my Yahoo tips here!  T'anks!

Erin go Bragh!

Pizza Oven Pride--Photos!

After baking homemade pizzas in my pizza oven I've taken some pictures to illustrate the classic children's rhyming song:

Paddy cake, paddy cake, pizza-pie man.

Bake me a thin crust margarita 'za as fast as you can

Roll it,

Pad it with tomato and spinach toppings,

And mark it with cheese,

And put it in the oven for Mr. Wonderful and me!

   

Bon Appetit!

Pizza Oven Pizzaz

“We’re having homemade pizza tonight,” I announced to Mr. Wonderful as we slid into our respective cars.

“I can’t hear you,” he said behind the car window.

“WE’RE HAVING HOMEMADE PIZZA—”

He pointed to his ears, shrugged and drove off to work.

I didn’t resent him for doubting me. We’d been down this road before without any success. Okay, with complete and utter failure. But this time I was prepared!

The ceramic bricks were loaded in my oven; Check!

The pizza stone was delivered; Check!

The toppings were bought; Check!

The last thing was making the pizza dough.  Mama mia! This would be a snap!

I added the yeast, water and olive oil to the flour and kneaded it; back and forth on the floured countertop. I pounded it, slapped it, beat it. I made it suffer for the frustrations of my previous homemade pizza making. I kneaded that lump of dough so long my fingers wore down, the countertop evaporated and hell froze over. I let the dough rise, rolled it out and, covered it in toppings.  Just as I slid the ‘za into the 550 degree + oven, Mr. Wonderful walked in the front door.

“What’s that smell?” he said sniffing the air like a hungry cheetah.

“Homemade pizza,”

“It’s delicious,”

“I made the pizza.”

“I heard you,” he said smiling.

Pulled fresh from the pizza oven we devoured a whole pizza. Yes, I'd kneaded my frustrations away and yes, he started listening to me. It was a good day.

March in L.A.

Think you know Los Angeles? Here's a Pop Quiz to find out!

You can tell it's March in L.A. because:
1) The sun is shining.
2) There ISN'T a Hollywood awards show.
3) California poppies are blooming.

ANSWERS:
1) WRONG. The sun shines throughout the year, therefore it's not unique to March.
2) WRONG. The Humane Society hands out its Genesis Awards on March 23 to animal-oriented movies and TV shows.
3) CORRECT! California poppies are blooming. Or at least the one in my yard is!

Last winter I planted Eschscholzia californica from seeds purchased from the Theodore Payne Foundation for Wildflowers and Native Plants. This spring fringe-leafed poppy plants have sprouted en masse.

One of the highlights of Los Angeles is seeing entire fields and hillsides blanketed in these golden wildflowers. A great place to see them at their most impressive is at the Antelope Valley California Poppy Reserve. However due to minimal rainfall this winter, Antelope Valley's poppies will only reach full bloom in late April or early May.

Until then I'll enjoy the ones blooming in my yard!

Kitchen Love

“Do you need more cabinets here?” Mr. Wonderful said loitering in the kitchen.

“No,” I said unloading the dishwasher.

“Do you need more light?”

“No.”

“More space?”

“No.”

“Well I do.”

Mr. Wonderful was interested in my room? How odd.

During escrow for the House both of us had signed the bank’s papers in blood, sweat and multiple fears. Both of us had pledged that both of us would pay the mortgage every month for the next 380 years or both of us would be booted to the curb by David Beckham. But a funny thing happened on moving day—the House didn’t belong to both of us—it got divvied up between us. Mr. Wonderful claimed the office, work room, living room, spare bedroom and entire guesthouse while I got the run-down kitchen. Life was not fair.

In the first weeks of living in the House every night after dinner I would linger in the dingy kitchen while he retreated to the airy spare bedroom, the bright living room or went roller blading in the spacious guesthouse.

With disinfectant, buckets of paint and countless trips to The Home Depot I banished the kitchen’s offensive faded colors, grimy walls and dead lizard, thereby making my only room in the House my favorite room in the House.

I was smitten with kitchen love.

I was not alone. Mr. Wonderful knew a good thing when he saw it. It started small. Most indiscretions usually did. After several years of marriage the shine could rub off even the happiest of relationships and when that happened women and men acted out. Like every member of my fairer sex I coped by shopping. Meanwhile Mr. Wonderful took the path of all masculine brutes: he started spending time with… something else.  Which was oh, so far from wonderful.

While I was purchasing skirts, jeans and pants, he was playing with piecrust dough. While I was buying cowboy boots, he was canoodling with the Cuisinart. While I was buying knick knacks, he was buying gifts for her—for my creation, my best friend,  my kitchen! He started with extra drawers then graduated to massage oils for her wood counters. He took better care of her than his car.

He was smitten with kitchen love.

In the evenings I lingered in the kitchen and so did he. Seated on the opposite side of the table he scanned the internet for ideas to improve her, to make her more appealing, to make her more beautiful. He was so focused on this goal he no longer wanted to eat in, eat out or roller blade anywhere. Everything he did was now about her and for her. The happy conjugal life we’d shared was as present as last summer’s ice cream cone. I’d been warned fixing up a house while living in it put severe stressors on a marriage but I didn’t realize a single room could be total home wrecker. OMG Maybe my husband would leave me for… my kitchen. Was there a support group for that?  

Mad with kitchen love he drew up so many plans for her he released them in a multi-volume kitchen repair book series with corresponding iPhone app and Tumblr video site. 

“I’ll put in recessed lighting here,” he said showing me book seven of his 16-volume set.

“The kitchen doesn’t need it.”

“I’ll install more cabinets here.”

“I don’t need—”

“And more counter tops here and here.”

“No one needs this!” Couldn’t he see his indiscretions? His misplaced affection? “It’s all about her all day, every day, 24-7!” I said stamping my new cowboy-booted foot in frustration.

He kinked an eyebrow, “Who are you talking about?”

“The kitchen, you’re leaving me for my kitchen!” He asked me to elaborate about my fears and after I did, he pulled me close reassuring me that he was not in love with a space but his married, human partner, although she possessed an overactive imagination and gave human characteristics to inhuman places. We made up. Life was fair.

“All these kitchen improvements,” he said kindly, “I’m doing them for us.” My heart melted, my reason returned. 

“Can we improve the kitchen--together?”

A grin spread across his face. “I’d like that.”

In the end our kitchen love reminded us we were smitten with each other.

I sat beside him at the table where we both discussed the plans for our kitchen’s second remodel. We were on the same page again. Ahhh, life was wonderful.

The Writer's Conference in San Diego

This weekend I took a vacation from the writer's life and escaped to the Southern California Writer's Conference in San Diego, which is a total misnomer because I didn't see a thing of San Diego. The entire weekend I was holed up in a hotel with single-minded, wide-eyed, sleepless writers; none of whom minded my lack of business cards or loud laugh because they were too consumed talking about writers, rights and writing. It. Was. Heaven!

Some highlights included seeing my friend and mystery writer Gayle Carline. She likes to laugh so there's no mystery why I like her.

Hearing science fiction writer David Brin give an inspiring--and funny--keynote speech. News flash: Science fiction writers can be smart and funny. Double threat!

Hearing writer Greg Gutierrez talk about this short story collection Zen and the Art of Surfing while looking at his oil paintings. What a cool dude.

Buying books! After hearing Janice Steinberg speak of her process I'm looking forward to reading her novel The Tin Horse. It was inspired by Raymond Chandler's detective novel The Big Sleep with Philip Marlowe, which is an excellent pedigree for fiction. I also met Mary Vensel White, author of The Qualities of Wood.  If her book is half a good as she is nice it's going to be a thrill to read. I can't wait to crack it open!

 Meeting new friends--sweet children's book author Sheri Fink;

And gregarious writer Kimberly Robeson.

The final highlight; hanging with old friends Dale and Gayle Carline.

It was a dynamic, mind-opening, glorious weekend! It was so stimulating to be among all those writers I felt like I could write a book, screenplay and a 14 volume poetry collection in iambic pentameter--all before lunch.  

However in its aftermath, the hardest part is sitting alone--again--and writing--again. I know, I know, this is the writer's life I signed up for. I look at the blinking cursor on my white computer screen. Despite my best efforts, the screen remains blank.

So... when's the next writer's conference?