For the first time in weeks, I was back in the Kaz Kastle. New wines being poured, behind bar and from barrel. One of my preferred’s today, that ’09 Petite Sirah. “Bullseye,” Kazzy calls it. Also found out that he arranged a little blind flight, within which a guest could negotiate bottle price. Before our shift officially started, Kaz and I walked through the vineyard, inspecting the buds, their progress in breaking and how the spurs and cordons were responding to the recent conditions. Easter Sunday, surprising typhoon of consumers. From everywhere– Los Angeles, to Denver, Massachusetts to Florida, to just down the freeway, San Jose. Another Kaz varietal interpretation today, that wouldn’t release my attention for even a short time, the 2010 “Stomp” Merlot. Thought he sold out of this bottle. “No, we found another barrel of it,” he said, still seeming surprised with the elevating find. Tasted, around 2:45pm, found greatly vocal nose, followed by deep delivery in mouthfeel, taste summation.
The entire day was tireless, like my son’s speeded motions, surroundings deconstructions. Kaz and I stayed behind the bar, pouring, discussing wine with people from each corner on the planet, it seemed. For most of the day, we had Wine Bar beats playing. And of course, I thought of my eventual tasting Room. It’s closer than I think, I think. Talked to Kaz a little about how he started his business, “from scratch,” as he said. I’m also thinking, in the interest of collective time, that I may have my label revolve around 2 varietals, encompassingly. Cab, Syrah. [But I also want my own Sauvignon Blanc… UGH!] I also thought about how others interpret varietals, what they want to say vs. what terroir intends to send.
Now, home. Sipping some ’07 Sonoma County Cab Franc. This wine, spectral, turning my mentality into a spell bell. Before this sitting, this nightcap, had pizza from Rosso Pizzeria & Wine Bar. Ordered there, and while waiting enjoyed that 2010 Malbec that I always order. A full day of wine, I remember thinking there at the bar, while talking to Rich, Rosso’s vino capo. Returning to this CFranc, I’m rationally leveled. Sipping slow, to make this last stemless pour last, stretch into my prose, if it hasn’t already. Just realized I’m behind on the word log. Find I’m stressed in this discovery. Why do I continue with it? What’s it doing for me? Either I write, or I don’t. The sovereign pieces themselves make their own log. Not some list–with dates, numbers, parenthetical modifiers, subsections. Closing that document, now…
Today’s played station in Kaz’s tasting Room, telling me that Autonomy in “the industry” is so easily attainable. And with Kaz’s divulgence of his “starting from scratch,” I thought to mySelf: “Why do I let any of these people in ‘the industry’ get to me, ever? It’s all too trifling. These moments with such script-dependent bots, like jester squads, for my pages; Free material. Looking out at those buds, those first signs of vintage Life, I thought of little Jack, his morning smiles, his unexpected coos, analytical gazes. Today needed to happen, another day on Kaz grounds. The industry needs more of such Humanness, especially if it hoped to stay afloat in jagged economic currents.
Taking my last sips, wrapping up night. Jack, asleep, while my thoughts rush to some topic consistency dealing with wine, writing, writing about wine, characters (Kelly, Me), Self-excavation. But to find what, in THIS vintage? And, the 33RD VINTAGE, beginning May 29th? Turning all devices off, for more lined sheets, ink. Tonight’s vine, all rimed; A signed find. Meditation now; Spoken Word, poetry, to Self. Music, verse, my REAL Me.