You know the rest of that line, right? Well, it's with some small amount of sadness that I am saying that about this blog: It must come to an end. I've had a terrific time writing it, but we've decided that in the end it's a bit strange, for a magazine that's all about bringing together food and wine, to have separate blogs on those topics.

So, from here on out, any wine blogging that I (and Megan Krigbaum, Kristin Donnelly, and various other stalwart folks) do will instead appear in F&W's primary blog, Mouthing Off. No less wine coverage, just a different venue. See you there.

Ray Isle

Hanging out in the heart of NYU territory in Manhattan—not something I usually do. But here’s a great reason to start: the wine program at the now-actually-opened Bar Henry on West Houston Street. John Slover, whom I love from his days at Cru (the restaurant with the country’s best wine list), had the genius idea to offer any of the 100 wines on his market list by the half-bottle. He pours it into one of his nifty half-bottle decanters, serves it for half the price of the whole bottle, then offer the rest of the bottle as a by-the-glass selection for the rest of the night. That means you can get half a bottle of the 2005 Roulot Luchets Meursault for $63, if you don’t want the whole thing for $125. (He’s even offering the program for half-bottles: the 2006 Talbott Sleepy Hollow Chardonnay is $39; $20 if you’re drinking only half of the 375 ml bottle.) Slover has a separate reserve list that’s not part of that policy, though, which means you’ll have to drink that whole bottle of 1996 Krug yourself.

So there's nothing like arriving at the airport in plenty of time and having the smiling (really) agent say to you, after you have been foiled by the e-ticket kiosk yet again, "You're supposed to have a paper ticket." Such a simple phrase; such dire consequences. Safe to say, an hour and a half later I was sprinting through Newark Airport, after a series of bureaucratic crazinesses that would have made a border guard in Iron Curtain-era Albania shudder with horror. Arrived at the gate, breathless, only to find that gusty winds had delayed my flight to Lisbon (more on that later) by two and a half hours.

The ideal answer to this kind of soul-and-body-destroying stress is of course a good glass of wine. But of course, Newark Airport, come on. The A&W Rootbeer Hut? No vino for you, ace. The Hungry Panda Express Chinese Steam-Slop-Tray Stop? Er, maybe not.

But much to my surprise, the very sketchy recreation of Manahttan's midtown Gallagher's Steakhouse, lodged just a few quick steps past gate C121 (that'd be Terminal C, if you're in B or A and really desperate) not only has a reasonable glass of 2006 Geyser Peak Sauvignon Blanc for $9, but will also sell you a bottle of 2002 Château Lynch-Bages for a mere $115. Lynch-Bages at Newark Airport! Go figure. And even with the airport highway-robbery markup, it's still less than you'd pay for the stuff at many Manhattan restaurants.

I take it as a sign that wine really has permeated the strange fabric of everyday American life. Follow it up with this conversation between a muscle-bound guy wearing a basketball warm-up suit and the waiter, after a bottle of Rodney Strong Russian River Valley Pinot had been delivered and tested:

Muscle-bound guy: "That's pretty oaky—just kidding! I know wine about as well as..."
Waiter: "About as well as I know wine!"

Much laughter all around. Me, I ate my steak sandwich and drank my Manhattan (extreme circumstances require extreme remedies) and marveled at the wonder of it all.

Had dinner last night at Telepan with Bill Hunter, the owner (along with Billington Imports, in some capacity) and winemaker at Chasseur. Bill's a bluff, friendly, no-nonsense sort of guy who happens to make some pretty extraordinary Chardonnays and Pinot Noirs. The standout last night for me was his 2004 Chasseur Durrell Vineyard Chardonnay ($48). Unfined and unfiltered, the wine is slightly hazy (not a problem) and its texture is a physical incarnation of that veil-like appearance; it's the kind of white that wins you over on texture alone, before you realize how good it tastes (think white peach and other stone fruits, brioche, and a faint, appealing note of butterscotch). It achieves that supple richness partly because Bill believes in leaving the wine on its lees well into the new year, creating the conditions for the kind of autolyzed yeast notes most people are familiar with from Champagne. He poured it next to a bottle of John Kongsgaard's 2004 Napa Chardonnay that he ordered off the list at the restaurant, an act that took a substantial amount of winemaker-cojones, given the level of acclaim Kongsgaard has received for his (admittedly terrific) Chardonnays. It was close to a dead heat in terms of quality, but in the end I gave the edge to the Chasseur, which surprised me.

Also, just a side note about Telepan. Bill Telepan is a wonderful chef, and he's cooking at the top of his game right now; everything I had-down to the slightly absurd but in-your-face delicious foie gras "donuts" that appeared as an amuse bouche-was superb. Of particular note were some nearly ethereal ricotta gnocchi, served with a small forest's worth of wild mushrooms, coin-sized discs of potato and toasted pine nuts, with small shavings of ricotta salata scattered on top; the definition of the flavors here was remarkable, with no ingredient vanishing under the weight of any other. It's hard to imagine a dish more suited to the style of Chardonnay we were drinking (though a kind of deconstructed lamb cassoulet went very well with the Pinot we switched to afterward, too). Aaron von Rock's wine list is adventurous and extensive, too, full of things I wished I could have ordered, But, you know, there's only so much one can experience in a single night.