A Man of La Garrigue

‘My friends,’ Guillaume is saying. ‘These two black roses represent the two heroic soldiers we have lost today. Let us succor our wounded and our grieving, and remember our fallen comrades. I raise my glass to Alé and Gloria, heroes taken too soon. Salut!’

Cabel and Matt have already returned to their conversation, as have Eli and Dave, who are leaning across the table to speak.

Clarice clears her throat.

‘Excuse me, gentlemen! It has been some time since we have dined together in the hangar. This was a day of extraordinary developments. This is the war council.’

Raised voices in the commissary - laughing, clattering, a swinging door. Halogen lamps ambient buzzing in the high rafters.

‘Thank you, Clarice,’ Guillaume smiles. ‘Given that Matt was in Astoria today we took the opportunity to bring back a sack of Kumamotos. For those uninitiated, the Kumo is the crown jewel of the Washington oyster trade. I have personally prepared a simple mignonette; however I would highly recommend that you try the Kumos without the dressing first, with a glass of the 1997 Chateau D’Epiré Savennieres. The wine has developed a brilliant bouquet of chamomile, stone fruits and lanolin which is the perfect complement to these particularly sweet and briny oysters. Please enjoy!’

*****

The Kumos are gone; white gloved hands whisk the silver trays away; others place steaming ramekins before us. Allium, brown butter, toasted breadcrumbs.

‘A classic Coquilles St Jacques for my dear friends,’ Guillaume proclaims. ‘For this course Clarice selected the 1987 Cantina Terlano Cru Vorberg. A bold choice, to be sure, but one that I must say is exquisitely suited to the dish. Well done, Clarice!’

The ’87 Vorberg is truly a remarkable wine, bursting with melon and guava in the nose, showing remarkable richness together with a fine nervosity I do not think it is possible to achieve in Napa. And Guillaume is right, the pairing with the unctuously rich, sweet and savory scallops is out of this world.

‘Marion was describing a possible new approach to our security operation for me earlier,' Guillaume is explaining to the group. 'I believe it may hold real promise. I believe the term you used was disruptive defense, Marion. Please share the concept with the group.’

‘Well look – America is the most well-armed nation on earth. I saw a study not long ago estimating we have four guns for every man, woman and child living in America today. And yet we have this insatiable appetite for more guns. In a well-functioning market this would mean that there are a lot of disused guns out there, and therefore a robust secondary market.

‘The market, however, is not all that well-functioning. The problem is all those guns are owned by just a fraction of the adult population. Guns are disproportionately held by white, conservative, men. It's a potent market, but they tend to seek out similar guns and accessories. The result is a vibrant primary market and an underdeveloped secondary market. Therein lies the potential.

‘For there also exists, in this nation, the largest untapped market in commercial history. The cognizable opportunity is comprised of straight, liberal men, females, minorities and gays - all communitities that have voluntarily disarmed themselves over the past 30 years under a beknighted view that a responsible citizen doesn't keep a gun in the home.

‘In serving these communities, we will dramatically expand the market for firearms, reset the price of firearms and accessories on the secondary market, and arm and train like-minded communities to resist the pervasive slide into right wing vigilantism and authoritarianism.

'By focusing primarily on the underserved secondary market we provide a valuable service for those seeking to create room in their arsenals for the most modern equipment. This represents a practically endless source of high quality, low cost supply. At the same time, by offering recycled fire-arms combined with safe spaces for gun safety and training, we create a permission slip to communities who have learned to fear only one thing more than firearms: Nazis with firearms.'

‘This is very interesting proposal,’ Clarice says. ‘Clearly it requires more thought. I have 25 minutes at 13:30 hours tomorrow, Marion. You may pitch me on the opportunity at that time. Thank you.’

*****

‘The Cocquilles St Jacques are simply divine, Clarice. And you have outdone yourself with the Vorberg pairing. Please pass my compliments to Pascal.

‘And now please enjoy this fall risotto of butternut squash and locally foraged chanterelles paired with a 1992 Diochon Moulin-a-Vent, a wine that truly rises above its humble station, particularly with good age. May the same be said of each of you.’

‘So Marion,’ Guillaume is leaning in. Only those on our side of the table can hear. ‘I need to understand two things. First, how much money will be required to execute this plan, and secondly who else do you need on the team to make it all work?’

‘You both know I’m no business guy,’ Dave says, ‘but we lost a good man today in Alé. He will need to be replaced.’

‘I know just the man,’ I say.

‘That’s good, Marion,’ Guillaume replies. ‘How quickly can you get him out here? I will send Matt to retrieve him.’

‘I’ll ring him from my room once I get that Treo set up. Thank you for that, by-the-way.’

‘One must have the tools for the job. Very good. Hopefully Matt can retrieve him tomorrow. Where is he located?

‘He’s been the Cellar Master at Krug for 25 years. He was a Marine MP before that. Dude’s solid.’

‘Alright, consider it done. Do you need anyone else on your commercial team, Marion?’

‘Yeah, we could use a CCO. You remember Dan Woodall? He’s a natural for the role.’

‘Yes, I do remember Dan. I am surprised you would choose him, Marion. I always felt we could not hold a candle to you. And to be honest, I never really trusted him.’

‘I hear you about his business ethics. You can’t always trust Dan, except to do what is in Dan’s best interest. My experience tells me that if we get the incentives right he can be a real asset.’

‘Ok. In that case let’s see about getting both Dan and your Marine friend out here tomorrow.’

‘I can do that, Guy, but what should I say to Clarice about this? It sounds ike she still needs to be convinced of the pitch.’

‘Ah Marion. Do not worry about Clarice. She is my little sister; I will handle her.’

Dave raises his eyebrows at me, and Vin leans into my ear. ‘That frog is so full of shit it’s coming out of his mouth. You’d best be careful with Clarice, Parsley.’

‘Guy, there is a rat in your kitchen,' Vin says. 'Someone cost us three soldiers and a child today. So long as they're at large we should consider every operation compromised.’

Dave is looking steadily at Vin. I hadn’t noticed his heavy lids before, or the folds around his eyes.

‘This is how we lose operational cohesion, Guillaume. Tread carefully on this one.’

‘What do you suppose, Lavinia?’ I am surprised to smell the garlic on Clarice’s breath. I turn in my seat to look up at her, standing behind us. Vinnie doesn’t turn her head.

‘It is simple, Clarice. We have a mole. We need to find them. Put me in charge and I will do the work. I will flush out the rat.’

Clarice glances at Guy, and when I turn my head to face him he has raised his eyebrows back to Clarice.

‘Very well,’ she says. ‘I will give you this assignment, and you will report directly to me on your work. Be in my office at 0600 hours to discuss.’

‘By the way, Guillaume,' I say now, 'You weren’t kidding about this wine. I’ve read that Beaujolais crus can pinotte, but I have never experienced it myself. I can’t ever seem to keep them around long enough to find out.’

‘You are right, Marion. The Diochon has begun to take on a distinctly Pinot Noir characteristic. Reminiscent, perhaps, of a Fixin cru would you say?’

‘Well you would know more on that score than I, but it is a remarkable wine. Are these chanterelles local?’

‘Yes indeed they are,’ Eli joins in. ‘The monsoon was quite robust this year, and the mushroom harvest has been legendary.’

‘I am so pleased that you have enjoyed this course. I cannot wait for you to try the entrée,’ Guillaume says, and he waves a server over.

*****

‘Henri, I believe we are ready for the lamb. Please alert the team. Please bring the Finca Dofi and Clos Caballo for Marion’s approval.’

Dave again raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say a word.

Henri returns shortly with a server in tow. He presents a magnum of 1992 Finca Dofi for my inspection.

‘What an amazing dinner this has already been,’ I smile at Guillaume. ‘Yes this is the one,’ I say to Henri. ‘Please proceed.’

Although the wine is ten years old, the slate black Finca Dofi is still a tightly coiled beast offering begrudging hints of tobacco, soy, minerals and currants.

‘I believe it might benefit from some aeration. Perhaps we ought to decant?’ I hand the glass to Guillaume, who passes it to Dave to render a verdict.

‘Tighter than a cat’s ass. Marion’s right – this beast needs air. I’d decant.’

‘Yes sir,’ Henri murmurs, sending his helper away to retrieve the decanter. ‘Monsieur,’ he directs his gaze to Guillaume, ‘shall I present the Clos Caballo?’

‘By all means,’ Guy says, and Henri presents another magnum for my approval. Guillaume has modeled the label after Palacios’ modernist and minimalist aesthetic rather than that of a traditional French chateau. The large white label is matte, the only markings a mesa and rounded peak under which the words ‘Clos Caballo’ are printed, and below this ‘1997’. At the bottom of the label ‘Clos Caballo Monopole Par Guillaume Fabriquet.’

The wine splashes inky dark into my glass, glinting the candlelight in joyful little sparks. Immediate olfactory burn. The wine must be 15º. Vanilla, even shellack, black plum, wild blueberries. On the palate quite plush and high octane, almost sweet. Short, alcoholic finish.

‘So this is the grand cru. I can see why you are so proud, Guillaume. This is a remarkable wine.’

Dave is studying me closely. He doesn’t betray any emotion. Guillaume, however, is all smiles.

‘Yes, yes! We have been developing Clos Caballo for nearly ten years. The vines were only planted in 1993. So the wine that you are tasting now is derived from vines that are only four years old. Just imagine what this site will produce once the vines reach maturity!’

The rack of lamb has arrived, crackling blackened fat redolent on the bone, glinting rock salt, garlic, wild rosemary candlelight. Guillaume straining his neck to watch with eager anticipation as the servers prepare to carve the racks and serve the gathered councilors. He clears his throat to silence the quiet conversation, which is covering every topic save the lamb.

‘My friends. I am a man of la garrigue. I was raised with the smell of lanolin on my hands and wild rosemary in my hair. My skin was browned in the high, bright sun of Corbière. For me the small lambs of the spring were like my siblings, and when my father spilled their blood in the autumn it was as though he’d slain a part of me. Indeed, to consume the lamb of la garrigue is to know what it means to be fully human. That is to say – to be the keeper of god’s creation.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Vin mutters in my ear. ‘This fucking guy.’

‘Ever since I first saw this land as a young man, I knew that I had found a second home. And I have made it my life’s work to bring forth from this land the good things only a Frenchman could recognize were hidden here, for they are the same magical elements that I experienced at my mother’s hem, at my father’s knee, as a small boy.’ Guillaume appears more content, more wholly in his element, and pleased with his surroundings, than I have seen in a long time. He appears deeply moved by his own soliloquy.

A gloved hand has places a porcelain platter containing two perfectly prepared ribs, salmon pink at their center, before me. A ramekin of pommes anna have appeared beside that, and a saucier between my plate and Vin’s. A white glove expertly applies a ribbon of rich sauce across the ribs, just kissing the sprig of roasted sage beside them.

‘This is why I made it my life’s work to establish Clos Caballo, to plant not only the noble vine, but also the olive trees of my youth, and to grow the same Rambouillet with whom I once gamboled.’

*****

Garlic, toasted cumin, woodsmoke. White gloved hands place several earthenware platters on the table. Although they work noiselessly, the arrival of these dissonant aromas seems to have interrupted Guillaume’s rhythm. I glance over at him. He appears confused, and then angry.

The platters are stacked with asparagus spears: dark, charred and glistening in red oil. I think they look a little like building materials, their blistered surface blackened along their spines, where their skins have broken, glowering with a sort of humble, brick red texture.

Guillaume looks hard at Clarice across the table. ‘What is this? Why in the world would you bring asparagus to the table now?’

Clarice looks bemused. She shrugs. ‘I do not know, Guillaume, but the aroma is wonderful.’

‘Elena prepared these for the camp last summer. She called it ‘asparagus adobado’. I told her I wanted some with the meat,’ Vinnie says.

Eli smiles. ‘It has been a wonderful season for asparagus,’ he says.

‘Hah!’ Guillaume smiles as Vinnie, showing all his teeth. ‘Asparagus with Grenache is a bold choice indeed. Thank you for the thoughtful addition to the menu. I will pass.’ He raises the fingers of his left hand, as though instructing the servers to keep the spears from his plate. But the servers have already withdrawn, leaving not even serving utensils on the primitive platters.

‘Please, my friends,’ Guillaume struggles to resume, ‘breathe in the goodness of this lamb, raised to roam free among the scrub of Caballo, sustained on wild sage and other native herbs, slaughtered just as it has forgotten its mother’s teat, served to you as a gift from my very heart. Please enjoy this burnt offering with the wine of this special terroir, which I believe will eventually be recognized as the first grand cru of the new world. We have been so blessed in our bounty. We have been so blessed to share our table with such dear friends.’

Guillaume raises his glass of Clos Caballo for a toast, but I have already secured the decanter of Finca Dofi for Vin and me, and as the servers fill each goblet with Caballo I pour a generous glass of the great Priorat for Vinnie and me. ‘You must try,’ I whisper in her ear.

‘To home, to friends, to la garrigue!’ Guillaume declares, and he takes a sip of his grand cru.

‘Asparagus adobado?’ Clarice asks. ‘What an interesting concept! How are they prepared?’

‘It’s simple. Eddie and I have been eating them all summer, even Paco likes them. But Pascal says Elena is the master. The trick is to mash the spears just enough to break the skins before rubbing them with the adobo paste. Then she fire roasts them.’

Clarice is holding one like a French fry. She take a bite.

‘Wow, Vinnie. This is amazing. Please pass my compliments to Elena! Eli, you have got to try these!’

‘Really a novel idea,’ Eli smiles. ‘I cannot wait,’ and he grabs a spear from the platter.

The adobo has created a rich bark around the rigid spear, which snaps audibly when I bite into it. The crust is gritty, a little piquant, earthy and somehow a little sweet. The soft interior is steaming hot, and soft. The technique seems to have eviscerated the vegetal quality which makes asparagus so hard to pair with red wine.

*****

The Finca Dofi has begun opening. It is really something. That line of slate I’d noticed earlier has now developed into a rich cocoa element as well as dark currant and … sage. Some air has helped the tannins to round out little, and although this is clearly a wine that could age another ten years, the tarry tobacco palate, masking a deep vein of black cherry and currant, makes a perfect match for both the lamb (which is, in fact, utterly delicious), and the asparagus.

Dave has secured a second stem. ‘Gimme some of that,’ he demands, and I extend across the table with the decanter. He swirls the glass and takes a long, meditative smell. ‘Hmm,’ he says, lifting the glass to his lips and taking a sip. Dave closes his eyes while he moves the wine around in his mouth, sucking air through his teeth, before finally swallowing, eyes closed. ‘Hmm,’ he says. Then he opens his eyes and looks at Eli. ‘You need to try this wine, man. Henri – Eli needs a second glass.’