Dinner, & Duckhorn Decoy 2006

Despite its status as the little sister label to Duckhorn Vineyards, don't let the name fool you; as the Rampant Oenophile reminds us, this Decoy is the Real Thing.

Photo credit: Hooeyspewer

Granted, my modest level of viticultural erudition prohibits me from speaking with authority, but the stuff was smooth, perfect for rinsing the tongue of a rich, meaty sauce.

You see, Saturday evening I had the pleasure of eating quietly forty floors above the bustling nightlife of the city at Kemoll's, an Italian restaurant that's a regional favorite. After phoning them to say we'd arrive fifteen minutes later than the time of our reservation, we rode the arrantly art-deco elevators upward and walked in at 5:45 pm. We found our table in its own quiet room against what seemed a wall of glass facing north onto the city.

Our waiter sauntered through as we investigated the antipasti and informed us "the best ones on the menu" were the steamed mussels alla crema, mussels served beneath the generous bath of a sherry, cream and garlic sauce. Being easily enticed because of our eager palates, we quickly agreed to order a plate of these.

The mussels arrived hot and made their way around the table. When they came to me, I stealthily emptied several additional spoonfuls of the milky cream over the one I took, and grabbed two slices of the lightly toasted baguette that accompanied the little fellows. The texture was perfect and the flavor immediate; I didn't want my entree anymore, I wanted a plate of these. I soaked up the rest of the creamy sauce with the toasted bread, and, if the now empty plate on which the mussels had been served hadn't been at the opposite end of the table, I wouldn't have hesitated to mop up the leftover sauce there, too. Luckily, my manners restrained me.

After this, the rest of the meal -- a salad well appointed with cheeses and artichokes, a buttery steak of salmon and a thick slice of the densest chocolate cake imaginable -- whirred by in a flurry of conversation and laughter. In retrospect, the rest of the meal seemed this way by comparison to the silence clouded around us during our fiery, personal affairs with those creamy mussels.

The ear can wait if the mouth is content, you see.