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Pahlmeyer’s proprietary perfection

When Jayson Pahlmeyer left the practice of law in the mid-1980s in order to devote himself to winemaking, he said, ‘All I wanted to do was to create my own “California Mouton” — a rich, powerful Napa Valley Bordeaux blend, a wine that would drop wine lovers to their knees.”’ He did it in 1986, the first vintage of his Proprietary Red, a luscious Cabernet blend that won plaudits throughout the world of wine. Pahlmeyer’s Merlot and Chardonnay have been similarly decorated, and I may return to them in a future column. For now, I want to focus on the Proprietary Red.

Kate Andrews

In defense of decaf

We all have our daily rituals. We’re told they’re a necessity to live a healthier, happier, more productive life. Some pride themselves on an early start, a morning jog, or a half hour spent journaling in their wellness notebook. Not a morning person, I’d be nervous to jot down — and read back — my view of the world at 7 a.m., so I’ve never taken up the fad. But I reserve no judgment for those who do. Why then, is there such judgment about my routine, which every day involves fueling up on decaffeinated coffee? To be fair and objective, I’m guilty of nothing more than ‘fitting in’. Coffee ranks as one of the most popular drinks worldwide, with more than 400 billion cups consumed every year.

Hannah Moore

I miss America’s sandwiches

When I was 16 I told my father I wanted to leave America to go to university in Scotland. His only real concern was the food: ‘I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.’ His run-in with British cuisine was in the 1970s, so little wonder. Sure enough, the food in the student halls of St Andrews was worthy of Oliver Twist. If it wasn’t slabs of fatty gammon, already cold in the tray, it was a tepid, oozing excuse for lasagna, harboring hard lumps of ground beef and grainy béchamel sauce. And then there’s haggis. I loved everything about my four years at the tiny university town on the frigid North Sea coast, except for the food. That all changed when I moved to London, and I have to hand it to them — Londoners do know how to eat well. The world’s cuisine is here.

Jane Stannus

I’ve come to love the onion

‘Life,’ Carl Sandburg says, ‘is like an onion. You peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep.’ Carl, being a poet, was the sensitive type. You’d better believe that when Chuck Norris peels an onion, the only crying comes from the onion. But Chuck’s iron-jawed impassivity isn’t a trait I personally seek to emulate (though one is naturally curious about the type; did you know that when Chuck goes to a feminist rally, he leaves with a freshly ironed shirt and a sandwich?) I freely admit that both life and onions have occasionally brought me to tears. Especially onions. Julia Child thought it hard to imagine a civilization without them, but as a seven-year-old I vigorously disagreed.

Food & Drink