Calibrating to Pinot

Over the past year I've traveled and worked in Oregon pinot noir country, New Zealand pinot noir country, Australia cabernet country, and Washington syrah country. In the wine world, we notice that switching regions can be tough on the pallet. Not tough in a bad way, but it takes a while to go from big, juicy, tannic red wines, to softer, more subtle ones, and vice-versa. Hence, the title of this post, Calibrating to Pinot. Pinot noir is often a lighter more delicate red wine than its bigger, bolder neighbors, like syrah and cabernet. I've found that when I go from the big wines to pinot, it initially tastes a bit like watered down red wine. After an adjustment and acclimatization, however, pinot begins to burst with delicate, peppery, almost sensual flavors that can overwhelm (in the best sense) it's consumer.

This is what I discovered during my first bite of homemade Spinach Lasagna.

After rolling out the pasta dough, a painstaking hour long labor of love, I was onto béchamel sauce from scratch. The thick, white, creamy sauce (seriously, that's what it is), comprised of butter, flour and slow additions of milk, came together surprisingly easily. I was sure that if the pasta turned out ok, this sauce was going to be where the meal would fall apart. It's a good half hour long process of almost constant stirring to prevent burning. Lumping is apparently another serious issue - but somehow the food gods blessed me and the sauce practically made itself.

Herbs and garlic chopped, spinach sautéed and drained, pesto jar (whoops!) opened, and cheese grated, it was time to boil the pasta. Since hand making the pasta was the most intensive process of this meal, it was also the piece with the most emotional attachment. Lasagna without pasta is really just cheese (not bad, in fact a frequent guilty pleasure, ahhh delice de bourgogne! but a meal for another time). I put the misshapen pasta sheets in the salted, rolling boiling water and let them cook for a few minutes, just enough to reach an al dente state of mind. The smell from the boiling pot was amazing - like pure, light butter. I was surprised, since there was no butter in the pasta at all and was used to the lack of smell from cooking its store bought version. Later coating it in olive oil was like touching silk - I couldn't believe the difference between store bought and homemade pasta!

The lasagna was assembled with almost no issue - turns out I didn't make quite enough pasta to actually layer 7 times and cover the top - but all in all, not a serious problem. And came bubbling and smelling quite delicious out of the oven a half hour later. Served with fresh bruschetta and a zucchini/mushroom saute, it was 9:30 and I was starved!

My special friend brought a lovely Italian Chianti to pair with it, hoping the bright acidity of chianti would compliment the creamy richness of the pesto and sauce. Glasses poured, candles lit, and cheesy wonder dished, we held our breath and tried the first bite (not easy by the way). Swallow. And we both just looked at each other. Well, it's OK. We said reassuringly in unison. Maybe a little salt and pepper? Disappointing, honestly, after 4 hours in the kitchen and a marathon roller pin session. But then, slowly, after another bite or two, the flavors started bursting in our mouths! The delicate butter flavor of the airy pasta, the sharp saltiness of the parmesan, the cool texture of the spinach, the spicy intensity of garden basil, and the fresh summer sweetness of the heirloom tomatoes. I realized at that moment that my taste buds actually had to recalibrate to real, whole, fresh, simple food. Processed salt and sugars have us dulled to the delicate first bites of natural flavors. Much like we have to calibrate when switching from overwhelming big, bold wines, to light delicate pinot noir. The wine geek inside me loved the analogy, and the foodie inside me celebrated the new found delight in this incredible dish.

Do it all over again? Anytime.

Total cooking time = 4 + hours

Total cost = $43