ON THE BAR: Tuscany + Traginer
+ an invitation to dinner
Hello, friends.
Welp. The tariffs arriveth. I’m not going to spend too much time “hoo-ing and ha-ing about it,” as my yia-yia used to say, because doing so feels like a colossal waste of energy (and energy, I’m understanding more and more these days, is a very limited resource). Just know that they’re here, they’re a real drag, and we’ll do our best to keep our prices as low as we can for as long as we can, as has always been our mission.
I’m unemotional (Capricorn) about these things to a true fault, in part because I was raised by someone who was raised by someone who, at the slightest uttering of what she viewed as egocentric indulgence (known by most of the rest of us as feelings), would invariably tell you to shut up about it—that you had no idea how lucky you were.
One of eight kids born to Greek immigrants in a textile factory town in New Hampshire, she was right, most of the time. I do look back on some of my teenage complaints and shudder to think how she sat through them, a woman who worked in both a munitions factory and a gas station to support her family while her husband went to war. A woman who was widowed early, who watched most of her siblings leave this earthly realm too young, who managed to live with dignity on very little for a long, long time. What an asshole I was (possibly still am).
I didn’t have a great relationship with her, and I don’t necessarily regret it. I think it was what it could be, and there are many reasons why it could never be that great. But I did really love growing up around her—I especially loved all the theias and theios that came with her. I loved going to my Theia Sophia’s house and listening to them all talk shit in Greek while they played dominos and chain smoked and sucked on kalamatas. I loved the piles of Jordan almonds in colored glass dishes in my Theia Kiki’s rococo living room. I absolutely loved my anxious Theia Priscilla’s factory house, with its tiny spare bedroom decorated entirely—I mean entirely—in Pepto pink, and I loved her koulourakia, even though they always tasted a little like the mothballs in the cupboards.
In a lot of ways, food has helped me connect to these corners of my family that I don’t really have access to anymore. When my career took off and I had opportunities to travel for work, I went to Greece often, visiting wineries and experiencing a culture I’d inherited through the filter of the first-generation immigrant American working class. Greece itself—and the people, and the food, and the architecture—was so much easier to feel connected to than my emotionally distant kin. As I’ve gotten older, and as I try to construct some sense of lineage for my own daughter, food remains my primary path to a sense of belonging. Horiatiki is cheap and can be made from pretty much anything, anywhere, anytime I need its bitter comfort.
I feel a big pull toward these parts of my heritage this time of year. Spring was always a big moment for my Greek family—Orthodox Easter meant parties, with lamb and ouzo and tsougrisma (my Theio Tom always won—when he died, they found a red wooden egg in his sock drawer). Now, my family is scattered all over, and I’m feeling a little untethered. I was recently lamenting the absence of a big bowl of kalamatas on someone’s table until it occurred to me—it’s my turn to put them out. It’s a weird thing, when you look around and realize you’re the one holding the torch. Especially when no one really passed it to you.
Why am I telling you all of this? I’d like you to come to dinner. On Tuesday 4/29. It’s Spring, and I’m wanting to eat some lamb with some people. My apartment doesn’t have a dining room, so I’m going to throw a little dinner party at Dear Annie.
When I say I’m going to throw it, I mean I am going to throw it. I don’t mean this is a theme night at Dear Annie and someone else is going to cook and someone else is going to serve. I mean I’m capping it at 14 seats (because that’s how many people I know I can cook for and serve alone without totally losing my mind), and I’ll cook and serve like you’re at my house. Please RSVP here and come prepared to chitchat. If you’re a founding-level Substack subscriber, I’m holding a seat for you! Just RSVP so I know you’re coming.
What’s on the menu? Lamb. Other than that, I’ll do a veg and a potato thing and maybe two desserts. There will be wine, too. It won’t be crazy expensive.
Ok, that’s all from me. I’m trying to do more weird/unformed things that make me feel connected to something these days, and throwing funny little impromptu parties helps. Thanks for riding the ride with me.
XOXO,
Lauren
EVENTS
Two exciting things I want to let you know about:
Free Tasting at Wild Child: Wines of Tuscany w/ Gimo Tours
Unless you’re an absolute lunatic like me and booking a flight mere weeks before an international trip doesn’t annihilate your nervous system, this is probably your last chance to learn more about the Italian wine excursion I’m hosting for Gimo in May!
Come to Wild Child tomorrow (Weds 4/9) from 5-7PM to taste and meet my old friend Matt Mollo, founder of beloved Italian import portfolio SelectioNaturel, and now tour leader for his newest venture, Gimo Tours, which he’s helming alongside his wife, Adriana. Matt’s bringing some exceptional Tuscan wines to the shop to represent the estates we’ll be visiting on our 7-day trip to the heart of the natural wine scene in central Italy.
No RSVP required, just come through any time between 5-7PM! Life is short, go to Italy!
Adventures in Extreme Winemaking: Wine Class w/ Dom. du Traginer
Opportunities to meet legends like Jean-François of Domaine du Traginer are rare ones; and so, when we were offered the opportunity to host this winemaking icon on Marathon Monday, it was a resounding HECK YES (traffic be damned!).
Domaine du Traginer lies across the steep schist upper slopes of Banyuls sur Mer in Southwest France, where the Pyrenees Mountains meet the Mediterranean. This is literally winemaking at the ends of the earth; it’s not unusual for the vines here hang from cliffs over the sea. The climate is harsh, the terroir is rugged, and this is what has made Traginer’s wines some of my favorite of all time for more than a decade.
Traginer's wines are considered by many to be the best in the region, and there's a characteristic freshness that comes from the old and unique placement of their estate between the mountains and the sea. Great wine very often reflects the personality of the producer, and that's certainly the case here. Like his wines, Jean Francois is full of personality; rustic and honest. He's a farmer first and foremost, and he talks about his wines with honesty, sincerity and charm.
Please join us for what promises to be an exceptional evening with exceptional wines. I am truly beside myself to be hosting Jean-Francois, and I hope to see you there.
WHAT I’M WATCHING
They finally made an Edna Lewis documentary. Watch it here on PBS. Just another reason to give public media as much money as you possibly can right now.
ONE MORE THING
Another unformed thing I want to gauge interest in is a possible skill share session, hosted on Sunday afternoons at Dear Annie. I created this form to see if we have enough folks in our orbit to make this thing a thing.
AND FINALLY
I made this playlist for Dear Annie a few weeks ago. Tori gave it a thumbs-up. Hope you like it, too.