Sunday, March 7, 2010

Ponti Dry Vermouth $4.99 (second review)****

Some days are for drinking wine, others are for cooking with wine.  After roasting a chicken yesterday, I picked the meat today for Chickpea chili with shredded chicken and the rest went into stock, which is bubbling away on the stove as I type this.

I was tempted to open a nice Gamay that I have waiting - but since there has been a fair amount of drinking over the past few days, my consumption today will only be cooking oriented.

I love this vermouth for cooking.  It is fortified, shelf stable, and perfect for any light dish that needs a kick. Thank you Julia Child for turning me on to cooking with good dry vermouth.  And thank you Trader Joe's for stocking Ponti, a great cheap bottle that tastes a lot more expensive. The price has gone up a dollar since my last Ponti review - but it is still a fantastic buy if you want a shelf stable white cooking wine.  (I don't drink martinis so I can't vouch for it as a mixer)

Menu
Chickpea Chili with Chicken

3 comments:

  1. I just tasted the Ponti and googled it to find other opinions. Thanks for yours!! As for mine, I would never use it in a cocktail. Try it straight up, cold and you will taste a most unmemorable and almost bad flavor. Glad to know I can use it in cooking. Will try that next.

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  2. Just realized the bottle I had was a hand me down and I think was past its prime. Shelf stable probably doesn't mean store in a warm dry place for many months. :)

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  3. “Hemingway Myth in Smithereens”

    by Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto


    Stick with me, friend.
    I’d like to make a distinction:
    I revere writers but do not deify them.
    My heroes and role models must be grounded,
    Must have so-called feet of clay.
    And there’s always something more in my craw,
    Whenever I see scribblers carved in marble,
    Glorified to the point of divinity and magic.
    Because in my heart of hearts,
    Reverence for writers,
    Is an odyssey of disillusionment and

    I fancy myself a man of letters,
    Although “Humanoid of Keystrokes,”
    Might be more apt; an appellation,
    Digitally au courant.
    I am a man on verbal fire,
    Perhaps, I am of a Lost Generation myself.
    And don’t you dare tell me to sit down, to calm down.
    You stand up when you tell a story.
    Even Hemingway--even when he was sitting down--knew that.
    Let us go then you and I.
    Moving our moveable feast to Paris,
    To France, European Union, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy.
    (Stick with me, Babaloo!)
    Why not join Papa at a tiny table at Les Deux Magots,
    Savoring the portugaises,
    Working off the buzz of a good Pouilly-Fuisse
    At 10:30 in the morning.
    The writing: going fast and well.

    Why not join that pompous windbag bullshit artist?
    As he tries to convince Ava Gardner,
    That writers tienen cajones grandes, tambien—
    Have big balls too—just like Bullfighters,
    Living their lives all the way up.
    That writing requires a torero’s finesse and fearlessness.
    That to be a writer is to be a real man.
    A GOD MAN!
    Papa is self-important at being Ernest,
    (Fuck me: some lines cannot be resisted.)
    Ava’s twat is on fire.
    She can just make him out,
    Can just picture him through her libidinous haze,
    Leaping the corrida wall,
    Setting her up for photos ops with Luis Miguel Dominguín,
    And Antonio Ordóñez, his brother-in-law rival,
    During that most dangerous summer of 1959.
    Or, her chance to set up a threesome,
    With Manolete and El Cordobés,
    While a really pissed off,
    Completely defeated & destroyed 2,000-pound bull,
    Bleeds out on the arena sand.

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