Originially published on 2/5/10 at Rogerspark.com, A Good Pour
Okay, maybe serving time/ temperature is not the sexiest topic, but hang in here with me, dear neighbors, because boy can it make a difference in your wine tasting experience.
I was in the mood for a wine comparison the other night so David and I opened a Rioja and a Chianti Classico. Perhaps because we were getting a bit hungry for dinner, we began our note taking shortly after I opened the bottles. Now I know that ideally, wine should be given the chance to breathe, but like other habits you know are good for you, ( flossing, anyone?) I don’t do it every time.
Here’s what happened. Both wines were true to their varietal in style. The Rioja had mild aromas of cherry, raspberry and oak, the Chianti Classico shared the cherry and added rose petal, but nothing leapt out of the glass. The latter, not surprisingly, was more acidic, but with less body, highlighting the gentler, smoother mouth feel of the Rioja. Okay, that’s nice, two pleasant wines, true to type. Ho hum. We went through the tasting protocol, again. Were we missing something? Let’s sip some more water, cleanse our palates, we’re not getting what we should be from these wines. I wasn’t expecting to be blown away, but I thought they’d be more nuanced, more cohesive. Heck, I just thought they’d be better.
So, we left the wine in the glasses and went to start dinner. A half hour later we returned to pick one to have with the meal and tried them both again. Wow. The difference was startling. Both wines had clearly enjoyed their time basking languidly in the glass, just waiting for us to return and find them in their glory. I swear they were smirking. All the individual, formerly clunky notes we’d been carefully describing were now all harmonizing beautifully together, creating a singular expression of the varietals. They didn’t need to be formally decanted, they just needed to be poured into a glass, swirled a bit and left to do their magic.
Though theoretically, decanting is really only needed for red wines with bigger tannins, I was reminded once again that a bit of time out of the bottle does wonders for whatever is inside. It’s like those of here on the Third Coast in February, getting out of our confines helps us to blossom, too.
Saying that wine needs to breathe may sound pretentious, but it’s true. It’s all about getting the wine aerated so that it can unlock its full spectrum of aromas and flavors. But please note, simply opening the bottle won’t do the trick, the wine should at least be poured into a glass. The surface area of an opened bottle isn’t wide enough to get the party started.
So what about serving temperature? Tradition says that red wines are best served at room temperature, but that idea was born before room temperatures averaged around 70 degrees. A decent medium is 50 degrees, so if the bottle isn’t in a cellar, just let it chill in your refrigerator for 15-20 minutes before serving. White wines need some special handling here as well. They are frequently served way too cold. Many restaurants are guilty of this and it’s a shame because patrons can go away thinking that a wine was so-so or just plain bad when really, it was simply hunched up against the deep chill, its personality in lock down. 45°F is a good baseline temperature for white wines. So, practically speaking, if your wine is in the frig, take it out about a half hour before you want to drink it or if it’s at room temperature, pop it in the freezer for 30 minutes.
No matter what your level of investment, you want your wine to be enjoyed at its best. So this Valentine’s Day, as you try to stay warm and look cool, take a lesson from Goldilocks and shine that same attention to detail on your vino as well. Your sweetheart will thank you.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Pinot Noir -Why all the Fuss?
Originally posted to my column A Good Pour in Rogers Park
Pinot Noir…why all the fuss?
Impressionable, finicky, skittish beauty seeks patient, tender, skillful hands and a Goldilocks environment in which to flourish-not too hot, not too cold. Sound too high maintenance? Well, luckily for us, many intrepid winemakers think she’s worth the trouble and fear not, dear neighbors, she is.
Pinot Noir, a red wine grape used to make still and sparkling wines, is famously difficult to grow. Its very thin skin leaves it vulnerable to mishandling and prone to rotting in warmer climates. It balks at spring frosts since it’s an early bloomer and is choosy about just how much rain it needs and when. Producing pinot noir takes meticulous caretaking, but the end result will reflect all those careful decisions made in the vineyard and the winery. Talk about creative freedom! Vintners are able to truly express themselves and their land through this chameleon, for it reflects its terroir, or sense of place, like no other grape.
Terroir is one of my favorite words because there’s no exact translation, yet it evokes such feeling. Yes, it’s the combined effect that climate, soil and farming practices have on a given crop, but even as I type that I stiffen at how clinical that sounds. Maybe I can best describe it by veering off track a bit and telling you a quick story. (Stay with me.) Several years ago I made a pilgrimage of sorts to Santa Barbara County (before the movie Sideways threw a spotlight on the place ) to talk with winemakers and get a glimpse, close-up, of what it felt like to bring in a pinot noir harvest. I was standing in the Bien Nacido vineyard in the waning hours of an October afternoon talking with a man whose family had farmed that land for nine generations. The road we drove in on shared his last name. He was a farmer and a vintner and he carried himself with the quiet assurance of a man whose work satisfied him deeply. A delicious sense of rootedness warmed me.When I tasted his wine, a rich, fruity pinot with a creamy finish, I could swear that I tasted that land and all the accumulated wisdom and tender care that had gone into it’s cultivation. To me, that’s terroir.
Pinot Noir’s ancestral home in Burgundy has long been considered its ideal climate. Gentle morning sun coddles the vines on the eastern facing slopes of the famed Cote d’or region, allowing the grapes to avoid the bruising afternoon rays. But they have their problems, too. Unpredictable rain and harsh storms haunt the area and have at times, damaged valuable crops prior to harvest. Of course, the French aren’t the only ones making memorable pinot these days. Other notable areas include some cooler CA climes, including the Russian River Valley, Carneros, Santa Rita Hills and the Santa Lucia Highlands. Wines from the Willamette Valley in Oregon have many fans, as do the offerings from New Zealand.
By now you may be wondering, if you haven't yet had the pleasure, what it tastes like. Why all the fuss? Well, it’s almost as hard to describe as it is to grow, partly due to the many ways it can be crafted. But, in general, to give you a baseline, flavor associations include strawberry, red cherry, raspberry, violets and often earthy notes. The wine will be medium to full bodied, but have whisper light tannins and, if it’s a good one, a velvety finish that lasts awhile. Sophisticated and elegant are words that you’ll see attached to pinot noir, as opposed to the boldness and forthrightness of a cabernet sauvignon.
As with all wine and wine tasting, generalities abound, but I’ve found this one to be true more often than not. Some say that old world pinots, (think France, Italy, European countries) radiate an earthiness that is supported by subtle fruit, while new world wines (North America and the Southern Hemisphere) tend to deliver their fruit right up, front and center. Additionally, old world wines benefit from a healthy dose of decanting and really show their colors during a meal; new world pinots can often be delightful on their own as a cocktail. This is where you get to experiment and find out what you like. Do a side-by-side taste test and see if you can tell the difference and, more importantly, if you have a preference. It should always be about what you most enjoy, it’s your palate you have to please. And here’s another bonus- it’s one of the most versatile wines to pair with food. It makes a lovely companion to poultry, beef, fish or pork.
I think it’s a shame we can’t grow pinot noir right here in Rogers Park. Can you imagine the essence our terroir would bring to that wine? Lands cooled by the lake and infused with such diverse cultural backgrounds would surely yield a vibrant wine with just the right amount of berry fruit seamlessly blended with a warm inviting earthiness. Even Goldilocks would approve.
Pinot Noir…why all the fuss?
Impressionable, finicky, skittish beauty seeks patient, tender, skillful hands and a Goldilocks environment in which to flourish-not too hot, not too cold. Sound too high maintenance? Well, luckily for us, many intrepid winemakers think she’s worth the trouble and fear not, dear neighbors, she is.
Pinot Noir, a red wine grape used to make still and sparkling wines, is famously difficult to grow. Its very thin skin leaves it vulnerable to mishandling and prone to rotting in warmer climates. It balks at spring frosts since it’s an early bloomer and is choosy about just how much rain it needs and when. Producing pinot noir takes meticulous caretaking, but the end result will reflect all those careful decisions made in the vineyard and the winery. Talk about creative freedom! Vintners are able to truly express themselves and their land through this chameleon, for it reflects its terroir, or sense of place, like no other grape.
Terroir is one of my favorite words because there’s no exact translation, yet it evokes such feeling. Yes, it’s the combined effect that climate, soil and farming practices have on a given crop, but even as I type that I stiffen at how clinical that sounds. Maybe I can best describe it by veering off track a bit and telling you a quick story. (Stay with me.) Several years ago I made a pilgrimage of sorts to Santa Barbara County (before the movie Sideways threw a spotlight on the place ) to talk with winemakers and get a glimpse, close-up, of what it felt like to bring in a pinot noir harvest. I was standing in the Bien Nacido vineyard in the waning hours of an October afternoon talking with a man whose family had farmed that land for nine generations. The road we drove in on shared his last name. He was a farmer and a vintner and he carried himself with the quiet assurance of a man whose work satisfied him deeply. A delicious sense of rootedness warmed me.When I tasted his wine, a rich, fruity pinot with a creamy finish, I could swear that I tasted that land and all the accumulated wisdom and tender care that had gone into it’s cultivation. To me, that’s terroir.
Pinot Noir’s ancestral home in Burgundy has long been considered its ideal climate. Gentle morning sun coddles the vines on the eastern facing slopes of the famed Cote d’or region, allowing the grapes to avoid the bruising afternoon rays. But they have their problems, too. Unpredictable rain and harsh storms haunt the area and have at times, damaged valuable crops prior to harvest. Of course, the French aren’t the only ones making memorable pinot these days. Other notable areas include some cooler CA climes, including the Russian River Valley, Carneros, Santa Rita Hills and the Santa Lucia Highlands. Wines from the Willamette Valley in Oregon have many fans, as do the offerings from New Zealand.
By now you may be wondering, if you haven't yet had the pleasure, what it tastes like. Why all the fuss? Well, it’s almost as hard to describe as it is to grow, partly due to the many ways it can be crafted. But, in general, to give you a baseline, flavor associations include strawberry, red cherry, raspberry, violets and often earthy notes. The wine will be medium to full bodied, but have whisper light tannins and, if it’s a good one, a velvety finish that lasts awhile. Sophisticated and elegant are words that you’ll see attached to pinot noir, as opposed to the boldness and forthrightness of a cabernet sauvignon.
As with all wine and wine tasting, generalities abound, but I’ve found this one to be true more often than not. Some say that old world pinots, (think France, Italy, European countries) radiate an earthiness that is supported by subtle fruit, while new world wines (North America and the Southern Hemisphere) tend to deliver their fruit right up, front and center. Additionally, old world wines benefit from a healthy dose of decanting and really show their colors during a meal; new world pinots can often be delightful on their own as a cocktail. This is where you get to experiment and find out what you like. Do a side-by-side taste test and see if you can tell the difference and, more importantly, if you have a preference. It should always be about what you most enjoy, it’s your palate you have to please. And here’s another bonus- it’s one of the most versatile wines to pair with food. It makes a lovely companion to poultry, beef, fish or pork.
I think it’s a shame we can’t grow pinot noir right here in Rogers Park. Can you imagine the essence our terroir would bring to that wine? Lands cooled by the lake and infused with such diverse cultural backgrounds would surely yield a vibrant wine with just the right amount of berry fruit seamlessly blended with a warm inviting earthiness. Even Goldilocks would approve.
Monday, May 04, 2009
Exploring Rum’s Golden Side
This was one of a series for my column at www.Rogerspark.com
Close your eyes. Listen to the palm fronds swishing in the gentle breeze, punctuated by the occasional call of a nearby seagull. Sink your toes into the toasty sand and taste the faint trace of salt dancing in the air over the turquoise waters. If you’re like me, dear neighbors, all you need is a sailboat to get to your happy place, but for now, we’re going to be perched on a Caribbean beach about to enjoy one the area’s signature delights. You may be surprised that we’re not being served rum punch, typically made with light rum and fruit juices, but today our focus is going to be on the golden and premium varieties, the less widely known but richly complex branch of the rum family.
Golden rums are medium bodied and are often aged in wooden barrels. They range from deep gold to burnt amber and will tempt you with their fruity, spicy and sometimes even floral aromas. Let’s try one! Mount Gay, traditionally known as the world’s oldest rum producer, has been mixing magic on Barbados since at least 1703. Today on our island, they’re serving Mount Gay’s Eclipse Rum. We’ll stir in some cola, but some people like soda water. Take a healthy sip, letting the liquid gold bathe your entire tongue before you swallow. What did you taste? I got a hint of vanilla and smoke and a zing of spice. This rum was aged in white oak barrels from Kentucky that had been used for aging bourbon, then charred. What I like best about golden rums are their full flavors, which cola brings out nicely, but avoid using the diet variety, I think they interfere with the taste. If you like Crown Royal and Coke, you’ll probably enjoy this cocktail as well.
Rums have no universal style classification, so they are usually broken down by color. You may be more familiar with light (white, silver) rums that are generally sweet and spiced rums like Captain Morgan’s that are used as a base for cocktails. Unlike other spirits such as Cognac or Scotch, rum has no standard production method; the countries that make it each have their own laws and traditions.
Columbus brought sugar cane to the Americas in the late 1400s and Europeans were eager to harvest this coveted good for trade. The cane juice was boiled to form crystals and after those were extracted, a thick black liquid, molasses, remained. It was discovered that when that liquid was left out in the sun and mixed with water that it morphed into a spirit. The spirit was then distilled and aged, most often in oak, though some light rums today spend time in stainless steel. (Most rums are made with molasses, but some manufacturers such as those in the French West Indies make it from straight sugar cane juice.)
The history of rum is as colorful as Chicago politics. The first rum distillery in the U.S. was built in 1664 on what is now Staten Island and rum manufacturing became a booming business for colonial New England. The beverage was so popular that George Washington was adamant that a barrel of Barbados rum be served at his 1789 inauguration! Speaking of politics, rum was often used as a way to get votes. The outcomes of many elections rested on how much rum the candidates provided to the constituency. Hmm. (Would we be better able to stomach this parking meter price increase if Mayor Daly had issued copious amounts of rum to each neighborhood before making that sale?) One more fun fact. The British Navy issued a daily ration or “tot” of rum to its sailors, a centuries old practice that lasted until 1970.
Okay, let’s get back to what’s in the glass. Another way to explore rum’s character is to unwind with a premium rum. Sipping rums can have aromas of caramel and toast and hints of mellow spices. These spirits are smooth and complex and should be served neat (my favorite way), over ice or with the tiniest splash of water. You don’t want to dilute these beauties. David Meihaus of the Morseland Café has been introducing his customers to premium rums for the past five years and told me that “ once a rum ages past 10 years it goes to that same place that Armagnacs and Bourbons do, they develop a nice round quality.”
So, now that we’ve brought the story closer to home, I have a suggestion. On the next warm, balmy day (it’s coming) take a stroll to the beach at Loyola Park and gaze out at the lake. Soften your eyes and see if the waters don’t take on a jewel-like hue. Cock your ear to the breeze and hear the faint tinkling of steel drums. Meander back home, pour your favorite rum cocktail and be happy that we have our own slice of paradise right here.
Close your eyes. Listen to the palm fronds swishing in the gentle breeze, punctuated by the occasional call of a nearby seagull. Sink your toes into the toasty sand and taste the faint trace of salt dancing in the air over the turquoise waters. If you’re like me, dear neighbors, all you need is a sailboat to get to your happy place, but for now, we’re going to be perched on a Caribbean beach about to enjoy one the area’s signature delights. You may be surprised that we’re not being served rum punch, typically made with light rum and fruit juices, but today our focus is going to be on the golden and premium varieties, the less widely known but richly complex branch of the rum family.
Golden rums are medium bodied and are often aged in wooden barrels. They range from deep gold to burnt amber and will tempt you with their fruity, spicy and sometimes even floral aromas. Let’s try one! Mount Gay, traditionally known as the world’s oldest rum producer, has been mixing magic on Barbados since at least 1703. Today on our island, they’re serving Mount Gay’s Eclipse Rum. We’ll stir in some cola, but some people like soda water. Take a healthy sip, letting the liquid gold bathe your entire tongue before you swallow. What did you taste? I got a hint of vanilla and smoke and a zing of spice. This rum was aged in white oak barrels from Kentucky that had been used for aging bourbon, then charred. What I like best about golden rums are their full flavors, which cola brings out nicely, but avoid using the diet variety, I think they interfere with the taste. If you like Crown Royal and Coke, you’ll probably enjoy this cocktail as well.
Rums have no universal style classification, so they are usually broken down by color. You may be more familiar with light (white, silver) rums that are generally sweet and spiced rums like Captain Morgan’s that are used as a base for cocktails. Unlike other spirits such as Cognac or Scotch, rum has no standard production method; the countries that make it each have their own laws and traditions.
Columbus brought sugar cane to the Americas in the late 1400s and Europeans were eager to harvest this coveted good for trade. The cane juice was boiled to form crystals and after those were extracted, a thick black liquid, molasses, remained. It was discovered that when that liquid was left out in the sun and mixed with water that it morphed into a spirit. The spirit was then distilled and aged, most often in oak, though some light rums today spend time in stainless steel. (Most rums are made with molasses, but some manufacturers such as those in the French West Indies make it from straight sugar cane juice.)
The history of rum is as colorful as Chicago politics. The first rum distillery in the U.S. was built in 1664 on what is now Staten Island and rum manufacturing became a booming business for colonial New England. The beverage was so popular that George Washington was adamant that a barrel of Barbados rum be served at his 1789 inauguration! Speaking of politics, rum was often used as a way to get votes. The outcomes of many elections rested on how much rum the candidates provided to the constituency. Hmm. (Would we be better able to stomach this parking meter price increase if Mayor Daly had issued copious amounts of rum to each neighborhood before making that sale?) One more fun fact. The British Navy issued a daily ration or “tot” of rum to its sailors, a centuries old practice that lasted until 1970.
Okay, let’s get back to what’s in the glass. Another way to explore rum’s character is to unwind with a premium rum. Sipping rums can have aromas of caramel and toast and hints of mellow spices. These spirits are smooth and complex and should be served neat (my favorite way), over ice or with the tiniest splash of water. You don’t want to dilute these beauties. David Meihaus of the Morseland Café has been introducing his customers to premium rums for the past five years and told me that “ once a rum ages past 10 years it goes to that same place that Armagnacs and Bourbons do, they develop a nice round quality.”
So, now that we’ve brought the story closer to home, I have a suggestion. On the next warm, balmy day (it’s coming) take a stroll to the beach at Loyola Park and gaze out at the lake. Soften your eyes and see if the waters don’t take on a jewel-like hue. Cock your ear to the breeze and hear the faint tinkling of steel drums. Meander back home, pour your favorite rum cocktail and be happy that we have our own slice of paradise right here.
Monday, March 09, 2009
Misunderstood Merlot
This was one of a series for my column at http://www.rogerspark.com/
She’s always been a beauty. Voluptuous with a juicy personality, yet approachable and warm. No hard edges here. It’s no wonder she was the most popular girl in her class for so many years. This also made her vulnerable. Ah yes, dear neighbors, she is a people pleaser and her willingness to produce big watered down her charm.
Lady Merlot has quite a noble pedigree. She is one of the classic Bordeaux blending grapes along with Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, Malbec and Petit Verdot.
In fact, she and Cab have quite a symbiotic relationship - she softens him and smoothes out the rough spots in his lean and tannic personality and he provides her fleshiness with structure and backbone. I can almost hear them murmuring “you complete me.”
But she can create some pretty luscious wines all on her own, thank you very much. Easy to drink and appreciate, with a medium body and low levels of tannin, she offers ripe, juicy fruit that can taste like red berries, black cherry or plum and may leave you with a hint of chocolate, mint, vanilla or spice before she signs off with a silky finish. She’s also friendly with many of your favorite foods and pairs well with lamb, red meat, tomato–sauced pastas, or even chicken. (I enjoy her on her own as a cocktail.) Not bad for a wine that has suffered some unfortunate setbacks.
What do I mean by misunderstood? Well, it started before the main character in the movie Sideways nearly spit his disdain for Merlot. It was a cheap shot, but sadly, it rang true for some wine drinkers and sent up red flags for others. Why? Because Merlot’s popularity had turned against her. In the late 1980’s and 90’s, Americans, many new to drinking red wines, lapped up Merlot since it was palate friendly and didn’t barrage them with too much tannin before they were ready. This increase in demand drove an explosion of planting, even in areas that were not conducive to the grape. The central valley in California is a good example where the climate is too warm and the soils too fertile for Merlot. She can produce overly generous yields and that dilutes her flavor and quality.
Though there has always been top notch Merlot to be found, the good news is that the harsh beam of media attention forced growers to re-evaluate their product and today quality overall has improved. Domestically, Napa, Sonoma, Carneros and Santa Barbara are highly regarded Merlot producing regions in California and in Washington both the Yakima and Columbia valleys have crafted many winners. Of course, you can always enjoy a Merlot from Bordeaux, Italy, New Zealand, South Africa and a host of other countries.
I asked Jamie Evans, of Taste Food and Wine on Jarvis, how he thinks consumers should approach buying Merlot. He feels that it’s less about the area where the grapes were grown, but more about the characteristics that you’ like to find in your wine. That’s why it’s always good to ask questions when you shop. A couple of options he suggests trying are Rim Rock Merlot, 2005, from the Yakima Valley, which is a straight Merlot, and Chateau Crabitan- Bellevue, Premieres Cotes de Bordeaux, 2006, a Merlot blend. Both are reasonably priced.
So, if it’s been too long since you’ve enjoyed her company, make some plans to rekindle your relationship with Merlot. You know you’ve missed her. Remember? She had you at hello.
She’s always been a beauty. Voluptuous with a juicy personality, yet approachable and warm. No hard edges here. It’s no wonder she was the most popular girl in her class for so many years. This also made her vulnerable. Ah yes, dear neighbors, she is a people pleaser and her willingness to produce big watered down her charm.
Lady Merlot has quite a noble pedigree. She is one of the classic Bordeaux blending grapes along with Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, Malbec and Petit Verdot.
In fact, she and Cab have quite a symbiotic relationship - she softens him and smoothes out the rough spots in his lean and tannic personality and he provides her fleshiness with structure and backbone. I can almost hear them murmuring “you complete me.”
But she can create some pretty luscious wines all on her own, thank you very much. Easy to drink and appreciate, with a medium body and low levels of tannin, she offers ripe, juicy fruit that can taste like red berries, black cherry or plum and may leave you with a hint of chocolate, mint, vanilla or spice before she signs off with a silky finish. She’s also friendly with many of your favorite foods and pairs well with lamb, red meat, tomato–sauced pastas, or even chicken. (I enjoy her on her own as a cocktail.) Not bad for a wine that has suffered some unfortunate setbacks.
What do I mean by misunderstood? Well, it started before the main character in the movie Sideways nearly spit his disdain for Merlot. It was a cheap shot, but sadly, it rang true for some wine drinkers and sent up red flags for others. Why? Because Merlot’s popularity had turned against her. In the late 1980’s and 90’s, Americans, many new to drinking red wines, lapped up Merlot since it was palate friendly and didn’t barrage them with too much tannin before they were ready. This increase in demand drove an explosion of planting, even in areas that were not conducive to the grape. The central valley in California is a good example where the climate is too warm and the soils too fertile for Merlot. She can produce overly generous yields and that dilutes her flavor and quality.
Though there has always been top notch Merlot to be found, the good news is that the harsh beam of media attention forced growers to re-evaluate their product and today quality overall has improved. Domestically, Napa, Sonoma, Carneros and Santa Barbara are highly regarded Merlot producing regions in California and in Washington both the Yakima and Columbia valleys have crafted many winners. Of course, you can always enjoy a Merlot from Bordeaux, Italy, New Zealand, South Africa and a host of other countries.
I asked Jamie Evans, of Taste Food and Wine on Jarvis, how he thinks consumers should approach buying Merlot. He feels that it’s less about the area where the grapes were grown, but more about the characteristics that you’ like to find in your wine. That’s why it’s always good to ask questions when you shop. A couple of options he suggests trying are Rim Rock Merlot, 2005, from the Yakima Valley, which is a straight Merlot, and Chateau Crabitan- Bellevue, Premieres Cotes de Bordeaux, 2006, a Merlot blend. Both are reasonably priced.
So, if it’s been too long since you’ve enjoyed her company, make some plans to rekindle your relationship with Merlot. You know you’ve missed her. Remember? She had you at hello.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
An interview with an animal rescue volunteer
He is naked, skinny and hairless.
A hard ball protrudes from the side of his neck where an abscess has formed in response to a puncture wound. Uncontrollable diarrhea racks his scab covered body and contributes to his putrid stench.
And yet, his tail is still wagging.
The mutt looks up gratefully into a pair of warm brown eyes and settles down under their gentle care. Brandi sighs. It’s going to be tough to forget about this one.
Brandi's been in Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans for three days now, having arrived with another volunteer from Chicago. She is working triage with a group from VMAT (Veterinary Medical Assistance Teams) a division of the American Veterinary Medical Association. They are paid vets, she is not. She is a trained vet tech, a volunteer whose sense of urgency led her to toss a water jug, a jar of peanut butter and some biodegradable soap into a newly purchased camping pack, spend $300 for personal vaccinations and plunge, heart first, into the animal rescue effort. Her supportive bosses at Shedd Aquarium let her have at it and off she went for Lord knew how long. This is a woman who keeps extra leashes in her glove department in the event that she comes across stray dogs.
When Katrina besieged the gulf coast, stories of human suffering were inescapable. Images of stranded people clinging to rooftops popped up on computers, shouted from newspaper stands and glowed from TV screens. What we didn’t see, however, was much evidence of the great tide of animal suffering.
Many evacuating residents, assuming they’d be back in a day or two, left their pets with bowls of food and water. Some refused to leave them at all and so, were left to fend for themselves. Others seemed to ignore their pet’s welfare altogether. “I hate to make this generalization,” Brandi says, “but it was obvious to me that they were not very well taken care of before the hurricane. I don’t doubt that a good percentage of pet owners didn’t think twice about leaving their animals behind.” She’ll see over 1,000 dogs on this trip and find that not one of them is neutered. Not one.
She bends over this scrawny, wriggling dog, the one with no fur, and surveys the vast number of scars criss-crossing his shivering body. This little guy dealt with more than neglect. After giving him the standard series of vaccines, flea killer, de-worming and a micro chip for identification, she reluctantly hands him over to the volunteer who will scan the info on petfinder.com and assign him a cage, but not before asking the woman to return and tell her where he ends up. She will later grab a Sharpie and add his barn, stall and cage numbers to the growing list on her slender arm. She can’t keep track of all of them, but there are a few she feels compelled to follow up with.
Tall and wiry like a greyhound, her motor runs on a potent mix of devotion, drive and pure energy. She’s never hungry, it’s just too hot, so the pounds are melting off her already spare frame. She is a hardened veteran now- you get that way quickly around here- but a just a few days ago, when she arrived, she felt assaulted by the heat and the deafening din of thousands of dogs clamoring for attention.
Five cavernous barns, each containing six aisles, with 25 horse stalls per aisle. Every stall packed with five to six wire crates and each holding a dog. A howling, frightened, traumatized dog. “They were sitting in these little cages with nothing,” Brandi recalls, “no blanket or towel, and they would bark, bark, bark, they were stressed out, they were bored, and it never stopped.”
She planned on going into the field, snatching trapped dogs out of abandoned houses or taping up wounds in the middle of the street. But then she heard from the rescuers. At the day’s end, when the vans were full, dogs would often run after the vehicles, only to be left behind. She knew she couldn’t deal with that. No way.
Instead she ministered to them when they arrived by the hundreds, systematically providing solid, fundamental care with as much tenderness as time allowed. The tempo revved up in the evenings. It felt surreal. “You’d start to see the headlights and there’d be a line of vehicles coming back from the city,” she recalls. “You’ve been busting your butt all day in the hot sun while these people were gone because you were so worried about the animals that were there. You’d look and there’d be hundreds more coming. We were running out of space, there was nowhere to put them. You’d hear rumors that there are 300 more coming and they should be here by 6. Oh my God, it never stopped, it just never stopped.”
Many who have made this journey form deep attachments with the victims they’ve come to help. Perhaps the punishing heat and lack of sound sleep contribute to the sense of desperation, but resolute volunteers, loath to say goodbye to their charges, barter and haggle to secure temporary shelter until they can claim them. A bargaining subculture develops. Brandi cannot forget the bald, oozing dog with the steadily wagging tail, the puppy who needs extensive, costly care. She knows he will be overlooked in favor of cuddlier, less needy dogs.
She meets another Chicagoan who has her own car and pleads with the woman to bring the puppy back. She hands her $100, hoping that will secure the agreement. But Brandi remains uneasy. “I kept thinking we’re going to leave and someone’s going to offer this girl a better deal and she’s not going to bring my puppy back.”
She continued to work 13-15 hours shifts daily, often by lantern light until 3:00AM. After 8 grueling days, Brandi had lost 10 pounds, but gained a keen awareness that this type of impactful work is something she needed more of. Her experience here led her to assume the unofficial role of vet coordinator at the shelter where she’s been volunteering.
But soon, it was time to go. The woman Brandi arrived with decided to head home with a van full of dogs to be sheltered in Chicago. To make room for the never-ending onslaught of rescuees, when the vehicles are full, the departing groups are urged to get out quickly. However, a problem develops while loading their van. The attending vet declares that the last dog is too big for the carrier so he will have to stay. There is now an empty cage. Brandi seizes the opportunity. She sprints back to the barn where she last saw the puppy, tearing up and down the aisles until she finds him. Breathless, she scoops him up, finds the woman she paid and tells her to forget it, keep the money, I’m taking him home.
As for the puppy, his name is now Mason, and he gets along just fine with her two other dogs. She proudly displays his grinning, picture on her cell phone screen. “The pup has really bonded to me and I swear it’s because of New Orleans,” she says, “at least that’s what I’d like to think.”
A hard ball protrudes from the side of his neck where an abscess has formed in response to a puncture wound. Uncontrollable diarrhea racks his scab covered body and contributes to his putrid stench.
And yet, his tail is still wagging.
The mutt looks up gratefully into a pair of warm brown eyes and settles down under their gentle care. Brandi sighs. It’s going to be tough to forget about this one.
Brandi's been in Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans for three days now, having arrived with another volunteer from Chicago. She is working triage with a group from VMAT (Veterinary Medical Assistance Teams) a division of the American Veterinary Medical Association. They are paid vets, she is not. She is a trained vet tech, a volunteer whose sense of urgency led her to toss a water jug, a jar of peanut butter and some biodegradable soap into a newly purchased camping pack, spend $300 for personal vaccinations and plunge, heart first, into the animal rescue effort. Her supportive bosses at Shedd Aquarium let her have at it and off she went for Lord knew how long. This is a woman who keeps extra leashes in her glove department in the event that she comes across stray dogs.
When Katrina besieged the gulf coast, stories of human suffering were inescapable. Images of stranded people clinging to rooftops popped up on computers, shouted from newspaper stands and glowed from TV screens. What we didn’t see, however, was much evidence of the great tide of animal suffering.
Many evacuating residents, assuming they’d be back in a day or two, left their pets with bowls of food and water. Some refused to leave them at all and so, were left to fend for themselves. Others seemed to ignore their pet’s welfare altogether. “I hate to make this generalization,” Brandi says, “but it was obvious to me that they were not very well taken care of before the hurricane. I don’t doubt that a good percentage of pet owners didn’t think twice about leaving their animals behind.” She’ll see over 1,000 dogs on this trip and find that not one of them is neutered. Not one.
She bends over this scrawny, wriggling dog, the one with no fur, and surveys the vast number of scars criss-crossing his shivering body. This little guy dealt with more than neglect. After giving him the standard series of vaccines, flea killer, de-worming and a micro chip for identification, she reluctantly hands him over to the volunteer who will scan the info on petfinder.com and assign him a cage, but not before asking the woman to return and tell her where he ends up. She will later grab a Sharpie and add his barn, stall and cage numbers to the growing list on her slender arm. She can’t keep track of all of them, but there are a few she feels compelled to follow up with.
Tall and wiry like a greyhound, her motor runs on a potent mix of devotion, drive and pure energy. She’s never hungry, it’s just too hot, so the pounds are melting off her already spare frame. She is a hardened veteran now- you get that way quickly around here- but a just a few days ago, when she arrived, she felt assaulted by the heat and the deafening din of thousands of dogs clamoring for attention.
Five cavernous barns, each containing six aisles, with 25 horse stalls per aisle. Every stall packed with five to six wire crates and each holding a dog. A howling, frightened, traumatized dog. “They were sitting in these little cages with nothing,” Brandi recalls, “no blanket or towel, and they would bark, bark, bark, they were stressed out, they were bored, and it never stopped.”
She planned on going into the field, snatching trapped dogs out of abandoned houses or taping up wounds in the middle of the street. But then she heard from the rescuers. At the day’s end, when the vans were full, dogs would often run after the vehicles, only to be left behind. She knew she couldn’t deal with that. No way.
Instead she ministered to them when they arrived by the hundreds, systematically providing solid, fundamental care with as much tenderness as time allowed. The tempo revved up in the evenings. It felt surreal. “You’d start to see the headlights and there’d be a line of vehicles coming back from the city,” she recalls. “You’ve been busting your butt all day in the hot sun while these people were gone because you were so worried about the animals that were there. You’d look and there’d be hundreds more coming. We were running out of space, there was nowhere to put them. You’d hear rumors that there are 300 more coming and they should be here by 6. Oh my God, it never stopped, it just never stopped.”
Many who have made this journey form deep attachments with the victims they’ve come to help. Perhaps the punishing heat and lack of sound sleep contribute to the sense of desperation, but resolute volunteers, loath to say goodbye to their charges, barter and haggle to secure temporary shelter until they can claim them. A bargaining subculture develops. Brandi cannot forget the bald, oozing dog with the steadily wagging tail, the puppy who needs extensive, costly care. She knows he will be overlooked in favor of cuddlier, less needy dogs.
She meets another Chicagoan who has her own car and pleads with the woman to bring the puppy back. She hands her $100, hoping that will secure the agreement. But Brandi remains uneasy. “I kept thinking we’re going to leave and someone’s going to offer this girl a better deal and she’s not going to bring my puppy back.”
She continued to work 13-15 hours shifts daily, often by lantern light until 3:00AM. After 8 grueling days, Brandi had lost 10 pounds, but gained a keen awareness that this type of impactful work is something she needed more of. Her experience here led her to assume the unofficial role of vet coordinator at the shelter where she’s been volunteering.
But soon, it was time to go. The woman Brandi arrived with decided to head home with a van full of dogs to be sheltered in Chicago. To make room for the never-ending onslaught of rescuees, when the vehicles are full, the departing groups are urged to get out quickly. However, a problem develops while loading their van. The attending vet declares that the last dog is too big for the carrier so he will have to stay. There is now an empty cage. Brandi seizes the opportunity. She sprints back to the barn where she last saw the puppy, tearing up and down the aisles until she finds him. Breathless, she scoops him up, finds the woman she paid and tells her to forget it, keep the money, I’m taking him home.
As for the puppy, his name is now Mason, and he gets along just fine with her two other dogs. She proudly displays his grinning, picture on her cell phone screen. “The pup has really bonded to me and I swear it’s because of New Orleans,” she says, “at least that’s what I’d like to think.”
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