Days of Wine and Dolmas

I HAD JUST GRADUATED FROM UC DAVIS WITH degrees in French and English--a joke not lost on prospective employers--and so I joined the ranks of arguably frivolous majors (ranging from archeology to sociology) behind the counter in the tasting room of Cakebread Cellars in the Napa Valley. The winery is down the road from Robert Mondavi’s operation, where Chris Berry--a Catholic high school cohort and a cultural anthropology major--had taken similar flight. At day’s end, over half-filled bottles gleaned from work, we’d compare notes on whose hands were more severely stained with Cabernet and which tourist had asked the most inane question, such as “What are all those little rows of trees out there for?” And then we’d cook.

Chris shared her house with an entourage of Southern Hemisphere winery workers on cellar apprenticeships in Northern California: Pip and Deanna hailed from New Zealand, and Cynthea was a Cypriot by way of Tasmania. Although any of these girls would be hard-pressed to remember a single meal I prepared, several nights a week we took turns cooking, each trying to upstage the last. Eating became an adventure as we tried to decipher foreign flavors and concoctions, such as Pip’s fresh mint fettuccine or Chris’s Peruvian potatoes with peanut-chile paste. But it was Cynthea who always brought down the house.

With Cynthea, one never knew what to expect. More often than not, she’d arrive home an hour later than promised in a chain-mail belly-dancing costume (after work she trained professionally) with an armful of unidentifiable produce and a proposed menu so elaborate it would make a Michelin chef’s head spin. Bruschetta and fried late-summer squash blossoms stuffed with Sonoma goat cheese followed by whole red snapper thrown on the “barbie” with turnips and fennel were typical impromptu courses she served up in numbers.

But by far, the most delectable meals began on evenings when Cynthea made a poaching pit stop by a neighboring Sauvignon Blanc vineyard. “Aren’t these gorgeous?” she’d ask in an exaggerated Australian drawl, holding up a bunch of large, saw-toothed leaves. We quickly learned that her dolmas--grape leaves stuffed with rice and tomato filling--were a timely undertaking given the chopping and wrapping, each step punctuated by a pause for a glass of wine and a chat. But nobody much minded. Several hours and bottles of wine later, we’d happily toast the unsuspecting vintner who’d provided us with the foliage for Cynthea’s little bundles of Mediterranean mystique.

I don’t have the accent or the chain mail, but I’ve got her dolma recipe and a good lead on a guy at the Santa Monica farmers market who supplies fresh grape leaves. I’ll leave the belly dancing to the pros.

CYNTHEA’S DOLMAS

Makes 40 dolmas

45 fresh grape leaves or jarred grape leaves in brine, well-rinsed

1 large brown onion, finely chopped

1 1/2 cups long-grain rice

2 large cloves garlic, minced

4 large tomatoes, peeled

1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro

1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley

1/2 cup chopped fresh mint

1/2 cup green onions, finely chopped

1/2 cup tomato paste

Juice of one lemon

Salt and pepper to taste

*

Combine onion, rice, garlic, tomatoes, cilantro, parsley, mint, green onions, tomato paste, lemon juice and salt and pepper in bowl. Set aside.

Blanch fresh leaves in boiling water for 3 minutes. Drain.

To make dolmas: place leaf vein side up on plate. Place 1 teaspoon of mixture on center vein of each leaf and fold sides of leaf to center, then bottom, and roll up. Do not fold too tight as rice expands during cooking. Line bottom of 8-quart sauce pot with leftover grape leaves.

Arrange rolls seam side down in layers in sauce pot. Cover grape leaves in water and place small plate, upside down, on top of dolmas to keep in place during cooking. Cover with lid, bring to boil and simmer for 30-45 minutes or until rice is cooked and grape leaves are tender. Serve warm.