St. Charles Avenue Magazine Food Column, March, 2004
By Michael Depp

The sommelier stands under the stadium-bright fluorescent lights of the supermarket, crisply perfect in his black suit, impeccably-knotted tie and Windsor Court lapel pin, his posture sommelier-straight, his designer eyeglasses catching little glints of fluorescence and glowing with the incongruity of his presence outside of the muted tones and hushed voices of the city's most exclusive restaurant.

It is an incongruity of my own manufacture - I had asked him to come wine shopping with me - but for the moment it is just the slightest bit jarring nonetheless. Take a professional, especially one so prim and consummate, out of context and it always takes a moment or so to reestablish one's bearings.

But Michael Scherzberg, sommelier d'Hotel for the Windsor Court's New Orleans Grill since last August, is an excellent sport. He suggested we begin our excursion at Dorignac's, his favorite spot for personal wine shopping in the city's environs, and so that's where I find him considering its lengthy row of ports.

"I love it because he we are in a grocery store and port selection doesn't exist like this even in wine stores," he says, reaching immediately for a 1994 vintage of Royal Oporto, declaring it a bargain at $19.99 and lamenting that others don't readily see ports or dessert wines as a perfect accompaniment (or alternative) to dessert.

Scherzberg scans the shelves with daunting efficiency, gesturing to a Rosa Regale from Banfi - Branchetto d'Acqui - a lightly sparking red dessert wine he deems "perfect for a chocolate dessert." He moves on to an assortment of champagnes, pointing out a Laurent-Perrier Brut L-P, which he assures me is one's safest bet for a good quality vintage champagne, adding that he had once taken the perennially-popular Veuve-Cliquot off his list at a Los Angeles restaurant where he worked because its presence inspired a failure of imagination among his customers.

Sommeliers are something of a rare breed these days. Many otherwise ambitious restaurants do without them because they can't afford to have them, though Scherzberg is quick to insist that they can't afford not to, given one might generate as much as 35-40 percent of a restaurant's revenues.

He personally came to the job through an indirect path. A native of Kansas City, he started off as a chef's apprentice there before studying at the Scottsdale Culinary Institute in Arizona. From there, curiosity led him to pick up a gig as assistant sommelier at Vincent's on Camelback in Phoenix while he was doing double-time as a pastry chef.

A particularly dreadful accident with a pastry sheeter left his hand crushed, sending him back to Kansas City for rehab and a gig at the now-closed Trattoria Luigi there where he was responsible for a list of 140 wines by the glass. That followed with a stint at the city's only four-star eatery, the American Restaurant, from which he lit out to further study at CIA Greystone in California and Australia, where he studied for a degree in the international restaurant business and took on a post as sous chef in a little Belgian place in Adelaide on the side.

Scherzberg's last post was in L.A. before the chance to work with chef Jonathan Wright and pastry chef Keegan Gerhard drew him to the Windsor Court. There, he holds court over one of the city's most impressive cellars with remarkable proficiency, the kind that makes you want to yield to his suggestions. Which, in case you eat there any time soon, you really should.

"A lot of people don't know what they want," he said. "They can narrow it down a little bit, but they're not really sure. People have this memory of food, but you really need to build up that memory profile with wine as well. And the next step is learning to communicate that to somebody else."

We whisk across nations in the Dorignac's aisles. Italy, which he says tends to confuse people because of the nomenclature around cities and grapes, is next. A pair of Bertani Amarone vintages 1975 and 1976 grab his attention at their $50.00 price tags, which he declares a bargain, though the Masi Valpolicelli 2001 (which uses the same grapes) is more my speed at $6.99.

We move on to Australia, where he nudges me away from my Penfold's standby to lesser-known producers, pointing out a Xanadu 2000 Shiraz that would be worth my attention. Then France, where a Pavillion Rouge du Chateau Margaux 1999 at $50.00 inspires lust in him: "It's like drinking silk. Margaux sits very high on a hill and has perfect drainage. The wines are all about the silk and the finesse."

Over to California, he finds a more-to-my-range 1998 Treana white blend from the Mer Soleil vineyard at $9.99 - "a perfect food wine" and Fife, a 2001 Zinfandel from Medocino at $15.99 that he also strenuously recommends for the price. Spotting the Rabbit Ridge Allure, he gushes that it's his all-time favorite summertime blend, "lots of fruit to it - a Rhone-style blend with a lot of Grenache."

When we come across a cache of Coppola wines, which I tend to favor for the prices and drinkability, I expect a rebuke, so I'm surprised when he assesses the Silver Label Pinot (at $15.99) and the Green Label Syrah (at $13.00) as worthy. But the real stunner is when he points out a bottle of Gallo Sonoma - a 1997 Cab from the Frei Vineyard at $21.99 - as a viable choice to wines at five times the price. He rationalizes that Gallo produces more wine than all of Australia, so all the production subsidizes better bargains when it comes to their high-end wines. Who'd of thought it?

Our expedition spills over to Martin Wine Cellar across the street where he continues to find values faster than I can keep up with him. He says that Martin is the place to go for an excellent selection of Australian wines, nodding to a Grosset-Gaia red blend, a Franklin Estate and Shaw Smith to make the case.

Moments later, he finds a South African pinotage from Fairview at $11.99 that he says has "an interesting beach ball characteristic to it," a rubbery nose that's a good match for barbecue. On that point alone I remain unconvinced.

And then we hit the spot - the coup de grace of our excursion - a Gosset Grand Rose champagne that he makes me swear to include, the marble wall of his sommelier formality showing, just for an instant, the slightest powdery crack. "I can't say enough good things about Grosset," he says, picking up the $49.99 champagne from the region's oldest winemaker and cradling it lovingly. "This is the best $50 that you can spend on champagne of any kind. It's the kind of wine you can just drink and drink until you fall over."

Which I nearly do to hear him say it, but he rises, constricts his grin to a half-smile and straightens his jacket, as the afternoon is waning and it's time to get back to his proper context.