I’ve been rejecting wine professionally for over twenty years, which is to say, as a wine buyer, my main activity is saying no. There is a yes here and there, but mostly it’s no. I’m an agreeable fellow, temperamentally content and conflict-averse. I would much prefer to say yes most of the time, but space and budget constraints prohibit this, so mostly I say no, or rather, no, thank you.

I’ve been serving wine for more than thirty years, and I’ve witnessed many responses to an uncorking - from wide-eyed delight to unbridled disgust - mentally logging the results for future reference. Thanks to the slippery language of wine, and to subjective perception, predicting a bottle’s reception can be a tricky game. What one taster calls fruity, another will declare sweet, and a wine that pleases some with a bright vibrancy will strike others as sharply acidic.

I am not what they call a super taster, nor do I have other specialized tasting skills, just endurance and doggedness. My memory for wine is average and a result of endless repetition. I buy wines for the shop that I enjoy, and also wines I think customers will appreciate, and often these criteria happily coincide. Folks sometimes think I travel far and wide to find wine for Oakland Yard, but this is not the case. Some weeks, I do not leave the block. Retailers can purchase wine directly from California producers, but if a wine is made out of state, we must buy it from a licensed distributor, so we host regular tastings with vendors. We currently deal with more than sixty distributors, most of whom represent hundreds, if not thousands, of bottlings, so, as you can imagine, I’ve spent a good portion of the last two decades sipping and spitting in restaurants, retail stores, and event spaces all over New York and San Francisco, and for the last five years, mostly here at 420 40th Street.

This kind of wine buying is more exhausting than glamorous, but it is never boring. Vintage variation and the limited production of our selections render the market everchanging, and my job is to stay abreast of what’s available, and every so often, to say yes. Every week at Oakland Yard, we sell the last of some lots and make space for a few more, and this vinous ebb and flow is what makes me, and I hope many of you, want to come back to Oakland Yard day after day, year after year, and say yes to something new.

Cheers,
Max

Good news. My wife is speaking to me again. After the haircut I gave our young daughter earlier this week. In my defense, my four year old pleaded to have her hair cut (to match her mom's new bob) then changed her mind 30 seconds in, which presented a particular challenge to safety and sanity. In the end, she got the "Scout" cut. Maybe every kid does at some point. I'm not sure if the cut is growing out or growing on us, or if we're simply giving in. But, as they say, it grows back.

I have no time to count the days for that, as I've already spent far too many minutes this morning counting all of the unmatched socks from the last few loads of laundry. Seventeen. Seventeen solitary socks. Absurd. God knows where their matches are. I'm sure if I crawl about I'll find one under a sofa or car seat, or perhaps one day soon I'll discover one stuck to the inside of a hoodie - or clogging a drain. Looking at the pile this morning, I have to catch myself. Often the impulse is there, when something is lacking or missing, to take out frustration with what is in our sight. But why shake my head at these lonely leftovers? Still in good form and a fine fit for little feet, ready to warm and cling, eager to be useful.

And so Ellery and little Simone are out the door, once again with four random socks, paying little mind to what is missing or mixed up. They laugh and roll with it. And I laugh too, when my wife sends a sweet text - and the i and o, get mixed up - switched as they might be by any of us on occasion, typing or texting or going about things too quickly. I live you, the text reads. And there's really no point to correct. The mismatch works and the message is received. And somehow much more anyway. I live you too.


OAKLAND YARD is OPEN and we are here for whatever pairings you need - or for any random solitary bottles you seek. However you want to roll, whatever brings you joy. Our tasting bar is open too - for wines by the glass everyday, now open until 9pm Friday & Saturday. Tacos Oscar is open next door tonight and all weekend for takeaway and dining on theor patio... You are welcome bring a bottle from here and pay a small corkage fee to enjoy there - or you can always bring tacos here to enjoy inside or out front with a glass of wine! And yes, for anyone in need... Marquee Salon is open next door too:)

Cheers,

Daniel

We awaken now in the dark. Morning fog with rays of sun, then clouds and spits of rain, all usher in a new season, and buds continue breaking: cascading wisteria in purple and white; stately magnolias collecting the courage to blossom; camellias presenting pink and proper, then leaping, lemming-like to the ground. In coastal waters closeby, twenty thousand gray whales are swimming north to Alaska, and a record number of elephant seals are nursing new pups on the beaches of Point Reyes.

We cook supper now in the light. The sun still warms the sky when we reach for the first asparagus and artichokes, just arrived, or sweet peas, morels and favas, soon to come. We’ve still got our citrus fruit and avocados, but now strawberries are hitting the scene, and we’re about to kick the crabs to the curb and welcome back our old friend, the wild salmon. Last year’s grapes have fermented and rested, and newly bottled whites, roses and light reds are being released. And we are thirsty - both for these fresh wines and for the change spring brings - thirsty for companionship and spontaneous adventure, for laughter, love and living out loud.

This weekend’s vernal equinox - when ‘night equals day’ and the sun shines directly on the equatorial line - marks the official beginning of spring, and tomorrow is a full moon in Virgo. Northern natives call this March full moon the Crow Moon, coinciding with the black birds’ cawing, a signal of winter’s end. This Sunday, once again, daylight begins to win out over darkness, and as our gaze remains fixed on trouble overseas, we’re hoping this victory will be as figurative as it is literal. Especially in these odd and uncertain times, it’s important to come together, to be convivial, and to drink the good stuff first! We’ve been featuring some really amazing wines by the glass, so get your act together, dust off your drinking shoes, and spring on down to Oakland Yard for some satisfying seasonal refreshment.

Cheers,
Max

I wasn't sure what to write about today. When it's my week to connect, I'm sometimes paralyzed with 'no new news' or, on the other extreme, events of such magnitude it feels far too overwhelming to attempt to address, on a random Thursday morning. This week marks exactly two years when the Coronavirus outbreak was officially declared a pandemic. Two Years. A quick internet search to confirm this being the actual date of the WHO announcement, and I end up on Wikipedia's "On this day...". And what struck me this morning is not a singular event or birthday - but I found myself considering all the minuscule and profound day-to-day happenings, all that flowed concurrently with or followed these notable dates.

This week, in their time. Some fell as natural as rain, some arrived almost in defiance. Pandemics took hold. The earth quaked. Tsunamis followed. Markets crashed. And an Einstein was born. And a Kerouac. And a Ginsburg (RBG, not Allen - note the spelling). And folks sat down for dinners, learned new dances, looked out at the ocean, read or wrote their first novels, went on dates. Laughed at bad movies. Failed tests. Fell in love. They all thought, in their own way and for their own reasons: What a difference a week makes.

My four year old is learning the concept of time - not yet saying "Next month can we...?" or even "Next week let's go to...". Instead she says, for things more than a day away: Can we go there tomorrow's tomorrow? Or even: How about tomorrow's tomorrow tomorrow? I find this amusing, but also have come to embrace it a bit. To not look too far ahead or take too much for granted this week. To try to take things one day at a time, or perhaps one week at a time. I don't know what next week holds for us, but I hope you find some small joy today. That you find time and means to connect with that or those most important to you. It seems worth mentioning, that the first telephone call was made on this date (March 10, 1876). What would have been your first words? Whom would you have called? What will you say today?


- Daniel

Bud break began yesterday in some Chardonnay vineyards in the Carneros AVA of Napa Valley, which means grape vines throughout the Northern Hemisphere will be reawakening over the next couple of months. Bud break is when the first tender buds of the new growing season emerge from dormant winter vines. The ground has warmed and softened enough to allow the osmotic motion of water, carrying organic acids, hormones, minerals and sugars, up from the root system. The liquid first ‘bleeds’ through the cuts of recent winter pruning - sometimes over a gallon from a single vine - and then the buds begin to swell and form shoots, which will grow leaves and begin again the process of photosynthesis.

Oakland Yard is also reemerging from a dormancy of sorts this week, by ending a season of cautious abeyance, raising the curtain on our wintermission, and resuming the flow of vital liquids anew. Throughout February, we’ve been offering wine by the glass, and bottle, at our outdoor tables, but beginning today, our tasting bar will reopen for indoor seating as well, effectively doubling our capacity and undoubtedly livening up the joint. We will continue to require proof of vaccination for tasting and indoor drinking, and ask that you remain masked while moving about the store and bar area. And we hope to resume tasting flights very soon, but for now, we’re offering at least six wines by the glass - something for everyone, ranging in style from pure elegance to intriguingly natty - with the addition of frequent ‘off-the-menu’ options. Our tasting bar is open Monday through Thursday from 12 noon until 8pm and Fridays and Saturdays from noon til 9. We’ve enlisted a few new Yardies to share the work of reopening indoors, and we hope you’ll come by and introduce yourselves to the exceedingly kind and helpful new members of our team: Caleb, Erica and Kathleen.

This spring, more than ever, may we grow and flourish together,

Max

My first date with Amy Goldman started out well enough. I was a sophomore in college at the time. I took her to China Palace (or rather, she took me - I didn't own a car and she scooped me up in her '82 Volvo sedan). But dinner was my treat. I can't recall what we talked about or what we ordered, but I do remember the fortune cookies at the end of the evening. Mine said: Even a blind hog finds the acorn sometimes. Hers, I imagine, was supposed to say: You will meet a beautiful stranger soon. But there was an unfortunate typo - and it took some coaxing to get her to share her fortune with me, which ultimately read: You will meet a beautiful strangler soon.

Several years later, I was working for the city of Glendale, in Parks & Rec. One of the other directors had been promoted and was moving on to a different division. I was in charge of ordering the cake for her send off lunch. I got others' input (nearly everyone was adamant about little to no frosting ("no nasty flowers!"), and I filled out an order card to explain the minimal decoration as best I could with the form provided. The cake came back with a simple, thin white satin top coat (great!) and, in thin blue cursive, it read: Congratulations! Nothing else - No flowers. We laughed about that for years.

Friends of mine had their first date four years ago. Engaged years later, the pandemic forced the postponement of the wedding date - and their celebration, like so many others, was lost in the abyss the pandemic. But two days ago, on 2/22/22 - four years to the day of their first date, they convened for the most intimate of ceremonies, and were married in the magical Sea Ranch sanctuary.

I am looking at a photo from their beautiful day. Thinking of them this morning, smiling. And thinking of all of you. Of all those simple, secret, or subdued celebrations. Of all the photos in your hearts from this past year or more. Of all the recent birthdays and engagements and graduations and holidays. New partners. New jobs. New digs. Maybe new members of the family now warming your homes, with tiny cries or little yips and howls, perhaps. And if we were even a small part of those celebrations, we thank you. Nothing thrills us more. But for those milestones that passed quietly or were missed in the mist of the pandemic, I just wanted to acknowledge them, and you, today. To share those joys. Even if they are not so new, they can feel that way again. We just have to raise a glass. So, here's to you. I just wanted to say, clearly: Congratulations! And everything else...

Yours,

Daniel

Fortieth Street is the backbone of our neighborhood, connecting Mosswood to the south with Temescal to the north. On the sunny side of Fortieth and Webster, you’ll find Oakland Yard’s front yard, where you can sip wine at our sidewalk tables seven days a week. Many of our cross streets - Ruby, Emerald, Opal and Garnet - are named for gemstones, so some folks call our neck of the woods the Jewel Box. During the late 1800’s, short sections of what are now Webster and Shafter Avenues were called Gold Street and Silver Street, and Manila Avenue was once known as Diamond Street.

Last month, our trees were bare and our roads were still ‘slow streets’ blocked with plastic placards and sandbags. The slow streets were fun for a while, but they worked better in some places than others, and made our busy corner more clogged and dangerous than slow. After so long in place, the ugly, haphazard blockades seemed to symbolize the intractability of the pandemic, and our misplaced efforts to combat it, and to see our thoroughfares now unencumbered is an unexpected balm, a weight lifted, a clear sign of movement and relief. In addition to the free flow of traffic, you’ll also notice as you stroll around the Jewel Box, that our local flora’s begun its blooming, with majestic purple magnolias, bursting yellow acacias, and, most conspicuously, the pink blossoms of our decorative plum trees. What they lack in fruit, they more than make up for in beauty, with a transporting, near-forgotten feast for winter eyes, a true emblem of renewal.

Prunus is the genus of trees and shrubs which includes plums, cherries, peaches, nectarines, apricots and almonds. Cultivated for thousands of years, plums may have been one of the first fruits domesticated by humans. The common European plum, Prunus domestica, probably originated in eastern Europe, around the Caucasus and the Caspian Sea, and this region still has a strong cultural connection with the fruit. In Hungary, Serbia and Croatia, they make plum and potato dumplings and distill a prized plum brandy called Slivovitz. In the Georgian Republic, the most common condiment is a spiced plum sauce called Tkemali, and they have an ancient recipe for line-dried plum fruit leather, called Tklapi.

The agricultural history of eastern Europe also boasts an ancient winemaking culture - perhaps the oldest in the world. In 2017, archeological excavations in southern Georgia unearthed terra cotta jars, known as Qvevri, from the 6th century BCE, which means Georgians have been making wine for 8,000 years, predating the Greeks and the Romans. We’ve always felt these wines provide a fascinating counterpoint to those of western Europe and the New World, and we’ve got a fresh batch coming into Oakland Yard this week from Slovenia, Hungary, and the Republic of Georgia. If you’ve had enough Chardonnay and Pinot Noir from wooden barrels, and you’re in the mood for some Tsitska or Tsolikauri aged in clay qvevri, just follow the plum flowers to Fortieth and Webster and come find us on the sunny side.

Gaumarjos!
Max

Dear shop,

I remember seeing you for the first time (6 years ago, this month!). Before our friends, Gita and Jens, gave you that makeover. I can't say it was love at first sight, but I knew there was something special about you.

If memory serves, Max was apprehensive of me crushing too hard at first, but he became quickly aware of your charms, and soon fell for you too. We made a call to your guardian for their blessing- to let them know our intentions and to convince them we were honorable and worthy of you.

Seems like yesterday and so long ago. Remember our grand opening party? How the power on the block went out hours before the guests were to arrive? We threw all the bubbly in tubs of ice water and lit a hundred tea candles while the band set up in the dark. I remember everyone being startled when the bright lights came back on all at once - like you had arranged some Suprise! party, for all of us. Nice one.

I remember so many silly episodes along the way. An early trip to the bank to deposit a substantial amount of cash. I thought my unassuming chocolate box was so clever (would belie the contents), while walking down busy Broadway - but then the bottom dropped out and cash splattered all about. That stranger helped collect it, us desperately fighting the wind, looking like one of those spazzy game shows. You suggested I never tell anyone about that. Good advice.

I remember the health department showing up for a full inspection, in the thick of things, on New Year’s Eve! I can still picture that dog flopping and breaking those bottles, just as we were closing after a long night. I remember all the good times we've had too. The laughter. Flights and pop ups and guest winemakers. All the wonderful neighbors and friendly faces that came through. So many who still do. Block parties and artisan markets. Too many tacos to count. Justin Brown banging out blues and boogie-woogie (when you still had that old piano in the back!). I remember chatting with a barista named Wesley out front one day. He asked how I was doing and was one of those genuine souls who stood still and silent, actually waiting for an honest answer. I was moved to blurt out to this relative stranger that I was going to become a father, before telling anyone in my life. He felt like a friend after that. You were looking over my shoulder, kind of laughing about it all.

OK, I'm rambling. as usual. But I just wanted to let you know that you still send me. I still dream little dreams. Am still crazy about you. And I know I'm not the only one. Thanks for introducing me to so many wonderful people. As you know, this is my first time in an open relationship. It's been strange and rewarding and ultimately a unique joy to share you. You've had to share me too, at times, I suppose;).

Anyway, I know it's still a few days away... and I know it's such a silly thing to celebrate. But this past year and well before, with so little other pomp and pageantry... I figured what the hell. It's something, right? So Happy Valentines Day. You're such a sweet little shop. I think you're wonderful. I'm still in love. And I'm delighted to still hold your key.

Daniel


For any or all you feeling up for sentimental celebrations: for your Valentines, Galentine‘s, Palentines, Bacchanalentines, or Root Canalentine's Day… we’ll be here for you all weekend and open early on Monday! I've been informed that there is a very popular sports event on Sunday as well. We have loads of beer and a fridge full of cheese, charcuterie, patés, and other pantry treats for your festivities.

Last year came and went, then I blinked once or twice, and now it’s February. There was nothing to do in January; it was a sort of leap month of running in place, or treading water. Rodent predictions aside, winter appears to be waning in northern California. In the British Isles, this is the season of Imbolc, or Saint Brigid’s Day, a festival with pagan roots celebrating the Gaelic goddess, Brigid, a three-fold deity associated with wisdom, poetry, healing, protection, blacksmithing and domesticated animals. Saint Brigid’s Day signals the beginning of spring and is a time for divination, and looking to the future. On 40th and Webster Streets, at this time of year, I’ve come to expect the sudden, startling explosions that rip through the air like a mess of machine guns, shaking the ground, while neighbors emerge, wide-eyed from their homes. It’s just the fellows at ADS Temescal Auto Care marking the lunar new year with what sounds to be enough firecrackers to blow a hole in their front lot.

Here at Oakland Yard, we’ve looked deeply into our wine glasses, and we foresee in the elixir a day free of masking, a day of sharing and closeness. It’s not here yet - just a prediction - but solidly based on scientific models, in conjunction with our vinous divination. In this cautious but hopeful spirit, we will happily resume serving wine today - alfresco only - by the glass or by the bottle, for you to enjoy at our sidewalk tables in front of the shop. Please bring your smile and proof of vaccination to place orders at our tasting bar, or to taste glass options, before finding your spot on the sunny side of 40th Street.

WINES BY THE GLASS at OUTDOOR TABLES this week ... EVERY DAY from 12 NOON until 8PM:

2021 UNICO ZELO SPARKLING ‘SEA FOAM’ $12
VERMENTINO, FIANO // RIVERLAND,AUSTRALIA

2020 TXOMIN ETXANIZ TXAKOLINA $12
HONDURABBI ZURI // BASQUE COUNTRY, SPAIN

2019 DOMAINE DE MAJAS BLANC $10
VERMENTINO, MACABEU, CARIGNAN BLANC // CÔTES CATALANES, FRANCE

2020 DOMAINE PHILIPPE TESSIER CHEVERNY ROSÉ $12
PINOT NOIR, GAMAY // LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE

2020 ERCOLE BARBERA DEL MONFERRATO $8
BARBERA // PIEDMONT, ITALY

2019 CHÂTEAU DE MONTMIRAIL VACQUEYRAS $11
GRENACHE, SYRAH, MOURVÈDRE // RHÔNE VALLEY, FRANCE

Next week’s forecast includes highs in the seventies and, for better and for worse, no rain in sight, so grab your bae, your boo, your beau, or your buddy, and come on down for a taste of what we’ve all been missing: togetherness.

Cheers,
Max

I'm finally able to find some peace to write you. My older daughter, Ellery (now 4), emerges from bed like she was shot out of a cannon. Wild circus energy, mouth moving a mile a minute. She says all kinds of fantastic, ridiculous things, and once my coffee kicks in I'll laugh about it later. Her best one of this month so far: Dad, I don't know how to get to Sesame Street. They never tell me... Maybe we can find it on a map?" 

Her younger sister, Simone (2 in a couple of months), is far more subdued by comparison. Her words are fewer. For a while now she has taken on a strange mantra: "Cookie Egg". Initially the phrase emerged as a question (Dada... cookie egg?) and we were convinced it signaled hunger, but she'd dismiss my proposed snacks with an indifferent wave. Weeks later, I'm no closer to understanding the mystery of these simple, incongruous words. An utterance that will fill a long silence on a drive (Dada. Yes, Simone?? Cookie. Egg.). I'll look out across the bay from I-80, contemplating the tiny prophet's lesson for the day. At other moments, the phrase seems to simply suggest that all is right in her world (on a park swing, a pleasant knowing glance at me and a content whisper: Cookie Egg...). 


We tell stories, try to connect. Observations and anecdotes about people from our pasts, peculiar passerbys, neighbors with cats. Max's little dog and my two little daughters. These Thursday musings have always been more letters than news, I suppose. And some weeks, when the world is still - or sent sideways - I don't always have the words. Nor a memory that resonates with the wind or the weather. Dry January and closed bars and a persistent pandemic haven't helped. There is news to come and announcements to be made in good time, but I also like receiving random texts or surprise emails, even when folks have little to say. A video clip of one's kid hearing Freddie Mercury for the first time. A silly screengrab. A bit of good news. A photo of your dog in an ill-fitting sweater. Or a "look who I ran into!" pic. A news article about aliens. An audio clip of your kid playing a song they wrote. Some simple message to say we're still connected. We still know each other. Or we did. And we can.

Cookie egg,

Daniel

I watched a lot of TV growing up and was one of those odd children that actually looked forward to commercials. Zaniness was reaching new levels in the 80s, with Wendy's loud and laughable Where's the Beef? ads and Mott's mafia-like shakedowns. I eagerly awaited the unintentional comedy of the Life Alert Ads and the hoity-toity Grey Poupon dramas (me and my brothers with pinkies in the air and faux French accents: But of course!.. ).

Despite all those signature slogans singed on my brain, I never considered adding a memorable motto or tagline for our wine shop when we opened. I suppose I worried one wouldn't age well or could be misinterpreted (I'm thinking now on AT&T's icky and invasive "Reach out and touch someone". Honorable mentions to FedEx: “Our most important package is yours”.

Though we never went that route, I’ve noted and admired some small local businesses who have put their hearts on the sleeves in that way. Temescal Brewing's charming "No Jerks" comes to mind. Our staff picked up lunch yesterday from the delightful Joodooboo and I almost blushed at how endearing I found the characters (the animated Soybean Man and Tofu Boy) and the messaging on the takeaway box. “You got this!” they encourage us. The much needed slogan of 2022.

As a business owner I obviously keep an eye on what others are doing. Finding frequent inspiration from the good folks at Roses' Taproom and our community-minded neighbors, Tacos Oscar. I'm always in awe of the exceptional details and intentionality of Kayoko and Yoko at Umami Mart. And well beyond our blocks, the thoughtfulness and integrity of Erin & Sarah at Minimo, or the always welcoming good vibes of the team at Friends & Family bar. I could mention many more and I'm sure Max has his own long list too.

It’s funny, but it just occurred to me this morning how often I note what business are up to, how they can inform and inspire, but I forget to think of everyday folks and friends in my life who do the same. The good brands of friends and acquaintances. I should make it a point in the new year to let them know their messaging is on point, and memorable. It's still January so we can call it a resolution. Perhaps I’ll reach out and let them know they’ve touched me. Oh hell, you know what I mean.


Happy Thursday,

Daniel

I moved to Berkeley from New York almost thirty years ago, and lived with two friends in a one-bedroom flat on Derby and Telegraph. There was an Andronico’s where the CVS is now, and two blocks up was Bing Wong, where we did laundry while we shot pool across Parker Street at the Bison Brewery, and all the books and records you could imagine lay just a little further up the Avenue, at Moe’s, Cody’s, Shakespeare & Co., Rasputin, and Amoeba. We didn’t have a lot of extra cash, so for entertainment, we’d roll a joint, buy a five dollar bottle of Cook’s California Champagne, and bike up Derby Street to the Tanglewood Path.

We’d lock our bikes at the foot, and follow the path to the head of the fire trail at the hairpin in Stonewall Road, continuing past the Mountain Lion warning sign, into the towering, redolent Eucalyptus trees. A short walk up this dirt road lands you on a promontory with a breathtaking view of the entire bay area: Berkeley, Oakland, San Francisco, majestic bridges and winding lines of cars moving, end to end, like so many silent ants. Here we’d sit, and smoke, and sip, and feel like kings surveying our holdings, which we held in our minds and hearts, while this tall-treed corner held us back in a spell of beauty and wonder.

I’ve been returning to the Claremont Canyon fire trail this winter, when the rain lets up, with my dear Julia and our odd little dog - at midday, or sunrise, or sunset - and climbing higher than we once did, to form a loop with a winding path through the trees. My connection to this hillside has deepened with time and familiarity, and it is a place where I feel I can see enough of the world to know where I am, but the noise and chaos of it all is muffled by distance, and it never fails to provide me with a new and better perspective.

2022 has begun with a hesitant whimper. Weary of distance but still frightened by closeness, we are anxious, bored, and full of FOMO for high-risk gatherings and imaginary events. I encourage you all to get out if you can - out of your heads and homes - and find a better perspective in the beauty of the world around you. Drive to the beach, head to the mountains, or just hop on your bike and ride to the Tanglewood Path. Sometimes the antidote is as simple as a shared bottle of bubbles in a safe, special, happy place.

Cheers,
Max

I'm writing to you from my parents’ living room, here in Eagle Rock. Like most of the west coast it is remarkably wet and cold at present, and far from the ‘California dream' that The Mamas & The Papas famously reminisced about in song.

The drive down Interstate 5 this week had us lamenting and reminiscing too. I wrote a couple years ago, nearly to the day, about a harrowing journey down (if you're rained in - or snowed in- this morning you can read about that here). In many ways, there has been an unsettling sense of deja vu about it all. Facing a series of delays and detours once again this year, and a sense of deja vu beyond the extreme weather and the difficulty arriving, Like so many others, waiting nervously on rapid test results, self-quarantining for appropriate durations before being able to see loved ones. Negotiating between perceived or understood risks with psychological and emotional well being.

I've been trying my best to shake the "we've seen this before..." feeling the past couple days. And this morning I'm trying to focus on an inverse perspective, and on clear examples of opposite truths. Thinking on the new eyes and a new tiny face in the backseat of the car this time down. Thinking on faces we won't see on this visit, or ever again. Thinking on years of drought while looking out on a soaked neighborhood, a most welcome rain falling steadily now. Thinking on seasons of fire and air pollution, days and weeks checking the AQI, and glad that film has ended, for now and for a while at least.

Though some sense of deja vu drags on - and as we face familiar trials and challenges - I hope the new year yields new joys too. Or perhaps an awareness of simple delights that remain, that persist. Perhaps a sense of jamais vu. Delights both plain and present but not always immediately recognized. Or better yet, presque vu... joys so close, so on the tip of our tongue we just need to speak them. Just need to sing about them. And maybe someday reminisce about them.

Happy New Year from OAKLAND YARD.

Cheers,

Daniel

Well, here we go again, tiptoeing into the holidays with cancelled plans and mounting anxiety. It’s similar to last year, but also different; we didn’t see this twist until it was upon us, diminished in power, but swifter and seemingly unavoidable. Approaching our third year of pandemic feels more like a mental game than a physical one. In many ways, we know what we’re dealing with, but we haven’t managed to gain the upper hand, and we’re starting to understand that no country is an island; if any are still at risk, then we are all endangered.

Two days ago, with heavy hearts, we suspended service at the Oakland Yard tasting bar. News of breakthrough cases in our community and local businesses, and our desire to keep our customers and employees safe and healthy, drove our decision, and we hope to resume bar service in the beginning of January - stay tuned. The store remains open for bottle sales, face coverings required for all, and we continue to take precautions to maintain a safe space.

There is no going back to the way it was before, but we can still carry on with love and hope and laughter. These are not yet things of the past, and they can be relied on, along with science and sympathy, to ease our path forward. Bitterness and worry will only grind us back to dust. Let’s remember the unexpected joys of the last two years and look ahead with some degree of lightness. As the great pianist and composer, Eubie Blake, said: “Be grateful for luck. Pay the thunder no mind - listen to the birds. And don't hate nobody.”

Oakland Yard will be open today from 11am to 9pm, and tomorrow, Christmas Eve, from 11am to 6pm. We’ll be closed on Christmas Day, but open Sunday the 26th from 12 noon to 8pm. Thank you for your continued support. We’ve really enjoyed catching up with our regular customers in the shop this holiday season as well as meeting newcomers to the store and the neighborhood, and we wish you all a peaceful and joyful end to 2021 and a happy, healthy, prosperous new year!

With love,
Max

A beautiful morning out there. I’m feeling grateful for the rain and am enjoying the season, which has actually felt like a proper December so far. Cold, wet days, and colder nights. Cozy interiors. Wool socks inside. Extra blankets. Stew weather and lots of roasting and braised dishes here in our kitchen. A couple nights ago my wife had prepared the latter: a long, slow braised dish she has mastered. She pulled it from the oven and transferred to a hotplate on the table for dinner. The girls had just gone down and we cracked a bottle of wine. One of the empty glasses slipped from my hand and, as these wine glasses do, shattered in countless pieces. A disheartening discovery followed, as we noticed two tiny shards on the surface of the open braiser. We spent a long time inspecting the topography of the dish and finally, perhaps driven by hunger and respect for time, convinced each other that no other tiny shards remained.

To say that our meal did not bring immediate gratification would be an understatement. A precarious endeavor, inspecting every spoonful and each tiny bite, chewing ever so slowly. Looking like a depressed koala communing with an elderly sloth. Accepting the absurdity of it all, our meal became something of an existential exercise or, at very least, a strange silent meditation. Interestingly, and not so surprisingly, as we progressed there was a heightened sense of taste and texture - and in some ways that particular dish never tasted better than that night, even if the occasional molar meeting a firm fennel seed or a crunchy peppercorn gave us fright, and led to indelicate deposits on our napkins. 

We could laugh about it the next morning. And this morning. It seemed like a funny and fitting metaphor for marriage, for parenthood, or just for life in general. Trying to slow things down, to enjoy every tiny morsel - while also bracing ourselves for unpleasant surprises, for pain. Negotiating what we can and cannot control. And ultimately, saying fuck it. Let's do this. Believing things will be ok. And even better tomorrow. Telling each other, let's keep going. Or let's stop and eat. The wine will be good. We can share our glass.


TONIGHT 12/16 at OAKLAND YARD: Thursday Night Flights from 5-9pm. All dry and delicious French Whites and a Red Flight of Beaujolais (Gamay) featuring different crus. Flights $12 from 5-9 and wines by the glass until close.

THIS SATURDAY 12/18: 'NEW CALIFORNIA' Flights. Four delightful, low alcohol and beautifully balanced wines from some of California's brightest young stars. Flights $15 from 2-6pm and wines by the glass all day until close (9pm).

See you soon,

Daniel

Impermanence will triumph in the end, but some things stay with us for a very long time. I’ve had the same grapefruit knife for as long as I can remember, and when I use it, I think of my grandmother, because she so enjoyed her grapefruit. The knife also reminds me of the story of a Zen butcher, who never needs to sharpen his blade, because he guides it to find the space between the flesh and bone, separating without force or contact. Some mornings, I wonder how many sections are in the grapefruit - an easy enough question to answer - but I always lose count halfway through, thinking of my grandmother and the butcher.

We have two large ficus plants at the entryway to the shop, and every year, very slowly, they grow taller, adding a thick, shiny, oval leaf here and there. I’ve given them a lot of care, mostly in the form of water, and their size is such that they seem to me more than just plants; they have a presence and personality, our ersatz sentinels. And they keep growing, leaf by leaf, to a disconcerting degree, so that their height and sprawl will soon be unsustainable. I will continue to water them and hope for the best.

There are some things in my home I think will outlive me. The pewter wine dish my Belgian cousins sent as a wedding present comes in handy every day, but shows little wear; an accessory I didn’t know existed, but find so charming and useful. How do other Americans keep their bottle in its place on the table, framed, tidy, and contained? I hope to pass it along to a young friend when my wine drinking days are over. I once thought cast iron pans were indestructible, but I have seen one crack in half, and the image still pains my heart. What does one do with the broken pieces?

At Oakland Yard, we sell beverages for consumption rather than preservation. The traditions and cultures behind them are often ancient, and grape vines can live for centuries, and granted, many of our wines get better with age, perhaps improving for decades, but the product is agricultural, and ultimately perishable. We buy the juice and sell it to you, you use it to make more of yourselves, the glass gets recycled, and then we do it all again.

Now, we’re going to keep doing what we do, but this Saturday, we’ve invited our friend and importer of Portuguese goods, Rachel Farrah, to pour tasting flights of Portuguese wine, and peddle her artisanal textiles of Burel wool, still traditionally made in the country’s oldest wool factory in the Zézere Glacier Valley. Rachel will have brightly colored clutches, dazzling patterned scarves, and cozy blankets, all naturally hand-made and durable, excellent gifts for oneself or a loved one. She’s also super fun and friendly and happy to share her knowledge of all things Portuguese, so come by this Saturday afternoon for a little tasting and shopping; who knows, you might find something worth hanging onto for a very long time.

But first, TONIGHT at OAKLAND YARD: Thursday Night Flights from 5-9pm. Greek whites (Assyrtiko, Malagousia, and Moschofilero) and Domestic Reds (Leah Jorgensen, Broc Cellars and Kivelstadt Cellars). Flights $12 from 5-9 and wines by the glass until close.

THIS SATURDAY 12/11: RACHEL FARRAH TEXTILE POP-UP and Wines of PORTUGAL. Flights $15 from 2-6pm and wines by the glass all day until close (9pm).

Cheers,
Max

I was in the Sierras a few months ago with my wife's family and our two young daughters when my mother called to tell me her brother died. My uncle had been battling cancer for many years, but to receive the news at that time and place was particularly surreal, as I had stepped out of the cabin to take the call - and walking toward the lake I realized that I was standing in the exact location of when I had last seen him, by some coincidence, two years prior.

A strange transition from the grief and the cold to the warm faces gathered in the space of the cozy cabin. Morning light and coffee and crossword puzzles, my three year old poking at scrambled eggs and her little sister scrambling about. More sad and sweet transitions and juxtapositions followed that week and month. One of my older brothers started a text thread with all the siblings after hearing from mom (I am one of seven) and it was profound to see how quickly each one chimed in, compelled to attest to how warm and wonderful, how uniquely positive and joyful Joe was, despite everything he endured. I still return to that thread occasionally, to read those candid mini eulogies. And I can still access the clear timbre of his voice and his laugh, and my internal voice still echoes the simple, succinct sentiment of all my siblings when we reconnected at the memorial celebration. One after the other: "He was the best". Another face, another smile and more head-shaking acceptance: "Joe was just the best". And another and another: "He was the best..."

This is not a sad note, truly. I'm just reflecting on transitions, juxtapositions this morning, I suppose. This time and space between holidays and happenings. Hearts transitioning, negotiating celebrations with the news cycle and state of the world, and hearts enduring, shifting. Some lighting candles and rededicating to ideals. Others keeping traditions, recipes, memories and voices alive. Hearts out there remaining open to connection and to wonder. And to recurring, defiant, joys - ever present, despite everything. Still finding reasons to raise glasses.


Tonight at OAKLAND YARD: Thursday Night Flights from 5-9pm. Austrian Whites (3 dry, mineral-driven Gruner Veltliners) and Italian Reds (Barbera, Nebbiolo, Montepulciano D'Abruzzo). Flights $12 from 5-9 and wines by the glass until close.

SATURDAY: Wines of Loire Valley. We'll be pouring a favorite Muscadet, a natural Sauvignon Blanc, and two different, dynamic expressions of Cabernet Franc. Four wines, Flights $15 from 2-6pm and wines by the glass all day until close (9pm).

All the best,

Daniel

Turkeys are the animal of the day, but I often think of turtles at Thanksgiving time. About fifteen years ago, I was fortunate enough to find myself on the Yucatan peninsula for the final days of November. It was late for sea turtle nesting season, but on the evening of my own birthday, on the 28th, a testudinal brood hatched just after sundown, and scores of tiny turtles emerged from their sandy sanctuary. The proprietress of our palapas saw the animals mistaking the street lights for the moon and asked us to pluck as many as we could from the sand and place them in a cardboard box, where they climbed all over each other like windup toys until we set them free by the surf, away from the road, and in view of the moon.

Turtles began swimming the seas over a hundred million years ago, when flowering plants and early birds first appeared on earth, and they use a magnetic map, sensing both latitude and longitude, to navigate their long migrations. Just one in a thousand sea turtle hatchlings reaches adulthood, but if they make it through the tender, treacherous times, they usually live for 30 to 50 years, and can grow much older. In 2006, scientists found an ocean quahog turtle from the species Arctica islandica on a seabed near Iceland that was 507 years old.

This Sunday, I’ll be fifty years old, and while I pass the day with friends and family, and with so much to be thankful for, I’ll also be thinking of the turtles I helped to redirect, hoping that one is still out there, guided by magnetic compass, enjoying the vast waters of the world.

Oakland Yard will be OPEN TODAY from 10am to 2pm for all of your last minute Thanksgiving needs; we’ve got cheese, crackers, meats, nuts, beer, sherry, port - we’ve even got citrus garlands from Flower and Forage - and, oh yeah, lots and lots of WINE !!! We’ll be open normal hours - 12 to 9 - both tomorrow and Saturday, with PINOT NOIR TASTING FLIGHTS this SATURDAY from 2 to 6pm, and wines by the glass until 9, and we’ll be CLOSING EARLY this SUNDAY at 6pm.

With gratitude,

Max

I share a lot of memories and random stories. I can get a bit nostalgic, or even maudlin at times, I suppose. But though the warm holiday season is upon us... this is not one of those sentimental stories. I was 24, and had been teaching Middle School for a couple years. My friend and his roommates hosted a giant cocktail party at their large rented house in Echo Park. With the drinking and festivities going late, I was persuaded to stay the night and crash on the sofa - my girlfriend drove home and left me to the late night libations. We woke in the morning with expected hangovers, daunted by the avalanche of beer cans and wine bottles and half-consumed gin and tonics in solo cups. 

It seemed foolish to dress in a clean suit once again to tackle the mess, so I skipped the slacks and shuffled about in my white briefs, stacking sticky paper plates plastered in dry hummus and chocolate cake. A bit later I was dragging a couple black trash bags filled to burst with rattling bottles - and kicking empty errant beer cans out the door toward the recycling bins out front. Tugging and tearing and making a ruckus, I was blinded by the morning light and suddenly realized, to my shame, it was not morning but nearly noon. And there I was, standing out on the sidewalk, squinting, wearing only my underwear, stinking of booze and aluminum. And now realizing that not just one, but two of my students were standing in the street a few feet in front of me, tossing a frisbee back and forth. Turns out one of them had just moved in next door and had hosted a much more innocent sleep over. "Hey, Mr. Schmidt...", Lorenzo said, with unwarranted respect, and tossed the disc back to Anthony, who kept his gaze fixed on Lorenzo. We didn't speak of it at school on Monday, and by all empirical evidence they never mentioned it to anyone.


Thankfully, I'm not 24 anymore, and cleaning up after the party here this weekend was a completely different experience. A spring in our step, a particular pride, a warm glow all about. And more than anything, a profound feeling of joy and of gratitude. THANK YOU... to everyone who came out to celebrate our 5 year anniversary with us, and thank you to all who were there in spirit - and for all who continue to support this shop and our community. The holiday season is upon us and, happily, there will be many more days and nights of celebration ahead for us all. Let's keep the party going...

We'll have holiday gift packs and an ocean of food-friendly wines selected for you, perfect for all your Thanksgiving feasts. Check out our ONLINE SHOP for Holiday Favorites or stop in to the store to see our many staff picks. And if you need further inspiration, we'll be pouring special Holiday Flights tonight and Saturday for anyone who wants to sample our seasonal selections!

FLIGHTS TONIGHT & SATURDAY: Thanksgiving Wines! Aromatic dry whites and lively, fresh, food-friendly reds. All sure to shine and delight and to pair perfectly with your Thanksgiving fare. 

11/18 THURSDAY NIGHT FLIGHTS ($12) from 5-9pm & wines by the glass until 9pm.
11/20 SATURDAY FLIGHTS ($15) from 2-6 and wines by the glass all weekend.

Feeling festive (and fully clothed),

Daniel

Five years ago this week, Oakland Yard received its first ten cases of Etz Gruner Veltliner. Our friend Jens was still welding our shelves, and we used the wine to weigh down the sinks for caulking, and to support the old KLHs for our first sound check. We were trying to get open by Thanksgiving but still had a half-built shop and several inspections to pass. It was an exciting time for Daniel, Glenny, Julia and I, the culmination of years of plotting and many meetings, the first of which were conversations over dinner, or kayaking in the Russian River, or relaxing in the hot tub under the redwoods - ahh, the days of wine and conjecture before the work began in earnest. What’s a CUP and why is it so expensive? How much electricity do you need to run an HVAC and a POS system? Why doesn’t the health department take Amex? We made it through those uncertain times, and thanks to you all, we’ve sold over a thousand liters of Etz since then, and loads of other wine from all over the world, and this has allowed us to truly establish our happy place, a beautiful room with good vibes and walls lined with our favorite libations, a space for all to decompress and to be our best selves together. This week, to mark our fifth anniversary, we’re gathering our friends, with food, drinks and music, and local artisans and vendors, for a blow-out barn-burner in our back lot THIS SATURDAY from noon to 5. There’ll be plenty of space to be joyous and safe, and we hope you’ll come to sip, snack, laugh, browse, boogie, and celebrate with us.

But it’s only Thursday, and you may already be feeling thirsty and inquisitive, a little stifled, wanting to get out of the house, show off your new funkadelic pants and get in the mix. For this, an Oakland Yard tasting flight is just the trick.

TONIGHT... Thursday Night Flights: FRENCH reds and SPANISH whites. Three Grenache-based reds from Vacqueyras, the Vaucluse, and the Languedoc-Roussillon, as well as Xarel-lo, Albarino, and Ribeiro.
$12 tasting flights from 5-9pm & wines by the glass until 9pm.

THIS SATURDAY 11/13: 12 noon until 5pm - The 5 Year Anniversary Celebration and Artisan Flea Market event is FREE! So spread the good word and bring all your favorite people.. Tasty treats from Tacos Sincero and Joodooboo! Vendors and artists include The Plant Queen, C.A. Vintage (jewelry), Caviar & Cigarettes Vintage (clothing), Alex Steele (clothing/accessories), Kitten Claw Vintage, Pablo Cristi (original artwork/prints) WestWind Succulents & PlantHouse (arrangements), The Leopard Lodge (jewelry), Pleinware Ceramics, and Flower & Forage (bouquets)! There will, of course, be bubbles... and plenty of wine - an outdoor beer and wine garden along with raffles and prizes and music and fun. See you there!

Cheers,
Max