One of the beauties of this job is that Joe Donelan not only gives us the freedom to take the initiative in winemaking to deliver the quality he looks for, but he allows us to opine about things that bemuse us – wine, of course, or anything else. We are all multifaceted people and as wine industry members we often focus on more than wine: food, too, and travel.  One food worth any travel is vanilla ice cream.

I chose the words “In defense of vanilla…” because I (Tyler) have begun to bemoan the use of vanilla to describe something as plain or bland.  A recent assault on the San Francisco 49ers preseason offense described them as “vanilla.”  While I understand the connotation, I feel compelled to defend my most beloved ice cream flavor and the standard by which all true ice cream shops ought to be measured.

Vanilla ice cream – at its best – is like a fine wine: beautiful, subtle, incredibly textured, and enticing.  Great vanilla is not to be confused with vanilla that is good enough (under ripe Pinot Noir anyone?), or just a base for other things (Cabernet?), but it is about the ethereal mix of pure flavor expression with rich, subtle texture (great Pinot Noir? Great Syrah?).  Mock me all you want, but great vanilla ice cream needs nothing more than a deft touch of ripe red fruit or perhaps a sprinkle of shaved chocolate, or even – in one epic dessert in Seattle – an ever-so-slight infusion of Szechuan pepper with a Rhubarb broth.  These bring out the beauty and centrality of great vanilla rather than taking away from it, for great vanilla does not need hiding (Ben and Jerry, you’ve lost your way) but merits a pedestal!

For great tastes in the Bay Area there are – as with many culinary delights – numerous options.  For a creamy, richly textured, nearly custard-like vanilla, Double Rainbow is the vanilla standard.  After recently reading about Smitten’s made-to-order (literally!) vanilla I dragged the family to Hayes Valley in San Francisco to taste: beautiful, creamy but not too creamy, and subtly long in its finish.  Another favorite is Straus Family Ice Cream: very pure vanilla with a slightly lighter texture than the previous two examples.  Its less custard-like nature may appeal to ice cream purists and is excellent.

So with all this greatness, please, please halt the derogatory use of my beloved cream.  I know it can indicate “plain,” but the best vanillas are far from just plain.  The best vanilla ice cream, like the best wine, can nearly bring you to tears.  In my short tenure as a human being, it has been the cream – not wine – that has actually made me tearful (athough wine has made me equally jubilant, for some reason the tears have yet to be jerked).  Once, after touring through several wonderful Domaines in Burgundy, ending with the local favorite Le Tontons in Beaune, and after tasting some of the finest wines made in the world, we capped a lovely four-course meal with housemade vanilla ice cream that captured the good things in life and brought a single tear of joy: purity, substance, softness, and quality.  That’s my definition of vanilla and I’m sticking to it.