There was a time in my life that I thought I was a beach guy. I usually tan rather easily, liked to engage in various beach-type sports, and could body surf with the best of them. I went to college in Maine, which has no shortage of beaches and we would go often in the weeks after we got back to school since that was the time of year where the water was the warmest.

Once I even remember it climbed way up to 59 degrees!

Tropical.

I spent my junior year in France and hung out on the beaches in Nice (rocky), and Antibes (beautiful) and then the island of Kos in Greece.

I was practically Jimmy Buffett.

Then something happened.

I started riding and racing bikes. It was great for the legs, but created really hideous tan lines. Around that time I also stopped going to the beach, which I believe was purely coincidental–I lived in Michigan. Even after I moved back to the East Coast, though, I rarely would go to the beach–or even to a pool for that matter. For a while I debated if I was really that vain–was I not going to the beach because of a ridiculous looking tan?

In a word.

Yes.

I started to rationalize my transition away from the water: I would rather be riding, there is the risk of skin cancer from tanning too much, the boredom just sitting there in the sand waiting for something to happen. I quickly convinced myself that I actually hated the beach.

I even lived in California for several years and went to the beach a total of two times (I took my dog once, but she really hated the water, so that was the end of that).

I eventually moved to Philadelphia where the closest beach is in New Jersey.

Yes, that New Jersey.

So I never went.

Once I got married and had a couple of kids, I decided to reevaluate my rather stern stance vis-à-vis the beach. I figured I was already prejudicing my boys choices on so many things (politics, environmentalism, choice of college football team), I would let them figure out the beach for themselves.

A few years ago, we rented a house for a week with some friends down at the Shore and it was an unmitigated disaster, which was all my fault– I was starting a new teaching job and I needed to prepare for the start of classes, which was the Monday after our week at the shore.

So I was a wreck.

And it showed, unfortunately.

Fast forward a few years and a couple weeks ago, we were once again invited to go “down the shore” by a different group of good friends (the friends that invited us the first time have since moved away–coincidence?). This was only for a couple of days and since the boys both really wanted to go, my wife convinced me that it would be fine.

And it was.

No, I did not suddenly rediscover my young adult love for the beach–I went over to the beach a couple of times during the weekend but since I recently suffered from a slipped disk in my back, there was very little I could do but stand around and yell at my kids not to drown.

Back at the house was another story. We were three couples and four kids altogether and the six adults really knew how to get their drink on. My buddy Frank was there, who is far from a slouch in the kitchen. In fact, he is certainly the best non-professional chef I know and there is not a restaurant that I have ever been to that would not become instantly better if he decided to give up his job in education and cook full-time.

The other couple, Katy and Deb, opened up their wine vault and pulled out some real gems. They certainly know the way to make me forget about my back, the beach, my boys, and just about anything else that might be bothering me.

Here is just a sampling of the dinner:

We started off the pre-meal festivities with a sublime 2009 Walter Hansel Cahill Lane Chardonnay, which paired beautifully with the rousing game of post-beach go-fish with my four-year-old son.

We then pulled out a couple bottles of champagne. the first, I had just recently brought back with me from France: Collard-Chardelle Cuvée Prestige–elegant yet powerful with great fruit and spunk. We followed with a bottle of NV Bertrand Senecourt Champagne Beau Joie Rosé. I had never heard of, much less tasted the champagne before, but it certainly made quite the impression. The bottle was, well, let’s just say unique. I am not quite sure if a bottle can “inspire” you to commit various random acts that I will not enumerate here, but there is certainly a medieval type of torture going on. The wine itself was fantastic–rich and full with a great Pinot backbone. It was so good, in fact, that I really questioned the packaging since we spent far more time talking about the bottle than we did about the wine.

The apéritif couple of hours was followed by several tasty creations by Frank. The first was a salad of braised pork, watermelon, nasturtium (whatever that is), water cress, and pickled watermelon rind.

Whoa.

To say it was fantastic would be the classic understatement of all time, but I have frankly (pun intended) run out of words to describe Frank’s cooking. We paired it with Deb’s bottle of 2009 Hirsch Vineyards San Andreas Pinot Noir, which was bold, but balanced, with great cherry fruit and plenty of acidity. Outstanding.

Next up, homemade lemon ricotta ravioli, fava bean purée, and fried zucchini blossom. Frank is of Italian heritage and if there is one thing that he makes that rises above the rest, it has to be his fresh pasta (although I am really splitting hairs here since it is all sinfully good). If you have never had a fried zucchini blossom, you are missing out. We were introduced to them several years ago on Frank’s patio and I could eat them all day long. Zucchini itself, on the other hand… We still had some of the Hirsch left from the first course (how? I have no idea) but once we drained that, Deb brought out a bottle of 2009 Joseph Swan Trenton Estate Pinot Noir. She said that she heard me mention it before, so she was anxious to try it. (Deb if you are reading this,I would like to mention the Domaine de la Romanée Conti.) A bit fruitier and darker than the Hirsch, as expected, but every bit as tasty.

Next, we had some grilled lamb with yet another bottle of the Hirsch. The lamb was perfectly grilled and served along with some fresh Jersey sweet corn, which might be my single favorite thing to eat during the summer (although heirloom tomatoes are certainly up there). If that was not enough, Katy pulled out a platter of cheese accompanied by a Flowers Camp Meeting Ridge Chardonnay. The wine and the cheese practically melted in the mouth–I am not sure if I have had such a wonderful wine/cheese experience (outside of France–let’s not get too crazy).

We ended the night with a dessert made by my lovely wife and a bottle of Bollinger. By this point, my back no longer hurt, my boys were both perfect angels, and my hatred for the beach had been reduced to but a mild disdain. If every trip to the beach were like this, I would be there every weekend….

For those of you in the Philly area and would like to experience Frank’s cooking in your own home, visit his Facebook page: Rozca