I know, I know, I only point high. But this is about the best white out of the three or four dozen I’ve swum in this week, including some very much more expensive bubles. Made by Elena Brooks from Carl Linder’s old block in the schisty dirt of Eden Valley, with a Zar Brooks epic on the back, it’s a mealy, dusty bone-dry sack of a wine more than your tiny slickster. It’s as amusin as that impeccably maintained Lutheran church just down the hill: projecting only austere, composed, straight-is-the-gate chin-up stuff: neat balance to the seafood extrava-Gs of T-Chow or Buenos Aires. Or the dungeon.