St. Louis Eats and Drinks With Joe and Ann Pollack

This Week's Wine, December 30, 2010

You can't judge a book by its cover, and you certainly can't judge a wine by its label. With a book, however, you can slide it out of its space on the shelf of the shop, open it and read a few paragraphs--or even a few pages--to get a slight indication of its worth. A similar effort in a wine shop is not a good idea.

Packaging in both fields has made great strides over the last few generations, and a look across a wine shelf shows delightful imagination, sparkling imagery, superb use of color and fine coordination of typography and graphic art. I remember when Baron Philippe Rothschild inaugurated a series of labels designed by artists like Marc Chagall and Palo Picasso, plus noted amateurs like film director John Huston. Some thought he was being a heretic, that wine bottles had a classic, almost-unreadable style, and should remain that way. Of course, beautiful labels have no influence on the climate, the terroir or the skill of the winemaker, and as someone once said, you can't judge a book by its cover, or even a few pages.

But there's an international competition for label design, and the winners were announced recently. The categories are Successful Innovation, Dramatic Graphics and Classic Style. Ana-Lucia Rosales of New York took gold in the first two for Le Poisson Gris, and Michelle Poole of Seattle was a winner for the 9 Hats label in the classic division. Enjoy!

 

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RECENT TASTINGS: In no particular order, these wines have pleased a lot, for all the reasons that one likes wine--and then some.
Bogle 2008 California Petite Sirah ($11): A great value, as so many Bogle wines are, with bright berry flavors and a solid finish, with touches of blackberry early, hints of vanilla toward the end.

Ochoa 2009 Spanish rose Garnacha (Grenache) ($9): Slightly darker in color than French roses, with pleasing raspberry notes and good body. Maybe not the wine for a winter dinner, but don't forget lunch goes well with wine, too.

Ochoa 2006 Spanish Navarra Tempranillo ($15): Very youthful, with fruit flavors bright and cheerful throughout. Delicious.

Girard 2008 Napa Valley Petite Sirah ($28): Big and bold with 14.5% alcohol, blackberry notes throughout, superior balance, long finish.

Girard 2008 Napa County Zinfandel ($24): A rugged Zin from Mt. Vaca, the highest point in Napa County, with plummy richness and excellent balance; another 6-12 months in the bottle will make it even richer.

Napa Cellars 2007 Carneros Syrah ($28): A surprising, very faint aroma of violets on a superior example of the wonderful, well-balanced grapes that grow in the Carneros region that drifts into the southern portions of both Napa and Sonoma counties. A big, muscular Syrah, like some of the good ones from Australia, but with finesse in hints of blueberry on the palate. Splendid wine for pasta with a garlicky peppery sauce.

Zaca Mesa 2007 Santa Ynez Syrah ($24) and Mesa Reserve Syrah ($42): Zaca Mesa was the first winery to plant Syrah in Santa Barbara County, about midway between San Francisco and Los Angeles and home to some splendid wines. The reserve spends 26 months in new French oak before bottling, and time is excellence. Red fruits in the flavor and hints of leather in the finish. Very tasty, will improve for a few more years, at which time it will be wonderful. The wine from the Sana Ynez Viticultural District is very good, just lacking some of the finesse and depth of flavor found in the reserve.

Willa Kenzie Estate 2009 Willamette Valley (Washington) Pinot Gris ($20): Crisp and fruity, with a light mineral backtaste, this is fine company to oysters on the half shell, crab claws and other seafood appetizers.

J. Lohr Estates Monterey County Riverstone Chardonnay ($14): Straw yellow and with bright, brisk overtones, citrus notes and some of the buttery notes that come with California Chardonnays, this wine displays excellent balance between alcohol and acid. Good company for a freshly grilled trout, a better match if the trout was hooked in the last 15 minutes.

--Joe

Made in Dagenham

Rita O'Grady and Norma Rae have many things common, even if language is not one of them--Rita's from the English Midlands, Norma from the American South. But they both are infected with the union bug and the desire for equality for women in the workplace. Sally Field won an Oscar for "Norma Rae," and while O'Grady won't carry home any statuettes, her performance in "Made in Dagenham," is equally delightful. The movie opens here today.

O'Grady works in a Ford plant in the town of Dagenham in 1968; she and nearly 200 other women sew seat covers and upholstery for automobiles. Wages are a pittance. Working conditions are abysmal. O'Grady also keeps house for her husband, Eddie (Daniel Mays), and their children, wakes him and gets them off to work and school, mounts her bicycle for her journey to the plant. Urged on by a sympathetic union rep, played in a relaxed, comfortable manner by Bob Hoskins, O'Grady and her co-workers get more and more militant, finally walk off the job.

Although this is the '60s, O'Grady and her mates don't know the England that "swings like a pendulum do," in the words of Roger Miller. But she and her buddies, Connie (Geraldine James), the shop steward; Sandra, (Jaime Winstone) a would-be model who looks great in hot pants; and many others, know it is important to fight for their rights.

William Ivory's screenplay is slanted to the union side. The management types are reactionary thugs who scorn the workers and ridicule the women. Peter Hopkins (Rupert Graves) is the plant's manager for labor relations, and his attitude is the worst of all, which probably contributed to his rise through the hierarchy. His wife (the delightful Rosamund Pike), however, has more intelligence and helps O'Grady, at least a little. There's also a bright, brief appearance by Miranda Richardson as the English secretary of state for employment and production, which immediately puts her between a rock and a hard place.

"Made in Dagenham" is light-hearted entertainment, smoothly directed by Nigel Cole, in which right makes might and working stiffs win out over corporate greed. See, it's a fairy tale, but only a few years later, the groundwork laid by the women of Dagenham resulted in laws that came close to equalizing pay scales between men and women.

Made in Dagenham opens today at Plaza Frontenac

--Joe

Mosaic Bistro Market

“Bistro” is just the right word for Mosaic Bistro Market. A menu that offers lamb shank, cassoulet, roasted chicken and brandade is a dead giveaway. We'll allow the luxury of a long, long bar, not part of the traditional bistro image, but this is the heart of Clayton, where the after-work crowd labors so hard to avoid dehydration. And while the cocktails are interesting, including a pal's favorite, the Dark and Stormy (ginger beer with dark rum), and the wine list has many reliable options, it's the food that makes or breaks a bistro.

Mosaic makes it.

Escargot and wild mushrooms were sauteed quickly, topped with a creamy brandy sauce that held a subtle note of tarragon, then piled on a rectangle of pastry to provide a crispy background. Sophisticated and delicious, it brought smiles. Also resting on some puff pastry was the goat cheese tart, bearing caramelized onions atop the melting cheese. The combination was extremely tasty, with a contrast from a few leaves of arugula salad so lightly dressed they almost drew the vice squad. Mixed charcuterie was fun, some sausage, some prosciutto, with the first-rate house bread. And then there was the brandade. It's made from cod and olive oil, whipped together, sometimes with the addition of potato, although that option can cause arguments along the Mediterranean coast of Europe where the dish originated. Some describe it as a dip, but we've mostly seen it served warm, as it is here, and just forked up or perhaps spread on a bit of bread. It's supposed to taste like fish, of course, unlike some wimpy renditions we've had. And this one does, delightfully so, probably the best we've had in a long while.

Cassoulet, the meat-and-bean dish, much like a casserole, and another that French cooks argue over, arrives with duck confit, rich and tender, and merguez, the spicy lamb sausage. The beans are real flageolets, small French ones seldom seen in St. Louis. They fit right in with the meat flavors, joining the chorus of deliciousness. Sea scallops, properly seared, also carried notes from the bits of fresh bacon and a sauce made from apple pressings, like cider but far more intense, all sharing space with a couple of tiny carrots and a pea puree.

 
 
A strip steak arrived pre-sliced but cooked medium-rare as ordered, alongside a first-rate gorgonzola potato gratin and some excellent brussels sprouts that had been aggressively (and happily) seasoned with bacon. The menu describes the lamb shank as “30-hour Colorado lamb shank” presumably referring to its provenance and the length of cooking. One would presume that cooking something that long would produce extreme tenderness, if not just shreds of meat. Interestingly, it did not. In fact, we were surprised to find a firm exterior on the lamb, as though it had been given a final blast in a very hot oven. While the inside was beautifully flavored, and certainly not dry, it was far from as moist as one might think.

One of our private tests for a bistro is how well it does tarte tatin, the apple tart that's cooked with the crust on top and then inverted onto a platter. The apples should be reasonably intact, and, more important, their juices nicely caramelized to the point of leaving little bits of chewiness in various places. Mosaic Bistro passes with flying colors, the crust crisp, a proper tartness to the apples and the caramel notes singing. A pine nut tart was also good, but paled in comparison. And we also were extremely happy with the double dessert, a chocolate espresso pot de crème, a sort of custard, and its plate-mate, a goat cheese pudding with a few berries. Goat cheese in a dessert a little strange to many palates, but we love it; if you understand the pleasure of a tangy cheesecake, then the flavors of sweets heightened with goat cheese may well lure you. We also enjoyed a cheese plate, although the very small serving of three cheeses for $10 was a surprise.

Happily knowledgeable service from this new outpost of the enterprising Schmitz family with sister Ellen at the helm, comfortable seating and a reasonable lighting level. The bar, not surprisingly, can contribute considerable cacophony, on busy nights. We recommend reservations.

 

Mosaic Bistro Market

14 N. Central Ave, Clayton

314-932-7377

www.mosaicrestaurants.com

Lunch & Dinner Mon.-Sat.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Poor

Smoking: No

Entrees: $19-$24

The King's Speech

"Great" is a descriptive too often used by promoters and salesmen (or women). Unless you're talking about Stan Musial or "Casablanca," you're dealing in hyperbole--almost all the time. Sometimes, however, there's a happy exception, something that deserves the accolade. "The King's Speech," opening today, is worthy of the adjective. It's a great movie, with absolutely stunning performances from Colin Firth, as King George VI, and Geoffrey Rush as Lionel Logue, the speech therapist who made it possible for him to succeed.

The king's problem was a bad stutter, bad to the point where, in an early scene, he stands, speechless and mortified, in front of a microphone at the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin, unable to utter a sound. Not yet the king, Albert Frederick Arthur George, called Bertie by his family, was the second son of King George V (a perfect Michael Gambon), teased and mocked by his older brother (a brilliant Guy Pearce), who would ascend to the throne as King Edward VIII, then abdicate it for Wallis Simpson ("the woman I love," played in properly vicious style by Eve Best).

Bertie becomes King George VI in May, 1937, a decade of turmoil. Hitler's star is rising, the Great Depression hangs as a weight on everyone. With the encouragement of his wife, who became queen mother at his death in 1952, the king looks for help with the stutter. Various hacks and quacks take a turn, but he eventually meets Logue, an Australian whose methods are decidedly unusual. He demands that the king come to his rather seedy office. He calls him Bertie. But there is improvement. In small steps. But improvement. Eventually, their relationship expanded to real friendship, just another nice touch.

David Seidler's screenplay sets the king's problem against the larger canvas of England's problem. Parliament did a lot of dithering and doddering as the Nazi influence spread; Winston Churchill spoke often, and Timothy Spall is excellent in his interpretation of the man who later would be prime minister. The cast, solid from top to bottom, also includes Claire Bloom as Queen Mary, the king's mother; Derek Jacobi as Cosmo Lang, Archbishop of Canterbury. Freya Wilson and Ramona Marquez portray the royal princesses, Elizabeth the queen today, and Margaret Rose, respectively, but they were children and only incidental witnesses to their father's battle against his demons.

Carter is strong as King George's wife, supporting him in his struggle, calling (incognito, of course) on various doctors and interviewing them about their methods and techniques, then

battling to help him in the "lessons" that Logue prescribed.

Director Tom Hooper is a fine story-teller, whose television experience included a number of Masterpiece Theatre episodes and the wonderful John Adams mini-series of two years ago. He is not particularly flashy, but his focus is on the story, telling it simply and to maximum effect. Seidler wrote a rich, detailed screenplay, and Hooper's direction brings forth Firth and Rush in exciting performances. Never would one expect talk about talk to be so exciting.

The King's Speech opens today at several theaters.

--Joe

All Good Things

Unsolved crimes make for great movies. Writers and directors can take large liberties with truth to make a better story. The viewer doesn't know how much is fact and how much is fiction, but as long as there's an exciting and entertaining tale, with good acting, it doesn't make much difference. So it is with "All Good Things," based on a real, unsolved crime, which opened yesterday.

Frank Jarecki makes his fictional feature film debut in powerful style. His previous feature, the documentary "Capturing the Friedmans," was solid and well-made. Now, from an original screenplay by Marcus Hinchey and Marc Smerling, he goes farther afield, practically erasing the line between the genres but working from the fact that two people are dead, a third has disappeared and the presumed killer (according to Jarecki) is living in Florida.

In 1982, Kathleen McCormack Durst disappeared. She was the wife of Robert A. Durst, heir to mega-millions of dollars earned by his father, Seymour, in various real estate investments and transactions. Neither she nor a body has been found.

The movie changes names, perhaps to avoid litigation, perhaps to retain its air of fiction. Dear old, rich old Dad, played powerfully by Frank Langella, with just the right touch of the bully who uses his wealth to get his way, is Sanford Marks. The son, fine work by Ryan Gosling, is David, and the long-gone wife is Katie, a rich portrayal by Kirsten Dunst. David is not the son that Sanford wanted, nor is Katie the wife he wanted for the boy. She's not from a wealthy family, which makes her a lower-class commoner.

In one of the movie's most telling sequences, the elder Marks says, scornfully, "She'll never be one of us," and David replies, "I know. Isn't that great!"

With a nod to the hippie lifestyle, David and Katie marry, move to Vermont, open an organic grocery, All Good Things, an ironic twist for the movie's title. With money as leverage, Dad convinces David to leave the failing grocery, return to New York and work for the family company, collecting rent from the grind houses and sex shops that populated West 42nd Street at the time. After Katie's disappearance, and an investigation that shows nothing, David's behavior begins to change. He gets involved with a Los Angeles newspaper reporter, Susan Berman (Lily Rabe). When she is murdered, there's another police investigation that shows nothing. David's next stop is Galveston, where he is a practicing transvestite. He befriends a man named Morris Black, (Philip Baker Hall) whose name is changed to Malvern Bump. But despite all these plot hooks, "All Good Things" slows down, eventually running out of steam as David lives comfortably in Florida. Truth may be stranger than fiction, but sometimes fiction carries on to a more successful conclusion.

All Good Things is at the Plaza Frontenac

True Grit

In a holiday season when sex, violence and vulgarity are the overpowering images in most new movies, "True Grit" stands apart, its 19th-century language and a certain primness of attitude giving one almost the feeling of being at a Sunday School theatrical. Once again, Joel and Ethan Coen have shown their genius and their originality. Instead of trying to out-Wayne

John Wayne, who starred in the 1969 version, they have used the style and language of Charles Portis, whose novel was published only a year earlier.

They made some changes, however, like moving Reuben "Rooster" Cogburn's eye patch. Wayne's patch covered his left eye; Jeff Bridges wears the patch on his right eye. Either way, the movie, which opens today, is excellent.

The story, set in 1873 in Yell County, Ark., is the tale of 14-year-old Mattie Ross, whose father is robbed and killed by a thug named Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin). Mattie, a dynamite debut by Hailee Steinfeld, wants to hire a man with "true grit" who will accompany her into the Indian Territory and capture Chaney. She offers to split the reward and add some from her own pocket. Cogburn, a drunkard and a wastrel, once a marshal, now a bum, but a man who can shoot the eyes out of a fly, wins the job.

Mattie is the kind of girl that most boys (me included) grew up hating. I'm certain she was the smartest girl in the class and the teacher's pet. She's tough, disciplined, a poised and pretentious purveyor of righteousness, a hard bargainer and just an all-American pain in the neck. But she's fearless, and is going to see this through. Like many other frontier children of the 18th and 19th centuries, she probably learned at least some of her letters through the Bible, and her language shows it. She respects her elders and shows us how to emulate her.

That's the way Portis wrote the character, and that's the character the Coens have developed with her. It's their first PG-13 movie, and a definite shift in style; while Anton Chigurh in "No Country for Old Men" was one kind of recognizable Western movie killer, Bridges is another, equally easy to recognize but a very different character. The new film was shot in New Mexico rather than Monument Valley, but cinematographer Roger Deakins, who has worked on several Coen films, makes things look as if John Ford or Henry Hathaway were out there.

Hathaway directed the 41-year-old version from Marguerite Roberts' screenplay, with Wayne, of course, as Cogburn. Kim Darby was Mattie, with Glen Campbell (remember "Wichita Lineman"?) as Mr. LeBoeuf and Jeff Corey as Chaney.

Matt Damon is an absolute delight, offering terrific work as Mr. LeBoeuf, the pompous Texas Ranger and apparent model for several generations of Dallas Cowboy fans, who would like to share in the reward money. He's grown a mustache for the part, and it looks good on him. Bridges can be forgiven for "Tron," after watching him as Cogburn. He's not Wayne, of course (I can hear some people out there cheering), but he is Cogburn, not Bridges, and he's splendid. There's some overacting, of course, but it's a big, juicy part. Brolin is mean and a bully as Chaney and he delivers splendidly.

It is, however, a pleasure to watch the Coens taking a different approach than they did in "Fargo" or "No Country for Old Men." And it's an equal pleasure to see an old favorite that has improved under the Coens' vision and their exemplary cast.

True Grit opens today at a number of theaters

--Joe

Cirque Dreams Holidaze

The circus is back in town, and for kids of all ages (including mine), it's still a lot of fun. Cirque Dreams Holidaze opened an eight-day run at the Fox last night, and was crisp, professional and entertaining, very good if not great, and providing an excellent opportunity for a family outing at the holiday season.

Cirque Dreams, not to be confused with Cirque de Soleil, was created by Neil Goldberg, who had built a successful organization that provided entertainment for corporate functions. He expanded to a theatrical format for casinos, conventions, theme parks, even cruise ships. There are five different shows on the road now.

Holidaze has a Christmas theme, of course, and some wonderful costumes by Lenora Taylor and Santiago Rojo. Tumblers, aerialists, acrobats, jugglers, contortionists, wire walkers all look great and perform as stylishly as they look. About a dozen nations are represented in the international cast, which filled the Fox stage with a little help from trees, Christmas balls, gift-wrapped boxes and other items to remind us of the season.

Many scenes simply gleam with joy. Marcello Balestracci, as the Bell Conductor, leads four audience members in a delightful and very funny exercise in bell-ringing, and Andriy Ishchenko is a delight as the Baby Elf. Four Ethiopians--Tewodros Ayana, Angesom Bishiou, Tekle Gebregziabher and Firtuna Gebremedhin--show up as Gingerbread Cookies and do some amazing feats of balance. Marque Ohmes and his wife, Rebecca, are spinning Aerial Angels, twirling with graceful, adventurous swoops and glides.

Bing Long and Jun Long are Chinese twins and contortionists, twisting their lithe bodies into a variety of shapes and containers and emerging from the other side. Molly Murcia and Rebecca Starr, as an act called "Lyralicious," provide some wonderful spins, lifts and twirls within a giant ring, and to fill in quiet spots, there are remarkable jugglers and rope jumpers.

The music is passable; if you go home humming, you'll be humming the scenery. Goldberg and his assistant, Heather Hoffman, do good work with the choreography, and the performers are talented and eager. Good fun at the Fox.

Cirque Dreams Holidaze opened last night at the Fox Theatre and will run through Dec. 29.

--Joe

Pickleman's Gourmet Cafe

To begin with, yes, Pickleman's, or Pickleman's Gourmet Cafe, to use its full and proper name,   is a chain, albeit a small one. Obviously aiming at the college trade (as compared to the carriage trade), it's at the southern edge of St. Louis University's Grand Center campus. Other college-town homes are Columbia and Springfield, Mo., and Lincoln, Neb. A good example of adaptive re-use, it's in a former warehouse that was remodeled into condos. Student-friendly, with free wi-fi and televisions tuned to local sports, it's open late, and delivers late, as well. When we've been there and the place was less than half full, the noise levels were reasonable. More patrons would, we think, raise the decibles.

Sandwiches are the raison d'etre: specifically toasted subs. The large counter provides a good view of a sandwich assembly line where the work is done to order, a reassuring sight and one that allows for immediate changes like, “Y'know, I think I'll have some pepper oil on that, too.” There's also a selection of salads and soups, of which our favorite is the tomato basil bisque, rich and creamy with a lush tomato flavor. Baja chicken is only okay, a chicken vegetable soup laced with cumin and little pepper of note. The chili, on the other hand, is pretty good, medium-thick, and with beans, of course; hardly anyone in these parts sells beanless chili. A little more sweet than we expected, but with a little heat. Some of that pepper oil would help. The salads, all chopped, look fresh; we tried the asiago caesar dressing which was quite tasty.

The dairy-intolerant should pay attention when they order. Sixteen of the seventeen sandwiches have cheese, and so do all the salads. This isn't necessarily a criticism. It's just how menus are built these days. Fat carries flavor, as chefs, even the corporate kind, understand, and the near-ubiquity of cheese on casual dining menus is just one of those things. However, it's easy to say, "No cheese, please." We did it with the turkey bacon club. The turkey was honey-smoked, and while the faint sweetness didn't add much, the smokiness was nice.

Pickleman's doesn't have a meatball sandwich, but the one called The Pizza Guy stands in its stead, subbing pepperoni for the meatballs. Marinara sauce and cheese should make it really messy to eat, but the sandwiches are tightly wrapped and then sliced in half, making them easier to manage. And it's a delightful sandwich, especially with a little of that pepper oil dribbled on once in a while. It really pops. The Italian club was salami, pepperoni, ham and capicola with provolone and the usual toppings, plus (happily) some vinegar and oil, which we more and more prefer to mayo on this kind of sandwich. Heating this sub turns it into a whole different beast from its cold cousin, but it works very well.

Yes, there are pizzas. But this is a sandwich spot with no pizza oven, just a toaster. We passed.

Gourmet? Of course not. But overall pretty tasty.

 

Pickleman's Gourmet Cafe

3722 Laclede Ave.

314-802-7410

www.picklemans.com

Lunch and Dinner daily

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Good

Smoking: No

Sandwiches: $4-$7

With The Holidays Upon Us...

With the holidays upon us, so are the movies. Six openings today. The reviews, in order, are:

The Fighter

I Love You, Phillip Morris

Tamara Drewe

Leaving

Marwencol

Tron: Legacy

The Fighter

There is no more cliche-ridden style of movie than those about boxing and boxers. From John Garfield in the '30s to Sylvester Stallone, Robert De Niro and Mark Wahlberg, with dozens of others through the decades, the pattern of the stories is pretty much alike.

It's what happens out of the ring and between the bouts that distinguishes them, and "The Fighter," which opens here today, is an excellent film, not because of Wahlberg's bloody bouts as "Irish" Micky Ward, but because of his family, the weirdest, most dysfunctional group one can imagine. Even weirder than the Gosselins, if you can envision that. And it's basically a true story about Ward's life and career.

Wahlberg is extremely impressive as the welterweight from Lowell, Mass., but what makes him stand out is his underacting, almost withdrawal, as he and his loyal fiancee, Charlene (a terrific Amy Adams) stand back and watch his out-of-control family go, well, out of control. That group is led by Christian Bale as Micky's older half-brother, Dicky Ecklund; Melissa Leo, just stunning as their mother, Alice Ward, and the seven women--her daughters--who make the Furies look like a group of Buddhist monks.

Bale totally inhabits the persona of Dicky, riddled with the twitches and paranoia of the addict, a small-time crook not bright enough to advance to the major leagues of crime,not even to the high minors. He lives in the memory of a fight when he may, or may not, have knocked down Sugar Ray Leonard, and in the advice that may or may not help his half-brother as they train together or as he works Micky's corner. It's a magnificent performance.

The chain-smoking, whining Leo cannot see her eldest as anything but a perfect knight, even when he is in jail or in the throes of addiction, two places were he spends the majority of his life. She's proud of Micky and happy when he does well, but Dicky is the first-born. The king. And her daughters, like a slatternly Irish chorus, chime in on cue when Mom speaks. Adams, as a feisty bartender who falls for Micky, is another who succeeds by doing less. There's no way she can out-yell the harridans, but by speaking softly and carrying a big punch, she gains attention.

Director David O. Russell places the action in a community that is as defeated as its residents. Down-at-the-heel shoes stumble along potholed streets. A lot of writers are involved , Scott Silver, Paul Toomay and Eric Johnson on the screenplay, Keith Dorrington, Toomay and Johnson on the story. This is often a recipe for disaster, but Russell keeps things moving rapidly and cleanly enough to bring it home under two hours, no mean feat when you consider how much goes on.

The fight action is excellent, and Wahlberg is outstanding in his depiction of a fighter who stood toe-to-toe against a variety of opponents and gave as good as he got. For three years running (2001-3), Ring Magazine chose Ward's bouts, one with Emanuel Burton and two with Arturo Gatti, as Fights of the Year.

"The Fighter" wins by a TKO.

The Fighter opens today on multiple screens

--Joe