Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Interview with the Ancients

Imagine taking a walk in a quiet place. In it, there were many souls from ancient times. They were from Greece and Italy, Sumeria and Egypt, Persia and Etruria. The voices were silent but the souls were coming through loud and clear, on a Friday afternoon on the eastern edge of Central Park.

I had just interviewed a gentleman about his life, his book and things Italian. But we didn’t quite make a connection. How could you do anything in 15 minutes, except perhaps to size each other up like two bulls in a ring? Not that it was that kind of encounter. I left feeling the need to reconnect with my roots, so I hopped on a subway and headed back a couple of thousand years, to interview the ancient ones.

Q. What were the wines like when you were living?

A. They were dark and musky, and warm. They tasted a little like sour water sometimes and at other times sweet like rose petals.

Q. Who made the wine in your community?

A. We had families who passed the trade down from generation to generation. There were families, like in Chaldea, who had been working with the grape for hundreds of years.

Q. Who among you were the first to taste wine?

The fellow in profile speaks

A. When we first tasted it, it came about by accident. One of the servants had left a vase of grapes lying around in a cool dark place and forgot about it. Several weeks later one of the porters was walking around and smelled this sweet odor. He had it brought up to the dining area and we all took bites out of this fruit we knew, but it tasted very different this time. And the juice in the bottom of the vase we all took sips of. This was something we had never experienced before. So we instructed the porters to pick more grapes and let them sit in the basement in the same manner. That was the first time we had seen it.


Q. How did the news of this travel?

A. Slowly at first, but after 400-500 years pretty much everybody in the known world had an idea of the transformative powers of the grape.

Q. And the merchants, how did they fit in?

A. At first, it was seen as a religious ritual, so the merchants stayed away. A tribe of women eventually wound their way through the empire, setting up trade with the Egyptians.


Q. Many times we hear that the Greeks brought wine culture to Italy. Who knows about that in this room?

An Etruscan princess answers

A. We had already started with the grape before the Greeks arrived. We had been going on for several hundred years. What the Greeks did was to bring some new grape types with them, but not superior to the ones we had been cultivating for 500 years.

Q. It seems Ancient Romans loved wine. Poems were written about it, buildings and temples were erected in honor of the god of the grapes.

A. That all is true, but keep in mind we had very little to eat and drink. We were often sick and food went bad quickly. Wine kept, and it kept us well and our bellies full. And it made us happy.


Q. Did the grape have anything to do with the expansion of the Empire(s)?

A. Other than it went where man went? Of course when we conquered Gaul or the Huns or the Britons, we would plant vines and keep the local people collected and subdued. Wine had a part to play in the civilizing factor of the wild tribes.

Q. Last Question. If you were around today, what kind of wine would you like to see? What would you make?

An older Roman answers

A. Listen, I would round up some of my soldiers and head to Toscanium and set that land straight. I’d bring them back to the Jovian roots and light a bloody fire under their feet. And by all the power of Jupiter, we’d bring them back to the flame of truth and all that is holy about the miracle the gods have sent down from the heavens in giving us grape with which to make this precious wine. Anyone caught disrespecting the gift of the gods would be crucified and struck down, their family sent into exile. To go against the Divine Immortals is the worst sin one could commit against the pantheon that rules our ancient souls.




Sunday, May 11, 2008

The Pendulum

"...one step remained. One step! One little, little step! Upon one such little step in the great staircase of human life how vast a sum of human happiness or misery depends! I thought of myself, then of Pompey, and then of the mysterious and inexplicable destiny which surrounded us... I thought of my many false steps which have been taken and may be taken again." – Poe

Got time for a little navel gazing? 'Cause that’s where I'm going with this one.

25 years of carrying the torch for the Italian team. I feel like someone just pushed me in the ditch.

There are all kinds of wines for different tastes. I understand that. But I cannot tell how many times I have heard this line lately, and not just from Italians: “We have embraced tradition with innovation.” Or this one: “We are a traditional winery looking forward into the 21st century.” And this one: “We are an old style winery utilizing technology to improve what we have learned from the past.” None of these statements makes any sense.


Add to that the looming issue with Italian wines: Who can you trust?

When was the last time I had a Greco or a Fiano that really tasted like one? How many Verona IGT reds lately have I had that tasted more like a wine from the Maremma or Rutherford, than Valpolicella? When was the last time I had a Chianti that reflected the intentions of the land over the man? When did Mother Nature become la goomada? When did nurture become suffocate?

Did those starry-eyed post war kids with hopes and dreams become comfortable as they passed the keys to their Gucci-loafing children?

Well maybe not everyone, but the pendulum has swung out there. Way out. It cannot remain in an extreme position. It cannot be sustained. There is the issue of gravity. And balance.

This whirlwind in Tuscany is finally reaching the shores of America. Already in New York and out West there is rumbling. Pushback. Wayback. The midsection of the US has been rabbit punched for eight grueling years and we need a moment. To pay our bills, to recalibrate. To gather some hope for ourselves.

April was the first month I have witnessed where I’ve seen downward trends in Italian wine sales. Things are slowing down. It’s not a sky-is-falling spiral, but it’s a gut check for anyone who is looking at the numbers.

Let’s talk about wine. I was with a young one who lived in Southern Italy for four years and just returned home to Texas. We were tasting wine and she remarked about a winery in Campania, “I don’t remember their white wine tasting so buttery and smooth and international.” I hadn’t thought about it, I was too busy plowing on through the year, when out of the mouth of babes came a truth. She was right. Last week, in New York, I was having dinner with an old friend and we were talking about the very same thing. “Yeah, I talked to one of the owners and asked him how it was going. Do you know what his answer was? Our wines are very popular. Not, our wines are a reflection of our land. But, our wines are appealing.” Oh really?

I have tasted Montepulcianos from Abruzzo recently. Seems like a lot of people want to bring their wines to market. I have a long experience with Montepulciano and remember those brawny, sweaty, nutty, reds that when you tasted it knew it was from the hills above you. Now, many of them taste like they came off an assembly line.

I was in Italy last month, tasting Barolo and Barbaresco. For what seem like hundreds of years now I have tasted Nebbiolo, what a rollercoaster ride! Sometimes the wines are a reflection of where they come from, in that unique way a wine is when it only has one area where it is comfortable growing. And then sometimes it seems like we are dealing with a perfume manufacturing mentality; crank out another flavor, give us something sexy for the camera, can you show us some skin? More toast. More velvet, more color, more money, more stuff. Less substance.

Who can you turn to? What can you trust in?

Salespeople rattle about this wine and that wine like it is the latest laundry detergent or smart phone. What happened to the old gang who loved the camaraderie and the product? Sure there might be an incentive here or there, but what about the thrill of the game, not the urgent flavor of the moment? What about the soil? The vine? The grape?

These wines are now like trophies, everything is a treasure, without the hunt. We want a pretty wife; we get the doctor to make her prettier. We want to be cool, we get a fast car. We want to sell, we quote a score.

What about all those Italians in our veins and our DNA, looking out from generations past, what would they think of this moment?

I think we are at a crossroads and it is a crucial time for the wines of Italy and her relationship to the American market. Where's a good place to start? How about less marketing pesticide – more plowing in the trenches of the heart.

There have been missteps. I hope for steps out of the darkness towards a future that swings back to authenticity and integrity.





Vintage photos by Vittorio

Friday, May 09, 2008

Etc! Etc!! Etc!!!

With the warm weather heading this way, a few words about white wines from Italy. Where I live, the next five months will be warm and warmer. Red wine can just be too heavy, as a daily regimen. Vegetables are coming to the table; lighter foods are appearing as well. I am turning to white wines.

A few lately have come across the table.


Marco de Bartoli Grappoli del Grillo

This wine appeared on the table right before a dish of pesce crudo with grapefruit and wild greens. This Sicilian Grillo, from one of the great Marsala producers, is a bouquet of freshness. I was parched when this wine was poured into my glass, and I was blessed with a benediction of flavors, hinting at “someday when I grow up I’m gonna be a Marsala.” Not a chance, this wine has famous grandparents, but it’s a thong and flip flop sandal set wine.


Bruno Giacosa Arneis
“I’m going to order this wine because I don’t get Arneis.” was what my colleague at lunch confessed. What he meant, he elaborated, was that there is no defining style for this variety. I agree. I've had the Ceretto and the Pio Cesare recently in Piedmont and they were polar opposites. The Giacosa entry matched up well with fare served recently at the Landmarc in Tribeca. We had it with a fois gras terrine, followed by a grilled half chicken with mashed chickpeas and arugula. The wine is a sexy-delicate quaff, but paired with food it slipped into something a little more comfortable. Not just a one-night-stand kind of wine, more of a long-weekend fling. Very nice with the food, and on a wine list priced slightly above retail to encourage experimentation.


Falesco Est! Est!! Est!!!
Coming off a recent death march of a road trip, I headed straight from the airport to a reception. The last thing I wanted to do was drink wine. Water was what I needed and lots of it. But there was this little tray of white wine being passed around and I couldn’t be the speaker at a wine event only drinking water. I was pleasantly surprised when this wine splashed onto my palate. I wasn’t expecting much substance, what I got was a lingering memory of a delicate, understated wine with a striking aroma of sweet lilies. The flavor was a brisk jump into a fresh stream of nectarines and unripe green apples, sweet and tart not sinking to the bottom, floating down the course in an inner tube of contentment.


All Hail Texas Grapegrowers
If you want something else, a shameless plug for the trials and tribulations of extreme winemaking in Texas. Kim Pierce has written a fascinating article about a place that makes me want to go and see what they're are doing up in the High Plains, 4,000 feet above sea level. Check it out.

And, as they say in the Bronx, “Chin-tann” y'all. I'm heading to the Met.





Wednesday, May 07, 2008

An Italian's Love For New York

“Oshpett, oshpett,” the beer vendor barked on a sunny Sunday afternoon in Yankee Stadium. He was clearing the way for fans to get to their seats when I heard the remnants of a southern Italian dialect, several generations removed. For the folks he was selling beer to, he’d often end his transaction with a parting “Chin-tann.”

Layered under decades of time and waves of subsequent immigrations, the Italian voice is stretched but not silenced. One needs only to scratch the surface only slightly to see the Italian presence in New York.

“Dig down into New York and you’ll reach Rome,” I once heard on a cold winter night several decades ago. I’m not sure how that applies in today’s world, but looking around the city today, it seems Italians are exploring the new New York, and loving every minute of it.

Once a section at the ballpark would be filled with suited up gentlemen, hats and all, with their mandatory cigar, looking after the legacy of Lazzeri, Rizutto and DiMaggio. These days the field has altered and they sit in their seats along fellow fans from Japan, from all over the world, and follow the careers of Giambi, Jeter and Matsui. E la nave va.

Hungry? Get yourself a Nathan’s, a kosher dog or a hot Italian sausage. You can even find a cannolo in the stadium if you dig deep enough.

Traveling in the subways and walking along the streets upside one can hear the ring of Italian being spoken. From the southern dialects now woven into a new patois’ to the fresh staccato sounds of tourists from Friuli or the Veneto. The city is crawling with all kinds of Italians looking for a slice of New York to love.



Sunday, May 04, 2008

Wine Bahs

New York
“The last time I saw a selection of wines this idiosyncratic was on a closeout list from a distributor,” somebody was heard to say, when talking about one of the many wine bars that have sprung up across the country.

Whether it is to find an outlet for those seldom seen wines, that do often languish in the corners of many a wholesaler’s warehouse, or if it is the result of a methodical search for a pure expression of wine, today’s wine lover need only to stumble into a wine bar. Or enoteca, as we say, on the wine trail.

Minutes before I was to do just that, I was in a clothing store that caters to young urbanites. On display were as many different T-shirt selections as I would soon be faced with when looking at the wine list. One shirt caught my attention. It read, “Who the f*** is Mick Jagger?”

An hour later, over a glass of Gruner, Mick would pass by our window, sans entourage.

30 minutes earlier I slipped into the wine bar, before my friends. Ordering up a glass of an Italian white, an Asprinio, it recalled a wine I had made a hundred years ago in California. Tangy fruit up front, a hint of volatility, not quite ready for oil and salad, but veering off in that direction. That’s OK with me in small doses. Italian whites, especially made in a rustic style, can be charming when that element is doled out judiciously. Civet in a perfume can be attractive, ask anyone who loves Chanel No.5.

Speaking of the rear end of a tomcat, I am sitting here struggling with terroir. My friend and I had an appointment with the owner of a wine bar, who walked in, and by, chatted up his staff, looked not in any direction at his clientele (one of which, wasn’t he supposed to rendevous with?), and headed back out the door.

Maybe it’s all those years I worked at being invisible when I photographed on the streets. Perhaps he is forgetful, though we met and spent time together, recently. I’m quite sure the success of his career has nothing to gain from knowing me.

All these thoughts, not just to excoriate the young lion for his comportment. More to my quest is this elusive search for recognizability in that thing we call terroir.

I use a different word which comforts me and because I understand it better than terroir. Territoriality. Probably a made up word, but one which offers focus to a blurry scatter of opinions about the spirit of a place, which means something to us for a reason. Maybe it is because grapes grow there and unforgettable wine results. Or hands making memorable music. Perhaps it is because a certain potato flourishes there, exclusively, and from those potatoes a gnocchi (that I’ll never ever forget) of which I had three bowls, at lunch, in the Marche. Back there, in the dungeon of my memories.

As the forgetful proprietor hurried off to his more important task, my friend arrived with a colleague. We sat down to drink that bottle of Gruner, Mick hurrying off in the same direction as Mr. Oblivious. Everyone to their own T-shirt. Wine boss, rock hoss, jazz joss. Not yet, Thelonious, that’s coming, uptime, uptown. Later.

While the revolutionary T-shirts are brought to the table with a sampler of appetizers, we ordered another bottle, this time a red. I proceeded to blunder, thinking the name was printed on the list with a redundancy. My younger, more mentally agile colleague gracefully corrected me. Just so everyone knows, Italian wines, even to those who make a life study of them, have many, many names. This one, known as Lacrima di Morro d’Alba, just to make things interesting, is also not from Alba. Or anywhere near Piedmont. Look it up. Oh, and the winemakers sometimes use the Tuscan governo process, but it’s not from Tuscany. Got it?

About this time one of the observant ones at our table casually mentioned that Tom Waits just shuffled by, in the direction of William Burroughs old place. One of them is late. This is one helluva people-watching wine bar.




Friday, May 02, 2008

In the Italian Way

After five long days in Verona, and our after work gatherings in the local restaurants, the wine trails after Vinitaly 2008 led us to an array of wonderful restaurants. I have listed them below, with the exception of the little osteria in the hills above Trento. That one is my little secret.

In the last two weeks since returning from Italy I have posted about these restaurants. But I am sure someone will ask me someday for a nice list of places to eat and sleep in Northern Italy and this post will be my answer.

In the time I have been back from Italy, it has been a wild ride. All across Texas in four days, all the major markets, and back to Dallas for a Cotarella event, that was super VIP and muy importante. Traveling across the state and holding seminars and talking, all undertaken while sick, has taken its toll on this old dinosaur. For the past week I have been laying low, working from home when not out in the market with clients, and have been trying to piece myself back together, after taking myself to the edge.

But I am returning to health and sanity, and just in time for a little R&R to one of my favorite islands.

Before I sign off, a few pictures of folks in my world, at the table, enjoying food and wine, as it is meant to be in the Italian way.


One of the Great Gentlemen of Italian Wine


Dream Big


Laughter is the best digestivo


Entertained by Chef Ropeton's insults


Always take your consigliere with you to Italy


It's Passover and you can't find a Menorah, how about a sorbetto-labra?


The Restaurants

Ristorante Chiesa
Di Alessandro Chiesa
38100 Trento
Parco S. Marco
04610238766
http://www.ristorantechiesa.it/




Ristorante Gualtiero Marchesi
L’Albereta Locanda in Franciacorta
Via Vittorio emanuele, 23
25030, Erbusco – Brescia
+39 0307760562
http://www.marchesi.it/


Enoclub Ristorante
Piazza Savona, 4
Alba
+ 0173 33994


Piazza Duomo Ristorante
Piazza Risorgimento 4
12051 Alba, Cuneo
+39.0173.366167
http://www.piazzaduomoalba.it/




Il Vigneto
Restaurant and Country House
Localita Ravinali 19/20
12060, Roddi
+39 0173 615630
http://www.ilvignetodiroddi.com/





Take a bow, Adelmo


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