I knew it couldn’t last. A working long-weekend in New York, a whole slew of great wines to taste and talk about. And back to work. Back to folks who don’t return emails and whose voice mail is full, so that when you finally wait past their message, all you get is hung up on.
These are the same people who call and want Batar or Dal Forno or Giacosa Santo Stefano or Redigaffi? Oh yeah?
Well, open your email, answer your phones and read my lips: The great wines go to the great customers.
You’d think we were trying to give them the plague or take them for a one way trip around the Statue of Liberty.
All we're trying to do is bring up the level, of this horrendous laggard of a region, in terms of the appreciation of Italian greatness. But it seems all they can muster is a little lust for Sassicaia, a hankering for Ornellaia, the obligatory nod to Gaja and the unquenchable thirst for the inimitable Santa Margherita.
So they have a relationship with some importer 1,000 miles away. Well, folks, this is here (not Chicago or Vegas), you might want to readjust your holster before we step out in the high noon sun. 'Cause one of us is going to survive, and my money is on the native, the local, the one with their stakes tied down for the long haul.
So go ahead and let the Roman hucksters shake, rattle and roll all over you. Buy into their b.s. and load up on their plonk. I have a whole drawer full of matchbooks for restaurants that are now sleeping with the fishes. They ain't comin' back, Pauli.
What I've learned:
1)The wine world is a family; You don’t go against the family.
2)You want to come to the party? You’ve gotta be invited.
What are they teaching in Vegas?
By the way, anyone looking for a sommelier gig? You need to be female and gorgeous...don't worry about wine knowledge...if you qualify, email me - BR