One would think that the Italians, and most of the European winemakers, would be first in line for the shoot-yourself-in-the-foot booth. The weak dollar, inflation, high cost of living and ultimately price increases, followed by an expected slow-down in sales. And then California goes long boarding and tries to ride the high wave. Yeah. OK. Now what? These days, wineries in California are changing their dance partners with a fury once seen on the deck of the Titanic. A 48% increase in sales isn’t good enough? Let’s find another conduit for marketing our products. Lost in the aisles of hundreds of other Chardonnays? Blame someone else. Slow down in sales? It couldn’t be that old fashioned label that your Aunt Tilley designed, now, could it?
Like the weather patterns that derive off the West Coast, sometimes the storm passes to the middle lands and even further. Maybe the sub-prime miasma is to blame. And the Italians are laughing about it and dancing in the streets, in their new Prada slip-ons
The trend seems to be, or rather, the cycle we are in right now, indicates that Italians aren’t slowing down like many of the naysayers are bellowing. Yet.February 2008 is looking to be a good month for Italian wine sales in the midsection of the United States. January was strong, and this month, as it is wrapping up, is lumbering to a finish that outpaces the same month last year (SMLY).
Not so with respect to California wine sales.
A couple of things here.
The market is crowded; there is still a lot of juice floating around looking for a final resting place. There are a few other Two-Buck imitators that have made it to the interior. And yes, at the bottom rung, it is treated like a commodity because it is in a highly competitive part of the market. This isn’t Super-Yacht territory. If folks were used to buying three bottles of wine a week for $15.99, they are now buying two bottles now for $12.99 and making do. The supply builds up into tsunami-sized waves and gets scattered across the land, often heavily discounted.So why isn’t this happening to Italian wines? Short answer: I don’t know. Perhaps it is because the Italian wines have diversified their penetration in the market. It seems they are everywhere these days, large retailers, small independents, mama and papa restaurants and big box chains. Spread out.
This might not be for long, but right now we are riding the wave in the cycle. And so far, we haven’t been thrown from the board.
A bottle of 1971 Fattoria Vignale Chianti Classico Riserva, once a Nureyev of a wine. I remember the wine from the early 1980’s when it jumped into my soul. Now it has to take the long journey to its resting place: not to the celebrity cemetery in Venice; this time via the drain in my sink..
Sifting through a wet week spent in Napa. Very busy time. Not a lot of time to reflect. Just a couple of thoughts.
Napa Valley has wealth, in money and in workers. As we walked into a man made cave, temperature and humidity controlled by computers, my thoughts ran from the gentrified farmer who made millions in silicon to Raul, Joe and Luisa, who were hurrying to get the vines ready for spring. Later that night in a warmly lit room with sample after sample of wine and food served to us by the children of Raul, Jose and Luisa, I thought about the abundance around us and how it is that we can all but make invisible these souls who toil in the vineyards and serve the food to our tables.
Winter in Rome. The old Cinquecento is slow to start in the cold, damp night of the city. I had just been to an interminably trying evening of tasting new wines from the hills. All I could think of was the summer, months away. But they might have just been years. I’d had it with darkness and cold and bitter young wines and overly sweet old wines and all I could think of was going home to sleep.
Sarcasm, like garlic, is best served in small portions that seamlessly angle into the event without making their presence known. It is only after you have taken a spoon, or a clove, and it is too late to reject it, that it unwinds its message, slowly over time. A forkful, in the face, is excessive and not seductive.
There are wines that follow this script. I don’t know which country they come from or if they come from a screenplay from a winemaker or winery owner who thinks it is his right to direct the life of the grapes to fit his or her vision of what wine is.
It must have been 20 years ago when the little VW Jetta took us down the road to Hillsboro, Texas, with Bob Marley wailing “
I met 
Another food writer
Oh, one more thing – the robot jellyfish? They are pictured here. Fear not, no animal has been harmed in the making of them. They're just something I picked up in 
During the month of March, winter prepares to slink out of the bones, making way for green and grow and sun and spring. In Bordeaux and Alba, the season lingers just a little longer than elsewhere. In both places there are practitioners of the wine trade that are busy with the business of the last harvest.
While the courtier has a plum job, good money, easy work and respect for his position in the community, it is the Italian mediatore who has really gotten a better deal in life. Perhaps he won’t have the exposure to the world of commerce and the possibility of squirreling away a few extra Euros. But a warm fire with a bowl of roasted chestnuts and a fresh glass of Grignolino waits for him faithfully.
When the courtier goes back to his office, there is a telex or two with orders for wine from the estate he represents. He will give the order to the secretary to process the order or give it a lottery number in case the harvest is light and must be randomly assigned. He might call his wife or his father, for a quick and clinical chat. It might be to discuss what to have for dinner or to check on the father’s vineyard. He works daily, in a solitary manner. Only when the wine is considered a special vintage and there is scarcity will he get invitations to come to Paris for a weekend. If not, it is oysters and steak frites for lunch and perhaps a tureen and poached fish at home in the evening with his wife and only child, a quiet yet doting daughter.
Life in the Langa, aside from work, revolves around the elements. Perhaps there is a plot of vineyard in back of the home, a chestnut tree and a spot where the truffles appear. Down by the creek there are thrushes that make a wonderful ingredient for his wife’s risotto. Or perhaps earlier in the day she and her mother had made fresh tagliatelle for an evening dish of “Tajarin” al sugo de fegatini. Again, accompanied by a nice bottle of Dolcetto.
Where do restaurant reviewers go when they all just want to let their hair down and enjoy a good meal? Many folks would like to know who they are and where they are. Last night, I was invited out to Chinese New Years with a whole bunch of them.
A friend cast a sideways glance and a raised eyebrow at me the other day when I recanted some of my recent road trips. I got the impression that he didn’t feel too sorry for me. Not that I was looking exactly for sympathy, although I detected a hint of disgust in his gesture that said to me. “Look, you may call it work, but it isn’t hard work like I do.” That person would be correct, although to make the commitment to spend the amount of time I do, one would be better off if they didn’t have a wife and children. There is plenty to do and not all of it takes place between the daylight hours and in one’s home town. It is incessant and constant. And I do enjoy it.
Friday night, at the Dallas Morning News Wine Competition reception, I sampled a Vidal Blanc from Cedar Creek Winery in Wisconsin. The grapes were grown in New York. I found myself going back for more of that and another strange wine from Domaine Pinnacle. An ice apple wine from Quebec. Maybe I am in the sweet mood, maybe they were just different. They were tasty and delicious and righteously well made.
A decision soon for Vinitaly and what and who will be on the bus. I have a dear old friend who has never been to Italy. A serious wine person who sits at the table and takes the lesson from the grape as often as the rest of us who have been treading in the cellar of life. At one time a devout Francophile, now wanting to dip his hand in the font of Italian wine.
When I first planned to visit Italy I spent time talking to a Jesuit priest from New Orleans, the Reverend 
Stefano Illuminati and I have been traveling around Texas with his importer and regional manager. We traveled 1,000 miles in four days, did wine dinners in three cities and consumed thousands and thousands of calories in food and wine. It was a bit like a rock concert blitz with wine. Instead of a bus we had a minivan.
Not something you can bid for on eBay or barter for on craigslist or find on some winery direct press release.
