That was the text I got from a colleague while they navigated the aisles and passageways of Vinitaly.
Indeed, Italy and Italian wine is besieged by diversity and quantity. But underneath the thin skin of the grape lies another story. And far too often, those who should tell that story are distracted by other diversions.
And while taking a detour in Italy has become a right of passage for many, there is a fundamental essence to all things Italian that often gets cast aside for the brighter and shinier objects vying for one’s attention.
I say this from a life of wandering through the endless corridors of Italian cities and towns, manufactured and natural, hilly and flat, snowy cold and desert searingly hot. An ocean of storms indeed. Italy’s gift to the seeker. Where better to initiate and sustain the journey of a lifetime.
I was chatting with a wine professional in our local Italian wine and food shop. He is in his mid-40’s, has a family and recently realized that working in the wine trade was becoming too overbearing for his personal life. He was missing out on watching his children grow up because he was too busy preparing spread sheets for his distributor so they could stay focused on their lofty goals. He finally reached a tipping point and pivoted. “Before it was too late,” I added.
You see, distractions can come in a plethora of configurations, much like Italian wine. Too many of us get caught up in the minutiae – the oak regimen, the pruning technique, the yeast protocol, the philosophy of winemaking (natural vs. industrialized, etc.), oh, and the ratings!
None of this remains on my journey anymore. The road is well worn, to be sure, but the bumps have been alleviated. It’s a relief to be able to ride through the storm now, and not be overly concerned with the flotsam and jetsam that rotate around the mesocyclone.
I have this little exercise I do when I experience a wine. I give it the desert island test: Could I easily enjoy this wine for the rest of my life if it was all I had available to me?
How often have I been in whatever region – Abruzzo or Tuscany or Sicily or Alto-Adige – and asked myself this question. Surprisingly (or not), many times the answer has been “Yes, I can.” And what a liberating thing that is.
No more lusting to go to Romanee-Conti or Tenuta San Guido so I can taste a thimbleful of wine out of the cask (if I am even “lucky” enough to get the chance to do so). No, that ceases to be relevant in my life.
If wine is even that important (which for me, it isn’t), an essential notion is that once I have freed myself from the passion for more and more ( as if a liter of something like that would ever fill up anyone!), than I can find my desert island wine anytime, anywhere, if I want to.
What I have found in my Italian wine journey is that the once one breaks the cycle of craving - whether it be for the greatest Brunello or Barolo, or the undiscovered gem or the outlier, or any number of rabbit holes – the sooner one “gets” Italian wine.
And that’s when the storm gets interesting.
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