At Long Last – A Prescription for Uncertainty

This week I cleared out the RSS feeds for wine writing links. Since I’m not following the wine news anymore, and not part of the wine news-making claque, why track it? There’s this unspoken “rule” in photography that I learned from one of the masters that I followed: “When you don’t know what to shoot, turn around and go the other way. After a minute, turn left. In another minute, turn right. That should get you back on track.” So it is with wine, and especially about writing about it.

What I’ve  found from doing this blog since 2005 is that my interests lie not in the latest trends or the buzz around things like that. Just like photographs, my yardstick is, how will it age in 20 years?

Onward Through the Fog ~ A Treatise on Montepulciano d’Abruzzo

At long last, the red wine known as Montepulciano d’Abruzzo is having its day in the sun, basking in the glory from the newly anointed acolytes in the world of wine writing and wine influencers. I say both, because now it is that an influencer has much more sway than a journalist, a blogger or simply, a poster (that is, one who posts). This is not a lamentation as much as it is a tract on how we got here, and why it took so long for us to get to the Promised Land of Abruzzo.

Strange Bedfellows ~ Non-Traditional Wine and Food Matches

Photo by Louis Cevola

In my life, there have been those occasions when a seemingly odd wine and food combination made perfect sense. Far from traditional, these moments offered insight into the arcane mechanism of wine and food pairings. As I add up my revolutions around the sun, I find things like absolutes to be more of a roadblock than a thruway. Viva la revolución!

Dispatch from the wine cellar: Is there a place for Italian wine in 2025?

After Thanksgiving I started a project: reducing, eliminating, paring down and finely tuning my wine collection. After 40+ years of amassing wines, I realized there were wines that were: 1) too old, 2) already dead, 3) not interesting, 4) too many and 5) I’ll never live long enough to drink all of them.

Now, we’re not talking about thousands of bottles. I’m not that kind of collector. But it has gotten up into the hundreds. And my wine closet, where I kept most of them over that past 30 years, just didn’t seem to be a good usage of space and energy. I bought a small unit, holding about 160 of the top wines I wanted to keep. And I had an older unit, which could hold the larger format bottles, the port and some additional wines that didn’t make it to the larger cooler, but I just couldn’t part with them yet. That left me with 150 or so bottles that just needed to go.

Everything I Know About Wine I learned in Ballet Class ~ A Revision

Well here we are December 1^st! Wow, what a year it’s been. For me, it started off with surgery and a knee replacement. And then, like a snowball – on a one-way road down to hell - it just kept accelerating towards chaos. I’d share more about the trials and tribulations of yours truly, but quite frankly, I’m fed up with them. So, I’m going to pivot, now that my leg is much better.

When I was in university, the arts department chairman and his wife, who ran the dance department, “recruited” me to join the ballet class. They “needed” men, and I was low hanging fruit for the picking. I “volunteered” at first reluctantly, and then after I realized I would be in a close setting with 35 women, just them and me sweating to the oldies, I thought again. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

The epiphany moment I had was when we were doing this “opening of the flower to the sunrise” choreography. I was the “pistil” and the women were the “petals.” They all laid their hands on me and did some movement and their pressure held me in place while I held them up, in a manner of speaking. It was then that I realized that not only was ballet an amazing discipline, both physical and cerebral, but it was a model for things to come in my future life in wine. Yeah, I know, it’s a stretch. But so was the all the stuff I learned about wine from the nuns and Catholic school. So, here goes:

End of harvest notes: "So, where we at?"

“Are you still doing your wine blog?” I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard that lately. Usually followed by “For some reason, I haven’t been getting them.” Which was news to me, as I hadn’t realized that I was “sending” them to anyone. Maybe once upon a time, Blogger had a process by which that happened, But if they did, long ago they stopped that. And seeing as I am not invested in technologically figuring out how to deliver my weekly blog to folks, I’m a bit bewildered. Actually, it doesn’t really matter to me. It is a web-log, after all. It is something I do as a weekly exercise, for myself. Anything beyond that is gravy.

From the archives: Remembering Dad, Dallas, JFK & a bottle of Thunderbird

Friday would have been my dad’s 98th 109th birthday. How the world has changed since he left us in 1985. I was thinking about that as I was driving past Dealey Plaza and the Texas Book Depository the other day, while in downtown Dallas. Dallas, the place where so many things happened that affected me, my family and ultimately our country.

What Does the Future Hold for Wine in Sicily? A Sicilian Sojourn Pt. II

“You’ve got it all wrong, Alfonso,” a young influencer tells me. “You have to get yourself in front of the camera, show your face, strut your stuff!” Yeah, that might have been OK for me 30 or 40 years ago, but now? I don’t think so.

That was part of a conversation regarding one’s place in the world of wine and how to explode one’s brand online, as recommended by someone who is very successful at it. They also happen to be young, good-looking and affluent. None of which I purport to be, ever again.

Always Coming Home: A Sicilian Sojourn Pt.I

Imagining cultural difference that sheds light on the limitations of one’s own culture.

Riding on a bus, from Catania to Palermo, my time on Etna was done. I had apprehensions about coming back to Sicily, almost cancelled coming. The last time I’d been here, someone, or some thing,  tried to kill me. They failed, but not without leaving scars. With the passage of the last eight years, and all that we have been through, what with Covid and the ensuing chaos that surrounded that time, I didn’t know if getting on a plane to come to Sicily would be a wise thing.

Fortunately, last year, my experience in Venice allayed larger misgivings about travel. Look, Italy is a very easy place to be in, for many people. Even if one isn’t the most fluent in the Italian language or knowledgeable about the quirky regional customs, with a little humility and the faintest hint of awareness, one can navigate across Italy, and it can be a most pleasant experience.

Like no other place on Earth ~ The Etna Report 2024.5

It happened, after tasting over one hundred wines in a three-hour period, that the vinous impact of Etna became overwhelming. But not before the realization that what Etna means to someone like me goes way past wine. There has been a sociological adaptation made, with regards to agricultural practices, which is driven beyond mere climate and seasonal changes. There is the reality of La Muntagna – and La Muntagna drives everything, and everything derives from it.

If we didn’t have climate change, or as some called it early on, in the beginning, global warming, we’d still have Etna. Can the local practices put into place, because of the pressures of Etna, act as an instructional manual for other grape growing places in the world dealing with the immediacy of climate change? I wondered that as I walked along a lava strewn path early one morning. The weather was changing from the warm breeze of summer to the looming fog and coolness of autumn, in the background was the eternal soundtrack playing the low groans of the earth’s core and Etna acting as a megaphone for those rumblings.

Interview with a Centenarian ~ The Etna Report 2024.4

One of the advantages of having Sicilian blood and being raised in California in the latter half of the 20^th century is the uncanny capacity to listen to life forms other than humans. I first found out about this ability at university, when  a palm tree told me the story of its life one evening as I was sitting up against it. It was a fascinating experience and one that was apparently not singular. So, when I was on Mt. Etna recently, I happened upon a very old grape vine, well over 100 years old, up in one of the vineyards I visited. It was at the end of the day, and the vineyard was a short walk from where we were staying, so I asked my minder to allow me to stay awhile and make my own way back. I’d heard about this old vine from a winemaker friend who intimated that I might be interested in hearing its story one-on-one. Said winemaker knew about my propensity to channel other life forms on earth as we once talked about it and he understood completely what I was talking about. As I’ve mentioned before in these reports, Californians and Sicilians are kindred souls. And seeing as I’m a hybrid, I reckon my openness to these kind of interchanges is facilitated by that. So, here goes. I was standing there when she made contact, we’ll call her Dora, or as she more than once said, Nonna Dora (ND).

“Giuseppe Versus the Volcano” ~ The Etna Report 2024.3

For those who work in Nature, there are certain immutables. Fire and water are forces to be respected, not ignored. We can try and tame them with dams and forges and make them work for us. But there comes a time when furies are unleashed that simply overwhelm mere humans. Hurricanes, tornadoes, floods and volcanoes come to mind.

While on Etna recently, I talked to a farmer, Giuseppe. He’s been tending his land for several decades now. He’s not a young man, but he certainly has many years left under the volcano. I asked him about co-habitating with La Muntagna.

“I fell into a burning ring of fire.” ~ The Etna Report 2024.2

When I was a young boy, I lived in the shadow of a great mountain. For hours, I would sit outside and stare up at it, mesmerized by the play of light and shadows as the day progressed. Known for centuries as i a-kitch, I still dream about that mountain.

While on Mt. Etna recently, I would get up early, before sunrise, and sit on my little patio, watching the sun making its way to the mountain. Birds were awakening, the world was rousing. Etna was there, waiting.

The Etna Report – 2024.1

It has been eight years since I last reported from Etna. In 2016 I was here as a blogger, but primarily as a photographer, covering for Eric Asimov and the New York Times. Eric’s articles were wonderful, as always, and I was privileged to be there to document it visually.

But now, in 2024, I was here as a guest of the Consorzio Tutela Dei Vini Etna DOC at their event, Etna Days. They arranged my airfare and meals and hotels while I was in their care. They didn’t ask me to cover the event in any particular way, or really at all. There was no tit-for-tat, although being a lover of Italian wine and Sicily, that, for me was a given. So, let’s dig in.

Gone Fission...

Stepping away from the big screens for a pause. See you in two weeks.

written by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

wine blog +  Italian wine blog + Italy W

The Life and Death of Barbaresco

While shopping in my little Italian grocery store, the one with an oversized selection of Italian wine (only), I happened upon one of the Italian specialists who knows much more about the current market than I do. And I asked them a question. “What’s up with Barbaresco? It’s down there on the lower shelf, and just a few of them. And meanwhile Barolo wines are bulging, overcrowded, eye level, filling the racks. What’s up with that?”

They answered simply, “Barbaresco? Oh, it just died.”

Huh? Did I hear that right? One of my favorite wines in the world, one of the greatest examples of Nebbiolo the world has ever known, has left us?

“I can’t believe I ate (and drank) the whole thing” – Italy’s Odd Couplings

 🎵 I got the poison, I got the remedy 🎵

As Americans, we can dream up some pretty goofy stuff. Foodwise, we’ve got a lock on weird. Just go to any state fair in America and you’ll see.

Not to be outdone, the Italian-American amalgam, a quasi-conspiratorial plot against authentic and traditional food and wine, has catapulted onto the scene, conjuring up wine and food combinations. This either signals the beginning of the end of days, or at the very least, presages a seismic shift from rational common sense thinking to the current craze for a pseudo-realism based on one’s one whims and fancies. Expressed herewith are a troika of such abominations that have recently been spotted in the wild, and which could foreshadow Italian wine and food culture wriggling into Mainstream American culture. Or it might simply mean the end is near. Let’s jump in.

The Milky Way and the Man Who Fell from Earth

Lately, when thinking about Italian wine and its place in the world, I’ve been pulling back the focus, way back, and envisioning it from a much-removed perspective. Is it really all that important in cosmic terms? Is anything, for that matter? This, coming from an earthling who happened to stumble upon this greater thing, this galaxy - I just fell from Earth.

“What is wine?” asks an asteroid, as it careens past me at 40,000 miles per hour. As if said asteroid even had time to consider a deeper dive, such as “What is Italian wine?”

“No matter,” I reply, although I would imagine the asteroid did not hear me, as it was long out of shouting range. And so, I found myself alone, in a cold sector of the Milky Way, pondering how I got there and where in Heaven’s name I was going.

“Climb Your Mountain!”

While scores of Italians and other Europeans flock to the beaches of Italy, Spain and Greece, suntanning their bums off, America is in the full throes of another push. Where are we going? What does it matter? There’s a mountain over there, and we must climb it!

I’m simplifying matters a bit, but if you are living in America right now, there is an energy, a fire that has been lit, and we’re not talking about an arsonist in the Sierra Nevada, or Burning Man, which is imminent. No, this is a larger upheaval. And while it might be a communally driven one, I’ve also been thinking about our individual climbs.

This was precipitated by the death of a long-time friend who battled DLB for the past five years. My friend was a world traveler, an art lover, a wine and food enthusiast and a love-magnet for beautiful, accomplished and fiercely independent women. Oh, and he loved to climb mountains.

“They’ve stolen our dreadlocks!” ~ Have American chefs culturally appropriated la cucina Italiana?

As an Italian food chronicler, by virtue of working through the past few decades and witnessing many iterations of Italian-divined restaurants, living where I live in 2024 can be a bit discombobulating.

While I understand the spirit of Italian cooking draws upon improvisation, there is also a good argument for the great classic dishes that are rarely seen in these parts in their pure form. Ingredients matter. The season matters. The place where one lives matters. But sometimes lines are crossed, and from where I observe, we’ve crossed over into the land of contravention. They’ve stolen our dreadlocks. Italian food has been culturally appropriated. And it’s an unsightly mess.

Big (and little) Alc’s Fall From Favor

The large alcohol companies are sounding their alarms. People aren’t drinking as much as they used to. Their business is down. Their projections are also down for FY25, just to let their shareholders know not to expect double digit returns any time soon.

Meanwhile the younger generations aren’t drinking as much as the older ones did when they were young. Adding to that, it is estimated that about 5,000-6,000 baby boomers die a day. It is estimated also that there are now 11 million less Baby Boomers than there were in 2020, and about 21 million less than in 2016.  So, yeah, the liquor and wine businesses are in the crapper.

But it’s not like the mega corporations didn’t have something to do with it. Let’s take a look.

What Is Your Cause?

It seems like everywhere you turn these days, someone is prosecuting their case for something that they deem purpose driven. We’re shouted out, poked, cajoled, interrupted, stopped mid-speech or worse, mid-thought, by any number of distractions in the name of cause. So many people are strip mining our attention for their brand, their cause or their spiel. So, what’s your raison d'etre under the sun?

A Journey Through the Early White Wines of Abruzzo ~ Or, Self-Investing in Your Path to Mastery

Recently I had a long conversation with a young wine professional. Currently they’re sommeliering in a very exclusive hotel which has a restaurant with a quasi – Italian flavor. This person believes in taking deep dives into wine countries at their own expense, in order to further their knowledge and education and love for wine, which is part of their livelihood. Imagine that – spending your own money to learn more about wine?  

Look, I’ve known wine buyers and sommeliers who really didn’t have much interest in Italian wines over the years. I remember telling one that they should try going – they might have their minds changed. One, I knew, dipped their toes into Italy with a free junket to Prosecco-land. It was a start. But there were always more interesting places for them to go to – France, South Africa, Argentina – more exotic, and of course, no charge. It was as if Italy were this indecipherable, non-linear, complicated jumble of regions and wines and opinions – duh. That was often enough to put off the most left-brained of wine-experts-in-training. But for people like the young somm above and myself, it is a ticket to an endless parade of characters – rich stories – unpredictable wines at times – but always somewhere a great meal and a beautiful cache of scenery.

Able Was I Ere I Saw Elba Rosso

Not long ago, an erstwhile colleague recounted a story they had while making an Italian wine presentation. The account was a tony Italian-styled eatery that had recently changed wine buyers, so a meet-up was de rigeur. The  person who oversaw the wine lists was Gen-Z’ish in age and predilection.

My confrere was discussing Tuscan wines, with the new buyer. The subject of international varieties came up. You know, things like Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and grapes like that, which also grow in Italy. This was an all-Italian wine list, and whether we like it or not, diners come in looking, at times, for wines they know and recognize. Like Cabernet Sauvignon. The young overseer interrupted him and said, “Italy doesn’t make good Cabernet or Merlot. The place for that is Napa Valley.” Ok, so no Masseto? No Sassicaia? (said restaurant is in a high net-worth neighborhood) My friend then asked them about Super Tuscans. “Not my thing.” Dismissed again. So, as the meeting came to an end, and my friend was getting up to leave, the wine buyer asked him, “But do you have any orange wines?”

Taking a ride on the EU’s dime – a field guide to wine “press junkets” in the 2020’s

Although we’ve been told we’re in a post-Covid world now, we still might be suffering from the hangover that almost three years of isolation gave the collective world. However, you wouldn’t know it from looking at your socials – there, the party has just got started. Regional wine groups and consortiums are throwing around EU money like candy at a 4^th of July parade And the kids are scrambling for all the free sweet treats they can stuff in their gullets.

I’m not a stranger to wine junkets, having partaken in several over the years. I remember a long-gone colleague who always seemed to be jetting off to one wine destination after another. Their American Airlines frequent flier miles were an object of amazement. The thing is, they couldn’t ever make a deadline, as they were never on the ground. So who did that benefit?

That’s the crux of this piece – who benefits from it? I’m going to try and work through the varying point of view. I’m hopeful, but wary.

Learning to Trust Italian White Wines

While in my local Italian store the other day, a sales rep was doing a tasting of Italian wines. He had a bevy of whites and one red. It was over 100℉ outside. People were gravitating to the red wine. Maybe it had something to do with the meat counter beyond, so nearby the tasting station?

During the demo, a young, exuberant alpha-male comes up to the table. “Let me try one of your white wines,” he barked. He took a swig, “Not bad. I’ve stayed away from Italian white wines because I don’t trust them. They’re too nothing, don’t have a lot of body. They’re ‘meh’ wines.”

That was a trip down memory lane. He should’ve been here in 1974. But there was a kernel of truth to what he said about not trusting Italian white wines, even in 2024.

The Guy Buys the Parrot

 

There’s this old joke going around. I heard Colin Quinn tell it recently. It goes like this:

This guy goes into a pet shop looking to buy a parrot. The person at the counter says, “You don't want to buy this parrot. He's got a filthy mouth.” But the guy goes “I can handle it.” The parrot comes home with him. The parrot says, “Hey, Mister, Mister.” He goes, “What?” The parrot goes “Go f*ck yourself.” The guy goes, “Don't talk to me like that.” He smacks the cage. He beats up the parrot and he goes,“Don't ever...I'm not the guy to play with like that.” Next day, he comes home. The parrot goes, “Hey, Mister, Mister.” He goes, “What?” The parrot says, “Go f*ck yourself.”  The guy goes nuts. “You piece of…” He smashes the cage. He almost strangles the parrot. He goes, “Next time you tell me to go f*ck myself, I'm going to kill you. I promise you; I'm going to kill you.” Next day, he shows up after work. The parrot goes, “Hey, Mister, Mister.” The guy goes, “What?” The parrot says, “You know what!”

Many of us are like that when we buy wine retail or order it in a restaurant these days. It’s not that we don’t know what we’re getting into, but we go ahead anyway and then when it doesn’t go the way we wanted it to, we find we have landed in chaos. All because we bought the damn parrot.

Affogato and Averna with a Sicilian Surrealist

Our time at the dinner table was over. Giorgio motioned to me and his wife that he was moving to the drawing room. His wife said she would prepare the affogato. Meanwhile Giorgio foraged in his liquor cabinet for a bottle of amaro. “Seeing as we are all Siculi, shall we have some Averna with our dessert?” he suggested. As long as it wasn’t Cynar, I was fine with it. I’d been plied with the artichoke amaro in Palermo with every family visit. Averna was a relief.

“Isa was visiting a friend near Piazza Navona and brought back some gelato from Tre Scalini.” Isa had a sweet tooth, I gathered. Giorgio too. Fine with me. I was 20, skinny and ready for whatever came my way. I could handle amaro and gelato.

Fettuccine and Forastera with a Sicilian Surrealist

Una favola continuava

It was 7:00 PM and Giorgio’s residence was about 15 minutes away from the pensione I was staying in. But I wasn’t that familiar with Rome, and we didn’t have GPS in 1971. So, I gathered my myself, a little gift I had gotten In Sicily for his wife, and my camera, and headed out. I thought I should probably take a bottle of wine, and earlier in the day I had gone into a shop which sold wine, beer and liquor and looked for something appropriate. I knew little to nothing about wine, despite the fact that my dorm mates  at university had last names like Mondavi, Sebastiani, Heitz, Pellegrini and Filice. My uncle back in California was a wine merchant and he told me a little about Italian wines.

The store had what I would now call a selection of tourist recognizable wines from places like Umbria (Orvieto),  Lazio (Est! Est!! Est!!!) and Campania (Lacryma Christi del Vesuvio). The white wines all looked more amber-like, so I tried to find one that wasn’t as dark. On a display I found a white wine, simply called Ischia Bianco, from the eponymous island that was a popular day trip for vacationers.

Caffè and Cannoli with a Sicilian Surrealist

una favola...

My first trip to Italy was in 1971. I was a student on summer break and spent days in Rome, wandering the streets at all hours with my camera. One night I happened to be near the Spanish steps when it was very late. In fact, it was almost dawn. And down the street from the steps on the Via Condotti, the familiar noises of a coffee machine, the grinding, the steaming and the drip, drip, dripping, sounded. With the aroma of fresh coffee, I was drawn like an insect to light.  It was there where I first encountered the Sicilian Surrealist.

The Duty of Hospitality (is not just expected of the Host)

From the archives: Seeing as summertime is approaching and holiday visits to Italy will increase, along with requests to visit wineries, just a little revisit to this subject during our Memorial Day holiday

My dad, Lou, in the 1950's - the consummate salesman

I received an email from Italy, via a concerned and upset supplier, whom I regard as a friend.

“The person you arranged to visit our property in Tuscany never showed up. They never even called! Do you know what happened? We were waiting. We are still waiting. This happens too many times! Please make sure the people you set up visits for really want to come to visit us!”

I cannot tell you how many times this has happened. And with the tourist season ramping up, I fear more incidents like this. In this case I made three calls, filled out visit forms, three properties I made arrangements for and the client was a no-show at all three. To quote my dad above, "WHAT'S THE DEAL?"

Engendering Madness - What Price for an Authentic Italian Meal?

Seafood with Cheese - Authentic or the Ultimate Culinary Transgression?

 Over the past few days, I’ve been chatting with a foodie friend who spares no expense when it comes to food and wine. This is a person who will fly to Japan to eat raw fish. He was asking me for my take on some Italian places here in Dallas. One of his comments, in response was, “I’d rather fly to New York and go to Rezdora,” where the chef is a (local) friend of ours.

It got me to thinking about the costs of getting on a plane and going to Italy to eat authentic Italian.

What? Of all the profligate, indulgent, extravagant, privileged, entitled, senseless babble!

Well, as Batman said, “The world only makes sense when you force it to.”

So, let’s run some numbers.

Why “Italian” restaurants in America still don’t get Italian wine - Pt. II

Forging ahead with my quixotic crusade, let’s turn to red wines. I’ll try and be a little more circumspect in my presentation.

While Italy now has a plethora of great wines, I’d like to start with the less patrician and more serviceable ones. I say this because we still have legions of folks who don’t understand the intricacies of Italian wine. They are looking for easy road marks and equivalents. Not always so easy, but doable.

Why “Italian” restaurants in America still don’t get Italian wine - Pt. I *

A classic Vitello Tonnato in a Langhe restaurant

I know, I know. We’ve covered this already. But apparently some folks out there still haven’t gotten the memo. Are we standing still? Or are we falling behind?

But, falling behind, that’s not news to America. We seem to be sliding in many respects. Still, at my stage in life, most of the critical crises are beyond my reach. An Italian wine list? It might be something I can parse.

This was recently triggered by a new Italian restaurant that opened up in town. Lots of flash. The chef is a food media-superstar and recently went to Italy, and was inspired to come back home and, with the help of an enthusiastic investor, got after it in a big way. No indication, one way or another, that they might have skiplagged their way through the food research.

I don’t wish to pick on any one chef or restaurant in particular, but rather see this latest iteration as a pattern of digression. The food menu, along with the wine list, seems to ramble. Dare I use even a loaded comment such as this: It is my belief that Italian food has been culturally appropriated to the point that some of the items (and combinations) that I see on contemporary menus in America, veer so far outside of the deep-roooted, sui generis pantheon of la cucina Italiana so as to barely be recognizable to those of us who truly love all things Italian.

“Italian wine is an ocean of storms!”

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.

Vinitaly 2024 – What went down (and what’s going up)

Luca Zaia (L) President of the Veneto Region

It’s been a few days since Vinitaly 2024 ended. Here are some random thoughts about the Italian wine trade show that is held for four days in April in Verona.

My Brilliant Italy

My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante was made into a TV series. We’ve been watching it here on the island. I have been struck by how many places and themes hit home for me. In fact, I had a bit of an epiphany in its 3^rd year. I don’t know how to accurately say it, but it was as if a confluence of memory and observation coupled with an ancestral energy. Like recognizing something I am at first seeing. Anyway, it really moved me to thinking about what it really means to be Italian and have Italian feelings. Especially in the wine world, where we witness all manner of people who position themselves (and their “branded selves”) as experts, capable of influential consequences beyond themselves.

It is a bit folly to watch it. Meanwhile, swimming in this genetic/memory/observational soup over that last 50 or so years, I realize I have a unique picture of the Italy that has been presented to me. 60 trips, most for a week, some for months, some for extended weeks. 21 trips to Verona and Vinitaly! Nothing longer than three months. In and out. No full immersion for a year or more. But still, the impression has been made. My brilliant Italy has left an indelible mark on my soul and on my chromosomes.

A Masterful Class on Franciacorta in Dallas

Since the receding of the pandemic, the wine world has seen the starting up again of traveling shows, seminars and winemaker presentations. And of course, the return of the Master Class, on just about everything.

In today’s hyper-aggrandized environment for aspiring wine professionals, where certification is all the rage, one would think that someone like a master sommelier or master of wine could be more than capable of teaching such a class. And many are. Likewise, I’ve been in master classes led by master sommeliers who had me squirming in my seat for their lack of preparation and dissemination of faulty and incomplete material. After all, they too, are only human. But there is an expectation around an event like a master class, that one who attends such a seminar comes away having greater knowledge of the subject than what he or she had before such an experience. It isn’t necessary that such a class be taught by a master, but it should be handled by someone who has mastery of the subject and is fully capable of communicating the necessary information.

Easter of the Immigrants – A Feast for the Ages

From the archives..

Over the past month, as my personal fog has lifted, there have been dreams. And in these dreams, many of them have had family who are no longer with us. The Grande Cinema of them all is one which has taken on a life after waking.

Il Carnasciale - There Goes the Cabernet-borhood

We are in the month of March – which has been, traditionally, in the wine trade, a time when winemakers and winery owners jet off and taste their clients on their releases, new and sometimes old. Slow Wine, Gambero Rosso, James Suckling, even Vinitaly with its Road Show, are crisscrossing the planet and spreading the Gospel of Italian Wine.

So, it came to be, on a Friday at Noon, one week before Good Friday, that the proprietor of the fabled Tuscan estate, Il Carnasciale, landed in Dallas, between Slow Wine gigs in Austin and Denver for a quick twelve-hour sip and swirl with local chefs and sommeliers.

The New Gatekeepers

This past week, it was raining hard, and I needed to walk my new knee. So I went to the local mall, NorthPark Center, which is enclosed and dry and has a lot of great art and stores. It also has Eataly, an Italian emporium, a dozen places to get espresso, clean bathrooms, and some nice shops. I am into watches, so I like to look at the new offerings as I perambulate my way towards new-knee health. But recently I’ve tracked a trend in retail, which I have been sensing also happens in the world of wine – the new gatekeepers.

Three incidents happened, almost at the same time.

What does it take to be the #1 Italian wine expert in the world?

Recently, I was introduced as an Italian wine expert. I bristled a little, and explained that at this time I am an enthusiast, and maybe one time I had been a little more involved in the day-to-day business of expertise, but that I have never considered myself an expert. But it got me to thinking about proficiency, and specifically, which person out there might be the #1 Italian wine expert in the world. A tall order, for sure, and one which might be different for different people, in different parts of the world.

For the sake of this speculative exercise, though, I decided to erect a few hurdles. Here goes:

Enrico Scavino - A Remembrance

Last Monday, I received a note from a friend in Italy. “Enrico Scavino has crossed over into the Great Sea.”

Our paths first crossed 40 years ago, in 1984. It was my first business trip to Italy and I was with my friend and colleague Guy Stout. We had a duo of Italian restaurateurs with us and our guide Barone Armando de Rham, who represented Scavino to us in the U.S.

We were coming from Vinitaly, which in those days was a smallish (but growing) affair. Piedmont! It was so exciting to be going to the Burgundy of Italy, which was what we were told. In those days, the Italian wines and regions leaned on French equivalents, so the unknowing could find an entry point. Now, not so necessary, as Italian wine has become a force in the wine world.

“Am I drinking too much wine?”

I’ve been abstaining from drinking any kind of alcohol for the past month, as I had knee surgery and didn’t want it to interact with any medications I was on. Things also were tasting metallic, probably a reaction from all the chemicals that had been pumped into me. Do you want to know something? I really didn’t miss wine.

The Day After - A World and a Lifetime Ago

Yesterday morning, very early, I had this odd sensation. I remember lying in bed, as I have done for the past month, recovering from full-knee replacement surgery. I hadn’t been sleeping well for that month, so I just figured it was part of the process, wailing and flailing and general discomfort.

And then I heard an ancient song, by the Shangri-las, whispering lyrics to their hit song, “Remember”:

(Remember) walking in the sand

(Remember) walking hand-in-hand

(Remember) the night was so exciting

(Remember) smile was so inviting

(Remember) then she touched my cheek

(Remember) with her fingertips

Softly, softly we'd meet with our lips

And then, I remembered.

The same day, a Saturday, 23 years ago to the day, February 17, 2001, I got a call from the care center where my wife Lizanne was. It was 5:30 AM. “Mr. Cevola, you need to come. Your wife doesn’t have much more time.”

So, I got up, fed the cat, got dressed and headed out to say good-bye to my dear wife.