In the context of social media slang, “coded” means that someone, something, or a behavior embodies or resembles a specific character, stereotype, or archetype. It's a way of using recognizable traits to make quick, playful connections and associations, often without explicitly naming the reference.
Jumping off from that point, it got me wondering if Italian wine is coded in these days of disruption. Almost anything can be, especially when one trawls the eddies of social media. Here’s what I have surmised from my brief but spectacular subterranean foray into the dark world of the coded.
For this exercise I’ve compiled a set of interactions that I have had this year at my local Italian store which sells Italian wine. I have been tasked with providing information on little cards (shelf-talkers) for them, and while I am there servicing the racks, people come up to me with questions. They might think I work there. In any case, I’m glad to provide direction, as I no longer represent any brands and am able to speak about any or all Italian wines on the shelf regardless of who imports or distributes them.
An elderly gentleman came up to me. He wanted a “Big red wine” to go with his frozen lasagna. “I don’t want to wimp out when it comes to my love for red,” he exclaimed. Mind you, it was 85°F outside, and it was only the month of May. I took him over to the Amarone section and set him up with the “bigliest” red we had. Now, how would we code the Amarone? I’d lean in the Boyardee direction. Amarone can be so many things to different people, but to this red wine zealot, I’d imagine he was much more comfortable watching “Leave it to Beaver” when he was a kid back in those glorious days of the 1950’s. He’s still looking for his “Rosebud,” and in the meantime has to settle for a big red and a slab of lasagne.
How to code that? She was Gen-Z, looked like part of her heritage originated somewhere in Asia. Very neat, maybe a musician. She had G clef earrings. I’d venture a guess and code that Trebbiano as Free-Range in the key of G.
Another woman, she was in her 50’s, but if I were to guess, I would have put her in her early 40’s. I know so because she was having a special event (a birthday, hers) and she was proud to have been born in the late 1960’s (she told me she was a fan of the Allman Brothers). In any case, she needed bubbles. I took her over to the sparkling section, dominated by Prosecco but augmented with Trentino DOC, various Lambruschi and Franciacorta.
Her first words were “I’m not crazy about Prosecco, I don’t like the bubbles they make, and the wine seems too sweet for my taste.” I knew exactly which wine to hand her - Ca' del Bosco Cuvée Prestige Brut Franciacorta with that pretty gold cellophane gift wrap it comes in. She beamed when I handed it to her. “Give me three bottles please.” Bingo!
What’s the code here? Someone who knows her mind, who takes care of herself, who is assertive, yet not afraid to ask for advice. My code word, there is only one word I can imagine: Empowered.
For the red I handed them one of my favorite Brunellos, one with a lot of history (for the cognoscenti). It was a bit pricey, but they didn’t flinch. One of them squealed, but I think it was involuntary. In any case, I was looking away at the time and it helped to diminish his embarrassment.
For the white, I handed them a Greco di Tufo, for the simple reason that I love the wine and it has Campanian roots. So, in effect both wines could act as an homage to the two regions the gents loved so much. The wines could also act as jumping off points when entertaining their guests to talk about the wonderful villas and palazzos they’ve rented while “on holiday” in Bella Italia.
So, what’s the code? Well, for the red, an elegant Brunello from an historic property, I’d have to go with Legacy.
For the white, I think a proper word for it might be Moonstruck. I say that because one of the fellows told me about a night they once had drinking Greco on the beach (in all white clothes) under the full moon near Positano.
Oh, I know, I’ve made up my own rules. No left, no right. No mention of independent or moderate. The closest I’ve gotten was to the elderly gent who, just more than anything, wants to run the clock back to a time when he was younger and healthier. Who wouldn’t want that?
Actually, I wouldn’t. I’m happy to be here in the present, relatively healthy and although no longer young, also not decrepit. Or so my trainer at the gym tells me.
Must be all that Lambrusco di Sorbara I drank in the last 20 years when I was part of the Zeitgeist.
