The Economics of Bullshit: Wine's Junket Folly

Scroll through Instagram on any given Tuesday and you'll see them: sun-drenched vineyard photos, perfectly plated lunches in Tuscan courtyards, selfies with winemakers, glasses raised against golden-hour light. Don't forget the hashtags — #blessed #winetasting #sponsored (maybe). The aesthetic is flawless. The credibility? Not so much.

But here's what you won't see: the unspoken contract. The implicit understanding that this week in Chianti, these meals, this business-class ticket, comes with an expectation. Not a requirement, mind you. Just an... understanding. You don't bite the hand that flies you first class and puts you up in a restored monastery. That would be ungrateful.

Is this journalism? Marketing? Or something murkier that we've all agreed not to examine too closely?

Has Wine Lost Its Moorings? A Response to Eric Asimov

Eric's been thinking hard about wine's troubles in his latest New York Times piece, laying out prescriptions for an ailing industry: lower prices, lose the snobbery, simplify offerings. Thoughtful stuff. But reading through it, one question kept nagging at me: Has wine lost its cultural moorings?

Prophecy and Perspective on the Blackland Prairie

The buffalos are coming back. The soccer moms in Escalades have upgraded to Teslas. And the crystal ball I peered into a decade ago sits on my desk, a little cloudier, a little wiser, mocking me gently as I thumb through that 2015 post about Italian wine regions to watch.

Ten years I wrote 5 Italian Wine Regions to Watch in 2015. Ten years - long enough to age a Barolo, to see a vineyard replanted reach maturity, to watch trends rise and fall like the tides at San Benedetto del Tronto. So what did I get right? What did I miss? And what does the murky sphere tell me now?

Your Essential Guide to Italy's DOC and DOCG Wines - 2025 Version

You're standing in front of a wine list. Barbaresco, Barolo, Brunello—all those B's swimming together. Someone at the table asks what the difference is between DOC and DOCG, and you realize you're not entirely sure yourself. Or maybe you are sure, but explaining it without sounding like you're reading from a textbook is another matter entirely.

I've spent forty years navigating Italian wine in America, and I still find myself circling back to these fundamentals. Not because they're complicated—they're not, really—but because understanding them changes how you see the entire Italian wine landscape. It's like learning to read the grain in a piece of wood before you start carving.

Ten Years After: What I Got Right (and Wrong) About Italian Wine in America

A decade ago, I threw some educated guesses into the wind about *where Italian wine in America was headed. Looking back is still easier than looking forward, but at least now I have some data. The past is dust, remember? But sometimes it's instructive dust.

A Hundred Years Wrapped in Etna’s Fiery Embrace

 Mapping the Life and Soul of a Wine Born from Fire and Time

 "A fascinating wine showing flower stems, orange peel and bark with some dried mushrooms. The structure and length are exceptional with a medium to full body and tight, focused tannins. Ends with a persistent, polished and refined finish. Caresses in every sense. Better in five years but if you get the chance to drink now, go for it!" 98/100

So wrote James Suckling in 2024 about the 2022 Terre Nere Etna Rosso 'Prephylloxera' La Vigna di Don Peppino/ Caldera Sottana

Last week, a few of us friends gathered for a long, laughter-filled luncheon—one of those radiant affairs where time bends, stories sprawl, and the corks keep popping. Among the bottles opened that day, one stood out—not just for what it was, but for what it promised to become.

The 2022 Terre Nere Etna Rosso 'Prephylloxera' La Vigna di Don Peppino is a wine forged in fire—literally, born on the volcanic slopes of Mount Etna, where ancient vines dig deep into ashen soil. It inspired something more than just notes and ratings. It begged for a myth.

So I decided to trace this wine’s imagined evolution over a hundred years—through time, memory, and metamorphosis.

To help, I enlisted my clandestine consigliere, ÅïΩfonso—an arcane ignis fatuus who whispers tweaks, nudges metaphors, and occasionally channels the Ancient Greeks. ÅïΩf claims to see the long arc of a wine’s soul. I'm simply the relayable messenger.

Who better to guide such a journey than Empedocles, the 5th-century B.C. Greco-Sicilian philosopher-poet who believed all matter arose from the eternal dance of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water—and who famously dove into the molten mouth of Etna in a bid for godhood.