20 Years of Wine Blogging: Now What?

Well, that twenty years went in a flash. Frankly, I really don’t want the next twenty years to go as fast, I’m already older than I want to be. But this is where I’m at, where we’re all going to be, one day. And instead of regretting it, I look forward to what this stage of life means.

Twenty Years In: A 2025 Retrospective

Twenty years ago this month, I started this blog. Nearly 1,800 posts later, I'm still here. I was contemplating an end the blog at twenty years. But 2025 brought a bevy of posts (and new readers) that were rewarding and widely read. Strange thing, for I really thought wine blogs and wine blogging were heading to the Smithsonian to rest next to the dinosaurs. It seems Substack has renewed the category, albeit in a different format, of sorts.

What Makes Someone an Italian Wine Expert? (And Why It Doesn't Matter)

I was in my local Italian market last week, picking up olive oil and pasta. A woman nearby stood staring at the wine section, Brunellos lined up like soldiers. She looked lost. I asked if she needed help. She did—looking for something specific. I found it for her, pointed out a couple alternatives, and moved on.

Walking away, a thought flickered through my mind: "I bet she doesn't know she just got advice from someone who spent forty years working with Italian wine." I laughed at myself and kept walking toward the eggs. What a ridiculous thing to think.

But it raises a question I've been chewing on for years: what actually makes someone an Italian wine expert?

The Ugly American Has Come Home

When I first went to Italy in 1971, I got my introduction to what people over there were calling the ugly American. Loud, overbearing, disregarding of local cultural norms ("What do you mean, you don't have ice?"), totally unaware that the rest of the world did things differently than we did in the U.S. of A.

A few years later I took a train from Mexicali to Mexico City - three days, stopping at every stop. More ugly Americans, unconscious and insensitive to the culture hosting them. Downright rude, and when drunk, dangerous. 

Over decades and many trips to Italy, France, Greece, Spain, and Portugal, I witnessed too many times the embarrassing and unconscionable behaviors - the attitudes, the mores, of American tourists. Fortunately, I blended in and took a side view to their ignorant ways.

But now, the Ugly American has come home to roost. There's no escaping their thunderous ubiety in the United States, no security in the homeland from the hordes of somnambulists roaming the countryside and city with their oversized vehicles and their propensity to disregard the law. Just try going through a green light without checking if stragglers are racing through the red. It happens all the time. Turns out the ugly American scaled perfectly - from loud tourist to national ethos.