It got me thinking about Sicily again. Which doesn't take much.
My paternal grandparents emigrated from there, trading the island for the wide-open spaces of Texas and California, looking for better odds. The family has been making its home in America for over a hundred years now. But Sicily pulls. How many times have I stepped off a plane, or a train, or a boat, and put my feet back on that soil?
A lot.
I've done the Sicilian carousel more times than I can count — the wineries, the conversations, the roads that don't go quite where the map suggests. There are still nooks and crannies I'd like to spend real time in. That probably won't happen with the frequency I once imagined. But I get there often enough. I maintain connections with family. I know how to traverse the island without a handler.
That, not the seminar, is my ongoing master class in Sicily.
I never expected Sicily to become the darling of the wine world. Etna crept up on everyone. It's my Burgundy — the people, the food, the landscape, the scale of it, the value that's still there if you know where to look. In a world where the places you once visited freely are starting to price themselves out of reach, Sicily still feels like something you can actually sink your teeth into. And not a basement bargain. A real one.
Sicily is a big bite to take. One bite won't do it. You have to come back to the table — many times, over many years, in different seasons — and take more bites, pour more wine, sit longer than you planned. That's been my experience. That's the only master class that really works.
The sommelier did a fine job with his afternoon. The wines were good, the room was engaged, and when it was over, everyone went home with a better understanding of the island.
I went home thinking about when I could go back.
For more from the Sicilian archive: Life on Mt. Etna - After the Gadabouts Are Gone, 50 Years Ago ~ Notes from Palermo ~ August, 1971, and What I Love (and Hate) About Sicily. Or browse the full Sicily label.
