While traveling across the central width of Italy last month there were signs of interest in the coming election in the United States. Italians love to display their opinions. Anyone who traveled in Italy in early 2003 saw a preponderance of multi-colored flags with the word PACE streaming from balconies and balustrades across the country. In that moment the sentiment was of protestation against an imminent invasion and war against Iraq.This time the PACE flags have faded. In windows and as fashion accessories, the Italians once again express their thoughts on an election they can neither vote in nor influence. That is unless some of those Italians also happen to be American citizens.
We visited one such family in Florence. I have been friends with photographer Maurizio Berlincioni since the early 1970’s. So as we traveled from Castiglione della Pescaia to San Benedetto del Tronto (one side of the country to the other – left to right) we took a break for lunch with Maurizio and his two kids, who can vote, because their momma is an Americana.It appears from all signs that the Italians greatly favor Obama. The fact that Biden in a Roman Catholic also adds a connection, just as it did when Kennedy ran in 1960. The Italians don’t forget so easily when one comes along that inspires and causes many of us to look up and beyond the current mire we have found ourselves wallowing in.
But seeing as we were (and are) on the wine trail in Italy, we thought we’d query the locals to offer vinous equivalents to the candidates and some of the supporting cast. And as we were in Tuscany the logical progression made it seem like we should stick to wines from that region. Here's our Tuscan tally:
Sarah Palin is a Chianti "in fiasco". A little wicker model, something fresh and fruity and not too deep. Not made for the ages, this is a wine to enjoy “for the moment” as it traditionally doesn’t offer much interest in the long run. It still has the dreaded DOCG appellation, but as many have commented elsewhere, that simple Chianti shares the highest denomination as a Chianti Classico or Brunello says more about the political wheeling and dealing than anything else. Pick a young one and sell it far and wide- take the money and run. A long shot.Joe Biden is also a Chianti, but a Chianti Classico
Riserva from a well known and time tested producer. And like some of those riservas folks often underestimate their power or their presence among the cognoscenti of Italian wine lovers. Anyone who has let one of those wines rest in the cellar for 10,15,20 years and then open it up on a late October night knows the untapped potential and surprise that awaits the patient ones. Elegance, restraint, depth, character, if the cellaring has gone well. A good value if properly kept.Cindy McCain is a Vernaccia di San Gimignano. We like to quote the poetry of
Michelangelo, especially the part that he wrote about Vernaccia when he said it was a wine that licks kisses, bites, pinches and stings. Ask Carol McCain (the 1st wife) about the sting. John probably could vouch for several of those descriptions as well, though he might not remember them after so many years. And a doctor or volunteer back in the day over at AVMT (American Voluntary Medical Team) might be able to Xerox their affidavits from 1992 to cover the pinch. Vernaccia is a thin, acidic wine that everybody praises but almost no one in Tuscany likes. The only reason for not hating Vernaccia would be to save that emotion for Galestro, which by this time has been laid to rest, hopefully. Praised but seldom enjoyed.Michelle Obama is a Super Tuscan, one that hails from Greve.
The Tuscans made her wine-avatar a blend called Batàr, 50% Pinot Blanc, 50% Chardonnay and one of the few recognized white wines to qualify as a Super Tuscan. Too new and blended to be marked as a traditional wine (or potential First Lady) but able to stand up to the Big Boys and fire away with plenty of power and aim. While this is a white wine and many folks suggest that white wines from Tuscany (and Italy) don’t have the ability to stay in the game for long, Batàr has been proven to withstand the rigors of time, in fact ageing quite remarkably well. “Sublime”, writes Parker. “Truly extraordinary,” says Jancis Robinson. To get both of those folks on the same page is a real feat. Rare, but worth the search.John McCain is a Brunello in today’s political
landscape. Under fire, not quite sure what is inside, elements of long-standing tradition, but somehow our Italians think his image has been “swift-boated” by his own party. The jury is still out, though they are being pressed to come in with a verdict. We might have to wait a little longer to find out what will happen to Brunello than to John McCain. If he doesn’t win, he can always drown his sorrows in buckets of beer and bucks, something he has access to both of in excess. Then again he can search one of his many cellars, from Sedona to Coronado and maybe find a bottle of red even older than he. Pray it isn’t corked, or cooked. He certainly seems to be of the latter disposition at this point. Their verdict for Brunello: When young, unstable, when older, unreliable. A wine we want to love but at this moment don’t quite trust.Barack Obama is, like his wife, a Super Tuscan. He is an amalgam of indigenous
and transported grapes. His vineyard is on the Maremma, the sunny coastal area which is new and relatively untested. But there is a great deal of enthusiasm for these wines and the wine that Obama reflects in the hearts and minds of our Tuscan prognosticators is, although untested, reminiscent of a once great one from the 1960’s. It might be that our Tuscans are just tired of the same old Sangiovese, they are ready for a change, and this Super Tuscan has arrived in time to anticipate their hopes and dreams. We shall see. Their conclusion for the Super Tuscan: Young and lively, with a mid-palate of composed notes, carefully composed and arranged. If it hasn’t been over-oaked, it might be ready within the next 4-8 years.We went back and forth with the emails on the characters and the wines but it wasn’t until this past Sunday that we had our final entry.
Colin Powell is a Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, for like the wine, they both served at the pleasure of their rulers. Often cast aside in favor of the more obstreperous Brunello, Vino Nobile is the phlegmatic one, calm under fire and very dependable, and a great dancer. Able to take the hill and "get down tonight". Our Tuscans thought the Colin Powell showed great strength of conviction even though his latest moves probably wouldn’t be too popular back in his grand old party. But like Vino Nobile, sometimes being the most popular one isn't the highest goal. To serve as an agent of change and veracity seeks higher ground and purpose.And that dear readers, is how our Prada Italians are calling the race. We shall see, shan’t we?
Last month at the Illuminati estate in Abruzzo, I had lunch with my people. No, they weren’t Sicilian or Calabrese cousins. They weren’t my co-workers or clients meeting me in Italy. It was much more visceral than that, almost tribal in the connection. I was invited to have lunch with a wine sales team, guys who sell to wine shops and restaurants in Rome.
Over the years I've had many meals at Illuminati. In the early days we had meals on the second floor of the old house, sometimes outside. If it was cold we’d invade the dining room. As the winery grew and the Illuminati family redesigned the old stable on the main floor, we settled into the space they called the Luperia, a space with a kitchen and an open hearth. And a larger dining room. Many great memories exist in this room, but I had never sat down to eat with my own regiment. And during those years, friend and cellar master, Agostino, has opened many a bottle for us to enjoy. We’ve grown into the job together.
I was really excited about this meal. I was prepared to pick the brains of rookie and veteran alike. Who would know better the travails of selling wine than a salesman from Rome? What kind of kickbacks did the Roman restaurateur demand? How did one go about getting control of the wine list or selling a wine from Abruzzo to a Sardegnan? I was hoping for all mysteries to be revealed.
Dino Illuminati, the patriarch of the estate, motioned for me to sit next to him. Lunch is serious business for Dino and he didn’t want anyone to get too near him with idle chat. He wants to eat and drink first. I know the drill. When Dino and I sit down we both go after food and wine pretty well much in the same way. Except Dino has a capacity that I will never be able to match.
One of the older veterans sat across from me. He reminded me of one of the salesmen back home. This gent had a peaceful air about him, he was the elder statesman; he grew up in Amatrice in northern Lazio.
I asked him how his route was. Was it competitive? Cutthroat? Was it hard to collect money? Did you get resistance with all the new wines coming out? What about the prejudices of owners from one region against the wines of another region (i.e. Piedmont vs. Tuscan). I was surprised to be reminded that they don’t go around tasting wine, sampling as we call it. Now they just carry their list, with maybe some Gambero Rosso review (very big in Rome) and the price list. Pretty cut and dry. Rome was a city that was prepared for all comers, and has been this way for hundreds if not thousands of years. Anything goes.
I was looking for their “hook”. How did they catch the big fish? Figuring Rome would be like NY or LA or Houston, there was always the particular technique that worked for the peculiarity of the particular city.
He was a thoughtful guy. And we were starting to drink pretty well by then. The big slurpy purple stuff they make in Abruzzo that they call “Montepulciano in purezza.” All the while the young salesmen would come over to him and bear hug him or jostle him around. You could tell these guys liked working with each other; there was camaraderie among them.
“Alfonso, what really works best is the rapport we build with our customers. Trust, time and relationship.” Ah, the “R” word. So the secret was, there is no secret; daily treading, pressing the flesh, and being reliable. Showing up. Building trust. Just like almost everywhere else.
Look at these people. They’re having fun. They’re enjoying their lives. They’re enjoying each other.
I told some stupid story, trying to be funny, about a sales experience here in The States, but I don’t think the experience translated so well to their frame of reference. No matter, platters of grilled lamb, sausage and pork were pulling up to the table and we soon were diverted to the main course.
After lunch we went outside for espresso and cigars and fresh air, what a combo, eh? The sales crew had to get back to Rome. It was only three hours we’d had to sit down and break bread, but in that time I felt like a huge gift had been dropped in my lap; An afternoon with my selling tribe; with the young ones, the veterans, the crazy ones, the calm ones. Its not a closed brotherhood but it is a deep connection, to capture what is growing right out there in the land and transform it to wine and take it to Rome and NY and Austin and try and share with all those folks in those places these amazing miracles in bottles. Not just wine, but the lives, of Spinelli and Spinozzi and Illuminati and you and me and anyone that wants in on this.
This is the joy of selling. This is why I am on the wine trail in Italy and anywhere else the road takes me.
I feel soiled. I was just going in to break bread with old and new colleagues, nothing too earth shattering.
I was sitting with the CEO of a major import company, with his managers arranged around the table with our people. The CEO, in the business for 40 or so years, told a story of a mid-western retailer that they had opted-out of doing business with. Seemed it was cheaper to not do business with them than to bow to their unusual demands and slotting fees. After a few years the retailer wanted the CEO to take a meeting with him so they could discuss their future business. Now, the CEO can tell a pretty good story and he told it like this.
“So I go into this office with this big shot retailer, who thinks he’s the only game in town, and it was a big town. And these guys were used to getting their way. This was a city that had very few rules, and the way to do business in this place hadn’t changed since before prohibition. Someone always had their hand in your pocket, it was just a matter of how deep you’d let them go. I look at this retailer and I ask him why he called this meeting. He looks me over, a cigar in the corner of his mouth, and tells me it was time for my company to make retribution and restitution. He figures he lost so much money not doing business with us and he has it figured out to the dime. This galumph wants me to hand him a wad of money, thousands and thousands of dollars, to be able to get back in the ring. That was the retribution part. Then, if I go along with that he would be expecting me to come up with, in addition to that, more dough to sweeten the pot on going forward in the future with him on the deals. That was the restitution part. I gotta tell you, I was flabbergasted that this guy had the stones to think he could dictate the terms to me. After all, I come from a big city too, bigger than his g
All that and a crappy plate of spaghetti al pomodoro? Say, it ain’t so, Joe.
It’s not that hard. Last month, all over Italy, we didn’t have a bad meal. From the little buco of an osteria in Rome to the one star Michelin in the Maremma. People in Italy have a higher regard for their palates and they have developed a higher sense of taste and more specifically, the quality of taste, and have higher expectations.
Perhaps one of the reasons is that cooking at home in Italy is at a very high level, and for the restaurant in Italy to survive, they have to meet or exceed the standards of the home kitchen. Here in the US, while it is changing, the home kitchen still hasn’t developed so evenly. In recent years, it has slid backwards in many households with pre-made foods invading the freezer and the microwave substituting for the range and the hearth.
But a simple bowl of pasta, how in the name of Mary can they screw it up here so often?
About ten years ago in another city I had a winemaker and his family in town. We were supposed to do a winemaker dinner, but the restaurant didn’t promote it. So the owner, said, no problem, he’d invite a few friends and we’d all have dinner. And we did, about 12 of us. At the end of the night they presented to the winemaker a bill for $1700, including the meal of the owner, his wife and their friends. Even charged them full mark-up for the wine, which was “donated”. Or maybe that was restitution for all these years of supplying well made, honest wine to the restaurateur? I haven’t spent a penny in that place since then.
Looking around at America and the Western World, I have to wonder if this economic crisis doesn’t stem from a personal vacuity that seeks to fill the void with things; money, fame; recognition, or just being the one on the top of the dunghill. It’s too simple to just call it greed, because it is also ignorance, and lack of respect for one’s livelihood and one’s community.
And then we wonder why the young ones walk around with their cell phones, texting invisible friends instead of interacting with the world in front of them. Or maybe, is it just an instinctual repudiation of an industry that no longer has a valid place in their, or our, world?
There are so many things that we all take for granted, from our jobs and our place in life, to our health and our age. When you’re 20, you’ve been young all your life and there is nothing to tell you that it won’t be like that all your days. When you’re 40, you begin to feel little pains, and start getting some of those big-life experiences that reshape what was once recognizable and predictable. Sixty comes close and, who knows what is coming? One thing for sure, change will come.
20 years ago on a trip to Genoa, outside my hotel was a spot where young kids would go to shoot up heroin. I was staying at a four star hotel and it wasn’t in a bad part of town. That was just what was on the menu in those days for young folks living in a port. I would see hundreds of used needles on the ground, and the hollowed out faces of kids, their expressions blown out from the intensity of the drug they had just injected.
Driving in the countryside on the way to one of the wineries, we joke about the highway being the United Nations for hookers, because you see women from many countries standing on the side of the road at all hours of the day, soliciting for sex. A few years ago there were more Ukrainians and Albanians. Now there are all manner of African women. Years and years ago it was home grown Italian women from the south.
What does this have to do with wine? Or at least a wine blog? I cannot answer that. And while I am at it, I have been thinking about wine blogging. I am not all that interested in wine blogging. Folks stare out into their screens with their tasting notes and their wishes and their hopes and they pour them out and we are all supposed to drop everything we are doing to read someone’s blog? I have had too many people tell me lately that they can’t and they don’t care to keep up with wine blogs. I understand. For sure, I am not interested in mommy blogs about wine; don’t care what they ate during their trip to Cancun. And those existential quandaries that I have been sent lately by friends of bloggers, people who think I’d like to know about their crisis in Chieti. And so it probably goes with many of my ramblings as well.
I have been thinking for some time about cutting back or at least giving folks a breather, time to catch up with all these posts. But that would assume there are all kinds of folks laboring through these thrice weekly posts as though it were the NY Times or the BBC. They better not be.
Italy has been that way with travelers, letting them establish their own pace when exploring all that the country has. There is always that next village on the hill, the remote vineyard in a faraway region, a dish made at a little unmarked osteria near a seaside that draws one back.
There are those magical places that make a wonderful wine weekend destinations. The combination of 
The ride from L’Andana in Castiglione della Pescaia to the Petra estate near Suvereto is a pleasant 45 minute saunter up the coast. My travel companion and I easily slipped into a California state of mind. And this is not to diminish anything that Tuscany and the Maremma has to offer; it is simply lagniappe for the wine traveler.
We are in a time when the fruits are all ripe and dripping their honey. Fig trees droop from the weight of their bounty and the grapes weigh the vines down, waiting for their appointment with the portable guillotines, those hand held harvesters that pick the clusters and send them to their miracle moments.
Much has been 
Beautiful land, olives and grapes, wheat and figs. Merlot has a wonderful summer home here. As we arrived in mid September, the Merlot had already been brought in at Petra. What we sampled was still fruit juice, but it was bright and rich and healthy. Like we all want to be, no?
Petra has a cellar and sometimes dining area that has been hewn out of the rock underneath the vineyards. It reminds me of Sinsky or many other Silverado Trail showcase wineries. Still a fairly small production, at this point just about 25,000 cases of wine. Smaller than Chateau Lafite. I hesitate to put down my tasting notes here, as they will be needed for an article in Sommelier Journal. In any event, most folks don’t come to On The Wine Trail in Italy for tasting notes. Or gossip. I’ll leave that to those who are better and more interested in those things.
I am pretty knocked out about the mineraly-stony thing going on under the vines at Petra. Some pictures show an other-worldly aspect to this ancient craft.
We had been told to expect lunch. What I hadn’t expected was this wonderful woman who prepared a simple meal with many fresh vegetables from the Petra garden. As we ate we could look out onto the garden where much of our lunch came from. Zucchini, peppers, tomatoes, grapes. A little porchetta, not too much, just enough to show off the wines. Especially the Merlot.
Folks who know me are aware that Merlot, like Chardonnay, doesn’t thrill me. Except when it comes from areas that I think they should come from. Merlot from the right bank, Chardonnay from the Côte d'Or. That kind of thing.
I am intrigued by the interest by French winemakers in this area. And Merlot, while resembling more their California cousins than their Pomerol ones, still has a liveliness and an appealing quality. Ok, so I can learn to love Merlot from Italy too.
Just as long as I also get to enjoy it in a rustic pie at the end of a meal during the 2008 harvest, on the wine trail in Italy.
