How many Verdicchio DOCG's are there?

The latest news from the Marche is that Verdicchio has been awarded a DOCG. The wines that fall under this category are:

• Verdicchio di Matelica Riserva (one DOCG)
  
• Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi Riserva and Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi Classico Riserva. (One DOCG)
  

The question is: Does each Verdicchio wine have it's own DOCG or do they fall under a Verdicchio DOCG category? (There are two)

Prosecco has two DOCG's

• Conegliano Valdobbiadene Prosecco Superiore


• Asolo Prosecco Superiore

Tuscany has these two DOCG's for

• Chianti and


• Chianti Classico

So I am searching for the answer, because there obviously isn't a pattern in Italy about these things

Until we find out, the DOCG list is either 46 or 48. (47)

And for those curmudgeons who say : Why is this important?

my answer is this: because sommeliers studying for their tests want and need this information.

Anyway, it is kind of fun trying to figure a way through the labyrinth of Italian wines on that (or any) level.

But if anyone finds out about the Marche designation and how it is broken down, please comment. Inquiring minds want to know.

Grazie 1000!

written by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

Catching a Ride on a Smile

From the “When you need a lift ” department

The wine trail this week has taken me to Austin and back home to Dallas. Holiday showcases, wine tastings, a visit with the iconic professor of Italian, an evening with a master sommelier and a fellow Angelino, and many many people, talking about wine and popping corks. It’s been a busy week, and we ain’t finished yet. But that's not what this post will be about.

There have been some real crazy things that have happened, but I also noticed a pattern that has developed, and one that I am happy to recognize. And that is of the ascendancy of more energized women in the wine business, and let me tell you: they are young and they have a whole new way of looking at these things that I think is gonna rock the wine business.

Scene 1: At a wine trade holiday tasting. I’m standing there listening to my colleague, Damon Ornowski, preaching the gospel of Kracher to both the willing and the uninitiated, and off in the corner of the room I see a group of lively young women, talking to themselves. They’re giddy. They’re excited. They’re newbies. But the energy and the excitement that is streaming off of them is infectious. I catch their smiles and watch them as they skip from table to table; every wine a new experience. A Pinot Noir here, a Rioja there, it’s like watching someone when they take their first step. Maybe it’s the party-like scene, maybe it’s that it doesn’t seem like work to them. I hope it isn’t just that. What energizes me is their unbounded jubilation at being in a business that they are really excited about. Remember that scene in “Catch me if you Can” with Leonardo di Caprio, where he is walking with his gaggle of new stewardesses? It looks something like that.

Scene 2: I’m talking to a young lady who works in the business. She is intense and very, very competitive. She also has amazing knowledge of wine and food, more like someone twenty years her senior who was into wine and food in a deep way. In this era which is shaped by the plate tectonics of an industry and economy in turbulence, as a relative newcomer, she as well has had to deal with those dynamics. And being relatively new to the scene, there are many layers above her, peopled with those mere mortals who also have their own fears, agendas and concerns. It’s a lot for anyone to deal with, but with one who is just startling their new life, in a new world, I can sympathize with her. Funny thing, it’s also a brave new world for this ‘ol silverback as well. Every day is a call to re-invent and energize oneself to find a new way to solve the old problems. My inspiration from her came from her willingness to ask questions and to listen to possible solutions and then to go forward. I caught her smiles. She won’t get stung by the bees. She’ll be the one up to her neck in tupelo honey.

Scene 3: At a wine bar in Dallas, showing some really nice Italian wines, a Kerner white and a trio of Tuscans, one Chianti and two Brunellos. At the bar, along with the wine bar manager and a fellow server were two young ladies. One was of Italian descent and the other was an exotic Asian-Indian lass. The wine bar manager was pulled away from our presentation by a client who wanted to talk his ear off about Walla-Walla. The other chap had to do double duty, tasting with us and watching the tables. The two young ladies were on board from the get go. Even while the Walla-Walla chap was flapping around, making our work a little hard with his distracting inanities about the joys of Walla Walla (I wanted to ask him where he worked so I could go to his place of work and pretend to be an expert in his line of work), the Asian-Indian lady looked me straight in the eyes and telepathed in a Shakti-like way that she was paying attention and to focus on her, not the buffoon at the end of the bar. The ancient soul emerged and soothed the silverback. Back to work.

One of the Brunellos was rustic and was showing a fair amount of volatile acidity. You know what? They loved the wine. They were not know-it-alls, they didn’t act bored with listening to a chap old enough to be their dad (or their professor). No, they bought the ticket for the ride and they rode all the way to the end. They were ready and smiling. Right on the money. Making my day. There is an old saying, “'E femmene ne sanno na cchiú d'o diavulo”. In the Neapolitan dialect it translates to “women know more tricks than the devil.” I’m not sure if the young women I encountered were tricking me and the world around them, but if they were, more power to them. And if they just happen to have the seed of passion for this business, there is a future waiting for them with tons of joy. This is my prayer. And you know what they say about prayer? No one is a firmer believer in the power of prayer than the devil.

You better watch out, you better not cry, better not pout...

written by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

Images from PSA Airways ( a once-upon-a-time California airline, similar to Southwest Air)

Tear Down This Wall

Thinking my last post came from a frustration of seeing prices going up, not down, and listening to Italian winemakers telling me how much the crisis was over, I sought some retail therapy over the weekend. With an hour to kill while waiting for a plane to arrive I stopped in at a nearby shopping center and cruised the aisles: Neiman-Marcus, Saks, JC Penney’s and Burlington; roughly 4 levels of the retail channel.

Inside a nearly empty environment, I walked from store to store. Starting with the higher levels, I noticed sales. A shirt on sale for $150, a jacket with an Italian sounding name (made in China) for $300. A pair of Hugo Boss shoes (also made in China) for $250, a t shirt for $80. All of a sudden Super Tuscans for $200 weren’t sounding so strange. We could just market them to the same people that were in these stores. If there were any.

I asked a clerk if this was normal, so quiet for this time of the day. “Well, there is probably a football game on,” was her reply. Probably so. But most people seldom pass up the opportunity to buy a deconstructed Armani suit on sale for only $1250 in lieu of watching sports on TV, yes?

Chances are many people were still safely ensconced behind the wall of their gated community. Out here in the sparse plains of North Texas, north of the DFW airport, the sprawl from the urban center has led to giant themed communities, where people sit in their 5,000 square foot homes and drive their extended cab pickups and SUV’s and wield their platinum or titanium credit cards to find a life of meaning. Have some in our Italian wine community bought into this vision of America too?

A close friend told me that when his Italian visitors come to NY they want to go to Nike, Abercrombie and Fitch, Apple and other places that signify a level of status, of having arrived at the end of the trail of the dream their parents and grandparent started on. Large appetites aren’t only confined to Americans.

And while some of the Italians go back home and present their latest Super Tuscan to their friends onboard their newest 40 meter sailing ship in the hopes of getting some relevant feedback, have the decisions they have made been any better informed that ones made by people who lived behind the Berlin Wall or within the walls of a compound in Taliban held Afghanistan?

A multimillionaire tells their winemaker friend, “Your Merlot from Maremma is so wonderful. But it must be worth more than $50. It is at least twice more valuable than that.” I kid you not. True story. Really happened. Killed the wine dead. Will not resuscitate.

Informed decisions are not made on the deck of a yacht, working on one's tan as one is streaming into Porto Cervo for a well-deserved weekend of rest and relaxation. The world outside of the enclosure one situates one within is a different story. A shirt on sale for $150 just isn’t going to have a wide world market right now (or maybe not for a long time, when $150 will be more like $25.).

Gambero Rosso to the rescue
As alluded to in the earlier post, Gambero Rosso seems to be the mantra many Italian winemakers are chanting. Maybe it was the wonderful summer they had in Panarea or Lampedusa that gave them this clarity of thinking, but back in the world of the living, the reality is that Daniele Cernilli cannot save your brand, no matter how many red shrimp he throws at it. If you are making a Marche Rosso that will ultimately have to sell on a wine list in San Francisco for $100, think again. If this were a battle against Hizbollah or the Sendero Luminoso, would you wave a sheet of paper on it with three red glasses to achieve your aims? If so it better be on a large white flag.

On a lay-over between coasts, one of my Italian importer friends visited this weekend. His portfolio is young, but so far this year he has moved through 3+ containers (about 4,000 cases) in his primary market, metro NY. He's on target for moving about 8,000 cases his first year. Not bad for a one man show with a company that started up at the end of 2008, just as the economy was imploding. His secret? Keeping his relationships alive with one-on-one interaction and keeping the wine prices in check. Nothing over $30 wholesale. Falanghina selling for $9, A Maremma Rosso for $11, an Aglianico del Vulture for $9, a Valtellina Superiore for $14, a Langhe Nebbiolo for $14. Solid wines, made by small farmers, not large co-ops with fancy labels or marketing budgets. The work of the day. Mano a mano. Everyday. On terra firma, not terra incognita.

So while some of the winemakers talk of coming to America, which in reality is an extended grand tour of NY, Miami, Vegas and LA-SF, the ones who are gaining ground are doing these things:

1) Visiting other markets and keeping their relationships alive.
2) Turning away from expensive (and tiring) barrique aged wines
3) Listening, really listening, to their colleagues in the field who have been in this battle for 5-10-20 years and know what is going on.
4) Responding quickly and not doing it half-heartedly.
5) Putting their personal pleasure, entertainment, recreation aside while coming to these markets to really serve the needs of the consumers, the intermediary agents and ultimately to their family and business back home.

Today’s battle needs the correct response. When the machine gun was introduced into the theater of World War I it marked a turning point that the older way of fighting was over. Soldiers on horses were no match for a mechanized tank formation. And that is what things like Gambero Rosso, focus groups on yachts in Porto Cervo and out-of-touch within-the-compound mentalities are. The battle field has changed, as has the overall landscape. The Berlin Wall is down. It is time overdue for the Italian to come out from their gated cloisters of comfort and to rejoin with us to retake the hill we all have been battling over for so many years.

written by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

The Acid Test

In the wine business, we have come upon the sacred time known as O-N-D. The 4th quarter (October-November- December) has traditionally been a period when wine sales head into high gear. But walking the halls recently, talking to salespeople at month end, I am hearing other stories. People are just not picking up the Kool-Aid like they used to.

CNN recently had a story about the glut of high priced wine. The following, lifted from that piece: “If I buy a bottle for $100 from Napa Valley -- and believe me, there are hundreds -- I'll mark it up to $225. But no one is buying those," says wine director Rajat Parr at RN74 in San Francisco. As a result, Parr is saying no to all Napa Cabernets until customers drink what's left.

Bordeaux vintages are backing up. Established importers are backing away from future commitments. There is a tsunami of classified growth wines hovering. Not quite the perfect storm, more like a scene from Cloverfield. It’s fixing to get ugly.


And our Italian winemakers, let’s take Tuscany: how are they responding to these climes?

Two publications recently have brought out their reviews for the Tuscan reds.

The Wine Spectator – here’s how some of their top rated wines flesh out – simply by rating, price (per bottle) and availability

Tuscany
98 points $100 -500 cases made
98 points $120 -450 cases imported
97 points $285 -6,250 cases made
96 points $319 -150 cases imported
95 points $70 -1,335 cases made
95 points $75 -200 cases imported
95 points $95 -1,250 cases imported
95 points $110 -2,515 cases made
95 points $118 -500 cases imported
95 points $125 -370 cases imported
94 points $89 -1,000 cases imported
94 points $102 -300 cases imported
94 points $215 -3,000 cases imported
94 points $240 -30 cases imported
93 points $95 -29,165 cases made
92 points $165 -50 cases imported


The Wine Advocate – some of their finds- just ratings and suggested retail (per bottle).
Tuscany
99 points $435
97 points $360
98 points $320
95 points $283-349
95 points $275
97 points $233-365
92+points $230
98 points $210
94 points $190
(94-96) pts $175
97 points $163
95 points $161-199
93 points $160
96 points $157-194

There are some good, even great, wines here. Which makes this all the more of a quandary. But the lowest priced wine in the group is $70, with many at $100-$200-$300. And there are back vintages of many of these wines still lingering in importers and wholesalers warehouses, retail shops and restaurant wine lists.

And here we find ourselves at a crossroad. At the busiest time of the year. Who is going to drink these wines and at what price?

Good news: Most of these are red wines from very good vintages that will age. Bad news: That's not good enough news.

I go back and look at the Bordeaux example - how they dig out of uncertain economic times. They’ve done it more often than any other region, made an art out of it. And at this time they are at one of the epicenters of the luxury wine meltdown, Napa and Champagne being vigorously tested as well. Many folks are watching, searching for a passage.

The Italians likely imagine their situation is different, particolare. The emails have been streaming in lately, especially since Gambero Rosso has released their latest tre bicchieri list of winners.

It was much pleasanter at home, when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits.
-Alice (in Wonderland)

It’s a tough situation. You don’t want to tell the winemaker that their baby is ugly. And it is less about beauty than perception. But it boils down to value. You want how much for a bottle? You only made 1,200 bottles? Surely there are 1,200 people we can find to pay $250 a bottle for your baby? People are still buying Ferraris and Pradas, yes?

And so if I talk them down to make their wine sell, not at $250, but at $125, what will it matter? So what are we to do?

I don’t know where I heard it recently, but someone was talking about the “recovery” and compared it to a saucer. Flat bottom. Slow rise. Short peaks. Long ride.

Sayonara, from the abyss, to the Long Tail effect, when it comes to small quantities of highly rated, hard to get wines at ultra-premium prices.

We’ve crossed over into black swan country facing a defining acid test.

written by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

Some Wine, Not Much Italy, But Lots of Trail

This past week has taken me on another trail, lots of trail. For a week we have been out in West Texas to do some hiking in the Big Bend National Park and surrounding areas. This is Texas as the Italians love to romanticize Texas and The West, with huge vistas, wide rivers, lots of wild animals and plenty of big blue sky during the day and starry, starry skies at night. It was also very therapeutic this week, because out there the cell phones do not work. So lots of rest and respite from the civilized world. During the last five or so years September has taken me to the wine trail in France, Portugal, Sicily, and Italy. But for some reason this year, I needed a break from Italy and wine. For one glorious week I didn’t think about whether a wine was natural enough or not (btw, the more natural the wine is the happier my headache prone skull is). I didn’t drive very much and when I did it was never over 45 mph and usually to a placer to hike for the day. I got sunburned and star burned even more, because out in the Big Bend the sky viewing is amazing. Oops, looks like I am full speed ahead into a mommy blog post. E' la nave va. Dallas to Midland is a short one hour flight. In a car the drive to Big Bend is a lot like flying to Europe. Long. So the program was Midland via SW Air and then a rental car for the 3 hour trip to our first destination-Marfa. Marfa is that little town in West Texas where a person like me can feel like this was a town made for people like me. Good food and wine abounds, interesting and friendly people, lots of art and the wide open sky of the romantic Texas Italians love to fantasize about. In a little café in Marfa, Maiya’s we set about our first night to nosh. Maiya’s is Italian-centric so there are some nice food and wines to choose from. We settled on a Pio Cesare Gavi, a 2004, that was nutty and in perfect ready-to-drink shape. I did say 2004; there must be something about the dry West Texas conditions that keep a 5 year old Italian white in shape. But anyone who has ever had an older Gavi knows that a good one can take some age. Marfa is an artistic community centered around, but not exclusive to, the efforts of Donald Judd and his Chinati Foundation. I will be heading back to Marfa soon to do a series of wine and food dinners, hopefully with some artistic element added to it. My university background was in art and architecture with photography, film and cultural forms studies making up the curricula that I focused on. Marfa is really a place out of my American West soul. And you can find a pretty good pizza there too, in this dog loving town. I grew up in California in the western part of the Sonora Desert (sometimes called the "Colorado Desert"). Marfa and Big Bend are part of the Chihuahua desert. So not exactly the same, but enough similarities for me to be very happy. On long walks in the Chihuahua desert this past week, I could have sworn some of the trees were brujos and of course I thought I could smell the snakes (another post, but yes, snakes do emit a unique odor). At night looking out the window I felt the pull of the billions of the galaxies and stars. One night I even think there were things other than stars that were reaching out to me. Yeah, yeah, I know, active imagination. But the world we think we see isn’t “all there is”. What something like Big Bend and other National Parks can do for the common man like myself is to find me a place and a time where I can go to restore my equilibrium from the pressures of civilization. It’s in the wilderness that I can find my lost self. Monday morning I head back to work, but not before having had a glorious week like I haven’t had for years. I think it was probably back in 2005 in Portugal where I was able to re-up my energy. Not saying that the work or even the urban scene of Texas is all that stressful. It isn’t like living in NY or even LA. Because Texas, for me as well, is a romantic notion or freedom and unlimited horizons, as much as it might be for the Italians I often come into contact with in the wine biz. These next few weeks Ken Burns is screening his National Park opus on PBS. Thankfully, I have had a week to immerse into one of my favorite National Parks in America. And while it might not be as obviously beautiful as my California love, Yosemite, Big Bend is a wonderful, peaceful, dangerous, beautiful, mystical place that for a desert dweller I have managed to save a large part of my heart for.

All through the day in the saddle I sway Visions glow as I go trail dreamin' I see a home on a blue mountain dome Lovingly that I made, trail dreamin' There's a rainbow trail that's lined with stars That leads to a gate with moonbeam bars And it's welcome, I feel, till my visions so real Turn to dust 'cause I'm just trail dreamin'

-Sung by Marty Robbins, lyrics by Bob Nolan

Great guide to Big Bend HERE by Richard Campbell

 

written and photographed by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

Cadillac Fever

From the Archives ~ March 23, 2007

There they were, waiting for me as I landed in Dallas from La Guardia, the good ‘ol boys. I had just come back on a flight with a guy from Midland, born and raised in the dusty desolate town that's had its share of desperados.

This ‘ol boy, he luuuvvved Midland. But his lady friend lived in New York. So he had to haul his tail up there to get whatever he thought he needed from his gal in Gotham.

One thing he said, and he said a lot of things, ‘cause he was about two days too many away from Texas, he said, “There’s too much concrete and not enough sunsets.” I couldn’t disagree. Something about living in the West that just gets under your skin. To make matters worse, he pulled out the latest copy of Texas Farm and Ranch magazine, and he asked me if I wanted a look-see. Damn him.

They got me with that little Hill Country spread in Bandera County. Real nice.

Meanwhile, giant mosquitoes are attacking me in my bed and it's just March. I’ll never get out of here. Cadillac fever’ll get me.

At the Dallas airport, the old man was waiting by the car, lighting up another cigarette. He looked like he just came from a funeral.

It was 12:30, time for a late lunch. All that NY pizza and vegetarian food ‘like to mess up my regimen of steak and ribs. That was about to get rectified.

At the chop house, the usual table was waiting. Liquor was ordered, not wine. Time was slowing down, and something was about to fall from the sky, I felt an impending message coming on. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Better just 'buck up and face it, sooner than later.


“Son,” he said, “do you see what I’m holding in my hand?” I replied that it looked like whisky. “Damn right! And you want to know why we’re drinking it?” I figured he liked the stuff. Sometimes on airplanes, the whiskey was better than most wines offered. He clarified our position. “Son, this whiskey keeps the lights on. If these folks pull the plug, we can all go home. Now, if one of these here whiskey fellers brings us a wine to sell, don’t go into a big song and dance about how smart y'all wine folks are and how ignorant them spirits boys are, ya hiyrr me?”

Yes sir, don’t want the lights to go all blooey on us.

“And when you and your boy head out to Ittly next week, don’t be finding any more wine to fill up the warehouses with. We got enough, and tell them there Eyetalians so. Tell ‘em to make less and make it better and charge less for it. That’s what’ll work here in the lower midsection of America, down heeya in the crotch.”

And with that, juicy steaks arrived with baked potatoes and lots of farm fresh butter and chives and sour cream and fresh pepper. It wasn’t cold outside, and the landscape wasn’t littered with dirty grey-black snow. It was 68°F, and bright and clear.

Crystal clear.

Afterwards I set out to find Beatrice Russo. It seems some of my old wines had been depleted. I noticed a bottle of some ancient Barolo in the trash bin, along with a Champagne bottle or two, a Roederer and a Pol Roger. And a bottle of La Chapelle Hermitage 1985.

Oh yeah, and my bottle of Gran Gala that I had sitting there to take to the newspaper, so they could photograph it for an article; it was 2/3rds empty.

I better go find that young lady.



Images from PLAN59.COM

Perception is Reality

From the Archives ~ October 10, 2007

The picture above is a favorite of mine. It hangs in my bedroom. Shot by James Evans, who lives out west in the Big Bend area of Texas. It is of a bull snake on a couch. I love it for the texture and the movement and the hint of danger.

But the bull snake isn’t lethal. It just looks that way.

Things are all mixed up these days. We seek local and pummel the word sustainable about, like a swordfish being cut up for the seafood counter. But what are we really looking for? Are we looking for the truth? Do we want to fear something that really isn’t worthy of such trepidation? How does that relate to this Italian wine thing?

Let’s look at these words: local, unique, safe, affordable.

Local- Unless you are in Italy, Italian wines aren’t going to be considered local. So one must consider the trade off. You can get a local wine in most places, and it should be good enough for your needs. You could also drive a car (If you are in the US, a Chevy, for instance) and it will get you where you want to go. One doesn’t need a Maserati anymore than one needs a Brunello. Oh, but, you say, you like the Maserati and the Brunello? Because it is unique. OK.

Unique – Just like Bar-B-Q is unique in Texas, or Ruby Red grapefruits from the Big Valley down there, things unique have a way of endearing themselves to folks. They are dear and often precious. Taste, texture, feeling, scent, many facets of the jewel that one is attracted to. Italian wines are unique and so because of that people are drawn to them for pleasure and enjoyment, stimulation, physical as well as intellectual. And because of this we can be reasonably assured that the product is good for us. It is safe.

Safe- very much buzzing about this lately. People are inventorying their possessions and jettisoning things made in China. Clothing made in Bangladesh or Costa Rica, are the conditions for the workers safe? Or would their lives be worse off if they didn’t have that job? Meat packers in the US, in the early 1900’s, children in factories in the late 1800’s, scenarios that played out for cheap goods but at the expense of the health and welfare of the humans, or other living creatures, involved in the production of these materials. Today not many of us make our own clothes, and fewer and fewer are making their own meals. Italian wines, while not all have been always safe, have a record as good or better than much of the world wine producing areas. And often affordable.

Affordable – Up until recently Italian (and European) wines and other goods have been a good deal for those using the US dollar. There is a pause, at this moment, because, we are seeing the erosion of the US currency. The Canadian dollar is climbing over it, the Euro has left it behind, the Yuan is a rising red sun. An Italian Chianti now sells for about US$12.00, on average. Yellow Tail Shiraz sells for US$8.00. Now there is a difference; the region, the grape, the experience. But the challenge in 2008 and 2009 will be large, and marketers and wine lovers will be challenged to make sure they don’t sacrifice unique and safe over affordable.

The snake is in the living room, settled and comfortable on the couch. It will take plenty of effort and courage to look it straight in the eyes and determine if it is dangerous or not. The challenge, of our perceived view of things, will be to generate a reality that will still honor the local producers (even if they are thousands of miles away) and encourage them to retain their unique qualities along with continuing to make them safe and wholesome and if possible, within our means.



Photographs: Top one by James Evans; all the rest from the Flickr Italy in Black & White photo group.

Selling Brunello when Mercury is in Retrograde

All week the wine has been dogging me. There it is, like the omnipresent character in a Twilight Zone episode. Every corner you turn, he is waiting with that silly little smirk on his face. Taunting, laughing, obstructing.

“You need to sell my 2003 Brunello so I can send you then 2004. I would hate for you to miss out and go from the 2003 to the 2005.”

I took a look at the Brunellos we have in the market. In one store yesterday they had on the shelf 1999, 2000 and 2001. All considered good to great vintages. Sitting on the shelves from $50-75. Good producers, no flies. Not like some end of the world rations that sat in the bomb shelters waiting for someone to climb on down and wait it out, while the rest of humanity sweated it out on the beach.

Waiting. Waiting.

What to do? I need an idea that works. I really need to come up with something, pull something out of my repertoire. Show the rookies this is just a cycle. Make it to the 26th mile. Again.

This is a singular moment for me. In thirty plus years I cannot remember this pattern happening quite like this. Down economy, trying to recover. Wine, tainted by a hot vintage and a scandal. Lousy exchange rate caused by a government trying to discourage foreign trade by weakening the dollar. And a stellar vintage, waiting in the wings for a window of opportunity that isn’t quite now.


The 2004 Brunello is Cinderella. But while the planets move backwards what can one person do?

This is like having to eat tainted meat while the perfect pie is cooling on the window sill. This is torture. Not like Abu or Gitmo, but for slaves to the wine god, this is a perfect storm debacle for the ’04 Brunello. More like Mars in retrograde than Mercury.


Two visitors, like passing planets across the skies, light up the screen with their brief candles. Let’s hear what they have to say about the bright light in the Montalcino skies, the 2004 vintage.

written by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

Artwork from The Chinati Foundation in Marfa, Texas

A Natural Enclave

Tonight I heard the owl. He was back in the neighborhood for a visit? His home has been long taken over by the Italians, the sweet and gentle bees that have outgrown the owl house my son put up in the tree in our front yard. But the bees do so much good for this little island of nature, my yard, or rather, the yard that I have been entrusted with to care take it and offer nature a respite from the willy-nillyness of a world that is barreling down the crazy highway at the speed of sound.

All weekend it has rained welcome rain. The summer harvests of eggplant and cucuzza squash piled up on the kitchen counters, along with tomatoes and farm eggs and chickens that lived their life on the ground in the open air. This weekend we would feast from the harvest.

My little island, l'isola da Cevola, is my retreat back to a piece of nature where there is no poison. The local government, spraying this week for West Nile virus, worried me. My Hoja Santa crop is ready to harvest a load this week. But the trucks spraying God knows what concerned me. Three days of rain have lessened my apprehension.

This has been a fine summer for my little enclave of nature, this isola with a little lago and all the bees and frogs and owls and sparrow hawks convene over and in this welcome spot of peace and simplicity. Even the lost parrots, who go quite insane in the winter when the climate dips below their threshold of acceptability, right now are flying overhead with none of the worries of the below zero weather some day to come.

The rosemary, when it was planted in the ground, did nothing. Too wet. So I put it in a planter and it turned into a tree. It has branched out into the swan planter, someday to be moved and improved to the other side of the garden.

The figs, long gone, as are the mockingbirds that feasted for weeks, will soon lose its leaves. My Sardinian fig tree.

This has not been a great year for jalapeno peppers in the garden. A small handful of them came this year. Maybe they missed not having the pequins as next door neighbors.

As usual, the basilico thrived, and often we took tender leaves for the dinner table.

Last night we had the cucuzza with the chicken and some tomatoes, pasta and basilico in a dish that was unbelievably delicious.

The winter garden is transitioning from fennel and the bitter lettuce to arugula. In October, I will add more winter lettuce and radicchio to the plot.

The garlic this year was tiny but potent. It had a flavor that I have never had from any garlic. The terroir of l’isola da Cevola. Who knows? Maybe it was the full moon at midnight harvesting.

The compost bin is full, and after the last of the Hoja Santa is harvested for Paula and Mitchell at the Mozzarella Company, we will start preparing that part of the garden with more organic compost.

Two days of living in my little world of nature does wonders for me. With the world raging toward incivility outside of this little enclave, it is a spot of heaven that renews my will to go out into the world and wage my daily battles.

And how about you, dear reader? How do you connect to the natural world all around you? Are you in the country? A big city? On an island? In Italy? Or India? What in your world is going on right now?

written by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy