When it comes to the way we used to do it, pre-Covid19, there was a, more-or-less, expected path. After the wine was made, and assuming it was a reliable product (tasty, attractive in appearance to more than just the creator and priced appropriately for its category) there were well-trod paths that one would take to assure the wine would get to the end-user.
I’m in the basement of our apartment building, where I now live. I am a young Ukrainian in the wine business (mainly p.r. and sommelier studies), but right now, me and my family, and our country, are fighting for our lives. So, I won’t be going to Vinitaly this year.
My mother-in-law has taken our children across the border to Poland, where now they are safe. My husband is fighting for our freedom in eastern Ukraine. I’m here with my mother, who is a widow and needs my attention, for she cannot travel far these days. And my father-in-law, we haven’t heard from in days. He’s back at the farm north of Kyiv, tending to the land and the animals. We are very worried for him.
I looked forward to Vinitaly every year, to meet with winemakers and my social media community. Especially hard it has been in the last two years because of the Covid. But now we face an even greater enemy to our being here in Ukraine.
I love Italy, their wine and food and people. I love how free the country is. I would bring back a little of Italy every time I went. I even loved Vinitaly. I didn’t mind the crowds, the confusion or the uniquely Italian form of organizing a large event like Vinitaly. Now I wish I had a bathroom here in Kyiv like the worst one I would ever find at Vinitaly. Or a dry panini and an overpriced bottle of frizzante water. It sounds like heaven to me.
But I am now part of the resistance against one of the most evil of humans, I cannot even say his name. But you know who I am talking about.
My husband has seen things no one should ever have to see. We are a peace-loving family. My children are innocent. We are innocent! But cruelty doesn’t distinguish between the guilty and the guiltless. No, the bombs from above are indiscriminate in their path of destruction. But we are not beaten. We are bloodied, yes. Our hearts are broken, but our spirit is unscathed. And we will win!
I’d love so much to see my friends at
Vinitaly. But I’d love even more to see my father-in-law, my mother-in-law, my
dear husband and my sweet, sweet children. I cannot even think about a wine
fair, although I am guilty to say I dream about it. Maybe one day, in the
future. But for now, we have more important things to attend to: Our Existence. -Марія Павліченко
DONATE:
UNICEF USA Official Site - Help Children in Ukraine
SAVE THE CHILDREN - Ukraine Crisis Children's Relief
INTERNATIONAL COMMITTEE FOR THE RED CROSS
UNITED NATIONS HIGH COMMISSIONER FOR REFUGEES - Ukraine Aid
Restaurateurs come and go, just like all of us. Some of them leave a bigger mark. Maybe it was the time they were in. Maybe they were just lucky. Maybe they were exceptional. Or all of the above. But nothing is forever.
Driving along the scuttled roads of urban Austin, I finally found a parking place, after 10 minutes of searching. By some twist of fate, I managed to find a place in front of a building that once sheltered one of the most wonderful Italian spots in Texas. It was long gone now, replaced by serial restaurateurs with cash and concepts. The place was called Speranza’s, run by a young couple, Michael and Hallie Speranza, and it was a Mecca for anyone trying to show offbeat Italian wines in those days. The era was the early 1980’s and in the years since, many places have come and gone, and come again, professing to hold high the banner for all things Italian.
But are some of you are still hesitant? Well, first off, if you haven’t made flight plans, hotel reservations, secured your entrance badges/tickets and so forth, it’s probably a little late to consider going. However, if you live in Italy or have already, somewhere in the world, made travel arrangements, and you are having last-minute doubts, is there any substance to your fears? I’m going to try and lay it out, just in case you needed it.
I’ve got to say this: with what the world is witnessing right at this moment, I find it exceedingly difficult, if not absurd, to think about writing a post on a wine blog. Oh, two of the greatest Italian wines I’ve had this year? Who could, in their right mind, right now, care? A seminar on Italian wine? Big whoop. News flash: Another wine competition? Yeah, wow.
That, my friends, is where my head is at. I cannot tear myself away from the absolute horror that innocent women and children are experiencing in Ukraine. I feel powerless. It is depressing. It is bringing up memories from the cold war, such as October of 1962, and scaring the hell out of me. For all of us.
So, forgive me for not giving a shit if the pointless subject of Italian wine match-ups with Tex-Mex food is the furthest thing from my mind, at this time. Or the benefits of orange wine made in an artisanal manner vs. the commercial/industrial manufacturing of rosé wines. It just seems inconsequential in the scope of the greater forces of destiny swirling all around us.
Maybe things will change. For now, I’m stuck. I cannot see the forest for the trees. All I can see is the firebomb, the crater, the lifeless bodies of innocent babies being held by nurses who can do nothing to bring life back into their poor little bodies. That’s all I can think about, see or dwell upon. Until the madman who is causing this is rendered silent and lifeless himself.
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"James was a medic who first saw combat when he
replaced another medic killed in fighting in Iraq in 2006. He did two more
tours, in Iraq and Afghanistan, seeing so much blood and death that 10 years
after leaving the military he still attends therapy at a veteran’s hospital.
“But this week, as he watched Russian forces shell
cities across Ukraine, he decided that he had to try to go there to help.
“‘Combat has a cost, that’s for sure; you think you
can come back from war the same, but you can’t,’ James said in a phone
interview from his home in Dallas, where he said he was waiting to hear back
from Ukrainian officials. 'But I feel obligated. It’s the innocent people being
attacked — the kids. It’s the kids, man. I just can’t stand by.’”
- ‘I Just Can’t Stand By’: American Veterans Join the Fight in Ukraine
But sometimes, we must roll the dough into a ball, moisten it, stick it somewhere dark and motionless, and let it rise again with hope for a new start. Or as Eric Asimov, wrote in a recent column, a “new culture.”
And so, all balled up and noöwhere to go, I delved into my post-graduate studies. This time it led me in time, back, to the future.
