Europe is in winemaking mode! Some places better than others, but the cycle continues. Rain in Tuscany and Piedmont.
One of his creations below
Oaxaca meets O Solo Mio!
More later....
Wednesdays really seem to be a bit of a mixed bag lately. I don’t know, maybe it’s that lingering heat. Today it got up to 90F. Really tired of this.
exactly a cat walk, but they have been young, the young women of Italy. They are the worker bees. And some of their comments have been interesting. My friend, David, over at Italian Insight, seems to think they are exaggerating when they speak to me of the new poor Italy. I don’t know. I know even some of the folks over there with money are acting like the sky is falling, money is tight. My concern is, if the young people of Italy feel they have no 
opportunities in the wine field, they will go to on other endeavors. It is happening here. Unless you get your Master Sommelier or Master of Wine, so many of the young here seem to think they will have little trajectory for the career path. I’d like to tell them about a master or two I’ve known in the past. Even if you make it “big”, you still face many of the same problems the rest of us do. It’s the human condition. 
Le Pergole Torte. I have tasted this wine for 20 years and the other night was a fond farewell to a wine that has gone through a stretch of time with me. Since then my son has grown up, my wife has passed on. Friends have departed and family members have been born. Time has ripened us all.
My regrets for wines not tasted yet, I have a few. They are:
*I’d love to taste some of those old Marsala wines that Marco De Bartoli has in his cellar in Sicily, some from the 1800’s, real Sicilian history.
The waves have pounded the shores this week, they have been felt by our family this week and we have been reminded of the fragility of life and how things can change, forever, in a moment.
Nebbiolo was the first born to the family. She was the first great hope of the family. Her way is to do rather than to be. From my very first encounters with her, she was not one that was easy to get to know. Part of it has to do with her mystery. She conceals herself from family members, preferring to work in the background, helping but not taking the bows. Not that she couldn’t. Her talent is that of a renaissance artisan. All the while she presents herself as this delicate and slightly difficult grape-being.
is a bit more fiery and conflicted at this time. Her realm is in a bit of a crisis in these days, partially due to the success of her popularity, no doubt from her youthful energy and her giving nature. But she has been misused and misdirected and now the realm is in need of readjustment.
Sangiovese has one true love, and that is Tuscany. She really only has known that one love and it appears that has been good for Italy. I hope it has been good for her too.
A slight diversion from my usual TGIF posting. Just a Q. I have Paola Banchi with me, from Querciabella, treading in the "mission fields." Paola is trained as an agronomist. Two of her mentors have been Gianfranco Soldera and Josko Gravner , two of the most iconoclastic vintner-philosophers in Italy. I recently opened up some of these wines with a filmmaker friend. Mamma mia, the end of the world!
Paola is an Italian earth woman, a descendant of those wine goddesses you see on the ancient amphorae in southern Italy. And though her DNA is linked to them, she looks at you from a pair of 6th century B.C. Etruscan eyes. Paola is a recipient of the energy that has passed from the ancients to the moderns.
I first met Paola in Verona at Vinitaly over a vegetarian mini-cheeseburger and fries. Not just any meal, it was part of a 17-course meal, prepared by Pierino Penati, all vegetarian, to highlight the wines. Slow Food and Slow Wine. It was quite a scene. The wines were center stage, with the Querciabella and Roederer families sharing the limelight. Lots of famous people, mountain climbers, poets, famous chefs, and the rest of us mere mortals. But a great night.
At dinner with a meal at Stephan Pyles, he himself bringing food from his altar-kitchen. We left the meal decisions to him, and why not? Great food, great wines and great friends, and we're just getting Star-ted!
Camartina 2001
This week I have been immersed in Piedmont. Barolo, Castiglione Falletto, Serralunga, Cuneo, Barbaresco and on. Sorting out some information for the young sales force. This link between humans and the land that makes one wine taste one way and another, over on a hill 2 miles away, taste another way. The Italian wine trail ends today in the Langhe, but starts in the Marche.
There are other occurrences. Italy is rampant with them.
vineyard that would be ready in a five or so years. Five years! We’ve gone through a mate or two, two cars, two houses, a stereo system, two computer upgrades and 3 cellular phones in that time. And for what? Those vines on those steep hills, patiently working their way up, easing the love from the dirt into the vine, year after year, grape after grape. And what do we understand about that, back in the meeting rooms? What do we need to know about that, how do we convey that sense of connection to our fledgling wine-drinkers back in the U.S.of A.?
That’s what makes it so difficult to help our wine industry professionals and the clients. I can’t put that on a sheet of paper with a score and a good price. I try. But it seems so much less than the inspiration that I feel when I take an hour and think about it, reflect on it. Question is, as it has been for some time, how do we get folks to slow their world down to take a peek into this wonderful Emerald City of Wine? How do we impart this in a meaningful way, to the person who decides which wines go on the rack at the wine shop, to the neighbor in the new house who wants to know more about Italian wine? And how do we get it to stick?
... F i n a l l y starting to come alive again in the business. A short posting today. Mostly pix. But the signs, though mixed, are encouraging.
First, a stack of blue sheets means the trucks are full, and it's been this way, all week !
September has taken what August kick-started right into the end zone.
Wine tasting glasses waiting to go into the dishwasher
The sales people are back and tasting the new wines, the suppliers are crawling all over the market (good thing), and we even have some good old-fashioned college football and Pinot Grigio tailgate party promotions! We're back for more, baby!
Also check out this ad one of our talented "millenials", Julie Tijerina, did for an Italian winery, Illuminati ...Right on stuff ! Hey Wine Rock Star, is this getting closer to your age group and audience? Lemme know, we're listening to you!
Sept 7, 2006 the Full Corn Moon~
died one year ago today. He was from Italy, I live in Texas. I was in Sicily, and he died in Texas. He was a dear, dear friend. His sister wrote to me today, “I like to imagine he is on one of his trips to the States and that one of these days he will come back.” She in Italy, imagining he’s in the US, and those of us in The States are thinking about his retirement in Italy. That’s how some of us cope.
I wasn’t going to touch. The wine, though, found me in the cool room, looking for an old one. A 1985 Illuminati Zanna fell into my arms, though the cork was near term. All the while the water is softening up the pasta, Eugenio is yelling, "don’t overcook it." The house is filled with so many spirits, but all of them enjoying the show, no one helping. Take a photograph, what, you aren’t going to open that bottle? Oh yes, you are! We will breath in the wine, you will open it. OK, OK….
There were two postings especially that I liked, one dealing with women, wine and perception, Subtle Differences , and one about Death and Loss, Four Funerals and No Wedding. I am a fan, of the images, of the words. Thank you both!
Well, I came upon David’s Aftermath and Iris and his blob through a link on William Gibson’s site. So the 6 degrees started with :
1) William Gibson
And moved to:
2) David Burnett
Who was in Vietnam with:
3) Nick Ut
Who were both photographing over there in 1972 while I was in San Francisco photographing those 6 people
But that’s only 3 .
So it got me to thinking about my next 3:
4) New Orleans and the loss we have all had in so many ways. But as I am supposed to bring wine and food into this somehow, the focus, in this moment, is on the loss of a heritage and respect for food and wine that is not only lost in New Orleans but also closer to home. Which brings me to:
5) The Italian wine dinner that has French food names.
Seems I got signed up to do a wine dinner, down the road, with an Italian theme. Sounded good. The Italian place had a good review, and I talked to the manager. He’d email me the menu, and I’d choose the wines. Small detail in the world of really important life and death issues. I know that. So days pass and more days pass, and then an email shows up with the menu and the wines. I was in NY at the time and remember emailing and mentioning it to Alice Feiring, who said something like, “That’s nuts, lucky you.”
Do you ever get one of the spam emails from Russia or Africa that have a stream of words that almost sound like they make sense? Something like, “The missionary said he’d stick it out for five more years but the illness was wiping out the natives. When the boat returns Adolfo will send for his beloved Belinda to restore the country to its former glory…”, stuff like that. Well the menu read like that. In fact, I wrote another friend and asked him if he could recognize anything Italian about this menu. His reply was, "The menu is Nouvelle Cuisine. They’re trying to be sophisticated.” Oh.
So I imagine if the missionaries who established themselves in that area in 1718 have only just succeeded in converting the population, I shouldn’t be too impatient. Yeah, they didn’t want me to choose the wines, they already did that too. OK, I get it.
Maybe I should just catch a plane back to LA or NY instead of going to this wine dinner. Anybody got any ideas? It is part of my day job, so I imagine I could just take it as an assignment, like David Burnett would. Would you, David? Alice, I think I know what you would advise. Anyone else, David A., Regina, Mom?
Which leads me to:
6) The French wine hater.
Just when I thought it was safe to go home and get out for the weekend, I went to my favorite refuge, Mr Wok. Not like it sounds folks, this is serious stuff. Peking Duck (special order 24 hours in advance), BYOB, and some great folks, Amanda and Jack and his dad. Anyway, I love these folks! So we’re in for a Friday night meal with a bottle of Texas wine, a Grenache/Syrah Rose from buddy Kim McPherson , who just happens to be going to do a stint at the New World Wine and Food Festival in that town where the Italian Nouvelle Cuisine dinner is slated. So, see, it all connects. But I digress. Back to the French wine hater.
There’s this ol’ boy I’ve seen a time or two in Mr. Wok, and I said hello, in my idiot-friendly way. They had wine, we had wine. Come to find out he’s from the east coast (like the manager of that Eyetalian restaurant down river from here, the one who has gone all wobbly and nouvelle on us). Anyway, this ol’ boy launches in about how he hates French wine. Anyone who has read this far knows I’m all about Italian, but really more importantly I think wine, made well from anywhere, is something to behold. Even from Texas, yes, I am here to tell you!
Now I'm just in a surreal enough of a mood (channelling the energy of one of those 6 people in the photo above?) to ask him why.
Why? I ask him. Come to find out he doesn’t like those French politicians. Then comes my Bucky Fuller story. I heard him tell it to me when I was a student back there in California, when I was younger and he was breathing. Bucky said this, and I relayed it to the French wine-hater person. “You take a spaceship and load up all the politicians and take them on a round trip around the sun, no one back on earth skips a beat. You take that same spaceship and take all the farmers on that same trip and guess what, we all starve in 6 months!” Bucky said it. I wasn’t 6 feet from him when he did.
And I told the dude that, and he looked kind of strange at me and said, “I’ve got a magnum of Australian Shiraz I got on closeout for $3.33, want to try it?” That was right after he told me his prized possession was a 1967 Chateau Citran and that his favorite wine was from Tuscany, especially the Barolo.
The wheels have fallen off the wagon. And we are careening like way out of control, full circle.
What a ride. A real E-ticket.
And tomorrow we get the full moon.
It doesn't get any better than this.
I was looking at the previous posting and the picture of my family, before I was born and wondering: What did they eat, what songs did they sing, what were their dreams? New immigrants with such high hopes for their America. What would they make of our America now, 70 years later?
I was remembering some of my favorite wine moments in the past. Many of them had nothing to do with fine wine as we know it today. An ancient memory has me looking in the refrigerator of my dad’s spec 
house in the desert, the one next to Sinatra’s home near Thunderbird C.C. He drove a Thunderbird. Odd, I thought, at the time, because in the fridge was a bottle of Thunderbird. It was a Thunderbird world! It was summer in the desert and hot, and the water tasted antiseptic and chlorinated. In contrast, the "T-bird" was citric and spritzy, refreshing on that hot summer day, not quite as cool as those starlets swimming in the Chairman of the Board's pool. But a glimpse, a peak, over the fence into adulthood, and wine. I still remember that encounter. What's the word?
There was a hike on a trail I once took up to Tuolumne Meadows in the Upper Yosemite Valley. I hauled in a couple of bottles of Almaden Mountain wines, one red and one rosé. In those days 750ml bottles were available. At 8,000+ elevation, a little went a long way. But over the course of a few nights with friends, the soft, fruity, almost innocent naturalness of the wine has never left my memories. Not a great wine, but a great memory of an experience which wine played a part in.
I once brought home a bottle of 1975 Souverain Cellars Petite Sirah. Bill Bonetti, later to become famous for his role in the branding of the Sonoma-Cutrer wines, was the winemaker at the time. I remember pouring it in a glass beaker that was better suited to beer or water. But the aroma of the wine in that glass was so intriguing and so delicately perfumed that, to this day, I still look for it in other wines, what that wine gave me that night. It was a marker, something I will never forget.
authority to do so, decided to open a magnum of 1911 Lafite. It was a low fill, and we couldn’t sell it for much anyway. So he hauled off to Sonny Bryans BBQ, when Sonny was still alive and on the line, and gathered some brisket and ribs for the lunch back at the office.
building on the Strand. Someone in our office decided we should open and try a bottle of the 1964 Giacomo Conterno Monfortino. At the time, the wine was young, not quite 20 years old. As we initially tasted it, the person who opened the wine decided we should go to lunch and come back to try the wine. Two hours later we returned to a wine that had opened all its petals and was waiting to show us its flower. Inside the glass I sensed a deep red rose and a pink one, too. There was also a bittersweet chocolate and a reduced, almost balsamic, intensity. It was thick and juicy and wonderful, and I’ll never see wine again quite like that.
1945 Dows Vintage Port. I have been very fortunate to taste a lot of great wine and a serious amount of Port going back into that beginning of that last century. But to be in Villa Nova di Gaia in the house of the producer tasting a wine that only came down the Douro once in the last 60 years, that was memorable. To taste the wine in the place where it spent its youth and all of its life is to give a sense of place to a wine that relies so much on that place. It is like being part of the wine in the glass when one has that kind of experience. The wine was still young and hopeful, having been born only a few years after the gathering of my family mentioned in the beginning of this memoir. Wine made before I was born by people who no longer are alive. 
At a recent family gathering, there were 3 male and 13 female members of the family.
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