T.G.I.F.C.J.S. ~ Thank God it’s French Colombard Jalapeno Shooters

Over near Blanco Texas, harvest is long over. The hill country fields are sunburnt and ready for cool. Today it reached almost 90F ….It is November!

So a quick run over to Dry Comal Creek Winery for a French Colombard & Jalapeno Shooter ( I know, the bottle says Sauvignon Blanc, that was wine #2, waiting for us to cool down). Hot and cold at the same time. Worth a try. Wine~Texas style. It isn’t Tuscany, but it is a short break.

The big room at the winery had the fan on, the Big Ass Fan. Real cool.

Out to the open air criadera where the sherry like wine is developing.

Unfortunately the Long horn steer didn’t make it. This is tough country.

The Cask of Amontillado.

Double-wide country style cooling tank?

Ancestral impressions and Renaissance rescues

We had an appointment with the Bonacossi family at 11:00 am at Capezzana. Our day started early, so as not to be late. We weren’t biking through Tuscany on this one, for it took us from where we were staying near Castelnuovo Berardenga to the other side of Firenze towards Pistoia. If we didn’t bottleneck around Firenze all would be well. 40 years earlier folks in these parts were battling a swollen Arno, in some of the worst flooding to ever hit Italy. It was Italy’s Cultural Revolution. Students came from all over the world to help reclaim damaged or lost works of art. Mud Angels . Historic times. This was a different crisis from the time of Dante and his Beatrice.

On approach to Capezzana something was reminding me of this place. There’s something about the way the light bounces off the Montalbano hills. Is it the memory of an autumn spent there in 1977? Or a summer on the Greek Island of Paros? Was it some memory from a recessed gene that held an ancestors impression from a day working in the fields? Or perhaps painting? It was something, for when I arrived at the Capezzana estate it was like going home. Deep in the past there are some references to Tuscan ancestors, from the Etruscan era. In any event, the day I spent with the Bonacossi family, Beatrice and her father Ugo, was vaguely familiar. And reassuring, not only on in regards to the business of wine, but also on a philosophical level, something deeper. Some of my favorite wines comes from this estate. Do you ever have a taste that when it hits your palate, it’s like a seamless experience? Sangiovese, Carmignano, Cabernet, darn! This place nailed my palate preferences. Bull’s-eye, I am totally nuts about these wines! So what is it? Is it the Cabernet? Is it the Sangiovese? Is it the soil? The light? It's the mystery of something so familiar that it seems always to be a revelation. Imagine the thrill of a first love, day upon day. Something so familiar that it's never the same but always recognizable.

The Count, Ugo, is a person who has seen something of the world. He has a look of a person who has been told a great secret and his joy is to prepare the sauce in which to put it. He seems to be a person who really likes what has become of his life. When asked if, when he was young, he knew he was going to run the winery, his answer was no. Like a lot of young men and women, he wanted to step away from the large tree that was his father, and move into the sun. And he did. There was some engineering to be done in his life, human and otherwise. To be fair, I only met him that one time. And Beatrice, really once or twice in a meeting, at Vinitaly, that sort of encounter. So my interaction was with father and daughter, albeit on a very limited and basic level. Thank God the wine can be approached over years and one can begin to get an idea of what these folks have to work with. Christopher Kimball, of Cook's Illustrated put it so well, when he said that it was better to be needed than it was to need things. This land needed people. These people were needed. The wines? They day we were there, we tasted five wines, the Barco Reale 2004, Carmignano 2004, Carmignano 1985, Trefiano 2000 and Vin Santo 99. The 1985 was a gift. My colleague produced a key in the form of a question; “Does Carmignano age well?” Beatrice disappeared with a nephew and returned with the wine. My notes only have three words, “A Perfect wine.”

Years ago a buddy of mine, now a Master Sommelier, and I went to Italy. My friend, Guy Noel, fell in love with Carmignano from Capezzana. In fact the wine led him to love. For him, memories of the wine remain long after the flame of love burned out. Up in the VinSanteria mats were lovingly placed for the grapes to dry. One of the most traditional methods of making of the holy wine. Drier in style than some, able to age for decades. One of the great sipping wines of Italy. We tried the 1999 that day, I managed six words this time, “rich, unctuous, spicy, almost Orient-al, lovely”. Whatever that meant. I am missing that wine right now.

“She was the oriental In Italy-her eyes told the story – shutters closed tightly against the northern winds, lips that concealed nothing, nothing but burning desire, unfulfilled passion. Her face was pushing out from within, trying to escape the bonds of her predicament.”

Words written years ago. Gone is the black rooster. Gone are the candles.

All that remains is to unlock the door and head back down into the cellar for more Carmignano. Grazie signore Ugo, grazie Beatrice. more on the Mud Angels: https://youtu.be/uBw67R-Wl3I

more about the flood of 1966 : https://www.historytoday.com/history-matters/florence%E2%80%99s-mud-angels

The estate: Capezzana

Sunday meals in old California

It was 50 years ago, in 1956. Back to that primordial grape arbor in my grandparents backyard. The brick barbeque, the site of family gatherings, Sunday meals in old California. The Los Angeles Times recently did a story on old time California barbeque.


Sunday in the San Gabriel Valley of my childhood seems like someone else’s lifetime. The old Mission, with the bells, and the ancient pueblo church, hardly earthquake proof. I remember a tremor one Sunday, plaster fell from the walls. Not too long after they built a new church and closed the old one for services. In the garden there was one of the oldest grapevines I have ever seen. Planted in the 1860’s, still sending out shoots and covering a whole patio the size of a basketball court. A wonderful place to walk as a child. Many times I would return to this old courtyard, during times of inner foment. Seems like the old grapevine was always there for me, had heard it all. My confessor, the vine.

My dad and his friend Mario would camp in the hills above the valley. They’d cook over an open fire, real slow food. His friend Mario would go on to open an Italian restaurant in Texas. It was a simpler time, the calm before the storm. Mario was captured during a major battle in Europe. He lost half his body weight before the war ended and he was freed. He turned 90 recently.
Pop would be part of the early detection system on the Pacific. He patrolled Catalina Island. He had it easier. He didn’t make it to his 70th year.

When I look back at the pictures of these young and hopeful New Americans, I see endless hope and promise.
These were hard working people, not afraid to work 6 days a week. But they always took their Sundays to be with their family.

Today I went to a friends wine shop. Salesmen from the various companies, in a frenzy to ship their products, had made a mess of the wine set. A colleague and I worked to re-adjust the selection so that all the products would be shown in their best light. It's what I call my “rising tide lifts all boats” theory of setting a store. We spent the day there.

Saturday, I spent 5 hours in the shop, talking to people about their latest trips to Italy. One family just spent 25 days in Tuscany with a little time in the Cinqueterre and Rome. Another couple spent time in Umbria; Todi, Perugia, and Assisi. Folks looking to re-connect with something they felt in Italy.

My family had the great fortune to happen upon California when it was most like Italy. Memories of that are all that remain, for me. My California fell off the map some time ago.

But, I’ll always have Italy.


Tags:
california,california barbeque,Old California,Sunday meals, Italy, wine, Travel, italian wine guy, wine guy, On the Wine Trail in Italy,
Italian Wine Guy ®

Want to Visit a Winery in Tuscany? Plan Ahead

I have just finished getting what I hope is the last of this kind of e-mails that I don’t want to get anymore. They went like this:

Dear Italian Wine Guy,
Thanks for setting us up at Castello di Greatness. Unfortunately we got delayed (read: saw the Prada outlet and just had to stop for an hour or two), and never made it. But I’m sure it would have been a great visit. I never realized that Piedmont was so far away from Tuscany. Anyway, thanks. We’ll look the wine up back in the states, and order it the next time we see it on a wine list.
Regards,
Joe (the Ugly American) Consumer

A few hours later I got an e-mail from the winery:

Dear Italian Wine Guy,
Where are the people you asked us to give a tour and tasting for? We drove in from Milano, especially for this appointment, as we don’t live at the winery. We brought our mother with us to cook lunch. She made noodles for the afternoon meal. Are they not coming?
Please don’t ask us to entertain people for you if they don’t show up. Especially during the harvest.
Regards,
Giuseppe (the Angry Italian) Winemaker

In my work, people often ask me to set them up to visit a winery. Sometimes, all they want is a tasting, and that’s fine. But some folks think we are travel agencies that have a plethora of what would be free food and wine and rooms at winery castles and estates. At their disposal. At a moment’s notice.

One fellow begged, at the last minute, for a place to stay in Tuscany. He was finishing a picture book on the region and needed to immerse himself in the wine country. He had left his cell phone at home, taken his blackberry for e-mail (note to last-minute guy: Blackberry’s have a phone function, and you can also buy neat, inexpensive cell phones that work in Europe), but didn’t check his e-mail often. When he did, he was slow to respond, if at all. He showed up late (3 days), stayed at the place (gratis), never asked to see the underground cellars (impressive), and then, as an act of (last minute, what else?) “kindness,” gave the estate owner a dog-eared copy of a book he’d done on the wines of Tasmania. Or the Okanagan. I don’t know if he ever took pictures there, for I never got a follow-up call from him. Or a thank-you. Nor did the winery owner.

Another group, right around the end of the high season, asked me to get them into a winery. Only, they didn’t show up for the first place (layover in Paris was delayed), and when they got to the second place, they didn’t stay the whole time. They abandoned the rooms that were “set aside” for them. Rooms that could have been used for other folks. I got a call on that one, too.

So what do you do if you are really a bonafide wine tourist, but want to get an insight into the workings of the Italian wine process? There are many wineries in Italy that have tour times. Castello di Gabbiano in Greve is a good example. They also have a good restaurant on site and wonderful accommodations in their newly restructured, 12th century castle.

Borgo Scopeto in Castelnuovo Berardenga also has an upper-end Relais, suites, tastefully done, and a wonderful restaurant on-site and a pool. This is a newer estate, dating from the 13th century. They can also arrange a visit down the hill to the winery.

Nearby, Borgo Monastero has a renovated 8th century monstery complete with underground wine cellars and a daily wine-tasting. The rates are very reasonable, and the rooms have their own kitchens in case you want to try your own hand at La Cucina Toscana. Their winery is also nearby.

Many towns in Tuscany, have places where the collective wine output is gathered. A fascinating example is in Greve, Le Cantine di Greve in Chianti. This place is wonderful in that you can put down 10 or 20 euros and they give you a card, charged, and you can go from wine to wine and taste some or many of the examples. They have wines from all over Tuscany, and olive oils, too. Their museum of wine is interesting to the novice or connoisseur alike.

The Enoteca Italiana in Siena is a great place to look at wines from all over Italy. It is not just a regional wine showplace, it is the National Wine Chapel.

Villa Nottola in Montepulciano is a complete wine experience. Wine tasting, restaurant, lodging, large groups, small groups.

Castello Banfi in Montalcino has it down to an art form. The founders, John and Pam Mariani really get it. They understand hospitality and American interest in all-things-wine. A fabulous tour (3 weeks in advance please- plan ahead) , a glass museum that is not to be missed and a great dining place, the Taverna. The Italians I saw there on my last stop were loving the wine shop and the restaurants. Not just for American tourists. The Italians were digging on it big time. For a virtual peek, go here.

So there are ways to get an inside look. It just takes a little advance planning. The Italians look upon this as hospitality, and anyone who knows the Italians know hospitality is a sacred thing.

When someone doesn’t show up for a visit, that person breaks the sacred link. Wine-touring is about friends and family, warmth and the hearth. It’s a way to get a glimpse of modern people in the age-old cycle of the harvest and the bounty of the earth. It’s a way to experience a way of living we seldom see. A time when time was slower and people were more thoughtful. That is something our wine-tourists can use a little of; to show consideration for the process and the feelings of the people, whose lives they are about to descend upon.After all, you are in their home.



A little light reading on the subject?
Too Much Tuscan Sun by Dario Castagno with Robert Rodi

Tags: Italy, wine, Travel, chianti, sangiovese, Tuscany, italian wine, Red Wine, italian-wine, italian wine guy, wine guy, On the Wine Trail in Italy

...a Universe of Joy

"Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field."

I was a little swayed on this post. It’s a special couple of days in Italy. All Saints Day, followed by All Souls Day. Last night I had a dream about my dear, dear wife, who passed away almost 6 years ago. I don’t know why she came to me in this dream, but I am grateful for the contact.

She wasn’t a involved in the wine world, but she loved wine. Whenever we would go to Italy and stay in the vineyards, the Italians would love her. She was a bright star in my world.

Once, at Castello di Monsanto in Tuscany, we spent a few days there in the guest house. The Bianchi family was warm and ever so gracious in their hospitality. It was a wonderful slice of watermelon-time.

In October, I ventured back to the estate, once again to have a meal and to visit the winery. Laura Bianchi and her father, Fabrizio, hosted my visit. The winery has grown as has the Bianchi family. But that is something one can read about in many places.

In four places on this recent trip I felt a presence. Actually, in five. I’ll talk about the fifth first. I was on my way from Montalcino to Montechiello and planned a stop in Pienza. Having only seen the hill-top village by fast moving bus and from a distance, somewhere in the distant past, this little town took on mythic proportions.

Iris and David’s blog, We’re Just Sayin’ threw a few logs on the fire. And Zeffirelli did too, so very long ago. I guess you had to be there.

My dear-one-who-now-has-passed-away, likes to remind me, from time to time, that matter changes form, but cannot be created or destroyed. I love her scientific side now. Anyway, she zinged me in Pienza, a couple of times. Out of the blue, she appeared, made eye contact, and around a cosmic corner she retreated, as if to say, “I’m kind of busy now, but just checking in with you. You OK? Good, gotta go now, love you, bye.”

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Some of you might be thinking that I am downright disrespectful of the departed. Too bad. Deal with it. Were you there? Did you die? As far as I am concerned, she can appear all she wants to. It’s OK with me. I know the pain she had, the pain we shared. I’m working my way through the tunnel and she’s stardust riding on a moonbeam. Pienza, who would have thought? And I kept wondering why this place, another hill-top town, kept calling me. Thanks, Great Spirit!

Where were we? The other four places I felt a presence? It’ll have to wait for the next time. It’s another kind of presence anyway. But a presence, on the wine trail in Italy, that is worth telling about. Next time.

For now, a glass of Vin Santo, a bowed head. An enduring sadness surrounded by a universe of joy.

Pictures ~ From the Wine Trail in Tuscany

Pictures ~ from the wine trail in Tuscany

Or, if you prefer, the Slide Show.

That Fine Italian Hand

1972- The author, at his grandmothers table. It was

the dawning of the age of a curiousness about things Italian.

Made by hand, hand-rolled pasta, hand-sewn shoes, hand-tilled soil, hand-crafted. For as long as I can remember there has been a sense of importance over the making of something with one’s hands. Italy can lay claim to being at the epicenter of that development over many years.

Just look at my grandmothers table. Everything on it was made by her. She didn’t have a Viking 6 burner stove with double oven and salamander broiler. She didn’t have a stainless steel SubZero double fridge with separate built in cooling and crisping drawers. She made her food by hand. She grew some of her food in the back yard between the fig trees and the roses.

On a recent trip to Tuscany and the area around Montalcino, people were using their hands. The American Italian Chef, Damian Mandola, raising his left hand in a conductors approach to orchestrating a meal at his hillside villa. The industrial giant, Lionello Marchesi, in a moment of confidence with his winemaker and then in a show of gratitude for all he has been given. Banfi’s leader, John Mariani, explaining with his hands an approach, one that changed the face of sleepy little Montalcino and propelled it from one of the poorest hill-top towns in the 1970’s, to now, one of the wealthiest ones. Starting with the hand.

Most sacred to many Italians is the land. From the land the work by the hand brings some amazing things. An estate near Leonardo da Vinci’s home is shown here, a study in order and composition. There are vines in the scene.
The hand tools that work the grape harvest. My friends, The Losi family, thought it odd that I’d stop and make a picture of their brooms and shovels, stained with the blood of Jove.
The hand made noodles. Both my grandmothers made them, as my mom does and sisters too. My aunt Amelia had a little apartment with electric burners. She could out cook Batali in that kitchen.
Paula Lambert-i, in her kitchen in Montalcino, feeding 12 people from a single pan. Herbs and vegetables from the back yard (again), no one went to bed hungry. Or thirsty.
And while sometimes living in Italy seems like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, ask most Italians. They may leave home in the physical sense, but they will be living on Mars and hanging out the hand-made casalinga for the afternoon meal. It’s meals like those last week and 34 years ago, that make for great memories.



Tags: Italy, wine, Travel, chianti, sangiovese, Tuscany, italian wine, Red Wine, italian-wine, italian wine guy, Made in Italy

High Galestro ~ The Pyrite of Panzano

"No foolin', there's gold in them thar' hills"

I had been on this road a few times. A couple of times in the dark. Lost. Oh, and going the wrong way. So I was getting pretty good on the ol' SR222, once known as the ancient trail of the sheep.

An early departure in the morning, as we had a 10 a.m. appointment at Castello dei Rampolla. Right. Somewhere between Siena and Greve we got a call on the cellular. The agronomist was coming, could we delay our arrival? No problem.

While the light was still fresh and bright we parked in Panzano and made an orbit around the little hilltop village. In 4 days this town would transform into a bazaar of butchers, for the annual "We are macelleria men and we love to eat meat" fest.

Checcucci was already preparing the pigs, and closer towards the town gates Dario Cecchini was cranking up the Puccini and dusting off Dante in his venerable chapel to Chiannina.

But ours was a different mission, to go where no man has gone before, at least with the aid of a map.

Cecchini led us out his door and offered his take on the road to Rampolla. Follow the cobblestone road, past Checcucci, where we get our prosciutto, and turn left at the church, right at the stop. There, you will find a meadow, where the bees make the finest honey that we use for our morning toast. Go to the next church and take the road left. Then you will find some signs and follow them to the ancient castle. OK, that seemed easy enough.

Once there, we spotted the owners in the fields with their consultants. Signs everywhere saying, "Tachis was here." I could see why he was excited. The vineyard hummed with the life of the earth it was sewn into. This is a golden shell of energy; I was waiting to find a crop circle around the corner.
They practice "Biodynamic" here; hence, the rack of bull’s horns waiting for the mixture of concentrated manure from the 7th bull of the 7th bull. Full moon was 2 weeks away. A lot of folks who have wished the wish - "I wish I could be a fly on the wall"- are getting their afterlife-karmic requests granted here.

They have a young winemaker, Marcus, with deep, penetrating slate-blue eyes, tall, upright, a welcome addition to the Tuscan table. Marcus was born in Germany, raised among the steep, dark, schist-laden vineyards of his homeland. There is a heaven for some. The payoff is work in the sun. Not a lot of money, which is another story for that young generation.

The wines of Rampolla still resonate within me. The finish is lingering in a way I rarely feel in wine. It isn't just a bottle of wine. I don’t know if it is even wine in the strict sense of it. Yes, they use grapes and barrels and bottles and corks. But I am still tasting those wines!

What was Daniel Thomases thinking the last time he tasted, and wrote about, these wines? Shame on him. I think he liked the wines, but other than a score, where's the passion? In this arena, a score of 89 or 98 is irrelevant. Did the owners strike him in the wrong way on that day, using tu instead of lei? They never showed up on my visit either. Big deal.

What did show up that day, as has been the case for millions of years, were the bees and the lizards, the flowers and the dirt, the high-galestro scrigno, this treasure chest of pyrite whereupon the vines sit and flourish, making merry in the sun. Wine for us mere mortals to sip, perchance to dream, the dream of Dionysius. And linger over Sangiovese fit for the gods.

I walked a mile for a Sammarco.


Tags: Italy, wine, Travel, chianti, sangiovese, Tuscany, italian wine, Red Wine, italian-wine, italian wine guy, wine guy, On the Wine Trail in Italy,biodynamic