Fun Tina, Bar Talk and Fran's List

No animal was harmed to make this meal- Take that, Bertolucci

One of the conflicts about having a job and writing a blog is that sometimes there isn’t enough time to do it all.Yesterday was a long day. I got home after 9:00 pm. A reception for Italian trade, followed by chat sessions around the bar at Bicé.

What I really want to do is a list. But I have these pictures and they need to be woven in. I don’t know why, but that is the way my mind works. So let’s have at it.


Do we all secretly want to eat dog food in Hell?
I talked with one of my colleagues tonight, on the way home. He is worried about his daughter, because her dog found a tampon in the garbage and ate it. Of course, the dog got sick and had to go in to get unplugged.

Word to the dog – chase something that shows signs of life. Look at the cat chasing the mouse. Do you see a pattern here?

The list
1) Re: Sales - Find the live ones.


Is there nothing today’s chef won’t plug?
Recently Molto Nascario could be found blogging on a website called Serious Eats, called Mario Unclogged. That lasted about 15 minutes. Then he started his own blog and that lasted about as long as it takes to digest one of those hot dogs from street vendors in New Orleans. Yes, Reginald, as you say, "talk about a confederacy of dunces." Heaven help us if he starts hawking for Kohler.

Word to MM – you have enough money – now stop.

The List
2) Re: Livelihood - Sauté or get off the pot.


How many Italians can you fit into a Taxi?
In New York, or Buenos Aires, getting around town in a taxi is a way of life. In Dallas or Houston, not really. Out west, until the oil runs dry or the polar ice caps melt, we will continue to ferry folks around in SUV’s or Minivans. It’s all part of the heritage of the covered wagon culture. Heck of a job, Biondi.

Word to Mimi – you have enough money – now stop.

The List
3) Re: Knowing when to get out- before the cab starts rolling.


Vinitaly is in 82 days – Do you have a room?
Every year, on the day after Vinitaly, I go to a hotel I saw along the way, to reserve for the next year. And every time they tell me they have no room. That is the Italian Funk to me, and that is why Italians will be the last to know that they have collectively been complicit in the funkification of a great country.

Word to Verona – Vegas is watching - and waiting.

The List
4) Re: Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue – or lofty expectations?


Speaking of a blue funk
Lately, everyone I ask, Italian or American living in Italy, have all resoundingly opined that Italy is in deep donkey-doo. A young Sicilian, living in Texas, says it’s because they went off the lire. A Texan-now-Tuscan confirms, even though Bella Italia is wonderful, trying to get things done, without “cheating”, is impossible.

34-year-olds from Italy write me, telling me they want to move to South America. American youth write to me, telling me they want to go work for free in Italy. Who’s on first?

Word to 30-somethings everywhere- even though your parents raised you, in Italy and California, that they loved you just-the-way-you-are, the rest of the world didn’t sign off on that.

The List
5) Re: Having it your way – unless you’re a genius or your family has gazillions – You’re going to have to do it the old-fashioned way: You’re gonna hafta earn it – just like the rest of the folks on earth.


Did someone say donkey?
Whatever happened to the secret Italian wine project, Three Girls and a Donkey? Well the girls are still around, but the donkey got fired. Seems he didn’t want to carry wood down the hill. Thought he was a real estate mogul.

Word to donkeys who buy homes in Brooklyn and stop going to work- The bubble burst. And don’t you look ridiculous walking around your home town in a robe? What would your mother say?

The List
6) Re: Making money without working – It’s like those vibrating exercise machines from the 1950’s. If you don’t sweat you probably won’t last – not in this business.


Fun Tina
“When the legs go, I’ll stop wearing those short skirts”, was the word heard on the street. Well, the old man is gone, and the estrogen is running out. So drink your drink and dance your dance, 'cause it’s 1:50 in the morning and time for last call.

Word to young men looking to bag a cougar at the bar – Get back in your cage. Your nets are out of their range.

The List
6) Re: The End – it’s closer than you think.

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

In the Silence of the Desert

As a young boy I would sit out in the desert and talk to my old friend whenever my mom and dad were arguing or when I was alone and didn’t have anyone else to talk to. Growing up in Palm Springs was a gift. It was a small town (locals called it “the Village”), the night skies were breathtaking, and my old friend, Mt. San Jacinto, was considered an ancient and wise one by the Native Americans, the Agua Caliente Cahuilla tribe.

I would sit before that majestic pile of primordial rocks and pour my heart out, and old San Jacinto would talk back. Sometimes it would be in a dream, and sometimes it would be far in the future. But my meetings with the wise old man would be an important part of my upbringing and a source in my life for silent counsel and revelation.

From the years I lived in the desert and into the times when I would return, there have been special memories of events and encounters that oddly intersect some of my experiences on the wine trail in Italy. I’d like to share a few of them with you.

Capture the Flag
As Boy Scouts, we’d often camp around the desert. One place we camped was Chino Canyon, at the base of Mt. San Jacinto. I loved being a Boy Scout, for it got me away from home and feeling self reliant, an independence that, in those days, was a safe way to loosen the umbilical cord a little at a time. One of my favorite past times was playing Capture the Flag. Basically it is a free-for-all between two teams of boys, played in darkness. In the desert, if there wasn’t a moon, there were always plenty of stars to keep the night from being pitch black. We were two packs of wild boys, with few rules, intent on capturing players on the other side and ultimately, the flag. What I loved about it was the freedom, the uncertainty, with some fear of loss, and the thrill of victory. All this taking place under the desert sky, running around, not worrying about the snakes, tarantulas, scorpions, coyotes or bobcats. It was pure joy.

I liken it to a wine I had recently from Liguria, a Pigato. Also a desert dweller, in the semi-arid hills around Imperia, Pigato has that wildness and racy quality about it that is exciting and ultimately joy-giving.

Midnight at the Oasis
Another Boy Scout camping trip. This time we were at the 1000 Palms oasis. Surrounded by wind-whipped dunes and the occasional out cropping of Tamarisk trees. 1000 Palms always seemed exotic and mysterious to me. This time we were invited to a wedding ceremony of an Agua Caliente couple. I remember the music and the drums. It all seemed so natural, not like when we would go to Disneyland and see some watered-down re-creation of life in America before the European invasion. No, this was a simple ritual, performed with grace and respect. I loved it. I remember, for some reason, fried bread. And dates. After the wedding, we went back to our tents on the Western Front.

This time I recall a Franciacorta, a style called Saten, which is calmer and subdued. It has a nice toasty, yeasty nose, reminding me of the fried bread. And the silky quality of the Saten is a wonderful wine for a ceremony, even if it is only with baked eggs on a Sunday morning. Of course it would taste better if we were camping outside and cooking the bacon over an open fire.

Lost Horizon
Often we would hike up Tahquitz Canyon to the falls. Frank Capra made the place famous when he used it in a scene from his movie about Shangri-La. Frank was a Sicilian from the same village as my father’s parents. They spoke the same Arberesh dialect, so I have been told.

In the 60’s, hippies would go up to the falls, get naked and take LSD. I would go up there and film them. The 10 minute 16mm film I made has long since disappeared, along with some of those souls. But the place was so beautiful, and in the heat of the desert in the summertime, to walk a couple of miles and be able to take a dip in the cool mountain water was a thrill of nature. We were living in paradise.

What kind of wine from the trail corresponds with an experience like that? For me it would have to be a wine that would be white, cool and exotic. Something like a Malvasia from Lipari or a Torcolato from the Veneto. Just a little sip, not too much. Just a touch to rekindle such fond memories.

Engaging the Bruja
In later years after I had moved away, I went to a gathering in Palm Canyon. We had the baby with us. Somewhere along the way I got separated from the family, and in a little nook of the canyon, along the trail, a native woman approached me. She was young, like me at the time, and possessed an aura of power about her. She confronted me, not in an angry manner but as one alpha animal to another in the wilderness, testing the other's relevance. It was right out of Castaneda, but it didn’t scare me. It was almost like recognizing one of the creatures in the desert and knowing not to disturb its place. With rattlesnakes, one can sense them near by their unique odor, similar to heather, dust, a little mildew, rotting truffles and sage. The spirit woman wanted to know why I was here. I told here I was not here to disturb her or challenge her, merely to show my son the desert. I often wonder what happened to the bruja. Did we ever meet as children? Or was she a spirit, in the guise of a coyote or a spider, testing my will?

I am reminded of a Sicilian wine when I think of this memory. The wine is Lamúri from Tasca d’Almerita. Native red, Nero d’Avola, grown in sandy soils and tempered in French oak. Taking the indigenous desert daughter and confronting it with the wood of the Great White Father. Testing the will of the wine.
Lamúri, which means love in Sicilian dialect, reminds me of that moment in the desert when lightning struck.

I have never told these stories to anyone, but they make up a part of my core that is as important as my Italian heritage. It is my connection to this native land where I was born.

I have a childhood friend who is Agua Caliente. We have known each other for many moons. I think of her and remember her as a sister.

Sometimes when I dream I go back to the desert and visit my old friends, the shamans and the wise ones who watched over me when I was a young one. I also feel their watchful presence on the wine trail in Italy.

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

The Tango Lesson

OK, Italian winemakers, importers, suppliers, brokers and other hopefuls, listen up. Today we are going to have the tango lesson.

Recently a soon to be open Italian-styled restaurant decided that needed to know more about Italian wine. Over a period of a month, all of the local suppliers gathered up their samples and went about-a-courting.

Now, mind you, this is a group who seem to have their feet on the ground, most of the time. They have had successful businesses and give to charitable causes. They aren’t entertaining any grandiose ideas about conquering the Italian wine and food scene; they are just looking to open a nice place for the people in their area. They aren’t looking to do one spot as the concept model, with the idea of doing twelve more in a year. That’s a definite recipe for disaster.

They aren’t even talking as if they are or will soon be “the greatest”, another pitfall I have seen. All that’s left of those places are their matchbooks in my bathroom. They have died, and yes, not with a bang, but a whimper.

No, these folks are interested in change, and first in changing their ideas about Italian wine, and hopefully finding a style in their area that the local patrons will come to enjoy and appreciate. That’s what I get from hanging around them.

But there are so many wines to be tried from Italy and because the new place will be in an area where local folks consider the fine wines of the world to have names like Silver Oak, Screaming Eagle and Contoured Edge, wines with names like Camp du Rouss, Pergola Torte and Zanna are a bit “furrin”, and right now “furriners” are laying low.

Along with Italian wines they are also trying wines from everywhere else in the world.

That’s the background.

Today’s lesson is about the 150 or so wines vying for the eight slots available on the banquet and catering list. Eight. Period.

This day, in the dark of the early morning while the frost was still on the branch, eight or so of us vendors trekked out to the hinterlands of our urban sprawl and lined our foil covered wines up in rows so these Catechumens could be initiated into the sacred mysteries of the blind tasting.

The scent of a wine times 150 – now what are the odds that your wine will get picked? If you cringe at this kind of exercise, wake up, because this is happening everyday across the country, just like this, many times over. To get a single placement that may or may not bear fruit. I kid you not. It isn’t romantic, it isn’t pretty, nobody likes it, but it is one of the facts of life in these here United States, if you want to sell wine. So many wines aiming for so few slots.

So if you don’t like the odds, stay home under the warmth of your Tuscan Sun. Here, in the combat zone, it's cold and it's dark, no bright lights of "Dancing with the Stars". But this is the part of the business very few of us talk about. It’s the frontline of the battle fields, where we go daily to dance our dance as good as our wines will let us, hopefully with the form of a great tango dancer or ballet artist or even a Fred and Ginger. Yep, I’d happily trip the lights with F&G.


Capeesh?

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

The 35th of December

Today, in the parlance of the sales world, is the last day of the year. You see, in the wine business, we have this flexible view of the Gregorian calendar, and in order to reach some lofty goals, we have extended 2007 until today. It’s a new-math way to squeeze a little more out of the already hesitant retailers and the almost exhausted restaurateurs, who are entering a busy segment of their cycle for the next 3 months. For the retailers, though, stick a fork in them, they’re done.

It has been a rough, rough December. In my witnessing of the cycle of this wine business, this reminded me of 1990, right before we went into the first Gulf War. It reminded me of 1987, after the stock market crash of October. Also it was the beginning of an election cycle, always a year for conservative growth and sluggish tendencies.

So this is a bit of an industry wonks view, the state of the state of things. 2008 ain't gonna be pretty. Then again I had no idea 2007 would end this well.

December, though, has been the beginning of the downward spiral of the cycle, as I see it. The worrisome bit is, usually the alcohol industry rallies when the economy slumps. People self medicate. Witness the post-Katrina growth of business in Louisiana and New Orleans, especially. I’d drink more if it would make this 12 day headache go away. But that’s another story. The story this time is that people arent rushing to fill their liquor cabinets, in the same way as they used to.

I penned a quick email to another blogger on my way to tango lessons.

It’ll be interesting to see how the year 2007 will be viewed:

- By Italian suppliers
- By American importers

I'm seeing higher spikes in the sales increases, by dollars, than by cases, though only a by 1 percent. However, the sales in dollars, the money we take to the bank, vs. the actual cases, the actual stuff of wine, there is a disparity and it is growing. so while some of the importers will crow about what a great year it has been (not too bad) I wonder what the actual producers will say when they don't see more money in their coffers.

One of the interesting things about the weak dollar is that distributors sell less and make more. More money in the bank, because of the weak dollar? So why cry?

There is still the problem of those cases....and 2008 looming with an election year combined with inflation (we're seeing it out there in the hinterland) and, oops we're sending our illegal workforce back to where they came from....not too good for the restaurant segment.....

It’ll be a year that I'm sure many will be glad to be viewing from their rear view mirrors, from a financial perspective that is.

Gotta go, tango lessons in 30 minutes.... today's winner gets the bombacha...


Already new suppliers are emailing and calling for appointments. I looked at our inventory today and we have as much on order as we already have in warehouses. That would be a response to the price increases and an attempt to load up on already proven items in an attempt to forestall increases to the trade. Buying time by buying on time. Forget about just in time, this time. Roll ‘em in, hope like hell to sell them before the slow moving report sends them to Purgatory (close-out land).

And still more suppliers knock, wanting to get in. Please send 100 more great salespeople and 500 more great accounts. Then let's tawk.

Or, make sure the wholesalers make 30%, the retailers make 40%, and it still looks like a bargain to the consumer. Oops again, we’ve been wal-marted. Thank God wine doesn’t yet come from China in vast quantities. Then again, look at shoes. Or better, try to find a pair of shoes that aren’t made in China. Or ties. Better save your old clothes, get your shoes repaired and trek on over to Italy once in a while for replacements. Made in Italy by Bulgarians, Ethiopians or Chinese, now isn’t that better? Especially for those making them?

So what’s the re-solution, Watson?

Bear down, eyes on the road. Keep it simple, put down the machines. Look the customer in the eye (instead of the computer). Make contact, show commitment, dig in, feel their pain. Carry the load, no quick fixes, win hearts. Dance with your partners, speak the truth and never, never give up.




Feliz Año Nuevo!

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

Photos: Buenos Aires

All Roads Lead To...

My adult introduction to Italy was August 15, 1971. I had decided on my twentieth birthday in July that I would go to Italy by myself. So I bought a round trip ticket from Los Angeles to Rome for $900.00, a tidy sum then.

When I landed in Rome on that hot August day, and decided to try walking from the airport to the city, all it took was to get as far as the giant statue of Leonardo da Vinci, to convince me, backpack and all, that I should probably catch a bus.

Once I arrived at the Stazione Termini in Rome I decided to look for a place to exchange dollars for lire. Impossible, it was a national holiday, Ferragosto. It was also a Sunday. To make matters worse, Nixon had just devalued the dollar. I walked around the neighborhood of the train station, found a little pensione on the Via Palestro near the university and somehow managed to talk the landlady into letting me have a room.

I was excited and a little bit jet lagged, so I set my gear down and decided on a little nap. Some hours later I awoke to the sounds of an Italian television program in the kitchen. I thought I had slept for days, but it was probably 4 or 5 hours, just enough to keep me from getting on Italian time.

The kind landlady made me a plate of pasta and some vegetables, and offered a glass of red wine. How wonderful it all tasted. Here I was in a strange boarding house in a big city with people I didn’t know, who were treating me like family. It was a moment that really made me see Italy and Italians through a lens that I still sometimes use. We were only 25 years away from the liberation of Italy during World War II; perhaps the landlady took pity on the young American. It wasn’t that much money, I think with half pension it was about 1,500 lire, or $2.50 a day. My room I would have to share if someone else came in. But it never happened that anyone else came to that pensione in August.

Walking around Rome during the day would be my introduction to Italy. And I walked everywhere, with my cameras, photographing everything in black and white, Tri-X film, with my Canon rangefinder cameras. I was living the dream of a young man to be a street photographer, and Rome was my canvas.

From the Villa Borghese to the Fontana di Trevi, the Sistine Chapel to the Baths of Caracalla, there was no backdrop that I wouldn’t shoot in the blistering heat and humidity of Rome in August.

In that time the city was quiet, many people out of town in cooler places. Just a few tourists and the workforce of Rome, who stayed behind to keep the city running. Many shops were closed for the month, but there was enough life in the Eternal City to get a feel for a place that humans have inhabited for thousands and thousands of years.

Even though I don’t get to Rome so often these days, I have an affection for the city that took me in as a young man, without lire and without being able to speak much of the language. I had my Michelin guide, my cameras and my desire to learn about the country of my grandparents. This would not be my last trip to Italy, but rather the beginning of many visits to Italy and to Rome.





Notes on the photos - they were all taken in Rome in 1971 with my Canon rangefinders.

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

It’s a Wonderful Year

During this past year, On the Wine Trail in Italy has been a pretty good trip. Many wonderful encounters with our Italian wine colleagues. A few ventures off the Italian trail into France, Napa, Sonoma, New York and all across Texas. I’ve met some relatives I didn’t know I had, made some new friends, kept up with some old ones, said farewell to some others. Life is taking us on this spaceship earth to new experiences everyday. Getting older, maybe a little wiser, sometimes a little more tired, but when a new day breaks through it’s a whole new ballgame.

Just a short thanks to those of you reading who have been coming back to these pages, reading about whatever has been on my mind, every Sunday, Wednesday and Friday now for over a year and a half. I have a friend or two who tell me they don’t have time to read everything I write, it’s just too much. Believe me, I know what they mean. It’s like something has gotten ahold of me and is sifting itself through these transmitters, as if there is a race for time and it just has to happen. I don’t really know where it is taking me and not sure for how long, but as long as the energy is there, we’ll keep transmitting.

Next year there will be some changes. Sometime I’d like to clean up this site and make it purtier. Somewhere inside, I imagine, a book is making its way to a shore somewhere. There may only be one, but I imagine it’ll need to be dealt with. Lord knows, I’ve written enough in a year for a book, so the discipline has been forged. Now if I can just make sense of all these ideas, thoughts, emotions and hopes I've got inside well enough to express something that would justify tearing down trees in order to make the paper. We’ll see, we’ll see.

I ride around all day with my sidekick, the one that I’ve been riding with all my life and I'm a little surprised when I look in the mirror and see that aging fellow that looks like my father. Inside I’m still a 25 year old young'un with a lot of hopes and some fears, some innocence, and some fire. I’m not going to let them snuff the fire as long as I can help it. It seems sometimes, that all I’ve got. But I look around and I see my peers getting older and older and giving in or giving up and I just am not going to go quietly. So I better find something to say.

All this to say to those of you who have read some of what I have written in the last year or so, thank you for coming by and staying a while, I really appreciate it. There are more of you reading and writing back with kind words of encouragement. I only have one thing to say: send money. Nah, just kidding.

So where will the Italian wine trail take us next year? Who in God’s name knows? As we say in Texas, I reckon we’ll just have to set back and see where it takes us. It’s a process, it’s a goal, it’s a circus. That’s what it really is, a circus. And we're all sitting in the seats, under the big tent, waiting for the elephants and the tigers and the clowns.

Ladies and Gentlemen, children of all ages, see you all next year.

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

Eggplant, Caesar and Pudding

The wines I have been enjoying over the past few days?

Christmas Eve the kids came over to the house for the Eggplant, Caesar and Pudding Eve meal.

Three wines from Piemonte:
1999 Anselma “Vigna Rionda” Barolo
2001 Cortese “Rabaja” Barbaresco
2002 Damilano Barolo

I opened the Anselma first, to have before the meal started and then worked it around the room. Pleasant, with some life in it. The acidity was bracing, the fruit was glorious and the overall balance was just right. The wine was 14%.

I was excited to open the Cortese Barbaresco, a cru from Rabaja. Two bottles, the first one, as expected, was a little softer in the acidity than the Barolo. The fruit was rich and plum-like. It was served with the eggplant dish, this timbale of eggplant, hard boiled eggs, mozzarella, reggiano and tomato sauce. It went very well. Unfortunately the second bottle, which we needed, was corked. The wine was 13.5%.


I punted with the Damilano, which would have benefited from some air. However it disappeared soon enough. Free wine and young ones (all legal drinking age) have a way of emptying bottles. The Damilano was tight, with focused fruit flavors. In spite of the 2002 vintage the wine was still 14%.

The salad, my classic Caesar, the one that I made, tableside, hundreds of times, in the 1970’s and early 1980’s, was mellow enough and underdressed in a proper way so as to allow wine to be enjoyed with it.

We finished with chocolate pudding (made from scratch – America’s Test Kitchen cookbook) and vin Santo.

On Christmas day we had a family invitation. The meal centered on a beautiful ham, garlic-cheese grits, and many wonderful vegetable dishes. I brought two wines to enjoy with that meal.

The 2003 Petra a Cabernet Merlot from the Maremma and a 2006 Wehlener Sonnenuhr Spatlese from Dr. Loosen.

The Petra was something I thought the gang would like, as they started out drinking Merlot from California and afterwards stayed in the Cabernet category. They all seemed to love it and I should have brought more. Again, young folks (again, all legal) and free wine, the bottle emptied before I could get a sip.


I was perfectly happy sipping on the Wehlener with the ham. Confession: I love German Rieslings, especially during the holidays. The wine usually matches well with the foods, the alcohol is lower, so I can drive home unimpaired, and usually folks go after the big reds, so the bottle and I have our high noon moment enjoying each others company before one of us dies, which is always the bottle. I am a faster draw.

The Wehlener had that shower of slate softened by the rasp of fruit that entered the palate ever so gracefully. I could have taken the bottle outside and sat on a swing (it was 65 degrees F and sunny) and made a day of it.

The ham, the grits, the Wehlener, one of those magic match points in food and wine. I like the Noble Riesling grape, I am a closet Riesling lover, yes it is true, guilty as charged.


We have another week of outings. The end of the year is upon us. In the wine business, we still have two more week of selling this year. Something we call the extended selling season, in order to make the numbers. The year 2007 will end on December 35th. More about that phenom in another post.


A presto!

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

Let Us Praise the Farmer

Controguerra, Abruzzo 1984 - Italy was a mess then too

The recent articles about Italy being in a funk, having just been surpassed by Spain in living standards, the national discussion about the “malessere”, and a general discontent with the way things are in Italy are part of a cycle that the Italian soul goes through. I cannot offer any solutions in the short term, but I think there is parallel story.

The discussions are often at a table at the end of a meal, when bellies are full and the room is warm. When one eats well and then sits back to discuss the other problems that need to be solved (hunger having been vanquished), it’s easy to see why this kind of dialogue is taking place. During the holidays, when more families and friends are gathered in such a manner and when the topic is flying about, there is an inherent love for discourse, for argument, for conflict and resolution.

The arguments can linger, after grappa, after the short Tuscan cigars, after all the telling and the retelling of the jokes. If nothing is resolved, then there is always that faithful plate of spaghetti al peperoncino in the early hours of the morning.

It’s easier on a full belly. But is the farmer in the country having these conversations, these fears, these doubts?

We sit in our luxury of affluence, able to talk about where such and such a country or a culture is heading, while someone on earth dies of hunger every 3.6 seconds.

Bucita, Calabria 1977 - The economy ground to a sudden halt. Political crisis and stagflation led to the formation of a government of national unity, as left-and right-wing terrorism spread.

It wasn't that long ago when I went to visit relatives in Southern Italy, and hunger wasn’t that far removed from their daily fears. My cousins, Luigi and Antonio, were simple fellows who worked the land. They were farming their crops and harvesting their grapes. They made wine and worked their little plots for food for the table. The table that we take for granted, as we bring home groceries and worry about what to do with the bags they came in.

A woman in Rome recently lamented, “I’m buying fewer presents this year, and cheaper ones. And as for food . . .” Eleven per cent of Italian families live under the poverty line.

David, who lives in the US but whose daughters are Italian citizens, worries about them. He confides to me that one of his daughters is getting politically active, that there is an undercurrent of anger among the young, tired of waiting for the older population to share the wealth.

So while we witness this stirring in the Italian soul, what about the farmer? Where is his place in this opera? And what have we to say to the ones who help to provide food for the tables which fill our bellies which lead us into discussions of whether we have lost our way or our soul or our purpose? What about the farmer?

From my perspective, I also wonder, once one gets all that they think they need, from a materialistic point, then what? And if one continues to want a bigger house, a faster car, a younger wife, and gets it and it doesn’t solve anything, then what?

I had a note from another friend in California who, it appears, is shedding his materialistic trappings. He almost died a few years back when he turned 50, from cancer, and since then his discipline with yoga has helped to keep him alive. He actually has become a different kind of person. I think he might look at this and simply say that we have too much stuff. I agree.

Italy, take this holiday time to discuss with your friends and family. Delve into what really is essential for your life. Do you really need another perfume? Or another leather handbag? Or a new motor scooter? Do you really need to buy that villa in the Maremma or that vineyard in Montalcino? Does that Super Tuscan blend really need to cost as much as a Napa Cabernet or a second growth from Bordeaux? Do you really need to raise prices to keep up with the appearance of success because your neighbors are? Do you really need to take all that time off and then, when it is all said and done, not even have the money to spend in that free time? Do you really need to “keep up” in a time when 800 million people around the world go to bed hungry? Ask yourself these questions, and while you are at it, get down on your knees and thank your farmers for giving you the sustenance so that you may ask these very civilized questions that have you and your countrymen in such a quandary.

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