Bloggers, Cloggers and Robot Jellyfish

Over the past few years I have gotten to know a few wine and food bloggers. Most of them live in New York and a few over by San Francisco way. I’ve spent time with a couple of them from my back yard (Texas) and have met a few who live or have lived in Italy. You can find some of them linked on the side of this blog. I am getting ready to go back to California for a week, to immerse myself in the Napa Valley Wine Writers Symposium. So before I head out west I’d like to say a few words about some of my fellow bloggers, cloggers and robot jellyfish.

I first met David Anderson in Dallas. David is an Italian ex-patriot, originally from Atlanta. He is an American who had been Italianized. Lately his blogging has gone more towards fashion, but I refer to and recommend his site for people who are traveling to Italy and looking for a good place to stay or a nice restaurant. Some of his finds are off the radar, so they can be real insider stuff.

I was an early reader of Tracie B’s My Life Italian. Now she has returned to Texas and I hope when she gets settled she will return to the blog. She is young, hopeful, smart and we’re glad she is in Texas. I am especially glad to have another Italian wine aficionado in the area.

Eric Asimov is a clogger (corporate blogger) who writes his blog through the NY Times. I met him last year at the Napa Valley Wine Writers Symposium. He’s a busy guy, and aren’t all journalists a little behind the eight ball, what with all their deadlines and understaffed departments?



I met Keith Beavers in NY at a little place he was working at. Keith has East Village Wine Geek and it has been an off and on blog. For one he has just opened up a new wine store. Now that it is open, the blog is back up and running. I like Keith, he’s always friendly and he’s hopeful. He hasn’t been spoiled into cynicism and he knows good wine from bad. Hopeful importers make note: Keith is a good barometer for anything you are thinking of bringing into NY or the greater NY metro area, commonly known as the rest of the US.

Fredric Koeppel is a prolific writer from Down South who, like me, lingers on the edge of civilization, hanging by a thread. I met him, also in NY, last year, at a wine luncheon for Viviani. He’s a unique character. I’ve heard him ranting lately about what he considers to be the sorry state of the wine industry. But I gather he loves great wine and thus, is a slave to the wine god. So I forgive him for his total and absolute cluelessness when it comes to understanding the reality of wine distribution. Most folks who rant about that stuff have no idea of the scale or the organization in that part of the business. It is alive and well and it is bigger than your head.


Gabrio Tosti has a blog and a wine shop, again in NY. Young and full of testosterone, he revels in giving everyone, from Asimov to Vaynerchuk, a piece of his mind. He loves the esoteric, and when he isn’t rolling his own, he actually finds time to write a post or sell some nice wines. Unpretentious, unlike some other Italian wine merchants in that city, Gabrio is what some Italian winemakers wish there were in every city, in big, bad America.

Marco Romano is a new find, also met in NY. Is there a pattern here? Bloggers really gravitate to NYC? Or just me? Anyway, Marco lives in upstate New York and right about now is probably getting pretty sick of the cold and the dark. He has a connection to New Orleans and understands some of the generational references I use. Marco, tune up your Lambretta and head to NY in May…you’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do.

I first found out about Regina Schrambling when I read a piece she wrote for the NYT about Pantelleria before 9-11. I had just been there and it seemed we liked some of the same things about that little island. She has been nice enough to correspond with me over these past 6-7 years. We met last fall, in NY, at the Fatty Crab, over a bottle of Etna Rosso. Hey, some of youse guys need to come to Texas, my airplane and hotel bills are piling up. Regina is more food oriented, but has a real appreciation for wine. I read her blog, Gastropoda, and am eagerly awaiting my decoding ring so I can always know who she is writing about. A good palate and a freelancer who has to get up every morning and fight to survive. No jetting about every 6 weeks to the South of France or the Costa Smeralda, this is a journalist who gets paid only for the words that get printed.

Another food writer, Derrick Schneider, from Berkeley. Derrick writes An Obsession with Food and Wine. We met also at the Napa Valley Wine Writers Symposium last year and we were hoping we’d see him there again. His writing is like having a meal at Chez Panisse. It’s clean, has depth and fills you up without stuffing you. Check his site out. He’s part of the new generation that is the future. Wonderful writer.

I met Jay Selman in Orange County, right around the corner from where I once lived. I was visiting my mom and sisters and stopped by his Grape Radio studio. A pioneer in the field and a really nice guy. I could fill up an Ipod with just his podcasts. You could learn all you needed to become write a wine expert by just listening to his programs.

I commented on Alder Yarrow’s Vinography, some time ago and was surprised to get a simple reply back, with a thank you. Here’s a guy who has a full-time job and puts out a blog with posts almost daily. Alder is an intense, serious, thoughtful guy and he approaches blogging very methodically. I also met him at the Napa Valley Wine Writers Symposium, where he has given presentations about wine from the blog-viewpoint. He has always been a good responder to email and I think his blog is a great reference for folks who want an uncluttered, no b.s. portal into the world of wine.

There are other bloggers I have met and I am sorry to not include them in this post. But it is getting late and I have to get some sleep. The parting shot I want to leave the room with is this: The internet has been a great way to meet new people and make new friendships and alliances. Blogging has been an extension of this and is such a more interactive way to make new connections than to just sit in front of a television. I feel like my tribe is out there, and even though we are sometimes the lost tribe, scattered about the world as we are, it is a new way to stay connected and engaged in the discussion and evolution of the wine world.

Oh, one more thing – the robot jellyfish? They are pictured here. Fear not, no animal has been harmed in the making of them. They're just something I picked up in Austin, when we were scouting a bistro for a SXSW event.

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

A Tale of Two Straws

During the month of March, winter prepares to slink out of the bones, making way for green and grow and sun and spring. In Bordeaux and Alba, the season lingers just a little longer than elsewhere. In both places there are practitioners of the wine trade that are busy with the business of the last harvest.

In Bordeaux, it is the courtier who has the hallowed position of puppet master, deciding which of their property’s wines get sold to those fortunate negociants. Some courtiers are friends and some are family. Some are even hated. But in Bordeaux, it’s all about business, order, method and moving bottles.

The courtier can be a brother-in-law of the chateau owner. Perhaps his sister has gotten him this position so he can provide his family with a comfortable, if modest, life. He takes his lunch downtown in Bordeaux, sometimes ordering a plate of oysters, at other times steak frites. Occasionally he will have a glass of red or white Bordeaux, but will rarely venture further afield. More often than not, he dines alone. During the offering time he might join several other courtiers to exchange client information or get the latest news on how the pricing is going up in the higher classifications of Bordeaux.

Over in Alba it goes a little differently. While Bordeaux is used to dealing with an international clientele for many years, Alba and Piedmont in general are new to this kind of interaction with the outside world. For so many years the wines were kept secret and only for the people in the Langa. Occasionally wine would make its way to Torino or Milano. But generally, this was a provincial trade. Which is not to say it was a joyless one. It’s all about observation, selection, inspiration and finding clients for whom this wine will resonate.

One any given day in March one can find the Italian wine mediatore enjoying any number of Piemontese specialties in the little cafes that dot Alba and its environs. One day it might be Polenta con merluzzi e cipolle, another day it could be agnello al forno. All this would be accompanied with a fresh Dolcetto or Barbera, Nebbiolo or Barbaresco. It can be a lengthy lunch followed by a leisurely walk under the bare trees lining an empty street in town.

While the courtier has a plum job, good money, easy work and respect for his position in the community, it is the Italian mediatore who has really gotten a better deal in life. Perhaps he won’t have the exposure to the world of commerce and the possibility of squirreling away a few extra Euros. But a warm fire with a bowl of roasted chestnuts and a fresh glass of Grignolino waits for him faithfully.

When the courtier goes back to his office, there is a telex or two with orders for wine from the estate he represents. He will give the order to the secretary to process the order or give it a lottery number in case the harvest is light and must be randomly assigned. He might call his wife or his father, for a quick and clinical chat. It might be to discuss what to have for dinner or to check on the father’s vineyard. He works daily, in a solitary manner. Only when the wine is considered a special vintage and there is scarcity will he get invitations to come to Paris for a weekend. If not, it is oysters and steak frites for lunch and perhaps a tureen and poached fish at home in the evening with his wife and only child, a quiet yet doting daughter.

Life in the Langa, aside from work, revolves around the elements. Perhaps there is a plot of vineyard in back of the home, a chestnut tree and a spot where the truffles appear. Down by the creek there are thrushes that make a wonderful ingredient for his wife’s risotto. Or perhaps earlier in the day she and her mother had made fresh tagliatelle for an evening dish of “Tajarin” al sugo de fegatini. Again, accompanied by a nice bottle of Dolcetto.

Next month there are those who will be sent to Bordeaux, to meet with the negociants and château owners and courtiers. They will go into town and eat oysters and steak frites and drink red and white Bordeaux. It will all be very calm and orderly and civilized. It is wonderful in the way it is so ordained, for those with whom this kind of life resonates.

And there will be those of us who will be assigned to go to Italy and Alba and meet with the winery owners and estate managers and mediatores. We will go up to La Morra, perhaps to stop for a meal at Belvedere, in the fog above the Langa, while tables of cheese hold us hostage inside until the sun burns the nebbia off. Or we might have a plate of carne cruda in insalata or Macaron del frét at the Antica Torre in Barbaresco.

And while I do enjoy Bordeaux wines, I am so very thankful that I pulled the straw that will be sending me to Italy late in the month of March.

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

Photographs by Ruth Douillette

Girls Night Out

Where do restaurant reviewers go when they all just want to let their hair down and enjoy a good meal? Many folks would like to know who they are and where they are. Last night, I was invited out to Chinese New Years with a whole bunch of them.

Yes, they do talk to each other and yes they are passionate about food and wine. And yes, they do love to dress up in disguises.

There are a few curious parallels between the world of the restaurant reviewer and the wine distributor. For one, there are many folks who think they can do a better job. I hear it all the time. Someone says to me, “I love to eat, I think I’d make a great restaurant critic.” Or “I love wine; I think I’m going to start importing it.” Knock yourself out.

A friend cast a sideways glance and a raised eyebrow at me the other day when I recanted some of my recent road trips. I got the impression that he didn’t feel too sorry for me. Not that I was looking exactly for sympathy, although I detected a hint of disgust in his gesture that said to me. “Look, you may call it work, but it isn’t hard work like I do.” That person would be correct, although to make the commitment to spend the amount of time I do, one would be better off if they didn’t have a wife and children. There is plenty to do and not all of it takes place between the daylight hours and in one’s home town. It is incessant and constant. And I do enjoy it.

Back to Chinese New Years. The meal was a three hour succession of small and communal plates. Jelly fish, duck gizzard, drunken chicken, flounder, a wonderful lobster and egg dish, plenty of protein and some dessert of little warm doughy balls that had a sesame paste inside that reminded me of an Abba Zabba.

Wine wise – I brought a few bottles. Among them were a Bruno Giacosa Brut, Joel Gott Chardonnay, Greco di Tufo from Mastroberardino, a couple of bottles of 1970 Chateau Latour, a 1990 Barolo Riserva from Cascina Bruni and a 1986 Zinfandel from Mazzocco (Cuneo and Saini Vineyard- 70 cases made). Of the '70 Latour, one was in prime form, the other was vinegar. The Barolo was a bit young and the Zinfandel was a graceful grandma, more wise than pretty. They didn’t really match too well with the food, but I didn’t know what to expect. I would love to have brought a Pigato and a Gavi, some of those dry Chenin Blancs from the Loire and maybe an oxidized white old-school Rioja.
Friday night, at the Dallas Morning News Wine Competition reception, I sampled a Vidal Blanc from Cedar Creek Winery in Wisconsin. The grapes were grown in New York. I found myself going back for more of that and another strange wine from Domaine Pinnacle. An ice apple wine from Quebec. Maybe I am in the sweet mood, maybe they were just different. They were tasty and delicious and righteously well made.

Early this morning at the Dallas Morning News Wine Competition, I sat in for Guy Stout who had to leave to proctor at the Court of Master Sommeliers in San Francisco. Good news, another one from Texas got his M.S. That would be young ‘un, Drew Hendricks, who worked himself beyond the limits of time and sanity. But he made it – A huge congrats to Drew Hendricks, M.S.

Back at the competition, at our tasting table this morning, there was a whole slew of Italianesque reds. I can’t say too much, for the whole morning sailed rapidly.

A decision soon for Vinitaly and what and who will be on the bus. I have a dear old friend who has never been to Italy. A serious wine person who sits at the table and takes the lesson from the grape as often as the rest of us who have been treading in the cellar of life. At one time a devout Francophile, now wanting to dip his hand in the font of Italian wine.

We twirl, we sniff, we sip and we spit. We taste, we make notes, recommend this or that and then someone goes to the café or the wine store or the internet and the march of progress goes forward. It’s not anything for the Nobel committee, but it’s a good livelihood, hard work, fair compensation and a life lived with a little joy and the hope for another sunrise to see and another bottle to open.

Romantic holiday heading our way this Thursday. It would also have been the birthday of dear Lizanne, who will be missed a full seven years, this coming Sunday.

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

On The Relationship Trail

When I first planned to visit Italy I spent time talking to a Jesuit priest from New Orleans, the Reverend Clement J. McNaspy. C.J., as he was known, was an intellect and a wit. He loved Italy. He had an amazing grasp of Sicilian culture and was plugged into the Roman Curia. One of his books, “The Lost City of Paraguay”, was the book that the Robert DeNiro movie, The Mission, was loosely based on. I remember meeting DeNiro in Colombia in 1985 when he was there filming. At the time I was a sound technician on a documentary about the Festival del Caribe.

I asked C.J. how many times he had been to Italy. He said 25 times. That was in 1971. I thought how amazing that someone could get there so many times. Now it is 2008 and I have passed that milestone.

Stefano Illuminati and I have been traveling around Texas with his importer and regional manager. We traveled 1,000 miles in four days, did wine dinners in three cities and consumed thousands and thousands of calories in food and wine. It was a bit like a rock concert blitz with wine. Instead of a bus we had a minivan.

Tonight Stefano is in Vancouver and I am back home. Very tired.

Looking back over my 25 trips in 37 years I have spent a lot of time with Stefano. We have grown up together. I met him first in 1984 when he was 20. Stefano was always overshadowed by the larger than life personality of his father, Dino. Big tree. But now Stefano is taking on more of the direction of the winery, steering it into the future until his son can come up and become involved.

Mandola family pictures

Another side to this story is the Mandola family in Houston. Brothers Vincent, Tony and Damian forged a lifelong friendship with the Illuminati family though Eugenio Spinozzi. Many trips to the winery, many dinners in the Luperia, the dining hall at the estate. Lots of laughs, some tears, many great memories. Eugenio, sadly, left us too soon, but destiny called him away from here. We talk about people who have died like it isn’t ever going to happen to us. Some day someone might talk about our passing as if it will never happen to them. And so on.

All this to say, through the vine we have made lifelong friendships with each other, the Illuminati and the Mandola families. And while sometimes it seems I am on the sidelines watching the unfolding of these two famous and powerful families, what can I do? Some of us observe and record the deeds of others. Am I diminished by their swath? Only if I think all this is about me.

The vine and the road leading to the vine have created bonds that ally us to Italy and the grape. And while it may seem we are out of Italy more than in it, I long ago realized the Italy that I refer to, daily, is embedded on a molecular level. Sure I am not an Italian like Stefano. And he is not an Italian like me. And most Italians are not precisely like each other. In fact there is sufficient evidence that we are all unique. All 6 billion of us. Comforting, no?


Food, wine, tomatoes, family, Italy, Texas, time, memories, love life and enduring amicizia.

Not something you can bid for on eBay or barter for on craigslist or find on some winery direct press release.

It is only something earned from time spent on the wine (and relationship) trail in Italy.

1984 ~ I'm on the far left and Stefano on the far right

1990 ~ Stefano on left and AC on right

2008 ~ AC on left and Stefano on right

Photos from the author

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

Fire, Forks and Friendship

Sometimes it can be overwhelming. There are just so many commitments, travel schedules that tax the healthiest of bodies, and the constant pounding on the streets to move a few inches forward in this happy battle.

Then there’s the food, and lots of it. Wine service on top of that. The ebb and flow of the pulse of the cycle, which if you cannot detect the counterbalances, can seem either overwhelming in its momentum or perplexed by its downside.

Monday night we witnessed something I never dreamt I’d see in Texas. But more on that later. What really has me going? We’re there, we’re really there, regarding the Italian wine explosion. I hope they send us some bright young ‘uns soon, cause we need their help.

In the back of the minivan yesterday, wobbling back to Dallas from Austin, I managed to get some office time in. And then the phone rang. First time was from the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He wanted his wine director to get in touch with me to talk about an Italian project they are working on. The second call was from a restaurant owner, who was upset because he believed his wine order had gotten all screwed up. He was hot.

The third was from the future, our American blogger in Italy, come home to start a new life. There I am in the back of the van, being driven home and getting all this input from such a diverse array of people, somehow interwoven into my life because of Italian wine.

Later that night our Italian vintner had a craving for a steak, so we stopped by a local place and had our Fat Tuesday meal. It was a nice ending to a long road trip, sitting there while the Maestra Sommelier deftly opened a MacLaren Vale Shiraz to serve with our steaks.

This has been a blitz of wine and dine of forks and corks and of fire, inside the belly and the hearth. Along the way old and new friendships have been renewed and forged. There is so much to be thankful for.

Olives Ascolana-style

Some of the food at last night’s dinner. This was from the “I never dreamt I’d see this in Texas” moment. South of Austin, in Driftwood, old friend Damian Mandola has built a winery and a trattoria. Five years ago the only thing out there was Salt Lick BBQ, which should be plenty for anyone’s books. Who would have thought that 70 people would line up for the doors to open, on a Monday night, out in the middle of the country, to eat and drink “proprio Italiano”? But that we did. Food and wine was memorable, from the Olives Ascolani style to the spaghetti alla Chitarra with Duck Ragu. I’ll cover this meal in another future post when I wrap up the last Waltz around Texas.

Chitarra con Ragu' di Anatra

As we stopped for gas and jerky in Italy, Texas, with the country twangy music playing in the store, I thought what an unusual place Texas has become again for me. We have the emergence of a global-cultural scene and the folkloric and simple typical Texas –Italy, Italy meets Italy, Texas.

Damian Mandola and Stefano Illuminati

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

Much Ado About Aroma

This has been a working weekend, waltzing across Texas in a minivan filled with all manner of Italians, taking us to wine dinners and meetings, building upon years of relationships. Something that cannot be done sitting in front of a computer on the 23rd floor of an apartment in midtown Manhattan or in an isolated cottage in Marin County. So while other people, with more time and expertise, slave over how to solve the crisis of wine distribution in America, I return to the road with my winemaker, importer and regional representative, to pursue our labor of love, that of building long term relationships with our clients.

While traveling south towards Houston I read from a book by Luca Turin, called The Secret of Scent. Mr. Turin inspires me, especially after scanning virtually anonymous blogger comments, angrily blasting on about how unfair life is. A walk in the park or a produce section might help.

How can one stay riled when walking into the flower section of a supermarket and smell a dozen roses? Or at least, what does it matter?

If you are in the least bit attracted to aroma, Turin’s book is important. Great scents are timeless, and the ability to capture those scents in your mind takes practice. Like learning the play the piano or speak another language, coming into an understanding of what smell means requires opening up that part of your mentality which sequesters all the primordial receptors for this ancient part of us.


You say you cannot travel in time back to Athens or Tulum? Nonsense. Walk around the amphitheatre at Segesta and pick on the little plants that grow low to the ground. Will you not smell what the Ancients smelled? Stroll by the Colosseum, in Rome or Verona. Scratch your fingernail along the stone or the tufa and bring it up to where you can take in the smell of something very familiar to scores of generations of Romans or Veronese. Where on the internet can you buy that, eBay? Le-Vin.com? Good luck.

You can do this with any wine. It is advisable with a wine that has some character, preferably not one that has been produced in an industrial setting. I’d start with an Italian wine. Seeing as we have been traveling with Stefano Illuminati from Abruzzo and I am real familiar with his wines, let’s use them for the example.

I have in front of me a wine. Or do I? Well, to be perfectly honest, I don’t. But I don’t need to. The memory of the last few days is tattooed on my primitive mind.


This is bilocation and time travel all wrapped up in one’s nose, which hopefully is hooked up to the mother board in the brain.

I close my eyes and am walking up the path in Controguerra to the winery. Along the roadside there is beginning to grow little green plants that will produce a yellow flower in about a month or so. When they do there will be this brown butter and lemongrass perfume that will emerge. As I walk onto the grounds of the winery, to the left is a fir tree, next to the spring. The tree drops these needles that remind me of cinnamon and nutmeg and dust. They mix with the slate-like minerality of the water, which is cool and hard and attracts all manner of flying insects in the warmer months. Along the path toward the older building there is a row of vines, now dormant, but at the edge there are artichokes, with a slightly musty, almost truffled scent, when you run your hands along the stalks. Next to it there is the skeleton of a fig tree. On the ground there are shriveled up fig leaves from the last year’s growth. Pick one of two of them up and run them in your hands until they crumble and disintegrate.
At this point you will start to feel hungry as the scent and the visceral interaction will stimulate something that you inherited from life forms millions of years before.


We’re almost finished. Walk further on past the rows of vines until you come to the pens for the rabbits and the chickens. There, their dregs meld with the earth. This might seem repulsive, but there is always a little of this in many great wines. It is the taste of the earth that has been augmented by natural cycles. Here is where you are entering the perfumist’s Valhalla.

As we enter the back of the winery, there are barrels, recently washed and drying in the sun. They offer a scent of cedar and that slightly acrid yet sweet smell of the forest as it has been refashioned by the hand of man.

What do you say? What does this have to do with the wine? When will you get inside and talk about the Montepulciano d’Abruzzo Riserva? Pop that bottle and get to work, Alfonso.

I have a confession to make – we never left the inside of the glass of that Montepulciano d’Abruzzo Riserva. That was what it smelled of, to me.

And that is what makes this broken wine business so wonderful and lovely.

Images from The Secret of Scent by Luca Turin. Written by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

Walking the Walk

Like any enterprise, one can be too close to always be objective. When it seems that one cannot see the light in the forest, there is one real cure – go out and open bottles of wine and tell stories to the young and willing.

A bag of great wine can void any affronts from unmannerly ones who paint the wine industry to resemble Hell from Hieronymus Bosch’s famous triptych. That is but a delusive exercise.

So, back to what we’re here for, on the wine trail, this time in Deep Ellum.

One of my co-conspirators called me up and asked me about some of my favorite wines lately. We discussed the account, a small chef-driven spot in an older urban neighborhood somewhat resembling Williamsburg in New York or the old city of Torino. The place is called Local and it is a gem of a place, relying on organic produce and grass fed beef, wild caught fish and locally produced products, like cheese from the Mozzarella Company next door. Local carries their Hoja Santa wrapped cheese, of which I am one of the proud organic growers of the leafy herb. So along with Cowgirl Creamery in San Francisco and Artisanal in New York, now I can enjoy products from my garden in Dallas.

We were running late for the appointment, and as I parked and rushed into the meeting, there they were – young and bright and fresh. Oh boy, I thought to myself, maybe I can tell some stories about these wines and maybe they’ll like them.

It was easier than I thought, for the Muse had kicked in and was ready to roll. I was talking about wines that I liked and recommended, often.

I don’t intend this to be a list with tasting notes, but I do wish to mention the wines.
The white wines we presented to the staff were:
2006 Abbazia di Novacella Kerner
2005 Re Manfredi Basilicata Bianco
2006 Tasca d’Almerita Leone

The reds:
2005 Mesa Buio Carignano del Sulcis
2005 Abbazia di Novacella Lagrein
2005 Queciabella Chianti Classico
2004 Castello di Rampolla Chianti Classico
2005 Il Borro Pian di Nova
2003 Petra Quercegobbe
2005 La Lumia Cadetto Nero d’Avola

I’ve written elsewhere about many of these wines. What really pointed me back to all things good and bright was the purity and the clarity and the diversity among these wines. Italian wines aren’t confusing, anymore than perfume is. Italian wines are complex and in a “give it to me now or else” world there isn’t going to be a lot of satisfaction for those who don’t have the time or the patience.

But to see that the Kerner reflects its world ever so much as the Leone does and to know that one may be preferable to you but it doesn’t diminish what the other wine is here for. That would be for the person for whom it resonates with. There is no right or wrong to it, no finger pointing and swaggering. It is. That’s just the way it is.

And while there are those that talk a mean game, who on earth would want to trade places with those souls, who are confined to suffer in Bosch’s infernal triptych, thinking about the paradise they lost because they couldn’t take time from their daily battles to enjoy wine for it own sake. That is the reason many of us are in the wine business.

To those lost souls; may their suffering be brief.

And may we never run out of great wine so we can talk the talk about them. That's just what you do when you're a (wine) lover, not a fighter.

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

Pulling the Trigger

I feel like one of the judges for American Idol. It seems that every three or four hours I get a call from someone wanting to bring new Italian wines into the market. And while I am not anti-immigration regarding Italian wine, I think someone should stop booking ships to the New World filled with the hopes of Italian winemakers, hoping we will bring them out of their funk.

Today I read it in our papers, finally. America is now officially going through our own “malaise”. Recession has arrived; the cost of war is depleting our resources and the hopefulness of our population. The middle classes and below are being downsized into smaller pieces of the American Pie. Only the 1%’ers can ponder their new Bentleys or their $500 bottles of Barolo. And still, folks call, wanting to send more Chianti, more Prosecco, more Pinot Grigio.

I told one contender today, “I don’t pull the trigger. I'm just one of many who ride the wild horses around the square, in our daily Palio.”

Let me put it this way. It’s not just about price. Or margin. I really can’t bear to hear one more comment about how high the distributor’s margins are when most of the importers are 6-10% higher. My friend Sam Levitas has this mantra. It goes like this: “You don’t take margins to the bank, you take dollars.” Anybody listening, importers, retailers, restaurateurs?

The next great idea probably isn’t going to be an Italian Yellow Tail or Two Buck Chuck. Or a celebrity label, or one from a "famous restaurant". I might be wrong, but looking back over my wine label graveyard collection, there are a lot of "great ideas" that never made it. Why? Because there are no short cuts. It's very simple: It isn't easy.

Let me ask you, if there are any winemakers, importers, brokers, retailers, restaurateurs or just plain folk put there in the enoblogosphere who like to eat and drink: What do you prefer, a chain restaurant or a small place where the proprietor greets you at the door with a smile and an honest, simple, fairly priced menu and wine list? Where do you prefer to buy wine, at a supermarket where you now check yourself out, or at a quirky little store where the owner spent several years in Gascony or Greve fiddling around learning about wine and culture and then bringing that passion back home to share with his friends and clients?

Why would it be any different with new wines? Do we really need another tired concept? How about getting on your own horse and battling it out around the piazza with the rest of us? Maybe fall and get scraped and drag yourself back up, and stay in the race? Or how about just getting in the game, in the mud and the rain and the slop of the daily slog, from walking on all fours towards an eventual upright position? And then to have to carry a shield and a sword and battle some more? That is the state of our union.

There is plenty of work, and more wines than we can say grace over, already. We need some fresh meat in the trenches, throwing punches and winning a few battles. We don’t need anymore armchair generals with self-proclaimed great ideas that will never win a skirmish. Does anybody hear me?

We don’t need any more wine – we need boots on the ground – selling what has already made it through the gates – they need a home before we can send anymore ships loaded with wine and hope, over here.

Enough already.

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