It was 2:30 in the afternoon and we were just finishing lunch in the hills above Trento. The phone buzzed, it was Giulio. “I’m just leaving Guido’s and heading towards Franciacorta, where are you?” I lied and told him we were on our way.Fifteen minutes later, after our goodbyes, we slipped down the hill and found the autostrada towards our next appointment. We were running a little late.
On the highway it was raining lightly, so I looked to keep the speed down below 150 km/h. But it was a straight shot, downhill, against the traffic, and we wanted to get to L’Albereta no later than 4:30. I would probably "need" to push the Bee-em-voo a little, nothing over 160-170 km/h, tops.
As luck would have it, with only one turn around, we crept onto the manicured grounds of the hotel. We were to be guests of the Moretti family, who own this little gem. L’Albereta is part of the Relais & Châteaux, a collection of very fine hotels and restaurants around the world. After five nights on a too-small straw bed and a shared bath (Vinitaly), I was more than ready for a little coddling.Our pace, since the end of the fair, had slackened only slightly, and we were getting ready to kick it up a notch going into Piedmont. As usual, I had over booked winery visits. But really, in this game, playing on the sidelines and treating it like a vacation doesn’t cut it back home. And yes, there were many more estates I drove by and felt awful about passing.
We were met by Giulio and Terra Moretti director, Roberto Barbato. They both looked like they had just enjoyed 18 holes of golf and were ready for the 19th hole. But we had a winery to visit.
Erbusco, between Bergamo and Brescia, and in the heart of Franciacorta, is where the Moretti family also own Bellavista and Contadi Castaldi. That’s a little like owning Roederer and Duval-Leroy. Lots of eyes looking at everything you do. Glamour and high expectations, and a fickle lot of trend-followers waiting to glam onto the next big thing. Sparkling wine in this tradition is determined by years of patience and perseverance in dark, dank cellars, not a smoke filled cat-walk in Milan. Odd, how the two have somehow hooked up.
The face of Contadi Castaldi is Mario Falcetti, who has been there almost since day one. Mario is still a young man, but he strikes me as genuine and warm, and very savvy. It appears that the folks at CC have a lot of fun, while managing to be a serious wine producer.
America has been slow to awaken to Franciacorta. I remember 20 years ago struggling to sell Ca’ del Bosco. Then again, 20 years ago it was all more of a struggle than it is now.I find that interesting, in these challenging times, that a premium item like a Franciacorta appears to be easier to sell now. I think the explosive acceptance of Champagne in the US has thrown the spotlight on other quality producers across the globe. Now, with Champagne heading precariously towards their own possible Brunello-gate, with expansion of the appellation, it seems ripe for the folks in Franciacorta to stake their claim to some of the world market for the fine bubbles.
After visiting the cellars Mario and his winemaking team led us through a tasting of the Contadi Castaldi wines. It was there they showed to us their newest baby, Soul.
Soul is a Saten, similar to a Cremant. This one was from the 2000 vintage, and had just recently been disgorged after 72 months on the yeast. What I noted was an intense wine with a degree of depth normally reserve for still wines. The fruit was almost syrup-like, not cloying, layered. And at the end there was this little kiss of roasted coffee. The last time I remember having that sensation was in a magnum of 1964 Salon, back during the Reagan era. The Salon was one of the more memorable moments of that period of time.The tasting done, Mario had another commitment and we said our farewells. But he is a good “connector” between the land and the shark-filled seas of commerce.
Francesca Moretti was opening a new casual restaurant and we were invited to the opening. But, the restaurant was not ready. So we were re-routed to a round table at Gualtiero Marchesi’s restaurant at L’Albereta.
I remember first eating at Gualtiero Marchesi’s namesake restaurant in Milan in 1984. Those were in the heady days of Nouvelle cuisine and Marchesi was leading the attack from Italy. We’re way out of trattoria and comfort food when we talk about this stage. This is food as art, carefully orchestrated in the kitchen and on the plate. No complaining here, for this is a way to see natural ingredients elevated in solo performances. Here asparagus is performing an aria, there truffles are counter-pointing with fois gras in a duet.
Performance, drama, luxury and when it is all said and done, a happy and full belly, dancing to some mellow techno-beat sounds in the background.The maestro ambled over to our table in civilian garb. He was the conductor now; tonight, the kitchen was no country for old men. Now he exudes wisdom with his warmth, and it was interesting to see him interact with the young Francesca, whose family reigns over this kingdom.
A few words about this. Someone in Francesca’s shoes could be a wealthy little spoiled kid, bossing around famous chefs and feeding from the trough of the family wealth. But I don’t perceive her in that way. What I see is a very serious young woman who understands the responsibility of success. What do I mean by that? When you have three or four wineries, several Relais & Châteaux, a construction company that is pervasive in Italy and unlimited possibilities for the future and you see yourself as a servant-leader, that speaks volumes about the level of intent and engagement this family has with the land, their employees and ultimately their destiny. This is a historical period for Italian wines and from what I can see the Moretti family understands the historical context and their duty to be curators of that pageant of accomplishment.
Risotto with gold leaf. It wasn’t the first time I had enjoyed this from the kitchen of Gualtiero Marchesi. It might not be the last. It was like a little gold bow that wrapped that last 24 years up in a circle of the continuum of the wine carousel. Maybe it was the wine god’s way to wrap up the last generation (and me with it) or perhaps it was just a nice plate of risotto with a lovely glass of Franciacorta.
As I headed back up to my room with a bed that more than fit (and a bathroom that I could have put all of my Vinitaly room into) and a window with a view, the bell tower struck midnight. I would have eight hours to turn back into myself, before heading towards Piedmont. There, waiting, were all the young lions, ready to devour us, or conscript us into their pride of Nebbiolo.
Hakuna matata!
I am a huge fan of 
Lucio is another story. While he is the enologo, he could as easily be in sales. He has a side to him that is like the pancetta and onions in an Amatriciana. Spice. A smart guy. Though he is a Dottore, he didn’t get it from some Italian diploma factory. He got his PhD from University of California at Davis for work done on ageing. He has a crazy side to him, which is a great balance to the calmness of Alberto. A good team. We like Lucio.
After a brief tour around the winery, which I call the most beautiful industrialized winery I have ever seen, we headed up to a meeting room for some blending. Lucio had arranged several samples of the sparkling wine, called 
A word about the vineyards. For some time now, before green was the new black, a movement has been underway in Trento to return to the ways of their great grandparents, in terms of farming. The use of artificial stimulation and pest eradication by chemical means is being highly discouraged by the Mezzacorona team. For one, they are also apple farmers and the whole earth cycle relies on the interplay of crops and bees and creatures and health in the farms. People are living in their vineyards and groves; the average size of the farm is less than 2 acres. So the farmers are close to their source. This is not some agribusiness making decisions from a boardroom on the 45th floor. They are living their life on site and also feel the need to protect their health as well. Got it?
I am an island lover. So to go visit an island one can walk over the water to see, was like something out of an ancient fantasy. That they had vineyards there was lagniappe to me. It being light wine was even better.
As an island one can walk to, there is a sense of something once forbidden now available. Some of my married friends talk about this to me, often. In the wine sense, it is more of a surprise, in that this land, over-farmed for hundreds of years, is now once again fertile and capable of producing a delicate and sensual wine. The grape is Grillo, but not in a steely, nervous high pitched manner. This first release, the union of the Whitaker estate and the Tasca D’Almerita dynasty, is an oboe in a sea of piccolos.
Am I awake or still dreaming? So close to Sicily, actually protected in a harbor, but Mozia is a universe away from my daily concerns.
All this sprang from a little conversation I was having with my barber. I called up him up, his name is also Alfonso. “Hello, this is Alfonso,” I started. “Yes, this is he,” he replied. “Alfonso, this is Alfonso, do you have time to give me a haircut?” He answers, “Yes, this is Alfonso.” “I know it is you Alfonso, it is me, Alfonso, I just wanted to come in for a trim.” “Of course it is me Alfonso; yes we can fit you in. Your name please?”
The scouts were supported by all the New-Age efforts, Slow Food, Demeter and even the USDA Organic group. They were looking for her, in all her pure and simple way. What they used to call traditional. Now we think of traditional as just something they did back then, and put our ways upon the times. But back then, they had integrity; they did it in harmony with nature and the world around them.
Then something happened, they took Mother Nature for a ride and held her hostage. There she was, off in a corner of the Milky Way Galaxy, tied up like some combatant, like some Guantanamera.
This was our new Crusade, to find our unspoiled red wine and bring her back to prominence. Not some overmatriculated Sangiovese posing like it were some garagista on vacation in Tuscany. She was our Holy Grail, our Mother, our Source and our Saving Grace. She was our sister, our aunt, the girl next door, our first love. She was the quintessential red wine from Italy and we had been led astray with so many Shiraz’s and Malbec’s and Bonarda’s and Zinfandel’s.
Now we would return to her and huddle close to her bosom, soak in all that is good and pure and right with wine from Italy. She was our caldera, our mountain top, our Xanadu.
My only hope is that we aren’t too late. I hope we haven’t abandoned her to the fast talking salesmen in the white linen suits. You know the type; they hang around the hotels in Rimini in the off-season. They find ways to fill up milk tankers going south and bring them back full. No one wants to talk about it; nobody returns the phone calls when they know they’re going to be asked those questions. But there is hell to pay for cheating on her and she will extract the fitting price.
California wine sales have slowed. Sales of Argentina wines are not up dramatically. French wines are slumbering. Is this the month Italian wines will hit the wall?
I’m not going in alone, that’s for sure. I’ll be taking a sidekick with me, one of the younguns’ who can cover my back and provide me with some cover. I’ll be darned if they shoot the messenger, just ‘cause they don’t like the message.
I 
The old pro told me that the new weapon on the streets was youth, youth, youth. He was right skeered, ‘cause he staked his claim first and now everybody’s taking shots at him. This too shall pass, they'll get old, just like the rest of the folks in the saloon.
1) Keep coming to the US markets to show their face and show us their goods, in person.
2) Make sure they keep their noses clean and their wines unadulterated. No funny business, no winks, no bait and switch.
With Italian wines, that rock is marble. And inside are the whirling tarantellas of your story. All you have to do is set about chipping away, to release those spirits.
I can always enjoy a California wine, very easy when I am back home there. It is an extension of that Mediterranean lifestyle, but in a uniquely California way. I have sat at the edge of Lake Taupo in New Zealand and enjoyed the wine and food of that land. I could imagine that kind of situation in many places, Argentina, South Africa, and even little old Texas. But if you’re pulled out of Lago di Avernus or Trasimeno, or some smoky Sicilian caldera, you are compelled to follow your destiny. Or in the lingo of today, “you’re set for specialization.”
