Finally, an appointment we weren’t too late for. We were already in Alba, so chances were we wouldn’t get lost. I felt us getting closer. After a bit of friendly correspondence with Bruna Manzone from Ceretto we were finally there. We would be their guests for two nights at Bricco Rocche.Everything about Ceretto can be summed up in this phrase: The elephants are dancing.
There is a bit of controlled chaos in the current cycle of the Ceretto Empire. I think it is an exciting time.
Piedmont has really hits its stride in these days. They seem to be at peace with their markets, having spread out to a larger world base while still keeping their uniquely provincial perspective. They have jazz and foam and Spada and can be in Milan in little time or anywhere they want to be. Many of the young winemakers spend time in New York; some of them even have flats there. So this quiet little Langhe can serve to recast their ambitions for the larger world stage.The wines are made for the world at large and when in history can one say that about Italian wines with more resolve than now? So the travel and the exposure have paid off.
The plan was to meet in the afternoon and tour one of the Ceretto wineries, do a little tasting and then the next day visit several more and finish with lunch at one of the family restaurants called Piazza Duomo.
Confession: I have struggled in Texas with getting the Ceretto wines off the ground in the manner in which they seem to have been accepted in some of the more cosmopolitan world markets. These are not Bar-B-Q and Barbaresco wines. What started out years ago as a conscious effort to strive for higher expression of winemaking aiming toward sophisticated levels of cuisine, what some might even call alto-borghese, has not always been how things in Texas have played out. That is changing, ever so slowly. One should not be too old to hope to see it eventually come to a fuller realization. I anticipate eagerly, living long enough to witness it.
After a tour with Ellan, their young American assistant, and a tasting with Gianluca Picca, a sommelier and now sales manager for the family, we drove to Castiglione Falletto where Bricco Rocche sits. It is easy enough to find with the glass cube that marks the space. But oddly, when one spends time there, waking up early in the fog and walking around the grounds, one feels a little awed about being able to sleep around the vines that create so much joy for people around the world. I guess I’ll never really get over something like that; the urban dweller in me finds it hard to believe.I love going to Castiglione Falletto, it seem like the heart of the Barolo zone, to me.
We had a long day of driving hard and hitting several wineries, so my colleague and I opted for beer and pizza the first night, a little break from all the great new expressions of la cucina Italiana that we had been witnessing the past few days. The next day we were slated for a lunch with Federica Ceretto at the Piazza Duomo restaurant in Alba, one of the family culinary jewels.
As the new day dawned, we would be going to Barbaresco, to the winery in Asili, for some barrel tasting. We went in the car with Gianluca, a transplanted Roman, who travels 40% of the time. He lives above the winery in Asili and loves it, when he has those rare moments at his home base. He seems to have assimilated quite nicely into the Langhe environment; I saw an intense and engaged face as he walked around the cellars.
Later on, in Alba, we met up with Federico, or Fedé as he was called. Fedé reminds me of an Italian Bono with a dollop of Elvis Costello. His is an animated young man who has definitely sewn some of his wild oats. Now he is engaged and will be married later this spring, and is drawn up in the pageant of the family celebration. We sat in the restaurant below the sprawling Francesco Clemente fresco.
Chef Enrico Crippa sees Piazza Duomo as an international dining destination. Influenced by a youthful stay with Gualtiero Marchesi, and three years spent for him in Japan. Pristine food, fresh ingredients not over manipulated, wonderful flavors, colors, aromas, the whole gestalt of the table. And the Ceretto wines, where they shined brilliantly with the meal.
You can read elsewhere about the wines of the family. My intent is to encourage you to visit Alba and find the wellspring where the wines and the food pay respect to the same goddess, Mother Earth.And to be baptized with Moscato d’ Asti in this shrine, that is a dream, from the Wine Trail in Italy.
The best thing about this very moment is that I am in my own bed. Finally. After camping out for five days at Vinitaly and then taking to the road for another week in northern Italy, I came home exhuasted and relieved. Airplanes filled with sick children coughing for eleven hours must have broken down my resistance. A week in the office trying to put together a series of wine seminars across Texas and then a very important dinner for an important Italian winemaker, almost broke me. I spent a weekend alternating between duties at wine dinners and laying on my couch trying to prevent getting any sicker. But come Monday I was stung. Maybe it was a little flu, or a cold or allergies, whatever it was, I should have sat the week out. Instead I took to the road. Dallas on Monday, Houston on Tuesday, Austin on Wednesday and San Antonio on Thursday, with a quick flight back to Dallas for a private and very upscale event for Riccardo Cotarella at the home of a friend in Highland Park and sixty of his closest friends and family.
Last Sunday I knew I was sunk. I had driven off the wine trail onto a shoulder, and it was leading me straight into the gates of hell. But what could I do? I was scheduled to work all week with my colleague and friend the Master Sommelier, Guy Stout. Four days, four cities. The show must go on.
First one went well. The afternoon one started later and I found myself on a hotel room laid out trying to regain some strength. I was taking a mixture of antihistamines, zinc, aspirin, nose spray, cough drops and cough syrup. I was up, down, soft boiled, poached and rendered. I felt like crap. Thirty minutes to showtime.
After flying to Houston and doing a full days worth of program we loaded up the car and headed to Austin. I have taken that Houston to Austin road three times this year and I am beginning to really like it in a country and western song writing kind of way. As we headed into Austin, missing dinner with any number of Italian winemakers who had descended upon the capital, we rolled into the hotel and bagged it for the night.
Finally we started. Seven brave souls made it to the event. Along with double that amount of wine suppliers and staff. I had no voice and my emotions weren't too high, but I belted out a program that was one of my best. I gave it 120%. Later one of my friends showed up and lifted my spirits. I was really down. Guy wasn’t feeling so masterfully wonderful either. But we soldiered on and packed up the car and headed to San Antonio.
Finally about 9 PM Riccardo looks like I feel. He stands up and says good night. Thank you, Riccardo, we can all go rest up and get ready to pitch our tent another day.
We had to be in Alba at noon. Leaving the fluffy witness protection program of L’Albereta would be difficult, but not impossible.
Guido is a force of nature. Guido does not know the meaning of “I can’t”. Guido is irrepressible. Guido is turning 40 this year.
The winery is named after a chapel which was built to thank the Heavens for saving the area from the Plague. The chapel gives its name to the winery, L’Illuminata. Good thing it is still consecrated, or Guido might be thinking of installing a chef and a kitchen and looking for a nearby property (which there is) to locate a little country hotel.
Yes, Guido is his own power source; his energy is the hybrid-model of the new Italian entrepreneur. While much of Italy is struggling with their economic and personal funk, Guido is unphased. It doesn’t hurt that his father and his uncles sold their major brand, Ruffino, several years ago, for an ample supply of capital. Future projects were dreamt up and Guido set about collecting what he calls his killer B’s of the Italian wine world. Those are Barolo, Brunello and Bolgheri. One wife, four kids and three mistresses (those would be his killer B wine estates); this is Guido’s orbit. God knows what he is doing when the rest of us are sleeping. I am sure he sleeps four hours a day, maximum. Whether it is saving a homeless winery dog or choosing the right stone floor, planning a new vineyard or plotting the future of his triangulated empire, this is a man with a mission. And a time crunch. How does this come across?
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.
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. 
Erbusco, between Bergamo and Brescia, and in the heart of Franciacorta, is where the Moretti family also own 
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
