With all the signs that have been hovering about us lately you would have thought our collective unconscious would take the hint. But as it seems to be less collective and more unconscious, maybe this should be no surprise. The past few days in tastings and with encounters there are still people looking for that peak experience when it comes to drinking a wine. One such gent was regaling over his latest trip to Casanova di Neri, where he secured a stash of verticals of their single vineyard reds. Forget that there is a cloud over the whole of Montalcino. What was that old Jim Morrison line, “We want the world and we want it now?” 
So as with everything else, it appears to be that way as well with wine. Big, bold, powerful, rich. Pre-recession fantasies craving for that in a wine which is just out of our grasp for other longings.When was the last time you heard someone asking for a little housemaid of a wine, something inconspicuous and barely noticeable, a little fruit, no tannins, easy to forget? It just doesn't appear we are wired to recognize the unremarkable. Why is that? Take cars for example. It seems that what so many people are looking for in a wine is akin to a Hummer H2. But those vehicles are sitting on car lots piling up. Meanwhile try and find a deal on a VW Jetta TDI. Not a spectacular car in terms of styling or sex appeal. But they are hard to find.
Yesterday at a wine store I was in during a 20% off sale, most of the people were asking for wines under $15. 90% of them wanted value and then a deal on top of that. They weren’t asking for the big old Amarone that will last for 20 years. It was selling for $70 ($56 after discount). Nope, they just wanted to talk about the big old bathing beauty red, but they were slipping the housemaid wines in the carts.
That same day I was invited to dinner at a “French” restaurant of some repute. Not many of those around these parts any more. I was asked to pick the wine. Now usually there is a token wine on the list for the wine lover who just doesn't want to spring for Silver Oak or Corton. As I looked around the dining room, in an alto-borghese neighborhood, I noticed people were ordering wine as they were perusing the food menu. Odd, but not altogether unusual in a mid-western town on the Big Night Out. Cabernet was king in this room, even though the food was tempered to the tastes of a Burgundian or Loire or Rhone setting. After seven very difficult minutes the folks at my table were getting impatient with me. My inner Alice was fuming; there was nothing of interest on this wine list. Finally after some peer pressure, I ordered a (negociant) Beaune. A 2004. For $95. With some trepidation. Where was a Gigondas or a Crozes-Hermitage? Some wonderful Julienas or Chiroubles? Surely they are available; I see them on the printouts from the various distributors. Wine that would go so well with the fois gras or the duck or the veal or the scallops.
Just as the $250,000 Bentley was parked proudly in front of the establishment, so would it be expected that we would be plunking down $250 for a Caymus Special Select on our tables? After all, half the men in the room had parked their trophy wives (or goomadas) next to them in the plush velvety seats.
In these times, when so many of us are being compelled to look at some of the decisions we have made, as if we get another 10 or 15 minutes before reality sets in, we attempt to take one more shot at the titanic illusion. Subtlety is admission of defeat, bleacher seats, a used economy car. No, let’s take one more huff, one more puff, and see if we can blow our friends away with an outdated view of conspicuous consumption veiled as connoisseurship.
It’s like the captain of a luxury ship that is sinking, but he has promised to stay on board until the end. And then when everybody who can get off safely does and they are floating away in their lifeboats, while no one is noticing, on the other side of the doomed boat, a skiff is being prepared to deliver the schifo to a far and safe shore.
Is it just me, or are we smack-dab in the middle of topsy-turvy times? I gotta tell you, it’s exciting, exhilarating and a jolt of terrificante in my espresso. Really a great time to be engaged in whatever it is that takes you to the top, fires you up, makes you feel the breeze in your face, the cold, biting wind and the last of the setting sun as we head away from summer. And with all this excitement there’s this slightly disorienting facet that has one looking to recalibrate and check for balance. Not. 
Like our social and political circuses that surround us, so the world of wine, and Italy, really seem to be in sync with this slightly out of register skew to things. Is this merely lucid dreaming or are the bathing beauties of Tuscany and Alto-Adige and Campania really vying for our attention? Or are they merely engaged in some kind of commercial cat-fight for our hearts and dollars? Happiness is a warm warehouse.
In the world in which I live, there isn’t a day that doesn’t go by that I don’t get a note or three from some Italian wine company wanting to get onto the Ark. The smaller companies don’t have the capital, the ability to pay their bills. Everybody is trying to fit their animals on our ship. We are desirable, like this is some kind of beauty pageant. Hey folks, winter is coming, time to put the swimsuits in the drawer. Pass the grappa and cuddle up on a couch somewhere and find something to do. Not the time to plant tomatoes.
Say cheese?
While traveling across the central width of Italy last month there were signs of interest in the coming election in the United States. Italians love to display their opinions. Anyone who traveled in Italy in early 2003 saw a preponderance of multi-colored flags with the word PACE streaming from balconies and balustrades across the country. In that moment the sentiment was of protestation against an imminent invasion and war against Iraq.
We visited one such family in Florence. I have been friends with photographer 
Colin Powell is a Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, for like the wine, they both served at the pleasure of their rulers. Often cast aside in favor of the more obstreperous Brunello, Vino Nobile is the phlegmatic one, calm under fire and very dependable, and a great dancer. Able to take the hill and "get down tonight". Our Tuscans thought the Colin Powell showed great strength of conviction even though his latest moves probably wouldn’t be too popular back in his grand old party. But like Vino Nobile, sometimes being the most popular one isn't the highest goal. To serve as an agent of change and veracity seeks higher ground and purpose.
In keeping with my earlier post, 
If it sounds like I'm drawing a line in the sand with the direct marketers, I’m not. Let them try to dismantle the last 75 years of this industry. And if they can build a better framework, so be it. But as a past president of India, Radhakrishnan, once said, it is easier to destroy than to create. Much easier to talk about how corrupt and outdated the wine industry is rather than pitch in an actually do the heavy lifting of raising the tide for all boats.
There are reports and 
Over those two days last week, we took a break from meeting and piled into two buses, 79 of us. Our group represents the state management for a large wholesaler here in Texas. With about 2,700 employees, our mission is to provide leadership and direction, along with making money and building brands. And while there are plenty of essential employees up and down the org-chart, we are tasked with steering the ship. It’s a big ship, one in which on any given day, over 150,000 cases of product are being delivered. That’s about 1,200 40-foot containers. Amazon can’t handle that, nor can USPS, FedEx, UPS, DHL or any number of delivery companies. Physically improbable.
Our buses took us to the Milestone/Viking center, where we were broken into 9 groups (8-9 people per group) for an “Iron Chef” burger cook-off. We had a set time to assemble a burger. There were three essential segments of this contest; 1) the idea of the burger, what it was conceptually, 2) Selling it to the judge (the pitch), and 3) what it tasted like. Our group, made up of folks from their late 20’s to their late 60’s, got together and we moved pretty fast through the concept of the burger. Assembling it, along with eighth other groups, took a good deal of teamwork and co-ordination, along with making sure we didn’t “overwork” the idea of the burger. It all flowed pretty well. Meanwhile the other teams were brainstorming and trying to come up with their idea of the perfect burger.
Hey, it could have been anything, but the burger was the fulcrum upon which the teams directed their attention. The idea was to transfer some of that energy, in the days to come, with other projects and working outside of our normal groups.
Through the process I snapped shots of the other teams, people I have known, some for as long as 25 or more years. People I admire, but because we are all so darn busy and directed in our tasks, we seldom get the opportunity to hang out and do these kinds of exercises. Remember there are 2,700 people whom we usually are directing out attentions to.
I know this sounds real Pollyanna and I am sorry, I cant help it, but I was really stoked about getting to be involved in an exercise in which when it was all said and done we sat down and ate what we dreamt up along with a glass of wine or a nice pale ale.
Folks seemed to really light up over this event, lots of laughing and great, great memories.
The next day, we went back to the conference room and continued with our workshops and discussions, back to business. But as if to put icing on the cake, we took a short break to recognize one of our peers who was turning 70 that day.
As the cake rolled up and we all sang “Happy Birthday” to him, I saw a colleague who was not only surprised but also very pleased that we not only celebrated his birthday, but a birthday, that in many industries the person would already have been retired and celebrating it quietly. Not so in the wine and spirits business. No, we’re a spirited bunch and we need all hands on deck, from 24 to 70 and counting. That bodes well for some of us other silverbacks in the pack, who just want to swing from the trees and make a little difference in the world we have found ourselves in.
So, folks looking on the outside in want to call what we do, and who we are, wicked? I call it the home team, and am very proud to be on it.
A. How can we believe a man who would sell out his friends?
Being born with a pair of beady eyes was the 
The Lone Ranger: Only you, Tonto, know I'm alive. To the world, 
I have hunted you so long, I have become you.
I think what I think. I hate you all. 
How many times do I have to tell you? 
Well, Clarice - have the lambs stopped screaming?
Never send a monkey to do a man's job.
Last month at the Illuminati estate in Abruzzo, I had lunch with my people. No, they weren’t Sicilian or Calabrese cousins. They weren’t my co-workers or clients meeting me in Italy. It was much more visceral than that, almost tribal in the connection. I was invited to have lunch with a wine sales team, guys who sell to wine shops and restaurants in Rome.
Over the years I've had many meals at Illuminati. In the early days we had meals on the second floor of the old house, sometimes outside. If it was cold we’d invade the dining room. As the winery grew and the Illuminati family redesigned the old stable on the main floor, we settled into the space they called the Luperia, a space with a kitchen and an open hearth. And a larger dining room. Many great memories exist in this room, but I had never sat down to eat with my own regiment. And during those years, friend and cellar master, Agostino, has opened many a bottle for us to enjoy. We’ve grown into the job together.
I was really excited about this meal. I was prepared to pick the brains of rookie and veteran alike. Who would know better the travails of selling wine than a salesman from Rome? What kind of kickbacks did the Roman restaurateur demand? How did one go about getting control of the wine list or selling a wine from Abruzzo to a Sardegnan? I was hoping for all mysteries to be revealed.
Dino Illuminati, the patriarch of the estate, motioned for me to sit next to him. Lunch is serious business for Dino and he didn’t want anyone to get too near him with idle chat. He wants to eat and drink first. I know the drill. When Dino and I sit down we both go after food and wine pretty well much in the same way. Except Dino has a capacity that I will never be able to match.
One of the older veterans sat across from me. He reminded me of one of the salesmen back home. This gent had a peaceful air about him, he was the elder statesman; he grew up in Amatrice in northern Lazio.
I asked him how his route was. Was it competitive? Cutthroat? Was it hard to collect money? Did you get resistance with all the new wines coming out? What about the prejudices of owners from one region against the wines of another region (i.e. Piedmont vs. Tuscan). I was surprised to be reminded that they don’t go around tasting wine, sampling as we call it. Now they just carry their list, with maybe some Gambero Rosso review (very big in Rome) and the price list. Pretty cut and dry. Rome was a city that was prepared for all comers, and has been this way for hundreds if not thousands of years. Anything goes.
I was looking for their “hook”. How did they catch the big fish? Figuring Rome would be like NY or LA or Houston, there was always the particular technique that worked for the peculiarity of the particular city.
He was a thoughtful guy. And we were starting to drink pretty well by then. The big slurpy purple stuff they make in Abruzzo that they call “Montepulciano in purezza.” All the while the young salesmen would come over to him and bear hug him or jostle him around. You could tell these guys liked working with each other; there was camaraderie among them.
“Alfonso, what really works best is the rapport we build with our customers. Trust, time and relationship.” Ah, the “R” word. So the secret was, there is no secret; daily treading, pressing the flesh, and being reliable. Showing up. Building trust. Just like almost everywhere else.
Look at these people. They’re having fun. They’re enjoying their lives. They’re enjoying each other.
I told some stupid story, trying to be funny, about a sales experience here in The States, but I don’t think the experience translated so well to their frame of reference. No matter, platters of grilled lamb, sausage and pork were pulling up to the table and we soon were diverted to the main course.
After lunch we went outside for espresso and cigars and fresh air, what a combo, eh? The sales crew had to get back to Rome. It was only three hours we’d had to sit down and break bread, but in that time I felt like a huge gift had been dropped in my lap; An afternoon with my selling tribe; with the young ones, the veterans, the crazy ones, the calm ones. Its not a closed brotherhood but it is a deep connection, to capture what is growing right out there in the land and transform it to wine and take it to Rome and NY and Austin and try and share with all those folks in those places these amazing miracles in bottles. Not just wine, but the lives, of Spinelli and Spinozzi and Illuminati and you and me and anyone that wants in on this.
This is the joy of selling. This is why I am on the wine trail in Italy and anywhere else the road takes me.
