I got a call from IWG, he was heading out, could I come over and watch his house and his tomato plants? $100 a day to look after the old man’s crap, sure why not? As the taxi pulled up he was rushing to catch up with his adventure. “Where are you going?” I asked. “To a place where these cell phones and internets don’t go.” “When will you be back?” We were changing places in the cab. “I’ll be back soon. Just watch the house, don’t let your friends leave anything in their cars if they park in front of the house. And one more thing, that interview with the Italian wine sommelier, why don’t you test drive it around my blog?” He handed me the keys to his silver bullet, cool, quick German sedan and told me to drive safe. Yeah. Uh huh.After popping a bottle of Saten and settling in for the weekend, nothing new but Slumdog Millionaire on his DVD shelf, I called my friend and polished off the interview along with the bottle of bubbly.
I’m young and underemployed, but free. But some of my somm-buddies, here and in Italy are pushed to a breaking point. Lots of work, not a lot of money, working on all the days when everyone wants to be playing, and watching all the old folks having time and money. Meh.
So here’s my rough-form, this so-called Interview with an Italian sommelier.
My friend Andrea has been a sommelier in a pretty fancy place, lot of alto-borghese types ordering Patron and Sassicaia. The past six months have been a major pain. Hours cut, inventory cut, customer count down, cost per bottle average down. Not what Andrea thought when getting seduced into this business.
First question: So, Andrea, tell me what are people drinking?Andrea- more quartinos than bottles, more glasses than quartinos. Our normal clientele usually were high rolling types. I think they still want to be, but their resources have disappeared. So they come in and order a Barbera instead of a Barolo, and a Rosso di Montalcino instead of a Brunello.
Q- And there’s something wrong with that? Aren’t those wines pretty goods these days?
A- Senza dubbio, indeed. But I really wonder if they liked those wines in the first place or if they just come in to order them because they think someone wants them to like them because of their place in the society. Do you know what I mean?
Q- No I don’t.
A- Well, this society worships title and prestige. Everyone wants to drive in Ferrari, wearing Dolce & Gabbana, drinking the finest wine in the world. And here it is like the higher you can make yourself to appear, the closer you will get to the people who have what you want. And with wine, it might become a status symbol too, but did it start out that way? Did Monfortino decide to become unbearably precious so long ago?
Q- Oh, that. Italian Wine Guy has been ranting about the price of wine lately, but I thought it was just because of the mark ups he has seen lately in his markets.
A- I don’t know about that, but I have read recently a good piece in the American wine press from Matt Kramer where he talks about a bottle of wine costing not more than €12 to make. And then he talked about a Chilean wine that was selling in the States for about $12 that he really liked. Maybe my clientele are finding that they like Barbera or Rosso do Montalcino for that reason.
Q- Yeah. Well that’s if your manager or accountant doesn’t get greedy. I have a friend who is a bartender at an Italian place and they just got a great review. And what was the first thing they did? They raised the price of all the food menu items $2 and then they started raising the wine prices. A bottle of Chianti Classico that they paid $11 for they already had at $46 and they want to raise even more?
A- Maybe they don’t have as many people coming in and they need to keep the doors open.
Q- They won’t make it through the summer if they do. But enough about what I’m seeing, over here most of the folks except crazy-wonderful Antonio think they have to mark things up like they’re a gentleman’s club?A- Gentleman’s club?
Q- Lap dance place
A- Oh. Yes they mark up high here to in those places. So I’m told by friends who go there.
Q- Tell me when you buy wine from a producer, let’s say one from Piedmont, what do you expect in the way of price?
A- I think everyone here knows the relative price. We all have friends at wineries so we know the ex-cellar price, more or less. And if there is a middleman, or a broker, there is a commission. We all expect that. But a Barbera, selling for €4-6 comes to us for €6-8. And we sell it for €12-14. Everyone takes a piece but no one takes too big of a bite.
Q- What are you drinking, enjoying, pushing these days?
A- I love the Sylvaner from Alto-Adige. And the crisp Pigato from Liguria. I found a Gamay from Umbria that I currently love, and the Lacrima di Morro d'Alba right now is drinking bellissimo. We have this sexy Aglianico rose and a sparkling wine from Sardegna, dry Moscato, really a nice aperitivo. Red wine, right now we are featuring three Montepulciano d’ Abruzzos from people who have had a hard time since the earthquake. We are marking up a little more and donating 50% of the selling price to the rescue and rebuilding efforts. And of course we have a nice Barbera d’Asti and a Rosso di Montalcino.
Q- How is Brunello now?
A- We are still looking at the 2003 stocks and worrying we will miss out on the 2004. The 2005 we don’t think are as nice. So maybe the Chinese and the Indian markets will get all the 2004?
Q- Well, I don’t know. You know the Italians. They do pretty well in a crisis when they know they are in one.
A- Yes, but this crisis will need more than the superpowers of Dr. Zaia.
Q- I hear more from my friends here that getting a sommelier certification doesn’t get you the dream job? How about your life, how goes that?A- I think people want too much to be important and famous without thinking about if their life will have meaning or not. I don’t care too much about any further letters after my name. You know, it Italy it is a mania. Everyone is a Dottore.
Q- One last question, Andrea. Do you have any special plans for summer?
A- If I can I want to go to the southern part of Elba and lie on the beach and drink Vermentino and eat fresh seafood. That is my thought for a great vacation this year. And you?
Q- I don’t know. I was hoping the Italian wine guy would go away so I can use his pool and his car and raid his wine closet, like I did last year. Or I might go hiking in Yosemite.
A- Well you are always welcome in our world.
Q- Thanks, Andrea. We’ll see. And thanks for talking with me about wine and things.
A- Ma prego si figuri.
I would (and do) advise to simply take the hit and close them out. Now. Lesser wines are taking the hit. Dolcettos and Barberas are streaming through the wine bars having been discounted to ridiculously attractive levels, ones that even I would bite on. And I need no more wine in my closet.
The Barbera. I started hearing about this little beauty from SB (somm-buddy) who comments on this site. I knew the place, went up to the estate in Castiglione Falletto back when the crust of the earth was cooling. I got it then, just stood up a bottle of their ’81 Nebbiolo to let the dust settle. Had first communion with Alfredo, OK? I get it.
Look, for a generation now some of us have been carrying this donkey up the hill. The Italians always undervalued their wine, almost apologizing for it because of the price. A Chianti Classico Riserva selling for $7 when a 3rd growth was going for $12. And the Italian was contrite, ashamed, sorry. So the wine got discounted down to $3 and all of a sudden lots of buzz from a restaurant here, a wine shop there. It was rampant in the 1980’s with Rosso di Montalcino, the “throw away” wine. The distribs had to buy the Rosso to get the Brunello and when it didn’t sell they’d schlep a bottle to Don Cazzu and make him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Great stuff, from Costanti to Il Poggione to San Restituta. I am not kidding. How many times I sat there with my bag of wine while Don Cazzu tells me what a great deal he got for the ‘74 RdM for only $2 a bottle. And he was right! But it perpetuated the image of Italian wine value. A Rosso di Montalcino was only worth $2-3 a bottle because it wasn’t bought right in the first place and it surely was never sold right. And so the true value of the wine never made it into the hearts and minds of the wine buyers.
Truman Capote was a young literary genius whose emotional maturity never quite caught up with his talent. His writing was fierce, fearless and so very sharp for the times he found himself in. A child born from a child, his life raced furiously in the fast lane until he was 59. And then, it was finished. Much has been written about his life, bio-pics have been made, numerous books and articles about his life, his writing, his escapades, his demons. But when he was alive, Truman Capote became a big star. A bestselling brand. Along the time his star was traversing across the winter skies, television and heightened attention to the new media brought many people into contact with him. I still remember seeing this funny little short, squatty man on the TV in my parents’ home when they were watching Mike Douglas or Jack Parr or Johnny Carson. He seemed a lot like some of the people in my home town (Palm Springs) so it wasn’t too out of context to see it on TV. But the number of times he kept showing up registered in my brain. I once saw a copy of “In Cold Blood” on the table in the living room and picked it up. I was probably 12 at the time. I was more interested in tennis or getting out of my parents home, going outside and riding my bike. But Capote was big. So big. What people thought of him, be it the high-society types or the artistic ones, they shaped the Capote from there on. He never had a chance. Partying and drinking and smoking and talking and twittering about. What great works of literature were stolen by taking his time? It was an era when a writer as a media star was something new, and he was so damned talented. But he was diverted. And before long, the brand “Capote” overtook the man.
Robert Mondavi was a visionary, a leader, driven to pursue a dream that shaped Napa Valley and beyond. Because of his relentless stubbornness any of us who work in the wine business today are in a better place, thanks to Mondavi. He was Moses and he led us out of the wilderness. I remember the early days in the 1970’s, when what he was talking about was so rare. Single varietal wines made in a fashion, at a level of quality that there was no market for. Yet. But he persevered, and everyone around him did too. And Mondavi became a monster brand.
Gary Vaynerchuk. He’s on top of the world. Thousands visit his sites daily. His number of followers on the new social platforms like Twitter have grown six-fold in two months. He’s on CNN, his American Express miles must be in the stratosphere from all the travel. He has a ten book, seven figure deal with a major publisher. And he still has time to personally return an e-mail. How does he do it?
He doesn’t have a blog in which to schlep his wines or his philosophy. He hasn’t sent out samples to wine writers and bloggers. He didn’t go to Vinitaly (or the alternatives) and he isn’t planning on going to VitignoItalia or Terroir Vino. He doesn’t have air-miles or instant-upgrades in which he can rely on to get him over to Italy on a regular basis. He doesn’t have a patron or a mate who is making tons of money. And it’s not that he isn’t a sociable guy. He has many friends. It’s just that he has to make it work. He cannot fail. He doesn’t have a fall-back plan. He must succeed. I’m betting he will.
This week, he called to tell me that:
There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of Abruzzo from my first visit there in the early 1980’s, when they adopted me as one of their native sons, to the years of friendship and collegiality among the many winemakers there.
The land oozes soul; the grapes burst their energy forth for lively wines. When one hears about all the tankers of Montepulciano that move north at night to vivify weaker wines in the north, this is an unsung hero of a region.
My friends at Illuminati, not trampled by the crashing bricks or rumbling dirt, but none the less affected by their neighbor’s cries of pain. Over the years their wines have changed, like their labels, but always for the better. Today they are a success story for Abruzzo. Some of their neighboring wineries near Aquila are searching for their way through back to the future.
Some day they will open bottles of sparkling wine to celebrate a gathering, a success, a landmark.
There’s an old East Texas term called "firch-piling" that I learned about from an Oregon magazine many moons ago. The magazine, called 
One of the stories was about the East Texas practice of not letting anything usable get thrown away. People would go around the curbs and corners when things were laid out for the bulky trash pickup (still happens here in Dallas to this day) and drive by in their van or pick-up and collect anything that they thought they could use. My living room is made up of used furniture, some vintage and some valuable. A most treasured piece is my 
Sunday we went out into the “country” for Mother’s day. At the farm we saw acres and acres of dandelions and I thought about my grandmas. They would love this post, from another site I firched from another Twitterer, @
Lorenzo Gabba can be found @
The wine business is on the move. There has been a fundamental shift. Depending on who one talks to, it is either so small as to be barely noticeable, or so huge that the walls have come tumbling down and we are in shock and no longer recognize the landscape we have found ourselves in.
Santa Margherita, known the world over for light, fruity, Pinot Grigio. Reviled by connoisseurs, envied by the competition and made the butt or the target of so many salespeople and wine journalists who have scoped it in their sights for their own aggrandizement. And all along the way, 30 years and counting, SMPG just keeps knocking them out of the ring. It is a brand and it hasn’t tried to be anything other than what it is: light, fruity, white wine for people who are looking for that kind of thing. Say what you want about it, and I’m sure the navel gazers of the wine world are rolling their eyes right about now. If they read these words. Which they don’t. So we’re “safe.” Santa Margherita isn’t looking to tempt the hairy armpit crowd. All along this brand has really only been successful at this: making a lot of money selling Pinot Grigio for a high price. And making a lot of people happy. Always pretty much the same message, lightly dry and fruity. End of story. But what a success story the “brand” of Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio has been. So it goes.
And now we have Robert M. Parker. The wine critic people love to hate. Or fear. Or copy. Or target. And what has his transgression been? Depending on who you ask and what period of time, he has been accused of liking overly alcoholic wines, overly fruity wines, Bordeaux and not Burgundy, Barolo but not Chianti, oak, malolactic acid, micro-oxygenation, New world wines and Old World wines in New World clothes. People have criticized him for his palate, even though, the whole time, what has he been doing? He has been tasting wine and saying what it is he likes. And in return, many, many winemakers have either agreed with him or wanted their wines to be liked by him, because he was a force of nature and because HE SOLD WINE. Was that his intent? Or did he have a sinister plan to inexorably change the way wine was made?
“The vine and humankind have walked the same path together for thousands of years.” This quote, remembered from some ancient text, sets our mutual destinies on course. Whatever we think is natural has been in a state of constant change. The vines, the wines and the humans. Some of the changes work, some of them are imperfect, and so it goes. It amuses me when I hear the natural camp express a stringent, unbending philosophy of what they think wine should be. Equally bemusing are those who think wine is all the hand of man. Somewhere in the middle there is an equilibrium, but I won’t be the one to bring both sides to the table. It is not my concern. What interests me is how these two elements, nature and the hand, have come all these years on the wine trail.
After the meetings and the tastings I itch to get out into the fresh air and walk in the vineyards. Do I care about the trellising or the distance between the vines? Not one whit. Is the soil important? For the vines growing in it, yes, but schist, calcaire or gumbo, what can I do about it? Nothing. That is for those who have committed their lives to the soil below them. In my garden, yes, there I have my concerns. Where to plant my tomatoes, basil and squash. The Hoja Santa, which is taking over everything as if it were meant to. And the peppers and the arugula, growing wherever I stick them. The oregano, which has decided it would rather live in the crack between the fence and the concrete decking. And the rosemary, which is thriving in the pot, most likely root-bound, and delirious. That is my nature and the world in which my bees and squirrels and sparrow hawks live.
In Italy, the hand of man (and woman) has many facets. The nobleman, whose family has owned the property for countless generations, his hand is now finely manicured and steady in which to pour his precious liquid. For his and the legacy of his family, the land is everything, for it has given them so much. Pride, prestige, wealth, standing, position and time to read the ancient and modern philosophers. Wine is part of his Cosmologia Generalis. Marcus Aurelius, in his Meditations, says, " He who does not know what the world is does not know where he is, and he who does not know for what purpose the world exists, does not know who he is, nor what the world is.”
The hand of the young son of the winemaker, hands stained with grape and soil, those are his jewels and his gold. Years ago, in Montalcino, at the table of a humble family of vine growers, we had lunch from everything that grew or was raised on the farm. These were farmers, uncomplicated in the way they saw life. They woke up early and worked until lunch. They ate and took a short nap. Then they returned to their work until dinner. And afterwards, maybe a little diversion. But the life was set for them.
I saw not only a 95 year old walking briskly up that steep hill. I saw the spirit of one who had learned long ago what her nature was. And like the birds and the bees in my backyard following their nature, so was this incredible old woman.
Images flash across the screen of my inner all night movie show. Prone, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the wine or the tequila or the sleeping pill to take one away for a few hours. The stuff that the waking hours produce seems like the dream; the dream seems like the reality. And then the phone call comes.
All across the world, the Italians who settled in new lands shared their customs. Meals with the family, picnics, baptisms, first communions, it didn’t matter if it were Pittsburgh, Cucamonga, Sidney, Australia or Maracaibo, Venezuela. Maybe we didn’t have the best wine in the world, surely not like the rare vintages we were sipping last night, but what we had, it took. And deep inside we kept stretching, trying to find it in this new world we planted ourselves in.
More and more, it seems like folks are parading around in their fine new clothes, and nobody can get through to these insulated emperors that they just aren’t quite ready for the big tent. And so we go through the dance, trying to lead, but always picking partners who want to go in their own direction at their own speed. People who don’t listen, tone deaf to the new reality that has plopped down right in front of their empty valet stand.
