Chronicle of a Three-Tier Crusader

When I got out of college, our country was in the midst of a serious economic downturn. In addition, my nuclear family was being torn apart limb by limb. I couldn’t go home again, because there was no home to go to. For a time I was homeless. My sister rescued me from annihilation, until I got grounded. And then I proceeded to go to New York, in what was possibly one of the worst economic periods that city had ever experienced. My timing was impeccable.

As my East Coast education ran its course, I headed back to The West, where I could see sunsets and horizons, stars and mountains. My father had a little studio apartment, where I squatted for a few months.

It was shortly after that I started on the course that has led me along the wine trail. I started in the three-tier wine industry, in Hollywood, working in a restaurant across from Paramount studios.

When I moved to Dallas (which I recently heard it characterized as “provincially clueless”) I imagine I was the clueless one. Little did I know I would be embarking on a career in the three-tier industry that today is being demonized by some as "stupid”, “conspiratorial”, “corrupt” and “mafia”. The last one is particularly repulsive to me as I consider the use of the word mafia to be as racist as the pejoratives used to belittle African-Americans or Jews.

After I got my footing in little old Dallas, a "flat", "dumb" "flyover" "rail-stop" (other vituperatives I have recorded), I looked around and kind of liked the place. There wasn’t a lot of wine business, but what there was, the people in it were embracing of this tenderfoot and within a few years, I had a place, a career and a community.

Over the years, because of my ties via the three-tier industry, I have had access to some of the great wines and wine people in the world. One day when I was building a display of Glen Ellen Chardonnay, my boss called me and asked me to lunch at the Mansion on Turtle Creek. He wanted me to meet Jean-Pierre Moueix, the proprietor of Petrus.I went from sweating an end-cap of Proprietors Reserve Chardonnay to enjoying a glass of 1966 Trotanoy. I was on my way to willingly being corrupted.

I have met many of the great Italian winemakers living and dead. I have dined in their homes and they have dined in mine. You see, we are a world community, not a world conspiracy. Oh yes, we do plot to persuade people to drink better wine. Sometimes we even slink so low as to just get people to switch from iced tea to any kind of wine. We figure that once we get them hooked, they’ll never go back.

Those of us crusaders of the three-tier system aren’t put off by the one-sided arguments of folks who slam the system. Everyone has an agenda. And it is fashionable to find a bad guy, to demonize a standard or a status-quo. It plays into our 21st century drama of hoping people will share our viewpoint because we are victims. Often people look into the drama, not because they feel sorry, but because they crave the joy from the schadenfreude that the drama creates. Everybody loves a winner, especially if they aren’t witnessing it from the losing end. The argument that the three-tier system is bad will always backfire on the people that use the argument because it diminishes their power and it essentially emasculates them. Rather than cursing the darkness, there are those of us happy warriors who have made a life of building brands and bringing wine to the cities and the provinces, to the wealthy and the workers, day by day.

Competition has been steep. The industry has been consolidating since 1987. So those of us in the fray don’t fret over our enemies or our problems too much. It’s part of the landscape. If we lose a line to another distributor, we don’t cry that it is unconstitutional and bawl till crocodile tears flood us out of our accounts. Many of us just know that it isn’t a fair world and sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. All part of being a grown-up.

I have really enjoyed all of it; working until 2 or 3 AM, building displays that looked like the leaning tower of Pisa or the Eiffel Tower, out of corr-buff (corrugated cardboard). I have spent countless evenings doing wine dinners for restaurants, wine classes for universities, wine training for new colleagues and much, much more. I have been part of the army that has grown the American wine drinking population so that online retailers and bloggers could have a platform for their projects.The wine business is changing, as it has been ever since it has been a business. From the time when the Chaldean winemakers negotiated with the wine brokers of the Pharaohs, 4,500 years ago to now in the 21st century. Nothing is easy, and nobody is going to get a gimme every time. The vines struggle. Why do people think they don’t have to? That’s what I call “stupid.”

When I see how many people I touch, handing them a bottle of wine on the floor of my favorite Italian wine store on a Saturday, and then having them flash me the thumbs-up sign as they open it and enjoy it with a handmade sandwich, I know my crusade is a fulfilling one. And while my life hasn’t been filled with non-stop happiness, it has been a good life. And I know my work has been good work. And the naysayers cannot demonize my good work or my good intentions with their glass-half-empty rhetoric.

Some years ago, I got another call from a boss. Again, it was an invitation to come to lunch to meet a winemaker. The winemaker was heading back to his vineyard for harvest and was stopping in Dallas to meet with clients. His vineyard was in the Bekaa Valley, and a devastating civil war was waging at the time in Lebanon. I asked him how he did it, how was he able to pull the grapes and get them to the winery, while tanks rolled through the fields. He answered that some of us are called to make war and some of us are called to make wine. But all of us are called to be warriors in one way or another. And the grapes are growing and they must be harvested. Just as it was done, some 800 miles away and 4,500 years ago, in Chaldea.

The winemaker, Serge Hochar of Chateau Musar, and his world, became part of my world that day in the early 1980’s, along with so many of the happy warriors who do the work of their lives, knowing that their livelihood is right. And anyone who has experienced right livelihood, and the excitement and passion that accompanies it, knows that the wine trail isn’t for everyone. But for those crusaders who get on it and get with it, it is a life full of meaning and wondrous expectation.

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

What We Loved

In what seemed a lifetime ago, I remember watching her as she waved through the window. It was one of many departures that would torment our life together. Business called; Puerto Rico and a meeting, or Cincinnati and a convention. The seconds away from each other were millions of sharp pins jabbing at the bubble of our affection.

As the years progressed, we spent more time with each other, but other things would conspire to separate us. A stumble in the clear daylight, a numbing of the legs, a blurring of the vision. Something was always trying to pry us apart.

In better days, there would be dinners outside under the portico that I had built for her. I remember her crying as I drove a nail through my arm when I was bulilding it, and she took me to the emergency room. Her affliction was usually to blame for a mishap, and now I was stealing thunder from the disease from which there was no cure.

I remember back when the doctor took us in a room and told us that he had good news and bad news. The bad news was that what she had was incurable. The good news was that it wouldn’t kill her. The good doctor was wrong about the good news.

I have been thinking about the wine we loved. One I remember so well was on a summer day in Rome. We were sitting in a little trattoria near the Vatican, drinking wine from a carafe. It was yellow. It was cool. And it was from the hills surrounding Rome. A sweet memory that wine and Italy played a minor part in.

When her eyesight would fail her, she would walk with me, holding me, with complete trust that I was taking her where she would find no harm. On a porch on Victoria Island we would dangle our legs together as we sipped on Chenin Blanc from the Loire. We were taking a break from the onslaught that was heading in our direction, aiming to level us, pulverize us and tear us away from each other, forever. In time it did, but for that evening one summer many moons ago, we sipped without care, gently lapping the sweetness up.

She loved to cook. Squash casserole, pork loin, red eye gravy, she didn’t consider herself a cook. But the simple things she did, I loved. And the wines we loved with them were from a time that was so much simpler than now. A lovely Verdicchio from Matelica. Or a Pinot Grigio from Friuli, before such a wine would be spoiled by its own success. And the aperitif from France, Lillet, that she loved so much.


When I met her, she was a martini gal. She loved her gin. The Italians loved her for it. At a hotel we were staying at in Rome, where the Italian President had a penthouse, the bar had every kind of spirit. They would make her a dry martini, with the proper proportion of vermouth. It made her very happy.

When she reached the autumn of her very young life, wine ceased to have the appeal for her that it did in our earlier years. She would have a glass with me, but I could tell that wine wasn’t going to cure what was taking her apart, day by day. So, what we loved we left in the wine closet as she and we made one last stab at fighting the Goliath that was blocking our light.

Our last wine together, a few weeks before she died, during Christmas, was a Dolcetto. I don’t remember how we came to decide upon that as our last wine to love together, but from a not so sweet several years of doing battle, this one last glass of red, raised to our lips, was so very sweet and moving.

To this day I remember all of the wines we loved in our life of love with great affection and melancholy.

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

"Cooking that could bring the Lord to His knees"

It was October of 1999 and we were all worrying about Y2K. The newscasters were telling us that we would probably spend the first month of the new century in darkness. 1999 to 2000 wasn’t the transition to a new century, but somehow in the binary world of computers it was heralded as a defining moment for civilization. Or that’s how they were selling it, trying to make us stare in to the TV’s so they could sell us their Chevy’s and their Pepsi’s and their Tide.

Meanwhile my Aunt Amelia was in the hospital. She was born on November 11, 1911 at 11 in the morning. 11-11-11-11. She was the archetypical cook in the history of my family. And while both of my grandmothers could cook well and so could my mom, and my sister Tina was in the running for the title (in the future), my Aunt Amelia, or Aunt Mil as we called her, she had the magic.

What she could do with a little flour and butter and water and egg and olive oil was a big deal. But Aunt Mil made it look like breathing; simple, effortless. I swear she could fry up day old newspaper and make it taste good. Nothing frightened her in the kingdom of her kitchen.

Chicken? Let me count the ways. Fried? The Lord Jesus would prepare another sermon if He had ever tasted hers. Baked or pan sautéed, with bread crumbs and Pecorino? I still aspire to make mine as well as hers. Vegetables? She could make a little kid like spinach. Eggplant? To this day I cannot fathom her stuffed eggplant. Meat balls, the quintessential Italian American crossover dish? I still don’t know how she made them so bloody great. Yeah, I do.

And the peach cobbler and the fried pies? Jeesh, how many times did I want to drag one of the gang of five over there to show them how a real southwest cook did it?

I used to leave my son there when he was a little boy, between school and the end of work. She always had an extra plate, if it was late. And the food she put on it, to this day, I still look for it.

Tomatoes, what she did to a tomato, my God. Fresh, stuffed, you name it; she outdid Faust in whatever deal she made. But she even tricked the devil, ‘cause the only heat she is feeling is from a well tended stove.

Sometimes I’d just drop by in the middle of the day. There were a couple of Italian restaurants nearby where she lived in old East Dallas. I ask her if she wanted me to take her to lunch, and she’d just say, “Nah, baby, we ain’t gonna find any decent Eyetalian food in those places.” No, we’d play it safe and go get Tex-Mex. Or she’d go into her kitchen and within minutes, miraculously, lunch would appear.

She was my southern Italian trattoria, with the best wine list, 'cause I’d bring the wine.

Aunt Mil passed away 10 years ago on October 24, days short of her 88th birthday. She didn’t make it to see the new century or the new millennium or 9/11. I remember going to see her in the hospital. She wasn’t happy with the food. Here was a lady, who was like my second mother. I called her my Texas mom. She loved it when I'd bring over a bottle of Montepulciano or Chianti. She liked her some good earthy Italian wine.

Earlier, I wrote “I still don’t know how she made them so bloody great. Yeah, I do.” Let me tell you what she told me many times. We’d be sitting on her couch, the TV blaring, the screen door open, the world turning and attending to the many dramas unfolding outside her universe. “Baby, make it with love. Be patient. Take your time. Don’t get upset. If it don’t work out so well the first time, try it again. You know the egg breaks. What do you do? Heat up a pan and scramble them with some olive oil and grated cheese. They ain’t gonna taste so bad, baby, as long as you give it a pinch of love. And remember, call me, and I’ll walk you through it.”

She walked me through many a meal and a crisis of love. She was one of my best friends. And in my kitchen I have a little spatula that I filched from her kitchen after she was gone. And to this day, when I make scrambled eggs, I call on her, and her little spatula, to help make it taste heavenly.


Miss you, Aunt Mil. Love you...

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

Can Wild Be Faked?

The funny thing about Italian wine, or wine, or life, is that once you think you get a handle on it, it changes. What was right twenty years ago is now out of favor. What was once thought to be old fashioned and hopelessly obsolete, is now all the rage. The notion of fashion is a fluid thing, but the idea of feral cannot be faked. Or can it?

Part of the problem is there is so much transparency in this age of the steroid-ification of information. Add to that the sheer volume of information the average soul is bombarded with, and it is easy to see why things get turned around.

Take the notion of what is natural. I have probably beaten this horse to death. But every time I talk to another person, I get from them their sense of how they perceive natural. At this point I am thoroughly confused. I talk to a baker and he tells me he uses 100% organically farmed wheat. But I discover the wheat has been genetically modified.

I talk to a winegrower and he tells me he is using 100% indigenous yeasts, but that they keep the “formula” in a safe deposit box in Switzerland.

Do you go out to eat? If you do, you have already been subjected to GMO crops at least once in your life.

When I get too much of this I go to my inner Calabria. In the hills above Cosenza there is a place I go to reconnect with what is wild and real to me. The wine isn’t always great, but it’s real. The place isn’t always easy to arrive at, but it is imprinted upon my soul. I’m not even sure it exists where I first found it,. But it is stored in the heart now and that is a place that cannot be violated unless memory fails.

In all of Italy, Calabria is my starting point. Yes I am crazy about Sicily and Piedmont and Tuscany. Those are now easy places for me. Calabria is a challenge, like going to Nepal or Africa. Because Calabria represents to me where the wild things are that haven’t been reduced to a formula or a brand.

“But, sir, you are over romanticizing Calabria. It is wild. And savage. And cruel. And unfair.” So goes the inner voice. And yes, I know. I know. But where, really, in the world is anything balanced? In Washington? In La Jolla? In New York? In Beaune? This is a little tiny planet streaming at breakneck speed in the pack of the Milky Way with our nearest galaxy heading at us at some unbelievable speed. We are ultimately heading towards transformation. There is no single point at which any of us can arrive and hope to stay. And likewise with wine. The nature of wine is this. Always moving towards the next transformative moment. Two bottles opened recently from the same box. Old Hermitage from 1985. Both bottles slightly different. Both arrived and slept together in the same room for almost 20 years. Same corks, same bottles, But both of them had their unique stamp. Not terribly different. But different nonetheless.

So when we search for the wild things or the real things or the things that we think will make our lives more happy or complete…to know that it is at best an exercise comparable to trying to catch light which is moving at 3 million meters per second while we hurdle towards Andromeda at about 568,000mph. Something to think about but really impossible to hold on to.

What can't be faked? Simple. Find your wine. Open it. Among friends or family. Savor it. Enjoy it. Soak it all in. Repeat as needed.

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

Gentlemen, Start Your Engines

So now we hear DOC/G is dead. Long live the DOP (Denominazione d’Origine Protetta) or PDO (Protected Designation of Origin) if you are in the USA. Well, that’s not too confusing is it? This is part of the Single CMO (Common Market Organization) project to adopt nomenclature for all the countries in the EC (European Commission). Still with me?

In other words, now, in addition to tracking information about DOC and DOCG (and IGT) designations, we now will be following similar tracks via the EC model, DOP (or PDO) and also IGP (Indicazione Geografica Protetta) or PGI (Protected Geographical Indication) if you are in the USA, which parallel the IGT: Indicazione Geografica Tipica (Typical Geographical Indication).

Reminds of the days when the Euro replaced the Lira. For years, some Italians still had to convert Euros to Lire so they could tell what something was worth.

Maybe sake is not so confusing after all?

Luca, you got some ‘splainin to do.

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

The Scent of a Serpent

Last night at a wine tasting/dinner I might have left a few of the people in the room behind when I got to talking about aroma and bouquet. I believe that a huge part of wine appreciation is all about the olfactory. My sense of what smell is based not on something I can pinpoint, but more towards a highly non-verbal part of my way of operating in the world.

Tonight one of the wines literally shocked me when I smelled it. It wasn’t bad, but what I was smelling, truffles, was not one I had associated with this wine (Maculan Torcolato) in the 26 years I have enjoyed this wine. Here was a sweet wine yearning for a savory cheese, and a funky one at that. I was reminded of some of the significant smells in my life.

The rattlesnake and the first love were two of my most haunting scents.

The rattlesnake grew from hiking in the desert as a young boy scout. I even once was bitten by a baby sidewinder. After that I felt I would be protected from further attacks by the serpents. I was in their tribe now, had been initiated into their clan. And their gift to me was my ability to smell when they were near.

It is an eerie aroma. It has sage and a little petrol and a pungency reminding me of burnt wires. I know what that smell means, and when I detect it, my senses alert me to my fellow clansmen of the desert, an unlikely brotherhood. One that is meant to possibly assure we do each other no harm. So far it has worked out quite well.

Probably the most haunting aroma is the one I would smell on my girlfriend when we were both 14. I have never, ever smelled that aroma since then, many years ago. My recollection was of cherry blossoms, but there must have been a chemical reaction with her youthful skin to create a whole new smell. I can reach out and touch it in my mind’s nose. It was delicate and piercing, sweet and savory, seductive and forbidding. Maybe it was our hormones that factored into the equation, first love, high emotions, have you ever been there? I will take that delicate perfume to my grave; will I ever smell it again?

Tar and roses. Tonight one of the wines, a Barbaresco from Pio Cesare, had the classic Nebbiolo marker of tar and roses. Not much more than that, for the wine was far from ripe. It was wound pretty tight, which for a wine from a classic (2004) vintage, should make for good aging. Often a wine from that area will also take on a musty component, a truffle dimension. The La Ca Nova ‘Bric Mentina’ Barbaresco is a good example, from my experience, of that combination. Truffles can soften the hardness of a great vintage. The Produttori wines also do that for me. But I do love tar and roses. Love those tar babies.

Another favorite of mine, from early California days, is the Naked Lady, the Belladonna Lily. The flowers bloom in August and are sweet and deep, rivaling the best rose aromas. White wines, one tonight, a Muller Thurgau and Traminer blend from Basilicata, had a little of the Naked Lady in the glass. Such a wonderful aroma in the bouquet palate.

I know I lost a couple of the people in the room this night, but from the ones who came up to me afterward to talk further, I know I wasn’t the only one in the room that knew the power of scent. If it can save a life or recall a first love, why would one not want to embrace the influence it has over our little lives that are so important to each and every one of us?

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

The Best Italian DOCG list? (now up to 47)

Revised Oct 10, 2009
In my research, it has been all but impossible to pinpoint the complete list of Italian DOCG wines. Recently, I have been able to find six more, Moscato di Scanzo, Elba Aleatico Passito and Prosecco Superiore Conegliano Valdobbiadene, Prosecco Superiore Asolo And a two Marche DOCG's of Verdicchio of which there are designations for Verdicchio di Matelica and Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi Classico (and riserva) , bringing the list up to 47.

If anyone knows of any more DOCG wines, or if there is a list available that is more complete or accurate, please feel free to contact me. I have looked on the Italian Trade Commission site; they still list only 35 wines. Wikipedia lists 36 wines.Winecountry.it only lists 32 wines. Luca Zaia’s website has nothing on the DOCG, but he’s just the minister of agriculture, why would he need to have one? I guess having seven Facebook pages (one personal and six groups, sorry you have to be a member to follow the link) makes up for it. There’s nothing to be found about it on the Italian Wine Merchants site, but then again, they make no claims to be the best educational site for Italian wines, just this statement, “Since 1999, Italian Wine Merchants (IWM) has worked diligently to demystify Italian wine through its detailed website and weekly E-letter, Wine Clubs, educational tasting events and a carefully selected portfolio of current and vintage Italian bottlings.” But no demystifying by listing a current and complete DOCG list can be readily found on their site.

Update: Tomas E. of the Wikipedia Project wine also has this nifty document, where on pages 40-41 you can find the 41 DOCG wines listed.They also have yet to put up the Elba Aleatico Passito and the Moscato di Scanzo but by the time this gets posted, they might already have it updated. Thanks Tomas!)

The best site so far is in Italian, Agraria, which has 41. Please do not write me and tell me that they have 43 because that is what you counted. They have Moscato d'Asti listed separately, but it falls within the Asti DOCG, OK? Also at the end they list Vin Santo. At this time it is not DOCG. They also do not have the three new DOCG's (that I know of) listed on their site(as of March 22, 2009).

Update 2: Luca Zaia has brought in another DOCG for Prosecco. Read about his accomplishments and achievements here. Thanks to Laura De Pasquale for the info. And thank you, Dr. Zaia!

I fear I am missing something, but for the life of me, the byzantine workings of the Italian government and the folks who determine which wines will be awarded DOCG status eludes this most ardent researcher. I guess I haven’t learned the secret handshake. Until then, we are at either 46 wines or 48, as of October 10, 2009, which have been given DOCG status. Here is the list, after the jump.

Complete Listing of Italian DOCG Wines (as of October 2009) : 47

Abruzzo (1)
Montepulciano d'Abruzzo "Colline Teramane"

Campania (3)
Fiano di Avellino
Greco di Tufo
Taurasi

Emilia Romagna (1)
Albana di Romagna

Friuli-Venezia Giulia (2)
Colli Orientali del Friuli Picolit
Ramandolo

Lazio (1)
Cesanese del Piglio

Lombardia (5)
Franciacorta
Oltrepo Pavese
Sforzato della Valtellina
Valtellina Superiore
Moscato di Scanzo (new)

Marche (4)
Conero
Vernaccia di Serrapetrona
Verdicchio di Matelica Riserva (new)
Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi Classico  Riserva(new)

Piemonte (12)
Asti spumante - Moscato d'Asti
Barbaresco
Barbera d'Asti
Barbera del Monferrato Superiore
Barolo (Chinato, as well, falls under this DOCG)
Brachetto D'Acqui o Acqui
Dolcetto di Dogliani Superiore o Dogliani
Dolcetto di Ovada Superiore
Gattinara
Gavi o Cortese di Gavi
Ghemme
Roero (Rosso & Bianco)

Sardegna (1)
Vermentino di Gallura

Sicilia (1)
Cerasuolo di Vittoria

Toscana (8)
Brunello di Montalcino
Carmignano
Chianti
Chianti Classico
Elba Aleatico Passito (new)
Morellino di Scansano
Vernaccia di S.Gimignano
Vino Nobile di Montepulciano

Umbria (2)
Montefalco Sagrantino
Torgiano Rosso Riserva

Veneto (6)
Bardolino Superiore
Recioto di Gambellara
Recioto di Soave
Soave Superiore
Conegliano Valdobbiadene Prosecco Superiore (new)
Asolo Prosecco Superiore (new)

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

How many Verdicchio DOCG's are there?

The latest news from the Marche is that Verdicchio has been awarded a DOCG. The wines that fall under this category are:

• Verdicchio di Matelica Riserva (one DOCG)
  
• Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi Riserva and Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi Classico Riserva. (One DOCG)
  

The question is: Does each Verdicchio wine have it's own DOCG or do they fall under a Verdicchio DOCG category? (There are two)

Prosecco has two DOCG's

• Conegliano Valdobbiadene Prosecco Superiore


• Asolo Prosecco Superiore

Tuscany has these two DOCG's for

• Chianti and


• Chianti Classico

So I am searching for the answer, because there obviously isn't a pattern in Italy about these things

Until we find out, the DOCG list is either 46 or 48. (47)

And for those curmudgeons who say : Why is this important?

my answer is this: because sommeliers studying for their tests want and need this information.

Anyway, it is kind of fun trying to figure a way through the labyrinth of Italian wines on that (or any) level.

But if anyone finds out about the Marche designation and how it is broken down, please comment. Inquiring minds want to know.

Grazie 1000!

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

Catching a Ride on a Smile

From the “When you need a lift ” department

The wine trail this week has taken me to Austin and back home to Dallas. Holiday showcases, wine tastings, a visit with the iconic professor of Italian, an evening with a master sommelier and a fellow Angelino, and many many people, talking about wine and popping corks. It’s been a busy week, and we ain’t finished yet. But that's not what this post will be about.

There have been some real crazy things that have happened, but I also noticed a pattern that has developed, and one that I am happy to recognize. And that is of the ascendancy of more energized women in the wine business, and let me tell you: they are young and they have a whole new way of looking at these things that I think is gonna rock the wine business.

Scene 1: At a wine trade holiday tasting. I’m standing there listening to my colleague, Damon Ornowski, preaching the gospel of Kracher to both the willing and the uninitiated, and off in the corner of the room I see a group of lively young women, talking to themselves. They’re giddy. They’re excited. They’re newbies. But the energy and the excitement that is streaming off of them is infectious. I catch their smiles and watch them as they skip from table to table; every wine a new experience. A Pinot Noir here, a Rioja there, it’s like watching someone when they take their first step. Maybe it’s the party-like scene, maybe it’s that it doesn’t seem like work to them. I hope it isn’t just that. What energizes me is their unbounded jubilation at being in a business that they are really excited about. Remember that scene in “Catch me if you Can” with Leonardo di Caprio, where he is walking with his gaggle of new stewardesses? It looks something like that.

Scene 2: I’m talking to a young lady who works in the business. She is intense and very, very competitive. She also has amazing knowledge of wine and food, more like someone twenty years her senior who was into wine and food in a deep way. In this era which is shaped by the plate tectonics of an industry and economy in turbulence, as a relative newcomer, she as well has had to deal with those dynamics. And being relatively new to the scene, there are many layers above her, peopled with those mere mortals who also have their own fears, agendas and concerns. It’s a lot for anyone to deal with, but with one who is just startling their new life, in a new world, I can sympathize with her. Funny thing, it’s also a brave new world for this ‘ol silverback as well. Every day is a call to re-invent and energize oneself to find a new way to solve the old problems. My inspiration from her came from her willingness to ask questions and to listen to possible solutions and then to go forward. I caught her smiles. She won’t get stung by the bees. She’ll be the one up to her neck in tupelo honey.

Scene 3: At a wine bar in Dallas, showing some really nice Italian wines, a Kerner white and a trio of Tuscans, one Chianti and two Brunellos. At the bar, along with the wine bar manager and a fellow server were two young ladies. One was of Italian descent and the other was an exotic Asian-Indian lass. The wine bar manager was pulled away from our presentation by a client who wanted to talk his ear off about Walla-Walla. The other chap had to do double duty, tasting with us and watching the tables. The two young ladies were on board from the get go. Even while the Walla-Walla chap was flapping around, making our work a little hard with his distracting inanities about the joys of Walla Walla (I wanted to ask him where he worked so I could go to his place of work and pretend to be an expert in his line of work), the Asian-Indian lady looked me straight in the eyes and telepathed in a Shakti-like way that she was paying attention and to focus on her, not the buffoon at the end of the bar. The ancient soul emerged and soothed the silverback. Back to work.

One of the Brunellos was rustic and was showing a fair amount of volatile acidity. You know what? They loved the wine. They were not know-it-alls, they didn’t act bored with listening to a chap old enough to be their dad (or their professor). No, they bought the ticket for the ride and they rode all the way to the end. They were ready and smiling. Right on the money. Making my day. There is an old saying, “'E femmene ne sanno na cchiú d'o diavulo”. In the Neapolitan dialect it translates to “women know more tricks than the devil.” I’m not sure if the young women I encountered were tricking me and the world around them, but if they were, more power to them. And if they just happen to have the seed of passion for this business, there is a future waiting for them with tons of joy. This is my prayer. And you know what they say about prayer? No one is a firmer believer in the power of prayer than the devil.

You better watch out, you better not cry, better not pout...

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

Images from PSA Airways ( a once-upon-a-time California airline, similar to Southwest Air)

Tear Down This Wall

Thinking my last post came from a frustration of seeing prices going up, not down, and listening to Italian winemakers telling me how much the crisis was over, I sought some retail therapy over the weekend. With an hour to kill while waiting for a plane to arrive I stopped in at a nearby shopping center and cruised the aisles: Neiman-Marcus, Saks, JC Penney’s and Burlington; roughly 4 levels of the retail channel.

Inside a nearly empty environment, I walked from store to store. Starting with the higher levels, I noticed sales. A shirt on sale for $150, a jacket with an Italian sounding name (made in China) for $300. A pair of Hugo Boss shoes (also made in China) for $250, a t shirt for $80. All of a sudden Super Tuscans for $200 weren’t sounding so strange. We could just market them to the same people that were in these stores. If there were any.

I asked a clerk if this was normal, so quiet for this time of the day. “Well, there is probably a football game on,” was her reply. Probably so. But most people seldom pass up the opportunity to buy a deconstructed Armani suit on sale for only $1250 in lieu of watching sports on TV, yes?

Chances are many people were still safely ensconced behind the wall of their gated community. Out here in the sparse plains of North Texas, north of the DFW airport, the sprawl from the urban center has led to giant themed communities, where people sit in their 5,000 square foot homes and drive their extended cab pickups and SUV’s and wield their platinum or titanium credit cards to find a life of meaning. Have some in our Italian wine community bought into this vision of America too?

A close friend told me that when his Italian visitors come to NY they want to go to Nike, Abercrombie and Fitch, Apple and other places that signify a level of status, of having arrived at the end of the trail of the dream their parents and grandparent started on. Large appetites aren’t only confined to Americans.

And while some of the Italians go back home and present their latest Super Tuscan to their friends onboard their newest 40 meter sailing ship in the hopes of getting some relevant feedback, have the decisions they have made been any better informed that ones made by people who lived behind the Berlin Wall or within the walls of a compound in Taliban held Afghanistan?

A multimillionaire tells their winemaker friend, “Your Merlot from Maremma is so wonderful. But it must be worth more than $50. It is at least twice more valuable than that.” I kid you not. True story. Really happened. Killed the wine dead. Will not resuscitate.

Informed decisions are not made on the deck of a yacht, working on one's tan as one is streaming into Porto Cervo for a well-deserved weekend of rest and relaxation. The world outside of the enclosure one situates one within is a different story. A shirt on sale for $150 just isn’t going to have a wide world market right now (or maybe not for a long time, when $150 will be more like $25.).

Gambero Rosso to the rescue
As alluded to in the earlier post, Gambero Rosso seems to be the mantra many Italian winemakers are chanting. Maybe it was the wonderful summer they had in Panarea or Lampedusa that gave them this clarity of thinking, but back in the world of the living, the reality is that Daniele Cernilli cannot save your brand, no matter how many red shrimp he throws at it. If you are making a Marche Rosso that will ultimately have to sell on a wine list in San Francisco for $100, think again. If this were a battle against Hizbollah or the Sendero Luminoso, would you wave a sheet of paper on it with three red glasses to achieve your aims? If so it better be on a large white flag.

On a lay-over between coasts, one of my Italian importer friends visited this weekend. His portfolio is young, but so far this year he has moved through 3+ containers (about 4,000 cases) in his primary market, metro NY. He's on target for moving about 8,000 cases his first year. Not bad for a one man show with a company that started up at the end of 2008, just as the economy was imploding. His secret? Keeping his relationships alive with one-on-one interaction and keeping the wine prices in check. Nothing over $30 wholesale. Falanghina selling for $9, A Maremma Rosso for $11, an Aglianico del Vulture for $9, a Valtellina Superiore for $14, a Langhe Nebbiolo for $14. Solid wines, made by small farmers, not large co-ops with fancy labels or marketing budgets. The work of the day. Mano a mano. Everyday. On terra firma, not terra incognita.

So while some of the winemakers talk of coming to America, which in reality is an extended grand tour of NY, Miami, Vegas and LA-SF, the ones who are gaining ground are doing these things:

1) Visiting other markets and keeping their relationships alive.
2) Turning away from expensive (and tiring) barrique aged wines
3) Listening, really listening, to their colleagues in the field who have been in this battle for 5-10-20 years and know what is going on.
4) Responding quickly and not doing it half-heartedly.
5) Putting their personal pleasure, entertainment, recreation aside while coming to these markets to really serve the needs of the consumers, the intermediary agents and ultimately to their family and business back home.

Today’s battle needs the correct response. When the machine gun was introduced into the theater of World War I it marked a turning point that the older way of fighting was over. Soldiers on horses were no match for a mechanized tank formation. And that is what things like Gambero Rosso, focus groups on yachts in Porto Cervo and out-of-touch within-the-compound mentalities are. The battle field has changed, as has the overall landscape. The Berlin Wall is down. It is time overdue for the Italian to come out from their gated cloisters of comfort and to rejoin with us to retake the hill we all have been battling over for so many years.

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

The Acid Test

In the wine business, we have come upon the sacred time known as O-N-D. The 4th quarter (October-November- December) has traditionally been a period when wine sales head into high gear. But walking the halls recently, talking to salespeople at month end, I am hearing other stories. People are just not picking up the Kool-Aid like they used to.

CNN recently had a story about the glut of high priced wine. The following, lifted from that piece: “If I buy a bottle for $100 from Napa Valley -- and believe me, there are hundreds -- I'll mark it up to $225. But no one is buying those," says wine director Rajat Parr at RN74 in San Francisco. As a result, Parr is saying no to all Napa Cabernets until customers drink what's left.

Bordeaux vintages are backing up. Established importers are backing away from future commitments. There is a tsunami of classified growth wines hovering. Not quite the perfect storm, more like a scene from Cloverfield. It’s fixing to get ugly.


And our Italian winemakers, let’s take Tuscany: how are they responding to these climes?

Two publications recently have brought out their reviews for the Tuscan reds.

The Wine Spectator – here’s how some of their top rated wines flesh out – simply by rating, price (per bottle) and availability

Tuscany
98 points $100 -500 cases made
98 points $120 -450 cases imported
97 points $285 -6,250 cases made
96 points $319 -150 cases imported
95 points $70 -1,335 cases made
95 points $75 -200 cases imported
95 points $95 -1,250 cases imported
95 points $110 -2,515 cases made
95 points $118 -500 cases imported
95 points $125 -370 cases imported
94 points $89 -1,000 cases imported
94 points $102 -300 cases imported
94 points $215 -3,000 cases imported
94 points $240 -30 cases imported
93 points $95 -29,165 cases made
92 points $165 -50 cases imported


The Wine Advocate – some of their finds- just ratings and suggested retail (per bottle).
Tuscany
99 points $435
97 points $360
98 points $320
95 points $283-349
95 points $275
97 points $233-365
92+points $230
98 points $210
94 points $190
(94-96) pts $175
97 points $163
95 points $161-199
93 points $160
96 points $157-194

There are some good, even great, wines here. Which makes this all the more of a quandary. But the lowest priced wine in the group is $70, with many at $100-$200-$300. And there are back vintages of many of these wines still lingering in importers and wholesalers warehouses, retail shops and restaurant wine lists.

And here we find ourselves at a crossroad. At the busiest time of the year. Who is going to drink these wines and at what price?

Good news: Most of these are red wines from very good vintages that will age. Bad news: That's not good enough news.

I go back and look at the Bordeaux example - how they dig out of uncertain economic times. They’ve done it more often than any other region, made an art out of it. And at this time they are at one of the epicenters of the luxury wine meltdown, Napa and Champagne being vigorously tested as well. Many folks are watching, searching for a passage.

The Italians likely imagine their situation is different, particolare. The emails have been streaming in lately, especially since Gambero Rosso has released their latest tre bicchieri list of winners.

It was much pleasanter at home, when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits.
-Alice (in Wonderland)

It’s a tough situation. You don’t want to tell the winemaker that their baby is ugly. And it is less about beauty than perception. But it boils down to value. You want how much for a bottle? You only made 1,200 bottles? Surely there are 1,200 people we can find to pay $250 a bottle for your baby? People are still buying Ferraris and Pradas, yes?

And so if I talk them down to make their wine sell, not at $250, but at $125, what will it matter? So what are we to do?

I don’t know where I heard it recently, but someone was talking about the “recovery” and compared it to a saucer. Flat bottom. Slow rise. Short peaks. Long ride.

Sayonara, from the abyss, to the Long Tail effect, when it comes to small quantities of highly rated, hard to get wines at ultra-premium prices.

We’ve crossed over into black swan country facing a defining acid test.

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