A Moving Experience

This afternoon I was standing in the aisle of a super market looking at a stack of Italian wine. A good looking woman in her middle 40‘s, with a plunging neckline, motioned to the Sangiovese and suggested I try a bottle. “It’s delicious. And it’s Sangiovese. How could you go wrong?”

Indeed. She was making my job easier. In the rush to the holidays, folks are trying to be helpful, get those bottles of wine into hands, any hands, even if they sound like a pickup line. It got me thinking about what we do to get the wine to that point. There are a lot of hands that touch the wine that bring it to the front lines.

Indispensable is the hand of the winemaker. Young or old, male or female, the caretakers of the grape bring the wine into birth. With the help of nature and the sometimes unnatural persuasion of humankind, the humble grape tumbles into a life of wine and then on a journey across a planet to give joy and happiness to the global village of wine lovers. The winemaker is finishing their initial harvest work about now, except for a few late harvest projects in the northern hemisphere, maybe some ice wine in the northern regions. But in Italy, the wine has been put to bed, preparing for the next set of hands.

If it comes to the US or anywhere outside of Italy, usually an importer is involved. The classical importer is a person of discernment, one who knows Italy intimately and also has a working knowledge of the world he is trying to place the wine in. Some live in Italy, some in the US and some commute between the two countries. One of my dear friends, Eugenio Spinozzi, had dual citizenship and lived half and half. He was a global villager. But many people do this. The closer they are to the end-user, usually the better connected they are to the ever-changing realities of the marketplace.

Italy is unique, in my experience, from other countries, in that there are so many opinions and ideas on how to go about advancing wine. In some cases it is simply a matter of turning on the tap, filling up bottles, boxing them, getting a good price and that’s all she wrote. There is plenty of that. The good news is that those wines have gotten better and have helped bring more wine drinkers into the fold.

But then there are those forces of energy that look beyond a warm meal and a dry bed and consider the history, the finesse, the legacy of what they are doing in their daily lives. Those people inspire those of us who see this wine world as a lively and passionate way of life.

History has a place in all of this. In these times, it seems times past have been shuffled to an out-of-reach shelf on a cabinet, away from the sights of most people. And without history, especially in the last 60 or so years, the story of Italian wine is folklore and legend; many just stories with little or no anchor to the truth.

When people sit at a table over a bottle of wine it is like a drum circle, a bonfire, a tribal bonding. Every year at the wine fairs, and all through the year, this happens in Italy. All the time. Right now it is going on, this constant weaving of the story of wine, over a meal, maybe a fire, always another bottle showing up and conversation, endless conversation. Wine is the glue of the constantly evolving culture. Such a vital heartbeat it is.

And then there is the middle man and his retinue of colleagues, which help husband the wine closer to the user. I know the newer people in the business have little or no regard for that segment of the business, but without them Italian wines wouldn’t have gotten this far in America. Some of the giants who blazed trails, like Tony LaBarba of American Wine in Texas. I moan and whine about the flyover syndrome in these parts. Could you imagine what it must have been like in the 1950’s or 1960’s when there were few good restaurants, little to no wine shops and a population that was still under the spell of Prohibition? I cannot.

Ultimately the retailer and the restaurant owner are the ambassadors of these objects of good will that a country sends halfway across earth to share their bounty. And there are many, many kinds of people, with all kinds of ideas of how to go about proceeding forward. Today, in the supermarket, someone had to make it happen that a case stacking of Sangiovese was able to get to the point when a stranger could remark to another stranger about how nice that wine must be. It didn’t just magically appear.

The payoff? For me it is definitely at the table, where friend and foe alike take momentary refuge from the travails of gathering their daily bread. This is such a special moment in civilization, unparalleled in time because of the vast opportunities we have to celebrate it often and readily. And for that we have so very much to be thankful for.

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

The Wine Week, So Far (looking for a wine of the week)

It’s just been three days this week so far but it feels like a week or more. Evening events, tastings, wine dinners every night this week so far (with more to come) along with full day’s work, working lunches even. And then there are the deals.

Two truffle wine dinners this week. I am all truffled out. Some lovely Nebbiolos though. The Produttori Barbaresco 2005 is gorgeous. I still can’t believe when Etienne de Montille was at the house recently, he was jonesing for Nebbiolo. Too much great Pinot Noir can be too much of a good thing? I reckon.

Before I head back to Austin tomorrow and before I go to bed tonight, I laid out 60 or so bottles of wine for the Becky, the wine of the week writer to try. “Can you be here at 9:00AM?” I asked her. So in a few hours after a little sleep and a caffe latte or two, we’ll get started.

I’ve written about this before, but every time it is different. Earlier in the week I took a stroll around the warehouse and looked over thousands of different wines, all crisp and cool and waiting to be adopted. I pulled out the wee gee board and chose wines from Italy, France Spain, South America, South Africa, New York and Texas. Very few of them looked familiar to me, but that isn’t the issue. We’re looking for sleepers, values and out of the choices, a gem or two. I had to laugh the other day when my friend Tom Wark was lambasting the three-tier system and claiming “What truly gives consumers in any market real choice and selection is direct shipment rights by out-of-state wineries and retailers.” Dear Tom, you certainly haven’t walked a mile in my shoes. That’s plainly inaccurate. Now whether we (or direct shippers) can sell all the wines we have at our disposal is another matter. And while I’m at it, how about this one?

An importer friend calls me and tells me a retailer has this wine that looks like it came from his import company and the customer wants to return it. My friend asks the retailer to send him a picture of the wine, front label and back, so he can determine the provenance of the wine. It turns out the wine had another importers strip label on it (grey market) and the wine had been heat damaged (possibly by shipping in warmer months). My friend mailed the retailer back and suggested they tell the customer to try and return it from where they bought it. It’s a hassle, boxing it up and shipping it back to California or New Jersey, if the retailer would even take it back. Bottom line, there still is a place for people to people business and as long as those of us in the wine business (via the traditional platform or the ones in the future) remember who the most important person is – that would be the wine end-user.

Sausage Paul was bubbly today. I went over to the shop to make sure his Tuscan wine sale was rockin’. And he proceeded to take me to the back room and show me all the great Sicilian pastries that just showed up, along with a bunch of wonderful dried pastas from Campania. Add to that the Pandoro and Panettones that arrived and the place has the Holiday feel. The only thing missing was a war bride from Calabria for Joey the Weasel. Sausage Paul was waiting around for him. Brothers in arms, they are.

As I stepped outside to go to my wine dinner, flying winemaker Chris Ringland was pulling up to go to dinner at a local spot, a BYOB place. He was in town to showcase his holiday sparkler, Bitch Bubbly. Chris, up since 4:00AM wasn’t too effervescent at that point. I’m sure the bottle of ’82 Mouton he sampled revived him a bit.

And yes, I am again officially rambling. But hey, it’s just a little blog by an obscure Italian wine guy in flyover country, what do you expect, Nossiter or Grahm?

A big shout out to Tom Maresca for jumping into the bloggy-blog world. Matt Kramer where you at, brother? Come on in, jump, Matt, jump. It won’t kill you. It hasn't killed Charles Scicolone. Yet.

So, bona notte y’all; con calma e gesso.

written by and photos of wines lined up to be tasted by Alfonso Cevolalimited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

O-N-D Halftime Report: A Three-Tier Crusaders Gamebook

Only 39 selling days till Christmas

There are all kinds of things to distract one in the wine business these days. Confluences abound, yet points of view are so diverse that to troll the top 100 wine blogs is to get a combination of blunt head trauma, whiplash and a serious case of confusion. The last week I have been going around in the car trying to sell cases of wine, and believe me it hasn’t been all that easy. And folks that I am talking to, they are saying the same.

So halfway through the precious holiday season of wine selling (and buying) we’re looking at a slow start. O-N-D, the October-November-December sales season is late harvest so far. There are a lot of unemployed and underemployed folks out there. My second trip to San Antonio in the last six weeks and what I saw on the streets near the bus station reminded me more of New Orleans, post-Katrina, than Alamo city. There are a lot of people on the edges, and not just folks we normally associate with in that category.

College grads, the class of 2009? The Millennials, who are supposed to help save and grow the country ibto a nation of wine drinkers? Reports have it that upwards of 80% of recent graduates are still without a job. And that would mean they are also without any kind of health care. Were trying to get folks to buy a bottle of Chianti for $7 and we have people who are trying to stay one step ahead of illness. Wine is a luxury to these folks. Cheese, bread, food has a higher priority right now. Really.

Austin was a little better. It is a contrarian kind of place and relatively affluent. One of the grads of 2009 (who is unemployed) tells me kids drive to Guadalupe (a main drag near the University) and get away from their car and beg for bucks. Tax free, but what a way to gather funds.

Houston this week, is looking like a town out of a Ridley Scott movie. The hotel we hooked for under $100 a night was four star and very bizarre. Sci-Fi hotel and folks looking for wines that we didn’t have. Meanwhile the wines we brought, folks weren’t buying so fast. Back to the drawing board.

And Dallas, what in the world is going on in this old home town over in flyover country? Well, Dallas is just plain weird. Last night we were invited a ball for a good cause. The dress was tropical. So our group read the memo and came to the party as requested. Meanwhile all of Dallas was decked out in black cocktail dresses and tuxedos. This is the story of my life in this town. I listen to the instructions and comply only to find a society mocking me with their conventions. It doesn’t just happen with Italian wines, it’s the whole gestalt. And online wine marketers think it is just rough for them because the laws and the system have been set up for the alpha-cats of the industry? Not from my perch. It just ain’t all the pretty in any area of the biz.

Speaking of, I headed over to Sausage Paul’s on Saturday to pick up my burrata. The place was jammed with shoppers. But I counted seven wine reps on the floor. About five too many. I got out as fast as I could, but not before a wine import rep accosted me and chastised me and Joey the Weasel for resetting the store. “Where’d you put all the shelf takers?’ He screeched. I explained that in order to clean the shelves which were dirty, we took all of the p.o.s. down. “You didn’t take yours down. Yours are all up.” He was a combination of pit-bull and rhesus monkey. I explained to him that yes I did put up shelf talkers, all new ones, many made by hand, on the spot. As if I had the exclusivity on hand-made shelf talkers. At this point I was starting to get irritated. Why? Because if I do something, it is for the client and the customers of the client. A retail wine store doesn’t exist for importers or distributors. It exists for the end-use customer. Period.

One more swipe, as if he were an out of work samurai from the Meiji Period. “I see you reset the store too.” At which point my coup de grace was simply, “Yes, and thankfully it was done by someone who knows what they are doing.”

I'd had it with this character, who once tried to tell me about DOCG, when I have made the study of DOCG’s and gotten closer than most in actually ferreting out their mysteries. In that same interchange he tried to convince me (or anyone around him that couldn’t escape the boom-varoom of his 300 HP voice) that a Barolo DOP (the new European classification) would also encompass anything made in the district, from Dolcetto to Barbera to Barbaresco. Huh? Barolo DOP now would be what we call Barbaresco? Is this guy nuts? And he is questioning whether or not Joey the Weasel and I know our way around the Italian wine set in a store? Maybe the three-tier system does need a little tweaking? Starting with bloviated reps that don’t do their homework and try to pass off B.S. to their peers and worse, to unsuspecting shoppers who are merely trying to find a nice white wine to go with their burrata.

And we are just halfway in the season. This could be a bloody Christmas.

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

Master Class in Gruner and Nero D'Avola at a local Bacaro

A cicchetti feast for vegans and a panino-fest for porchetta-lovers

How often does one get the opportunity to travel around a state visiting great wine people with a master sommelier like Damon Ornowski? Last week, while my amigo was noshing it up in Nashville with Kermit, we were terroirizing the Texas countryside with a car full of Gruners and Nero D’Avolas. An unlikely pair of wines from the polar opposite ends of Italy (the Gruner was off the map from the Wachau).

Last week in Houston, our rolling wine show pulled up to the steps of a friend’s new place. Lynette Hawkins recently opened up Giacomo’s cibo e vino on 3215 Westheimer (near Kirby). The concept is bacaro with cicchetti, a casual wine bar with small plates. This is a delight for carnivore and vegan alike, as the counter is filled with any number of delicious offerings. Tha place has gotten great early press from my twitter buddy @alisoncook.

But our goal was to meet up with a group of sales reps and sommeliers for a quick meet-up and a light lunch. The draw was Damon with his wines from Cusumano in Sicily and a selection of Austrian wines from Kracher, Hirtzberger and Domane Wachau. Great stuff and right before the Thanksgiving holiday some liquid food for thought.

Damon is a lightning bug of info, and he moves as fast as one too (the guy took two runs in one day while we were in Austin!). After a long day in San Antonio, capped off by a dinner at Il Sogno, Andrew Weismann's new Italian spot in the Pearl Brewery, we headed out early for the ride to Houston. All through the trip I kept wondering about all the great BBQ places we were passing. Thankfully it was too early and we had to be in Houston at 11:00AM.

Damon handled the wine details and I got with Giacomo manager Emily, who is as turned on to the concept of cicchetti as the able proprietressa, Lynette. I looked at the line of food and asked her for a little taste of everything for our group.

Within minutes small plates poured onto the table, fighting for space with the Gruners and the Neros. But a battle in which everyone won.

I have to say, I roll with some interesting folks in the wine business (starting to sound like an umami blog, hey Dr.P?) and this was no different. @JonSomm (Jonathan Hoenefenger of Tony’s) and I got into this deep chat about DOCG’s. Jon keeps me on my toes, and we had some fun flaring our nostrils at each other, trying to stump one another over the most esoteric of wines from Italy. Later in the lunch he mentioned the Nero D’Avola Bianco that he pours as the house wine at his restaurant (Damon made a note and emailed the Cusumano's about it on the way to the next stop). Scott Barber from Tesar’s in the Woodlands took the drive in to hook up with us, along with a table of intense and attentive salespeople and their clients. Darn, we are lucky to be working and living in these times.

"Hey, I'm really paying attention -

I'm just writing my tasting notes down"

The Cicchetti we had were wonderful (If you aren't a carnivore you would be very happy here - see the pictures):
we also had
•cavolfiore in agro dolce roast cauliflower in caramelized onion vinaigrette
•ratatouille roast eggplant and zucchini with sweet peppers, onions, tomato, herbs, garlic and olive oil
•insalata di barbabietole roast beets with goat cheese, fennel, walnuts
•tacchino tonnato poached turkey breast marinated in tuna sauce
•frutti di mare salad of poached shrimp, calamari, fennel, herbs, lemon and olive oil
•polpettini d’agnello spicy lamb meatballs
•pollo ai peperoni chicken thighs braised with white wine, sweet peppers and onions

But the showstopper of the afternoon was Lynette’s panino di porchetta, a toasted sandwich of slow braised fennel and rosemary roasted Berkshire pork on ciabatta (with my full year's allocation of garlic). It was so good I didnt take the time to take a picture of it. It was so good I wasn’t even feeling bad about missing all that brisket and ribs we passed by on our way from San Antonio earlier.

And with wines like Cusumano Nero D’ Avola (rosato and rosso) and the Gruners from Domane Wachau, Hirtzberger and Kracher, it was hard to imagine how we would ever make the next three appointments (we did!).

Giacomo's cibo e vino? A great new destination in Houston for wine and food lovers, especially if you are looking for pure and simple unpretentious food and affordable wine. Lynette, grazie e bravo!

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

Klaatu Burrata Nikto

Funny, some of the convergences in life. Just a few observations from the road. Maybe it’s all the high- sugar, high-acid wine I’ve been trying from Kracher. But when I got an email today from Sausage Paul that the burrata was in, and I’m not, I stared into the sky and asked, why me?

Yeah, no, life is rolling along pretty well. I’ve got with me a road warrior selling-machine as we waltz the show across the Texas; no guitars, only corkscrews, when needed. So far, so good. Let’s see, any other clichés I can cram in here?

Tasting high-sugar, high-acid wines from Austria has been an education. It helps to take along an expert, in this case my buddy and colleague, Damon Ornowski. Life ain't too bad.

These days, on the road, our conversation has taken us in and out of wine, Italian and otherwise. I feel like I’m taking a rolling master class with a man who is a class act. From Wachau to Etna and back.

Speaking of acts, what was Kermit Lynch thinking? We rolled into Austin on Monday to taste some of his wines at Vino Vino and for a CD release party, which turned out to be a “Listening Party.” Austin, the live music capital of Texas, and Kermit, and his buddy Ricky, sitting up there together and staring out at the crowd, smiling and waving, while the CD played? I gotta say, it had an unearthly feel, a slight-disconnect. The young ones in the crowd just looked at each other with that "so old-school" expression. Or maybe it was the Bourgogne Rouge on the table that was sulfuring in silence? Old man, I love many of your wines and your first book, and you seem to be a good egg, but I don’t know about these here musical meanderings of yours. You should have brought your guitar - after all this is Texas.

While on the subject of music, Jay-Z was playing in Austin last night. I saw the spectacle unfold from my hotel window. Lots of Lamborghinis lolling around the parking lots. Now we’re talking L.I.V.E. music.

After the show a group of us were sucking down some fruity Nebbiolo and noshing from the perch at Trio in the Four Seasons. As we poured out of the door to our chariots, a young rapper and his entourage rolled in.

When the young lion stood by his Lambo to take a private call, I observed him. Young, wealthy, famous, lots of stuff to play with.

He seemed so alone. The fame, yes, he had sought it and it stuck to him like the orange paint on the exotic Italian roadster that he cozied up to. But as he walked farther away into the darkness, chatting on his cell, I felt an other-worldy weight on his shoulders.

Or perhaps it was the sugar coursing through my veins from a long day on the wine road?

I pray he doesnt have a vineyard.

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

Italian Wines: This is Your Moment to Shine

Bordeaux is in the tanks, Australian wines are on the decline. Elite California wines are having an identity crisis, and Spanish wines suffer from not having a large enough base. Argentina is emerging because of their affordable and drinkable wines. So Italy, where does that leave you?

I get a call from a restaurateur. He wants me to come to his restaurant to taste wines and meet a winemaker. For years he has wanted to show in his place the wines from his region, Emilia-Romagna. One time I worked for a company that brought in wines for him, from Predappio. Predappio was where Mussolini came from.

Well, Predappio was a sad little place that had some imposing Mussolini era architecture which had fallen on hard times. The wines were a work in progress. So I was expecting more of the same.

Happily, the winemaker is someone who is grounded. I could tell by the way he took a piece of focaccia and placed the tomato and mozzarella on top of it, making his own impromptu pizza Margherita. He wasn’t waiting for someone to bring it out, he was taking charge.

Did I mention that he was born in Friuli? We talk about wine as symbol and wine as sustenance. He pronounces Gravner correctly (Grǒwner). He knows how hard we all have tried to sell those wines, but he also knows that we also have to buy braces for our kid’s teeth. And he also knows we want to love the wines we sell.

The wines? Only three are tried, from Emilia-Romagna, all Sangiovese based. The basic wine, selling in Italy for about € 3.00 is our first glimpse into the heart of this young winemaker.

I was inclined to like this young winemaker. We have a mutual friend. And he isn’t wearing loafers (suede or shiny). He is a working guy, his hands are big; the kind one needs in a vineyard and around a winery. I can tell that we also are probably more aligned politically than the conversation at the table is going. Yeah, I like him alright.

As we move on to the second wine, a Superiore, a duo of pizzas arrive at the table. We have launched into eating at this point; the wine is supporting the food, not outshining it with its brilliance. So far, so good.

And then we arrive at the point when the next level red is opened, also a Superiore. Mostly Sangiovese, but interloper grapes are involved, Cabernet and Merlot vying for our attention. As if they didn’t get enough from Napa, from Bordeaux, from the Maremma. A plate of tagliata with arugula appears; let’s drive this wine around the dining room, shall we?

I go back to the first wine, the simple Sangiovese. And then to the second wine, the Superiore of solitary Sangiovese. And then back to the last wine. Back and forth, eating, talking, sitting in the middle of a little trattoria in flyover country, enjoying a simple meal, with a beacon of light from Italy, this messenger from Bacco. Magnificent in its simplicity; perfect wine for the time.

The winemaker is going back to the base wine, pouring himself another glass. “So tell me, Stefano, about this wine. It is simple. It stands up to the other two wines above it. It is inexpensive. And it is so well balanced.” (He had me, didn’t he?)

“Well, Alfonso, this is the wine we make in Emilia-Romagna. Even at this level the terroir comes through, as it should in any wine. I love to drink this wine. Everyday.”

Of course he does. Because this is really the mission of wine, isn’t it? To give pleasure in a simple and uncomplicated way. And this is something the Italians have done so well, for so many years. Before the bright lights of the scores and the designer clothes and cars got in the way of the mission of all the millennia leading to this present time.

Italy, take heed. The time is over for spoofulated, manipulated, overly oaked and alcoholic wine at high prices. Oh, you’ve heard this said too many times on these posts? Well, that is the word, once again, from the trenches. Get back to being real about what wine is in this world. It isn’t a Hollywood starlet with plastic surgery. It isn’t a 500 horsepower roadster that gets 10 miles to the gallon. And it isn’t a Sangiovese or a Merlot, or any other wine, at 15% alcohol in medium toast French barrique that is destined to be a wine of meditation, whatever that even could begin to be in this world today.

Get back to wines we can drink everyday, at lunch, and go back to work afterward. Wines that we can afford to drink everyday. Wines that are simple but wines that reflect their sense of place. Do that, and do it consistently, and then you can have all the designer clothes and watches and cars and plastic surgery your little heart desires.

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

"We'll get on it right away and 'get back' to you"

From the " they keep lobbing softballs like this at me, I just had to hit it" department.

In my inbox I get these kinds of notes all the time. Seeing as I am not very busy this time of the year I wonder if I should pursue this inquiry. Read on, I do not make these things up.

Good morning Sir, Madam

We are an estate situated in _________________, Fattoria di ________ in _______.

We produce the following products:

_________________________ (white wine) docg: 5 months in french barriques, middle toast, fine-grained, first and second passage in wood.

_________________________ (white wine) riserva docg

_________________________ (red wine) docg: only stain steel, typical _______ with old cepages of the old disciplinary

Two kind of I.g.t.:

___________ ______________ (fantasy name red) i.g.t 100% Sangiovese, 8 months refining in tonneau of 5 hectolitres. Maceration of the skin for 20 days. Refining in bottles for 6/7 months.

______________ (fantasy name red) i.g.t 70% Cabernet,25% merlot,5% sangiovese.

The Cabernet was plant(ed) in the year 1960 from the grandfather. Now, they replant new vineyards with the old clone.

Separate vinification and added in french barriques for 18 months. Strong toasted, fine-grained, international taste, the wood does not dominate the power of the wine but exalt it. This kind of wine is consider: "MEDITATION WINE".

The perfect food matching is with aged cheeses, wildboar etc..

two kind of Doc ___________ ______________ (actually docg white)

I would like to know if could be interesting for you receive more information about the Estate, products.

Feel free to contact us.


Umm, let me meditate on this. I'll get cub reporter, Jimmy Olsen, on it right away and "get back" to you.

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

One Last Night Under the Moonlight

Farewell, my little Mexican Pepperleaf

Under the full moon I walked outside to spend one last moment with her. All summer she spent with me, content to lounge around the pool and this little isola, swaying to the symphony of the sounds that flung about. Occasionally the flock of parrots would screech by, looking for anything that reminded them of their tropical home. She did, and they would fly low as they would try to comfort each other in this land of the Norteños. I tried to spend as much time with her as I could, but it wasn’t enough. Last night, under the full moon, we said farewell.

Earlier in the day, there was a reminder at the luncheon for the Italian chef. The salad course, right in front, she cavorted delicately with her dancing partner. Everyone at the table commented on how light on their feet they were and how well they complemented one another. I couldn’t be jealous, they were right. But I knew it was over for us, again.

This happens every year. She shows up at my back gate, nearly climbing the fence to get in. She re-arranges everything, but I don’t protest, she makes it look so easy. And calm. And she’s really no trouble at all. She asks for nothing but to be loved and shared. She is authentic and thrives without any kind of toxins. She is pure and simple, her perfume is delicate and spicy, sweet like a balsam. To all whom she comes into contact with, she improves them and is improved by them. She spends most of her time alone, but is best in the presence of company. She is unique and she is no trouble at all. And all she encompasses she does with proliferate ease.

But when the summer comes to an end, she yearns for warmer places, brighter things. Even though I have shown her another world, New York, San Francisco, all over Texas, she yearns for her home, where she has been revered all her life. What can one do? This is the way it is with my little Mexican mistress. She belongs to an ancient world, even as a bigger world calls for her.

I understand her wanting to be someplace where she fits in better. Only the parrots, who are slowly going insane with the onset of winter, could remind her of her dear home.

This morning I went out to see her before she left. It was a dewy morning, she was by the roses. So bright, so strong, so delicate, among the thorny creatures. They didn’t want to let her go, they held on to her as well.

The rabbit, silent and stoic, was frozen. It was as if we were all losing a piece of ourselves. I remember as I was helping her into the car to take her to her next stop, I started to cry. Dolce pianto, the Dottore reminded me, sweet tears.

All'afflitto è dolce il pianto
è la gioia che gli resta…

The reaper had reaped, it was blood he wanted and it was blood he got. There was nothing, save the shrieks of the parrots circling the sky above. The sun had risen, but it was a dark moment as she who had filled the world with darkness was now silent and gone.

The days are shorter and the nights are colder. She cannot suffer, though, because she has flown on to her new life. As I stand among the ruins of our time together, I can only hope someday she will return and fill the life of this little isola with her beauty and her calm joy and her music and her vigor, di nuovo.


Buen viaje mi querida, Hoja Santa

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

With thanks to Gaetano Donizetti for the midnight inspiration