Pictures from the Wine Trail in 2009

Looking back at my Best of 2009 on Flickr, go to the Slideshow or click on the individual photos below - these are just a sampling of the images.











Enjoy!
-Alfonso

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

“Cris” Kringle, Hot Shots, Dream Wines & Mad(e) Men

One more day to go for calendar year 2009. Yesterday Sausage Paul was in the mood to pop a few bottles, starting with some Nicky Feuillatte Rose’ Palmes d’or. I dropped by his place in the morning with a little "bling" for his New Year stocking. I know Luca Zaia is trying to get everyone in Italy to drink Italian sparklers. But here in Texas we have an affliction to mix it up. And bubbles are part of the reason we liven up after working three months non-stop to try and get as much wine into the hands of deserving folks in these parts. But today was birthday for two gents, Paul and Joe Akers.

We need a name for Joe Akers, something that fits his demeanor. Let’s see, he likes wine, women and money. How about Joey the Whack? Anyway it was Sausage Paul and Joey the Whack’s tandem birthday – imagine born on the same day in the same year – separated at birth and joined together by a love for Amarone.

Joey the Weasel (aka Joe Strange Eye) couldn’t make it. He was busy loading up his vehicle to make hot shot deliveries to restaurants that had last minute “needs.” A coupe of days ago we had five minutes of snow and everybody in town panicked, started canceling New Year’s reservations, And then when the snow melted, 10 minutes later, everyone, and then some, called back, panicking that they wouldn’t get a New Years Eve seat in the restaurant of their choice. Anywho, Joe couldn’t make it.

A couple of veterans and a young lion did show up though. Adelmo was in rare form. Everyone brought a bottle of wine from their stash. Jermann’s "Dreams", the ’05 La Louviere, a tanned and sassy ’97 Solaia, a 2000 Ghiaie della Furba from Capezzana, a 93 Brunello and a bubbly from the Texas, Mexico, New Mexico border town of Canutillo, Texas. Huh? I’d never heard of it either, but there it was from the Zin Valle Vineyards, predictably named “Rising Star.” Well, of course.

Adelmo is my neighbor and man, his trash can fills up with a lot of wine bottles during the holidays. Today we had a beautiful lineup for the recycle tub. And we got to try wines from France, Italy and Texas before the year expires.

After the Rose’, Adelmo poured me a glass of deep yellow wine. I didn’t look at the label but when I tasted it I thought I was drinking a passito chardonnay. I didn’t recoil from it, but it caught me off guard. “I love this wine,” Adelmo proclaimed. “I don’t know what it is about it, but everything is in place with this wine for me.” I could see that. It was spoofulated and statuesque, but not grotesque. It went well with the ceviche. Ok, I’d go along for the ride.

A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams."

The last time I had the 2005 La Louviere was in Bordeaux out of the barrel. This time it was showing “advanced tendencies”. The wine seemed super-ripe, California-like. Odd. Again, Adelmo’s is a vortex and funny things happen in his place. We were sitting there making fun of each other; he likes to claim that Sicily is the only Arab country that has never invaded Israel. I countered that one cannot really allege to be Tuscan when their claim to fame is as one of the bastards of Napoleon when he was marooned on Elba. A couple in the corner heard our banter and the young lass let out a whoop. I think she wanted to join the drinking party (and she eventually did). But that is the way we rolled that day.

Adelmo’s friend, Danny, who got out of the retail wine and sprits biz (but not out of real estate), brought a bottle of ’97 Solaia. Danny and Joey the Whack and Adelmo are travel buddies who go to Italy from time to time. They leave a trail of broken “Dream” bottles wherever they go.

All of us are tied to one or the other in the wine biz. Beat, "The Swiss Missile" we all have known for so long, is a passionate guy about any kind of wine. And he is fiercely competitive. David is the other “money” guy in the group; he loves to eat and travel and drink wine and make money, so now he’s part of the tribe of characters. The Young Lion, Ben, has these wild looking eyes – if you didn’t know him you might think he’s getting ready to cloud up and rain on you. But he’s good. He loves wine and selling for his small company and he was so proud of loading up his car with the Texas Bubbly and going out with hand invoices to deliver the wine on the spot. I remember doing that a generation ago with an Italian Novello. It’s front line excitement, making things happen, right here, right now. Feels good.
A pasta dish with clams (why do those waiters bring the cheese around to ask us if we want any?) followed by a lamb chop (with more pasta, this time gnocchi) and then a small plate of veal. My regimen is getting close to being shot this day. We open the Super (reductive) Tuscan from Capezzana. These guys loved it – but they also love big red wine from the Veneto and Napa. I get it; I was on that bus once upon a time.


A mystery carafe appears – a 93 Brunello – from Banfi – maybe the Poggio all’Oro? It was pretty calm compared to the previous wines (that’s right) and it was almost in a hibernative-stage. We were moving through wine pretty fast now.

Slabs of bread pudding appeared on a small plate along with another wine, Feudi di San Gregorio "Privilegio", a botrytis passito of Fiano from Cotarella. I had a slight epiphany here. Cotarella knows how to do ripe, fruity, rich. I wonder what he could do with a Sagrantino in the “old style”. He does an Aleatico that’s a jam-fest. The Privilegio was a little over the top, but it was in keeping with the general theme of the day.

To come (full?) circle, we ended with the Texas Brut, which was fruity. “Rising Star” from Canutillo, Texas. A stone’s throw from Juarez.

The young lass who was admiring our tall tales and all the wine finally came over to see what the stir was all about. Her lunch companion had to get back to work. Some people do have to stoke the fires of the American economy, after all. So we toasted him and he set sail, while she looked at the lineup in amazement. For all I know, they might all still be there drinking in the New Years. As for me and Adelmo, she shot us in our Spy vs. Spy coats. Mine was a gift from a friend whose husband (who was a real Mad Man on NY in the 1950’s and ‘60’s) had passed away. It was a great gift to go into the next year, with a vintage Burberry Spy coat, with hidden pockets. Big enough to hide a bottle of Cristal. Or Jacques Selosse? Like I said, we like to mix it up in flyover country.



See you in 2010!

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

4 Years & 535 Blog Posts Ago...

…I started On The Wine Trail in Italy on December 28, 2005. My first post was pretty basic, a picture of Monte Vulture with a cluster of Aglianico grapes in the foreground. The impetus was from a friend, David Anderson, whose blog, Italian's Insight to Travel Italy, was this constant force of nature that compelled me to stay up with. David has stopped blogging for now, gone on to other things. But he was my guide and I thank him for starting me down the road of the bloggy-blog world.

My first commenter was My Life Italian blogger, Tracie Branch. We became pen pals and when she moved back to Texas, I adopted her as my Italian Wine Daughter. She is marrying another blogger, whom I met in NY (in his soul-patch days) via reading about him on blog-colleague Eric Asimov's The Pour. One day I suggested they "friend" each other on Facebook. The rest is history.

This is my 536th (and not last) post. I have been asking bloggers "if circumstances were presented to you that you were compelled to stop blogging, would you stop blogging?" Feel free to chime in here; I will compile the answers in another post down the road.

In the meantime, we have until the 37th of December (this year) to make homes for all the Italian wine in this O-N-D period. And Sausage Paul and Joey the Weasel (aka Joe Strange Eye) and the cast of characters and I are going to be busy right up until then. I havent talked to Beatrice or Arthur lately - I hope they're doing OK and will contribute to these pages soon.

Four years, 500+ posts, and that is just this blog, not too shabby. All done after hours, while holding down a pretty cool job. Life ain’t so bad for this wine-blogger.


Now, if I could just get someone in my family to answer their damn phone.

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

All in the (Italian Wine) Family

The temperature was barely above freezing when I took a longer than intended run today. When I got back home, there was a message on my voice mail, from my friend Cassandra in Italy. “Alfonso, where are you? I need to talk to someone who I am so close to but not related by blood.” I could tell by the tone of her voice that this would be a long talk. So I poured myself some tea and called her.

Cassandra (not real name) and I met in Italy when we were in our 20’s. Her family is in the wine business (among others) and whenever there is some little piece of information I must know (or verify) Cassandra is usually the one I call. She is a no B.S. person, very passionate and loved by her friends, whom she is fiercely loyal to. In my view, I would punctuate that with a “to a fault.” She and I never were romantic; we both saw that we were much too alike and that it would be best if we didn’t go down that road. Thankfully that short and wise moment of otherwise testosterone-laden youth has served us well. We have remained close friends for many years.

Her family has holdings in the Central part of Italy (where she lives) as well as in the South and the North along with vineyards in Europe and the New World. They have made some great wines and they have made some terrible wines. Cassandra has been involved in wine over the years. Today she is less engaged in the day-to-day business. She has resources and dreams and she intends to realize some of them. But lately she has seemed to be a little pre-occupied with her family, so it didn’t come as a big surprise that she wanted to talk to me about them, especially during a holiday when so much of what we perceive family to be is put under a big microscope to be fully revealed. I had no idea if she was going to drop a bombshell on me.


I called Cassandra; she had just awakened from an afternoon nap, where she had fallen asleep by a warm fire. It was cold in her part of the world and she was curled up with a book and a hearth and had promptly fallen asleep. But she wanted very much to talk.

“I am reviewing my family life- my parents, my sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, nieces, grandparents, children, all of them- and my relation to them now.” Her father was still very much alive. He was always traveling somewhere for the family. Her sister had married a man who was an outsider but who had done very well for himself and had taken a large part of the family business to international scale. “But Cassandra, tell me, you sounded stressed on your voice message, what is going on?”

She took what sounded like a deep breath and proceeded to tell me all.

“I don’t think my family likes me. I don’t know what I have done to them. I have been a loyal daughter, usually doing what I have been told to do. But I have this independent streak; you know it so well, Alfonso. And because of it, it seems I have never done what my family thought I should do, even when I have been successful. My brothers and sisters and I seldom talk, and when we do it seems like we are playing pretend, like we are being polite because we know we must be. But there is no depth to our talks. I feel as though they have all built a moat around their life and they control who gets in. My nephews are growing up and they seem to be so, what is the word I have heard you say in English, they think they have it coming?”

“Entitled?” I ask.

“Yes.” She continued. “They have these fancy BMVoos and Prada and Dolce & Gabbana and they have so much arrogance for anyone who is older or even thinks different. What has happened to Italy and the family?”

I didn’t know if it was a rhetorical question but I knew Cassandra would continue. I just wanted to focus her a little. “Cassandra, what is going on with your son, is he ok?”

“Alfonso, he is the dear light of my life. When my husband died (tragically, some say perhaps not so accidental) he took it so hard. He became very dark and not willing to share his feelings. But he is a grown up person. What can I do? When my father calls him and he doesn't call him back, I must listen to my father tell me that the young people of today have lost all their respect. But my father was never available, emotionally, for him or for me. And then there is the subtle way my father turns the conversation into a criticism of my parenting. And then I am caught between the two of them, grandson and grandfather, who are both so much alike, but will never look into each other’s eyes. And then it is all my fault.”

“And the wine business, Cassandra, what about it?”

“Alfonso, you know what is going on it Italy right now – you read the reports – do you remember what I told you back when the Brunello scandal was just surfacing, that this was just the edge of a very big knife that would be found sticking through the body of the Italian wine industry? And here we are now, with another large corruption looming. Not good.”

“What about your sister and her husband and the business? Are they affected?” I don’t know why I asked her, I guess I was trying to get her to talk through the whole family thing.

“They are like that little quote from Gattopardo that you love to recite, when the Jesuit tells the Prince, ‘Excellency, the efficacy of confession consists not only in telling our sins but in being sorry for them.’ They are so removed from their sins, by their wealth and their moats, that they feel no compunction to even confess. So it is a big mess. My dear sister is from the old school, she doesn’t like to make any waves and why should she? She can ski in the Alps during the winter holidays and tan all summer on the Costa Smeralda with her grandchildren, playing in the water and eating insalata di polipo with Vermentino from her little vineyard. Why should anything change in her way of doing things?”

“No, really what I see now, is that everyone in my family had gone on to live their lives as if the other members of their family should fit an image they have. And if they don’t fit in that frame, they don’t go on the wall in the gallery. They don’t stay part of their family. Young and old, the Italian family in Italy has disintegrated to a wall of Venetian plaster with pretty little pictures of people as we see them, not always as they are. And in my case, I know I do not exist in their reality. And why should I? I am single without a mate; my children are grown up and flung across the world. Our lives rarely intersect, except at a funeral or when the Cardinal summons us to a Mass or a meal. We say to each other ‘I love you,’ before we close the phone, but we don’t act like we really love each other any more.”

This was getting dark. I know the holidays are a rough time for people, I have had my share of challenges lately, but Cassandra was starting to worry me. Here was an accomplished, loving person who thought that her family neither liked her nor loved her anymore. And I really didn’t know what to tell her. I mean, what can one say, make something up from the Rod McKuen play book? None the less, I took a stab at it.

“Look Cassandra, you are better served by the love you give than by the love you receive. And you are a lover of life. I know this is hard for you, you have lost a lot in your short life, but you have your health and you aren’t worried about having enough wood to make a fire to keep you warm at night. You are in a low period right now, and it seems the world might be in a low period with you. But you will not climb out of this pit with a rope thrown to bring you up. You were never this way, and you will not be this way now. You know what you must do, don’t you?” I was trying a little tough love with a huge dose of giddy-up, gal you can do it.

“Amica, I will be in Italy soon. And I must come to your region; it has been a few years since I laid some tulips on the grave of my dear wife, Liz. When I do, please lets spend a day or two together, talking this over. I want to help you as much as I can.”

Maybe that was all she really needed. Not judgment, not to ignore her completely like it seemed her whole blood-family had during this holiday. But a sincere acceptance of who she was and the promise of another day, soon, when we could talk, maybe over a same fire, for as long as she needed.

“I so would love that, Alfonso. You are a friend who knows what I have gone through. And life doesn’t just let up; it keeps throwing things at you. I know I must be strong and love even when I don’t feel it coming back to me. And I will be patient. And when you come, we will have your favorite polenta in that rustic style like we do in the hills, with the wild salad and that wonderful rough red wine with the color of the martyred saints that we first drank, so many years ago when we first met. I will wait for you until then. Ciao, mitico.”


Cassandra struck a cord - the universal desire to be loved. How extraordinary it is the person who gives and gives and asks for nothing in return. In Italy they are called Saints.

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

Christmas Miracles and Mythical Traditions

“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given"

Leo's First Christmas

This little guy, who looks strikingly like his handsome dad, Giulio and beautiful mom, Stacy and sister Gia, is Leonardo Galli. He came into this world not long after Jan 1 of this year, but way before he was “due.” At a little less than 2 pounds, little Leo, the young lion, roared into this world. On Mother’s Day weekend, he finally came home to live with his mom and dad and sister in San Antonio. Merry Christmas, Leo and family. You've come a long way, baby! We are so glad to see you growing up so fast and healthy.

Leo the Warrior with Papa's wedding ring on his arm - long before he came home

This week Sausage Paul invited me and Joey the Weasel (who now wants to be known as Joe Strange Eye, ever since his accident with the shop-vac) along with Adelmo Banchetti, venerable Dallas restaurateur, and an entourage of wealthy financiers and beautiful women, to the Italian Club, for the Feast of the Seven Fishes (festa dei sette pesci). There were hundreds of Italians and Italian Americans assembled for this traditional feast that may or may not really originate in Italy. I have made a little film (here), interviewing people from first generation immigrant Italians to folks who have been here so long they don’t remember where they came from in Italy. I apologize for the length of the clip, as I generally believe any video over two minutes is too long. But if you have the patience, there are some priceless comments, from Adelmo's always entertaining “take” on things to Luigi Mungioli’s insistence that his family did indeed celebrate festa dei sette pesci in his home town in Campania (his wife is not as adamant). Marilisa from Sicily was the star of the show with her on camera presence. I told her she "photographed well" on camera, and she blushed. Marilisa is pregnant and in full female bloom, a beautiful sight.

There is an entertaining explanation from a family who came from Cefalu and settled on the Texas-Louisiana border (known in these parts as Laplanders). The outgoing Italian Club president, Dominic, who grew up in the Northeast of America and whose mother came from Sicily, gave a presentation whereby he explained that the custom most likely originated in America, most likely by Sicilian Americans on the East Coast. Growing up on the West Coast, I have no recollection of my Sicilian family ever celebrating the festa dei sette pesci, other than vague remembrances of eating fish on Christmas Eve. Interestingly in the crowd, when Dominic was presenting his paper, there were utterances of disbelief by Italian Americans who swore the custom originated in Italy. I think it most likely an American tradition, and so be it. After all, we are living in America.

Saw this church between stopping at the tamale shop
and the cheese shop - sanctuary for wayward sheep

Speaking of living in America, I have posted my polemic on Palate Press, on the desideratum for the three-tier system of wine disbursement. Suffice to say, there are heated arguments on both sides, already in the comment sections folks are queuing up to take their shots. Hey it’s a free country. Like a friend said, "When it comes to wants and needs we Americans often line up in the 'I want the world and I want it now' camp or the 'I want my MTV' camp or the 'Give me my freaking goods, dude' camp, depending on which generation is proclaiming their inalienable rights." Good luck to all – This is one for the lawyers who would have to get the issue in front of the Supreme Court to argue the repeal of the 21st amendment and cause the dismantling of an industry that supports hundred of thousands of families. I don’t know too may politicians who are lining up to put more people out of work these days. Summum Bonum.

And we have one more day to get those little bottles of wine in the hands of folks who just got to have a bottle of wine tonight. Snow is predicted. We’ll be stocking and box cutting and espresso sipping and doing our mano a mano relationship marketing at our favorite Italian wine shop in the world. Come see us!

Buon Natale, tutti!

Class Act - Importer Tom Beckman, stocking wine in his Armani blazer,

wearing Prada frames and sporting his trademark limited edition

TAG Heuer Monaco "Steve McQueen" chronograph

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