Two-fer Sabato ~ Two Suits, Two Shoes & Two Tailor Saturday

Tailor talk-Vittorio to Sabato: "I'm sending you some more suits"

My tailor back home, Sabato Napolitano, is going to be real happy. I’m bringing back a pair of Italian suits that he will lovingly caress and reshape to fit my new svelte body (that is if I don’t stop eating all this incredible food).

Yesterday as my colleague and I left Emilia Romagna and headed down the A14 (Adriatic route) towards the Marche, our friend Stefano Salvini recommended a seafood restaurant in Pesaro. “Go there for good fish. Really good fish.” Happily it coincided that we would be driving by this sleepy little beach town right at lunch time. So we had a plan.

Sabato to Vittorio: "Make my day!" 

I wanted to drive through the town of Predappio and see where Mussolini grew up. It is a repository of Art Deco buildings, some of which are in serious need of restoration. It’s a bizarre little town, having such an infamous person as Il Duce as one of their homegrown products. I am sitting on a set of pictures for another post for a more pensive time. But it’s Sabato (Saturday) and we have a mission.

Eating light-you get the picture

After a “light” lunch of anchovies and melon and green beans, gamberi, a little crudo, an incredibly delicious pasta with delights from the sea, finishes off with a fritto misto and a bottle of Bianchello di Metauro (starting to sound like an A.J. Liebling lunch?) we strolled the beach. These little Adriatic coastal towns are some of my favorite places in Italy. Maybe because it reminds me a little of my California days ( La Jolla with really good Italian food?). Really the reason is because of the great memories of have of coming “home” to Italy and often heading here. The scene is relaxed, the people are mellow, the food, did I tell you how great the food is here? And the wine, crisp white wines that aren’t fussed with, and you get the picture. But today was about shopping.

We were met by another Stefano, our friend Illuminati, at the hotel in San Benedetto del Tronto. We had an “appointment” in the Marche hills on the way to Offida, to meet another old friend, Vittorio Boccabianca to get “suited up”.

I was fascinated by the rack of “important” suits, clothes for weddings, confirmations, first communions. This gold suit screamed “Elvis”, I don't know how I resisted its siren call. But if I were a musician, or a magician, it would have been going home with me. Senza dubbio.

As it was I went the conservative dark gray suit and midnight blue (trust me, the flash) pinstripe route. These are some mighty fine threads. Up in the hills the little factories supply the expensive boutiques in Rome, Milan and Florence, and if you go to the source you can get a pretty good deal. Let’s just say I did alright.

Eugenio, Graziella and Vittorio in 2001

Vittorio was the best friend of my old pal, Eugenio Spinozzi, who lived in the area. They would hang out when both of them were home from their traveling salesmen jobs. I used to love hanging with them in the 1990’s along with Vittorio’s lady, Graziella. Good times. Bon anima Eugenio.

Vittorio and Graziela have been "going together" for as long as I can remember - they live separately. She takes care of her ailing mother. But he is philosophical about it. “Women, they share our joy, they double our suffering and the triple our spending.” Yeah, Vito, but we can’t live without them, now can we?

Vittorio is one of the great characters in anyone's life. I remember him walking his dog, Dick, on the beach and meeting us for a gelato and a grappa. Now, Vittorio doesn’t travel as much, but we travel to him and he has the hook up for fine threads. He and his colleague, also named Stefano, turned us on to a shoe store nearby. And I bought me a couple of pairs of shoes – Made it Italy – as shoes were meant, by God, to be made.

Before we headed back down the hill, for another meal of fresh, delicious, succulent seafood ( I did tell you how great the food was here, didn’t I?) Vittorio pressed me to buy some ties. I have several over the year that he has supplied me with. And this year the ties are getting skinny again (like me – if I stop eating so much of this really fine food over here). So I bought a couple of ties. Vittorio gave me a third (non c'è due senza tre ties) and showed me this article on how men tie ties and how it relates to Freudian psychology and what kind of man you are by the knot. It looked pretty kooky, but I allowed myself this short epistemological detour, on the wine trail in Italy.


Now where was that restaurant? I need me some Italian wine. After all, it is the weekend…

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

wine blog +  Italian wine blog + Italy W

Artusi, Taglierini & Cheese Cake Friday

Barely on Italian soil for 12 hours and I’ve been in a vineyard, found ancient Roman ruins, eaten fabulous pasta, been schooled on the cookbook of Pellegrino Artusi and witnessed a bathing suit competition in the rain. Man this country sure does get busy! And this is just the first day.

From Rome to Forli there is a little highway that is beautiful and worth finding. It isn’t an autostrada; it is a trip back into an Italy I don’t see often. The destination, Bertinoro, near Forli, was a winery that I am interested in, Campodelsole. Fresh, simple Sangiovese is what I was in search of. I found it.

Along the way, we walked a vineyard that was being replanted, via GPS and a Lamborghini tractor. I really need to post all about that another time. I have been up too long and need to get some sleep. But I just wanted to drop a few photos in along with these short notes.

It was wet today, so there were muddy boots galore. Real people working in and with the earth, as it should be. I know some folks like to get all mystical and use fancy terms, but there ain’t nothing like getting into the fields and getting after it.

Lagniappe, ancient Roman ruins. Just sitting there, not quite blending in with the fields. Wealth of culture beyond time.

After a day of work, on the wine trail in Italy, we were hosted by Susy Patrito Silva, the director of the Casa Artusi , a museum, school and restaurant devoted to the work of Pellegrino Artusi. I was given an English Translation of his book, “Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating,”, with a forward by Michele Scicolone. Susy had a great grandfather who was born in Colorado (like my mom) and family who were in the shoe business in California (like mine). As well, she hails from Ivrea, between Torino and Aosta, where some of my relatives live as well. Small world.

A bowl of taglierini with a ragu that was indescribably delicious. Brought tears to my eyes, so gorgeous it was. And with a local Sangiovese, it was the perfect food to arrive at once we finally got here.

For dessert? Well, I am still on a diet, but my eyes feasted on a local beauty pageant. Imagine a swimming suit competition under a stormy spring night. Someone left the cheesecake out in the rain.

"Signor polpettone venite avanti, non vi peritate...lo so bene che siete modesto e umile…”

And this is just day one. I am a lucky, lucky guy. And very, very tired. Buon Weekend, y’all!

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

“Find a job you love and you’ll never work another day in your life.”

Wednesday I hung up my suit jacket in my office and went to make a copy. When I came back I saw this study in gray, my new office. Outside it was sunny and bright, and I would soon be out among them. But I had an early morning meeting, one I wasn’t really looking forward to.

For several weeks a gentleman had been trying to get an appointment with me to show me his Italian wines. Finally, I relented.

I read all the time about how if only the consumer sitting in front of the computer screen had access to all the wines the wholesalers didn’t have time or interest in, how much better the world would be for them. I really don’t buy into that line of reasoning. There are usually reasons why some wines will never ( and should never) make it to the market. I, for one, would not purposely restrict the flow of products, but the economics of scale and just the inability for every desired product to make it in the New World is just a pipe dream, at best.

So it was without relish that I and my colleague explained to this gentleman that he would lose all his retirement savings and spend what time he had left in life pursuing a dream that just will never be realized. Not because a wholesaler doesn’t care enough to sell it. Because the market can’t bear the weight of anymore products in an already saturated market. Somewhat of a depressing start to the day. That and the new little gray cubicle I call my office. I am sure someone planned it that way to keep me on the streets. And I am fine with that. So fine.

Fortunately, I had a luncheon appointment with Frédéric Panaïotis, the Chef de Caves for Champagne Ruinart, and Charlotte Duntze, the US Brand Manager for Ruinart and several of my younger colleagues. Champagne for lunch might salvage the day. We can hope.

The restaurant we met at was Stephan Pyles. Stephan was there and came over to chat. We had just spent a day or so together out in Buffalo Gap, and the experience was one of those joyous ones. So we relived a little of that before we got into trying the two Champagnes, the Blanc de Blancs and the Rosé.

But the back story, the one I didn’t tell on a recent post at The Blend, was the story of Bertrand Mure. Bertrand passed away a year ago at the age of 95. He was Frédéric’s mentor of sorts. Frédéric is his emotional heir. Bertrand lived a life few of us can imagine. His life should be a book, a movie. He lived large. Before WWII he lived in Southern California, teaching golf and dating a string of famous Hollywood starlets. That alone, living in the Golden age of American cinema, would be enough for me. But after the war he found himself back in Champagne helping a relative bring back Ruinart from devastation. The backstocks were gone, the vineyards were neglected. The world was in no mood for Champagne. They needed bread and water. But slowly, over two decades, he restored Ruinart, one of the oldest houses in Champagne. He created Dom Ruinart, one of the Grande Marques of Champagne. Then he sold Ruinart and stayed to work on for Moet Hennessey. As one of the directors, it was his decision to call Domaine Chandon "sparkling wine", not Champagne. He was a founder of Vinexpo. And God knows what else. I feel a book in this man’s life. I would love to write about it. What a life. What a story!

Frédéric, while still youthful, has the old soul inside him. I know that sounds cliché. But I sense his understanding of the position he holds for a company that is approaching their 300th year of making wine. He quoted an old Chinese proverb, “Find a job you love and you’ll never work another day in your life.”

At the end of the lunch, my grey suit was lighter, and my outlook much brighter from the stories, the bubbles and the potential to find one more story on the wine trail, this time in little old Dallas, Texas. Can you tell how much I love my job?

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

Addio, Amico

These are such difficult words to type. Not far from home, a neighbor and a friend has lost his battle with cancer. He was a food and wine lover; he had a new home and a beautiful bride. And a whole slew of crazy wonderful pusses. But after two years of daily battle he said goodbye and left us. He was only 55.

I got to know Bill Kennedy from Slow Food and his blog, Piled high in Tejas, and we lived close by each other in Lake Highlands. Whenever I would go to his house to visit, I had to drive by the nursing home where my wife lived the last 35 days of her life. I know pain and I know loss. We feel so much for his wife Janine and his and her family. There are no words anyone can say to assuage the pain and the loss.

From the Hymn of Empedocles

Is it so small a thing
To have enjoy'd the sun,
To have lived light in the spring,
To have loved, to have thought, to have done;
To have advanced true friends, and beat down baffling foes;

That we must feign a bliss
Of doubtful future date,
And while we dream on this
Lose all our present state,
And relegate to worlds yet distant our repose?

Not much, I know, you prize
What pleasures may be had,
Who look on life with eyes
Estranged, like mine, and sad:
And yet the village churl feels the truth more than you;

Who 's loth to leave this life
Which to him little yields:
His hard-task'd sunburnt wife,
His often-labour'd fields;
The boors with whom he talk'd, the country spots he knew.

But thou, because thou hear'st
Men scoff at Heaven and Fate;
Because the gods thou fear'st
Fail to make blest thy state,
Tremblest, and wilt not dare to trust the joys there are.

I say, Fear not! life still
Leaves human effort scope.
But, since life teems with ill,
Nurse no extravagant hope.
Because thou must not dream, thou need'st not then despair.

Matthew Arnold

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

Non C'è Due Senza Tricolore

That's kinda how the whole week has been - a blur

The wine gods must really love pulling the strings. They really had me going this week. After a crazy-busy week, which finished with a baker’s dozen tasting of Sangiovese’s from Tuscany, I found myself in the far corner of my fair city, during rush hour, with an approaching storm. And a group of hungry wine guys waiting for me, on the other side of town, to join them for a “Boys night out with Barolo.”

Ever the prankster, I brought along a Barbaresco, just because I thought it would be interesting to see how La Grande Dame of nebbiolo faired with the burly boys of Bussia, Serralunga and Cannubi. There were no really big names there, and a few I had not heard of. One of the gents in our gang of 5, the Silverbacks we are, is moving to Houston. So while he will be consoled with the foods of Catalan, Nino’s, Vincent’s, Tony’s, Da Marco, Giacomo’s and any number of other excellent spots with which to assuage the pain of separation from his man-tribe, we will just have to take the feast to Houston from time to time. Happy Trails, Dave!

It was a tricolore spectacled night

Hank, the itchy-footed one on our group, asked me if I was going to blog this tasting. “Alfonso, you write a wine blog, but you seldom write about wine.” He didn’t mean it as a criticism, but it got me to thinking. I should once in a while talk about wine, post the obligatory TN’s (with or without scores) and join in the merriment of talking about something that sounds so ridiculous when reading about them. I probably will leave the tasting note to folks who are supremely more qualified to do so, folks like Anthony Galloni, James Suckling, Tim Atkins, Jancis Robinson and Karen MacNeil. But not before I at least lay down the list of wines we tasted. Then I will get on with the post.

We set them up in three flights of three:
2005 Barolo “Bricco Rosso” Cascina Bruni
2004 Barolo “Patres” Cantine San Silvestro
2004 Barolo “Presenda” Marziano Abbona

2003 Barolo Pere Alessandro
2003 Barolo “Tradizione” Dezzani
2003 Barbaresco “Bric Mentina” La Ca' Növa

2000 Barolo “Presenda” Marziano Abbona
1996 Barolo Marchesi Di Barolo
1995 Barolo “Cannubi” Marchesi Di Barolo

No Gaja, no Giacosa, no Giacomo Conterno; sorry trophy hunters. Just wines that are found in local wine stores.

Non c'è due senza tre (X tre)

In the first flight the standout for me was the Marziano Abbona Barolo "Presenda" 2004; a bit modern in their use of wood, but nice fruit and the oak component didn’t put me off. It went really well with the food, even the salad. The San Silvestro "Patres"2004, I imagined was a wine that was brought in directly by a retailer. Large winery (400+K bottles produced) but the wine was not over oaked, it was a good wine for the mix. The Barolo "Bricco Rosso" from Cascina Bruni 2005 seemed a little tired. Maybe it'd had a busy week, too.

The flight of 2003’s were, for me the most interesting in that I had no knowledge of the two Barolo wines and the Barbaresco (an old favorite) was thrown into the mix to see how 2003 was fairing. I recently had a talk with Aldo Vacca of Produttori del Barbaresco and we spent a little time talking about 2003 in the Langhe. The windup is, these wines are showing very well in this moment. And there are some good deals out there. The Dezzani was a surprise, because I usually see the Dezzani label in wines that are in discount stores, hence the super low entry-level style. But this one, called “Tradizione” was very pleasant. The other one, the Pere Alessandro, I had never seen. Again, I imagined this was a wine that was brought in directly by a retailer. It reminded me of the wines I had run across recently in Italy .

The Barbaresco “Bric Mentina” La Ca' Növa was probably my favorite wine of the night. It just sings the song I like to hear. It is the kind of wine I lust after.

The last flight, older wines, presented a conundrum. I really thought the middle wine the 1996 Barolo Marchesi Di Barolo had issues in the nose. Fungus. One in our party didn’t detect it though. He finished the bottle; actually he finished all of the bottles. But that’s another story.

The 2000 Barolo “Presenda” Marziano Abbona was beautiful. Resembling the 2004 in style, but just a little perkier from the vintage and a little more relaxed from being a little older. I could drink that wine again. And I know some folks will cringe that I do like it, because it does embrace modernity. Oak, fruit. Too bad. I can’t wait to try their Barbaresco “Faset”. Great memories of that area.

The 1995 Barolo “Cannubi” Marchesi Di Barolo stumped me. I was expecting more. More or less. It was limping a little, not out of the race, but one that really didn’t have its heart in it. But a once pretty stallion, still had a nice gait, even with its affliction.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears

The pasta dish, orecchiette with a ragu (of cinghiale from Sausage Paul), was perfect. I know Dave worried about the gristle and told us he lied awake in bed in the early hours of the morning hoping he cleaned them all out. Yes Dave, you did. It was a "2 plate of pasta" night. Hey, why don’t you just stay in Dallas and open up a restaurant in the West Village. Or better just serve meals from your home like they do in Emilia Romagna? Please, wontcha, huh?

The nice thing about this, is while I couldn’t have all my online friends there, I do have a group of guys that I can get together with and talk about things in more than 140 characters. And drink wine and eat food. And sometimes it’s good to get out of the virtual cocoon and get a taste of the real thing. Thanks, amigos great night.

And finishing this week with a little sad news. One of the great gents of the Langhe, Alfredo Currado, passed away. I heard about it from Champagne Ed. I love the Vietti wines; they started the huge debate about tradition vs. modernity. The kids are now grown up, the flames has been passed to them. But I will always remember those piercing eyes, that shock of hair and the mind that was always tinkering, up on the hill in Castiglione Falletto. Bon anima, amico, you will be missed.

The two AC's: Alfredo Currado and Alfonso Cevola in Castiglione Falletto circa 1984

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

It's a Wine! Wine!! Winey!!! World

Some of our peers in the wine world seem to have left their interactivity in the drawer, next to the ink and the quill. I get it, we’re all so busy (what's with the folks on the East Coast?). But let me just say this in the most polite way I can. The new world of communicating isn’t really that new at all. It is a dialogue. Talking. Listening. Responding. Repeat. Insert thoughtful moments to move the dialogue forward. And so on.

But it looks as if some of the folks in the conversation pit have become too busy, or disinterested, to engage in the reciprocal part. Which is a shame. And quite frankly, their loss. I’d say they know who they are, but they probably won’t read this post. And that is ok, because I have moved on. I am in the future with my friends and colleagues who have gotten over Future Shock, or Freelance Blues or Deadline Dilemma or whatever else little mishegas name that can be given to it. I’d say lack of interest. No problem.

We’ll be there on the other side, having a ball. Money? We’ll all get by. Blog stats? Who cares? Fame? Ask James Brown or Philo T. Farnsworth about the consolation of celebrity.

Meanwhile, I’m lining up Nebbiolo bottles for a gigantic retrospective of great wines from Barolo and Barbaresco with my home boys. Hip hooray, 1st of May, outdoor *swilling* begins today (or in this case, April 30th) . Too bad my interactive buds cant be here tonight: 1 Wine Dude, Amy, Anthony W, Brooklyn Guy, Charles and Ed, David, Tracie P, Fabio, Frances, Franco, GaryV (too, too busy) Gabrio, Genevelyn, GianPaolo, Guy, Jack, Jeff, Keith, Ken W, Ken P and Donna C-T &Co., Marco Numero Mundo, McDuff, Michael W, Regina, Samantha and Ron, Robert P and Kevin H, Russ, Serge, Strappo, Susannah,Texicali Ali, The Brad, Thomas P, Tom H, Whitney, Winey Wink and The Good Brett , Wolfgang and anyone else (apologies if I missed you on the blog roll) whom I have had such wonderful interactions with these past five years in the bloggy-blog wacky world of wine! wine!! wine!!!


Buon weekend, y’all.

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

Who says it's all fun and games?

One more pass by the Perini Ranch and the Buffalo Gap Wine and Food Summit, before I turn my thoughts to Italy again. Actually the Italian connection in Buffalo Gap (Population 463) was evident. Tom Perini’s family comes from the Italian side of Switzerland. But Tom is known as the father of Texas Cowboy Cuisine although you can find his famous Zucchini Perini (zucchini rounds baked in an Italian meat sauce and topped with grated Parmesan cheese) on the menu. But the place is about steak and smoke and sashaying around for a Texas sized good time. I know it looks like fun, but we were working, Mom. Honest!

Perini Ranch is a working ranch. And yes, Simona, they also have oil wells

They may look like mild mannered Longhorn Cows, but these beauties are also my secret SEO weapon

My posts are always too long, I know. I get into it and get all wind-baggey. Or I get crotchety and start griping about some small minutiae about the wine biz. Or the Italians. Or the Americans. But not today. I feel fine. And I’m gonna keep it short. A few pix. A few licks. And back to work. Busy time in the wine biz.

Llana Estacado winemaker Greg Bruni(Yes Sandra, he's an Eyetalian-American) enjoying a little wine, a little dance

All I’m gonna say about working all weekend, tasting wine and beef and dining and drinking all kinds of wine and then trying to make it look like fun. It is fun. My dad taught me that if you aren’t enjoying what you do for a living, then you aren’t living. His example was a huge road sign to get me on the wine trail and keep me there. But this past weekend we leapt off a little and got on the chuck wagon trail.

Last words: Thank Texas and Tito's for Bloody Mary Sunday Mornings. After drinking all that fine wine I can’t think of a better way to set my palate straight and get it ready for Monday. Thank you, amigo! Now where’d plate of fried chicken livers go?

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

Riding a Gravy Train with Biscuit Wheels

Out in the West Texas town of Buffalo Gap

As I woke this morning and looked out over an emerald green mesa, I knew this was something unique to West Texas, a place of beauty, but also a tough-as-nails place. A place where, for the life of me, I’ll never understand the politics. But a place I am drawn to because it speaks to the independent streak that runs through me. I love the space, I dream about it when I am in Italy. And today when I left it, it made me sadder than when I have to leave Italy. But this isn’t on the wine trail in West Texas, is it? I must remember my place, mustn’t I? Ah gee, humor me for just this little post (or two) while I whittle the events down to some words and pictures. And a career of connections and some great memories. At least to little ‘ol me.


I knew I was in for it last night at the Big Party at Perini Ranch when I started hearing myself sound like my Uncle Lou in Midland. I love my uncle and he speaks in the doggondest West Texas dialect. Not as difficult to understand as Visentin in the Veneto, but here I was again, on a Sunday at a cookout, speaking in dialect. This time it was West Texas in purezza.

I don’t know what it was; the land (for sure), the people (yes), the food (senza dubbio) and the wine (don’t forget the beer, too) made the evening under the twilight blue skies magical. All around me were old friends, people who had shaped some part of my life in wine, both California and Texas. I am a child of three countries: California, Italy and Texas. How lucky it is for those of us who can call these three countries home. But for those of us who can call all three of them home- well that’s just about the luckiest break a guy (or gal) can get. There aren’t too many of us, and I don’t want the other folks getting all jealous (hell, just about any connection to a place is wonderful) but I am a lucky, lucky guy.

I am almost becoming one with my camera again. The digital camera evolution has been slow to come up to speed to those of us who learned how to shoot in a fast and intuitive manner. A rangefinder, set focus, knowing the film and the light so one could set the shot up, exposure-wise, and then get on to the important piece, shooting. Behind all of that is the pre-visualization process, preparing oneself for the decisive moment. I am almost accepting of the digital camera in that it has evolved so that we can get the camera out of the way of taking a picture. It’s about the vision, about seeing. And the past few days, hell, this whole month, has been an orgy of visuals for this lonesome dove on the wine trail. Isn’t this better than a crabby post?

Some of my favorite people and their wines were gathered this weekend out in the West Texas town of Buffalo Gap. Tom and Lisa Perini host the annual Buffalo Gap Wine and Food Summit out past a ways beyond Abilene (prettiest women you’ve ever seen) and man were they kicking it up in style. Anyways, the Italian wine trail wound past the Brazos River and beyond to the deep blue skies (sunny and clear) and a Texas in bloom that we all dream of.

I don’t know if I could ever tell all the stories we heard these past few days, from the hidden Italian vineyards in North Texas to the chemistry lab in the Panhandle that launched the modern wine industry in Texas (yes, we make wine here too!).

A buddy of mine, Stefano Salvini from near Forli in Emilia Romagna asked me to bring him some Viognier when I return to Italy. Stefano is making an experimental Viognier (or as we say in Texas, Vee-ahjj-ner) in Italy and is interested in how other folks craft the wine in places heretofore thought of as unlikely to succeed.

Say "Viognier y'all" - Pat Brennan with Kim McPherson

Well, let me tell you, they are making some kick ass Viognier in Texas and my two buddies Pat Brennan, from Comanche, Texas (isn’t that a romantic name?) and Kim McPherson from Lubbock (not so pretty name but definitely the high range of Texas viticultural areas) have found some local terroir in which to make a Viognier worth hauling across the pond to show off.


Other grapes, Syrah and Grenache, do well here too. Kim makes a lip-smacking, delicious Rosé from them thar two grapes and Pat makes a very admirable Syrah. We drank up a slew of them this weekend and I am a happy camper in my double wide tonight.

Gene Estes of Lone Oak Winery with Doc McPherson

Kim’s dad, Doc McPherson, well let’s just say I go right back to the beginning of my wine career and well, Doc was there, making wine and selling it to the distributor who sold it to me at my wine bar. Staked Plains Red and White in 1.5’s. I’d sell it as an entry level wine for $3.50 a glass. I was fresh and clean and perfectly acceptable as a glass of wine. And it was from Texas. Doc is the Peynaud, Tchelistcheff and Tachis of Texas. What a wonderful guy, still truckin’ at 91 and counting.

That’s about all I’ve got to say about this tonight. I’ll be back for one more pass around on the subject before I head on back to the wine trail. There are lots of adventures fixin' to come up in Italy. Meanwhile, I’m so lucky it’s like riding a gravy train with biscuit wheels.

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

Do you want to tell the story?

How many times does it have to happen? I’m the speaker at a wine dinner. A guy walks up and says, “Are you the guy hawking the wine at tonight’s dinner?”

Yeah, that would be me. I just drove from San Antonio to Austin to Dallas to sell you a bottle of wine. Because I live to sell wine. Screw the stories, the wine trail adventures, I just want to get all the money that you have in your pocket and suck it out of your wallet. That’s my m.o.

I've done hundreds of wine dinners and I often say I’ll never do another one. And then, just when I think I am out, they pull me back in. Actually it’s a good way to do a nice service for a restaurant, to meet people and to promote the wines, the blog, and the Italian culture. You know, keeping the world safe for Italian wine? And then you get that guy, and it’s usually a guy. Usually middle aged or older, upper income, white guys. You know the type? The kind that come out to stump the expert.

Usually there will be the question of aging or barrel or vintages. “I love the 1997 vintage, they made such opulent wines in Tuscany.” If I had a nickel for each time I heard that line I could make more money collecting from those jokers than the money I never make on this blog.

Or, “I don’t really think Italian wines are as good as French wines.” Or “I have a friend in Napa Valley who made a killing in the (submit _________ here) business. He makes a killer wine that only sells out of the winery for $150. He makes the wine by letting the grapes drip.” I kid you not. I am not making this stuff up.

So there we are tasting the red, a Valpolicella Classico Superiore, a ripasso method, and this fellow, the same one who thinks I schlep wine for a living, comes up to me and says "I don’t like this wine - it needs to breathe for a day before it will be any good.” A day? You think?

I let it go. It’s a wine dinner. He could be a distant in-law; I need to let it go. And so I do.

And then he makes another pass. “Hey not bad, you had 3 out of 4 wines that were pretty darn good.” I tell him, “Great, that’s a .750 batting average – all star stuff. Or better.” Trying to keep it light.

But he just can’t help himself. He’s from a privileged economic and social class and he thinks his opinions have that certain gravitas. So he lobs another ball over the strike zone. “But that red wine, do you think it will ever be drinkable?”

Actually everyone at the table was enjoying the wine until he so inhospitably served up a platter of doubt. The chef paired the wine with lamb and a fruity sauce and it was a brilliant pairing. And I'm not even into that kind of thing. But the wine and the food were singing. Big time.

I wanted him to go away now. But I took a swing. “Look, the whole thing about breathing is a myth. And a day for a wine to breathe will, in most cases, just result in a dead wine.”

“Bullshit,” he snorts.

“Excuse me? Do you want to tell the story?” At this point I am thoroughly fed up with this guy trying to act like an expert. It is clear that he drinks unwieldy wines too young and that has led him to believe that he needs to let a wine breathe for a day. I'm curious if he makes those same calculations with the women he tries to shag. I wonder how that's working out for him.

What can you do with someone who thinks they are the expert? Have they just spent three weeks tasting any number of wines from France and Italy, tasting with the great winemakers of Bordeaux and Italy? Who is more qualified?

I’m not saying I want to be known as the expert. But in this instance I am the pro in the room and it is my story and I’m the one the folks came to hear. I even feel bad having these thoughts, because they sound like nails on the chalkboard when I read them. But after thirty years, I have stories to tell. And the last thing I am in the mood for is to drive all day and have some knucklehead get up on the stage and spew foolish drivel. It cheapens the whole experience of the wine dinner. Like I said, it is an inhospitable act. It is rude. And it is inaccurate.

And this has been the dark side of the Italian wine business for as long as I can remember. So when I talk all rosy and poetic about the vineyards and the winemakers, and I do, and I mean it, just remember that I have to come back to the native land and deal with the infidels.



Pass the ripasso please.

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