My Favorite Island

One might think from reading these posts that it might be Pantelleria or Salina, Elba or Ischia, but in my heart, my favorite island is landlocked. It’s a large and varied island on the border of Mexico. It is in the state of Texas, and while it is Texas to the core, it shares none of the mean spirit that one can find in cities. It is wild and it can be life-threatening, but it is never cruel. It is the Big Bend, and I love it as much as any place on earth.

I go to Italy for business, and often when I am there I have a moment or two to relax. But when I want to go where the cells phones don’t roam and I cannot be found, that place is the National Park of Big Bend, where I can hike and wander to my heart’s content. The wine and food scene isn’t so great, unless one goes to Marfa, where I had one of the best meals I have had this year. But that isn’t the reason why I go to my favorite island. I go there to get away and to go somewhere where away isn’t away. It is in smack-dab in the middle of a world that heals me. It’s real and it’s in my face and I love it.

The weather was perfect. The hiking was strenuous at times, like the day we hiked to Emory Peak. The first time I went to the summit in 1990 I was 20 years younger. This time I was in better shape. This time we saw less than a dozen people on the trail, all day. And that was the most people we saw on any day on any trail. So the traffic jams of Yosemite and Yellowstone, well, they just don’t make it down to the Big Bend.

The light, oh the light. Daylight, twilight, midnight light, oh so very wonderful. I was testing a new camera, one that shoots in a square format. Yes, a digital camera that sells for under $500 and crops the image in a square. I have my Rolleiflex groove on again! But this isn’t the post to talk about that subject; it’s in the works. No, this post is how the desert helps and heals.

When I left the city, my nose was bleeding daily, sometimes for as long as 90 minutes. Blood pressure? My doc prescribed a blood pressure medicine and my already normal blood pressure lowered so much I almost passed out. How about the stress of city living? Texas, the country, is rough and harsh, but not mean. The cities, however are filled with people who I don’t know where they came from, there is so much mean-spiritedness, so much vitriol, so very toxic. I don’t know how they live with themselves. I know I cannot live with them, and even though I live in the city I cannot let them poison me any more. I will not bleed out from living amidst the hate vampires in the city.

My favorite island, then, doesn’t rely on great food or wine, but on a land, that while it can be harsh and unforgiving is never unfair or mean. It draws on the light of the heavens and all the planets and suns that spit their light on this darkened landscape at night. So bright it woke me up one night coming through the window. It is nowhere near water or my beloved Pacific or Adriatic, but there is water enough to survive. And air, what beautiful, dry, clean air, which heals with every breath.

Does it sound like I had a great week off? Well, I did. And tomorrow I jump back onto the metropolitan carousel and take a spin for another week. And I am thinking where it will spin me will be someplace I have never been to yet. But I am hopeful, I have the mountain lion roaring in the night to guide me through the brush.

And I will always have my favorite island, deep in the heart of the real Texas, waiting, anytime I, or anyone of us, need to be shown the way back home.

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

A Jew and an Italian walk into a cubicle

“Hey Alf,” says Lew, “Where are you? We want to go get some Eye-talian food and we haven’t seen you all week? Are you still in Italy?”

“Hey Lew,” says Bert, “Why are you bothering the poor fellow, he’s just trying to take a week away from all this stress, all this mishegas.”

“Bert, stick to using those Eyetalin phrases you are so fond of and leave the mishegas to my people.” Lew replies.

Hey guys, can’t we all get along? I’ll be back Monday, with all kinds of new ideas and stories and a scoop or two. And I have some big news too!

Pazienza, ragazzi, y’all need to go to Jimmy’s and share a Muffalleta and call me Monday morning.

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

Vintage Guitars and Rock 'n Roll Wine Selling

Yeah, I’m still out, but this remote posting to show off one of my favorite wine buyers vintage electic Guitars. Harris Polakof, whom I have known for 20 years, has set up some of his out of this world collection of vintage guitars on the tasting table. So while we taste wine (as we did with Laurent from Rapitala last week) we have some mighty fine musical instruments to look at. A little different, but that’s the way we do it down in Big D. We put the “D” in different. Flyover country? Yeah, what’s it to ya? Happy hump day y’all. I’m heading for a roaring river and some whitewater thrills.



A really old vintage Fender. Anybody care to guess what it is? Jar?

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

Dante's View

Folks, we all know there is more to life than blogging. I am taking a week off. I need a break from all this connectedness. Just a week. I’ll be gathering more tales from the wine trail, I promise. In the meantime, thanks for reading, I’ll be back.

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

A Winning Wine Dinner Combination

This night was a memorable one on many levels. I know Sausage Paul doesn’t like me to do too many of these blog posts, and I will curtail them in the near future to go on to other subjects.

But if you are going to do a wine dinner, how about taking a few hints from this one, which in my opinion, is one of the textbook examples of a successful wine dinner. Let’s break it down.

Winery person: How about an owner, someone who is vitally connected to the success of the venture. In our case we had Cristina Mariani, 3rd generation family owner from the Banfi family. Cristina, I told her today, I have never seen her when she wasn’t “on”. The work ethic in the family is very, very strong. And Cristina really went all out to represent her family, her winery, and Italy.

A strong food component: In this case, someone who is considered one of the best chefs in this genre, David Uyger. David came into prominence at Lola, which closed this year.

Now David and his wife Jennifer are readying their soon to be open trattoria, Lucia, in the Oak Cliff neighborhood of Dallas. David prepared a great meal, albeit way too much food. But that is the Jimmy’s tradition. Note: David did not use truffle oil or "any kind of gastriques, glazes and other puddles and streaks on the dinner plates." (to borrow a brilliant quote from blogger Donna Childers-Thirkell. Thanks, Donna!)

He did serve up a single sauce with the main course, the pasta dish was not over sauced, the salad was spared of another one of my pet peeves, balsamic vinegar. Thank you, David. He used Farro, not rice, not potato. And he loves root vegetables, as I do, brussel sprouts, parsnips and tanned and trim carrots. A huge shout out of “yum” for those.

And the dessert, which paired with the Brachetto, was not overly chocolaty, and had other components, namely a nice whipped single white (not red) cream sauce and hazelnuts. Not some Jean Claude van Damm over-the-top uber coco-licious smack down. We left the place feeling full but not stuffed.

Next component: a good venue. In this case the place, Jimmy’s has a good following and the dinner (for 60) sold out in 5 hours! At $120 a person, not an easy feat in these times. And true, there were lots of goodies (a complementary bottle of very good red wine, a free glass, and some other gifts. And to top it off, the retail part of the night, there were special pricing and deep discounts.

At one moment, a client reached over to me and asked me to box up a 6 pack of the Banfi Poggio all' Oro (@ $149.00 a bottle). He wanted to make sure we didn’t sell out of all of it before he got his. We did sell out of that wine that night.

So, value rules, even in the higher price ranges. Couple that with a committed winery and owner, a great chef and a beloved location and voila, we have a winning combination.

Oh yeah, and we sold a ton of wine that night! Win-win! Wine-Wine! Cha-Ching!

These blog posts have gotten to be too wordy lately, so I will give us all a break and finish with a group of pictures. Many thanks to Cristina Mariani, David and Jennifer Uyger, Paul and Annette and brother Mike Di Carlo and the wonderful staff and clientele of Jimmy’s.

And to Joey the Weasel, aka Joe Strange Eye, whom I met 30 years ago when he walked into my wine bar to sell me a case of the 1970 Poggio alle Mura Brunello, back in the day. Man, time flies when you’re having fun.


Buon divertimento y’all.

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

Oh-So O-Positive

From the "seeing red from sea to shining sea" dept.

Wow, what a day this one was. Last week, while not yet October (the “O” in O-N-D, the frenetic wine selling holiday season) it sure seemed like it. And while it isn’t quite the wine trail in Italy, the young Italians have come off their trail to dabble in missionary work. These are their stories.

Veronica Lagi comes from Tuscany, lives in Florence with her boyfriend. Works for Castello di Monsanto. Veronica is part of the new wave of young Italians that I write about, those who travel the earth, in search of places to put their wine. China, India, Canada, Sweden, America. This week she was in Texas.

8:30 - A text to our sales rep to see if she had samples. Word was the rep had meetings until noon and I didn’t want Veronica to be waiting around a hotel room. I’d find something to do with her. The day before we did a staff training, so I knew she could handle herself well in the streets.

8:39 – Sales rep texts me back, she was on her way to the sales office to see about samples. We would hook up later. I needed to find some wine.

8:49 - All I had in my closet was the 1985 Il Poggio Riserva, probably not a good wine to schlep around. I called Veronica and we agreed on starting the day at 10:00AM.

10:12 – Veronica jumped into my car at the hotel. We had a wine dinner in the evening, so I called the owner of the restaurant to see if he could meet with us at his corporate offices. Sure. Along the way I was talking to Joey the Weasel, aka Joe Strange Eye, and he said I should go by Sausage Paul’s to pick up a bottle of the current Riserva. Great, then we could also have a good espresso. Sausage Paul was there, cleaning up from the night before when we had a rather late night with the Falesco boys. The week was halfway done, but we were all feeling like it should already be Friday. I had a Dr.’s appt on Friday for this crazy nose problem I’ve been having. Dry weather, stress, and one of my childhood ailments had returned, the nosebleed. And with a nose like mine, this was nothing to take lightly. They had gotten severe and regular lately, and this week they were hitting me like suicide attacks in Baghdad. I was going through Kleenex like a sushi chef went through rice. Not pretty.

10:30 - We get to Sausage Paul’s, grab a bottle of wine and an espresso and head to see the Italian restaurateur. About 45 minutes of conversation, the new Tuscan steakhouse project, discussion of a future Tuscan wine dinner with Monsanto when the steakhouse is finished and lots of good stories. The Italians love to visit these iconic Italian restaurateurs. They have so many stories to tell about how they got to America, how they approach their business and this one was no different, This Italian restaurateur is very successful, lives life as a bella figura, and knows it, and why not? It’s part of his DNA.

11:15 - We part and head to a wine and cheese shop. We have 45 minutes before we are to meet the sales rep, but I go over to the shopping center where we are to meet. Veronica is looking for postcards. We scour the shopping center and find not one. Note to self, find a way to sell some cool vintage postcards in this shopping center. I am sure tourists come here often. Good opportunity to make a little (very little) cash on the side. We head into the wine and cheese shop to meet the buyer(s). The main buyer is in Italy with clients, but there are two affable folks in there and we talk. Hmmm.

12:00 – I rush back to the main office, there is a gent from Spain wanting to meet me to talk about the wines of Ribero del Duero. He has a plane to catch so I offer to take him to the airport so we can talk more and drive at the same time. So American it is to do something like that, as the driving, moving thing and also talking, relationship-building thing can often be a bit of a conflict of attention. But we muddle on through. I don’t know why but I think better when I am swerving through traffic. I am more focused and get to the point better. Not sure if my passenger liked my driving all that well. But we did get him to the airport on time. Along the way, one of my bosses called and asked me where I was. "Where are you? We are having lunch for one of our fellow co-workers.” I tell boss I will meet the group at the restaurant, start without me, I will be there as soon as possible.

12:45 – Zipping through the George Bush tollway was a straight shot, if I didn’t get a speeding ticket. At 80+mph, that was a stretch, but it was in the flow of the traffic.

1:10 – Made it to the restaurant, French. The waiter had just gotten there, working off a major drunk fest from the night before and stumbled in, still slightly drunk and very hung over. We order (he hadn’t gotten to them yet!) and settle in.

1:45 – We’ve had wine, soup and some of the entrees start showing up. My doesn't and the server brings me more soup (I hadn’t asked for more, oh well.) Finally the salmon, strike that, the sole showed up at my setting. “I didn’t order this,” I told the server. “Well, that’s what I wrote down,” he offered haughtily. Whatever, it was getting late and I had a ton of stuff to do. I scraped off the crème sauce and pushed the rice aside and managed to work it out.

2:22 - Lunch finished, we ordered espresso. “Short” I advised the server. “Of course, who do you take us for?” he served back. Minutes later a tall espresso, weak and smelling like dirty water, was pressed towards me.

2:39 – I pick up the sad cup of coffee flavored water and went to the bar. The owner, a friend, was there, and I winked that “go along with me on this” wink. To the waiter I slid the espresso on the bar and said, “You screwed up my entrée and I went with it. But you will not screw up my espresso!” The waiter, still hung over, fumbles and asks me why the vulgarity. “Sir, you are guilty of vulgarity with that sorry excuse for an espresso. Now fix it!” And I return to my table. What a long day this had become,

2:52 – After the proper espresso is brought by a now contrite server, the owner appears at the table with two liter bottles, one a home made lemoncello, the other a grapefruit and blood orange infusion of the same style. Frozen carafes from the freezer. Oh, this wouldn’t be good for productivity. I had, easily, ten more hours in this day before I laid my head upon my pillow. But what the hey, the owner, such a pleasant guy, and the infusions were quite good.

3:12 – Heading out, the waiter sufficiently tazed into compliance, a rep from another company, quite drunk, wants to talk. He and his colleague (girlfriend?) are sitting at the bar getting their drink on. And he wants to talk to me about coming to a retail store and doing an expensive Italian wine class. The lady is dressed seductively, but not improperly for our business, but I am just not in the mood to talk to her male friend. I guess I had the sign still on my back that the waiter had put, the one that say, “He’ll take anything”. Yes I will. To a point. And I had reached that point some time ago.

3:40 – Back in the office, for a moment, to gather my stuff. Somewhere in town my Italian rep is working and I have been setting up meetings with clients from my remote/mobile bunker. I remember there is some paperwork to finish up. Before I know it’s 5:30, the dinner is at 6:00.

5:45 – Walking to my car I feel liquid dripping from my nose. I am wearing a pink shirt. I get in my car and turn it on. Waiting for the car to cool. I apply compresses; the nose is in full bleed-out mode now. I am trying not to panic, but the folks at the restaurant are calling me asking me where I am.

6:00 – I notice my pink shirt now has blood on it, so I must go home, through rush hour traffic and clean up. Meanwhile my nose hasn’t stopped bleeding. I call, text, let everyone know I will be at the wine dinner. But I will be late.

6:22 – A car behind me screeches, the brakes squeal, smoke from the pads, the whole deal. The driver comes within inches of rear-ending me. The adrenalin starts my blood to pumping again. Now my shirt isn’t pink, it’s blood-orange red, kind of a tie-dyed look. I am three blocks from home.

6:45 – I am home now and one hour into this mother of all nose bleeds. I have done everything, counted slowly to 300, applied a cold rag under my lip. Pinched my nose. Nothing is working. I have gotten blood all over the house, my whole world is blood covered. And I am late for the wine dinner.

7:15 – Finally, it is over. I am cleaned up, the mess is contained. But all I can taste is salt and blood. It reminded me of a Spanish wine I once tried. And I hated it. I head to the wine dinner.

7:30 – I am seated at a table with lovely folks. They have had the first course, snails. They were finishing the second, a duck with some kind of berry sauce. I tell the server I will just have the next, the entrée, the steak.

7:38 – The duck appears. The cherry reduction reminds me of something I had being trying to get rid of for an hour and a half. I am sure it was wonderful, but I couldn’t even look at it. I moved it around the plate and the waiter picked it up. Why did he bring it, I wonder, I told him I didn’t want it (I smell a trend here, servers who don’t listen?).

7:55 – The steak appears. With a gob of foie gras and laced with truffle oil. Even with my nose severely hampered by what it has just been through, the truffle oil got through. Now, folks who know me know I once had a run in with truffles, essentially I got a lifetime’s worth of truffle exposure in a few days. I am so done with truffles. But truffle oil, that’s a layer of hell I reserve for Al-Kaida insurgents, someone like a Khalid Sheikh Mohammed. Not me. I did my sentence. But truffle oil is still flowing in Texas. So I buck up, tear off a few bites and serve my sentence. The wine helps. Too bad the Sangiovese is so bloody red, though. I am in full overwhelm with the earlier trauma. But the night is young. There is still dessert.

8:30 – Mind you, the wine dinner was lovely. The company was delightful. The wines were spot-on. I just wasn’t in a great space. But I do love my desserts.

8:40 – A mind boggling Vin Santo appears and I start to get a view of the Pearly Gates from whatever level of Hell I had risen out of. And then the dessert showed up. A panna cotta with a cherry/berry reduction sauce. Again with the bloody allegory on the plate. I was defeated, spent, vanquished. I surrendered. But I just couldn’t look at one more glob of coagulated cherry coulis.

9:45 – After tableside conversation, I move to take Veronica on the town for her last night before she goes home to Italy. I head her up to a friend’s pizzeria in an ancient tack shop. On the third floor they have an ice bar and Tuaca and Patron on tap. Light clear, cool, soothing alcohol salves, followed by beer. And hour or two of that, listening to same laid back Texas music from the band on the outdoor patio overlooking this little Western square started to mellow me out. This is the Texas the Italians like to see, but they always get committed to doing wine dinners. I know it’s part of the work and the commitment, I understand. But once in a while you just gotta find time to let a little Texas worm it’s way into one’s heart.

11:30 – Getting late, but I offer to show our young Italian Dallas by night in the car, so we head off in search of the city with the lights. Past the grassy knoll, the historic place where a President perished so many years ago. Down into the deepest parts of the bluesy side, Ellum. The glitzy art district, where the Johnson’s and the Pei’s and the Renzo Piano’s, the Rem Koolhaus’s, all the bright and pretty architectural jewels of the so very wealthy city on the Prairie. This dry Prairie, where many have dreamt large and shed tears and blood for their dreams.

12:15 – A full day. A lifetime in a day, but we made it. To wake up another day and try again. To dream, to bleed, to be alive. But I am still positive, oh so O-positive.

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

Finding New Stories

And new paths to the hearts of Americans

All through the years we tell these tales about Italian wine. Stories to get people to feel more comfortable with the different wines, the names, the languages. And after years and years of these stories, whether it's about blood from a saint or a prophet, tears from the Mother of God, bees that flock to the vines or the culinary travels of a hedonistic monk, sometimes these stories finally reach a point, on the wine trail in Italy, where it is time to lay some of them to rest.

After reading several of blog posts, about Valpolicella, Aglianico, Sangiovese and Vin Santo, I started thinking about doing an event in the Circolo del Vino in my neighborhood. Very lucky to have that room and 30 or 40 people who might be interested in coming to hear me talk about it.

So that’s the plan. Oct 20th at Jimmy’s. Busting the myths. Blowing ‘em up. Putting them to rest. The time has come. If you are reading this and live near and are interested, get on the mailing list . We are going to harvest new stories from the wine trail and it is shaping up to be a lot of fun. I will just be back from a harvest trip in Italy.

This year, even though it has been tough, very tough, for many people, it has also been terrific for Italian wine. We’re having an incredible year. The Italians are back from their long summer vacations, and have been hitting the streets, tanned, stylish and ready to work long hours. A post coming soon, we all have been having long days working the markets and then putting on wine dinners. This week, next week, it’s an endless feast. I haven’t seen the French, the Australians, the Spanish working the markets as vigorously. Maybe that is part of the reason Italian wine is the dominant imported wine in America. Grazie ragazzi. More coming.

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

A Tale of Two Italian Wine Dinners

Which is the one for you?

Soon, two wine dinners will take place, in the same town, on the same day, at the same time. They illustrate the different approaches. I think one works well; I think the other one is a stretch. Let’s take a look at them.

Italian Wine Dinner #1

• With the owner of a major Italian estate, with land holdings in Tuscany, Piedmont and Sicily. All wines are estate grown and produced.

• A top chef in town, who is about to open his own Italian Restaurant.

The wines (8) :

• Brut Metodo Classico
• Pinot Grigio
• Chardonnay

SuperTuscan duo

• Sangiovese/Cabernet/Syrah
• Merlot/Carbernet Sauvignon

Brunello

• Brunello di Montalcino
• Single Vineyard Brunello


• Dessert wine – Brachetto DOCG

Here's what's cooking (with the wine matches):

Reception with Brut Metodo Classico

First Course
Seafood Salad with White Beans & Arugula
Served with the Pinot Grigio and the Chardonnay

Second Course
Freshmade Tagliatelle with Pork Ragu
Served with the two Super Tuscan wines

Third Course
Braised Lamb Shank with Farro and Fall Vegetables
Served with the two Brunello wines

Fourth Course
Crespelle with Bittersweet Chocolate Fonduta
Served with the dessert wine – Brachetto DOCG


Additional: as a special gift for each attendee we will be giving you a complimentary bottle of Tuscan Red wine (a $40 value), which will be personally signed by the attending winery owner.

$119 per person + tax = $128.82 (no gratuity)

As well, this dinner has made provisions to buy any of the wines served at anywhere from an additional 15-20% off retail prices, so if you like the wines, you can buy them there and even get some of the bottles signed by the owner (which makes for unusual gift ideas, especially with the upcoming season).

Italian Wine Dinner #2

• A family owned business for almost 100 years, but no mention of owning any land. Claim to fame is unique packaging and value driven wines. Showing up will be a young lady, who appears to be a family member and has the title of Vice President.

• The restaurant no longer touts having a chef, although in the past this establishment had several very good ones.

The wines (5) :

• Prosecco
• Pinot Grigio
• Chianti
• Merlot
• Moscato

Here's what's cooking (with the wine matches):

Aperitivo
Passed canapés, arancini, crostini and tartlets.
Prosecco

Antipasto
Crab cake
Pinot Grigio

First Course
Pasta with sausage, wild mushrooms and toasted fennel cream.
Chianti

Second Course
Roast filet of beef with potatoes
Merlot

Dessert
Gorgonzola and Taleggio with cherries almonds and honey drizzle
Moscato

$75 per person + tax (no mention if gratuity is included or additional) with tax = $81.20, with tip $96.20.


I am curious which one you would want to go to? Is the free bottle of wine motivating? No tip? Ability to buy at below retail? Or would you prefer spending a little less on a night out in a place that is known for good food? I'd like to give some feedback to these folks, in light of the current economy and the ways to promote their business, and how friendly or alluring these kinds of events are for people who read this.

Last note: Dinner #1 sold out in 5 hours (60 seats). I don’t know about dinner #2 yet.



Thoughts, anyone?

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

The Whirlwind Tour (& Taste)

One of our Italian importer reps has been in town for the week. In the last 24 hours it has rained 8-10 inches. The Trinity River is reaching record highs. The Calatrava Bridge construction has stopped until the storms end. Last night, as we were assembling in the back room of Jimmy’s, the air raid sirens blaring, and the tornadoes threatening, 35 of us huddled together over plates of antipasti and wines from Piedmont.

It was eerie, but the crowd seemed to be into it. I imagined us all as if we were marooned on an island and had to get along for more than a few hours. There were six tables of folks. There were six wines. We had Gavi, Barbera, Dolcetto,Barbaresco, Barolo and Moscato. For a brief twilight zone moment, I imagined each table representing one of the wines. The wind was beating down on the old building, the roof was leaking. But we weren’t going anywhere. I couldn’t imagine anywhere else being any safer. We had food, water, wine. Worse case, we could all head into the freezer room and wait out the worst. We had fig cookies. We had dark chocolate, we had espresso. We had Moscato.

As we were watching the TV, it looked as if tornadoes were touching down everywhere in town, like a tornadic recreation of the War of the Worlds. I went outside to look at the skies. Blue, green, gray, dense with clouds and rain and wind. And then I went back to check the TV. When I noticed. Fox. Just like last week when I was in Ft. Wayne and the TV was blaring another apocalyptic end of the world scenario, with the Hurricane on the east coast and the new oil spill in the gulf. Again, Fox. I called a friend in the media and asked them to give me their take on it. “You should worry more about me than you; it’s heading up a corridor towards me.” I suppose that was intended to make me feel better.

All day, I had been sluggish from a “procedure” and this weather and the stress started up the pains in the side, like last month when I had my “heart attack”. After meeting a friend for lunch at a tony spot, the situation improved, slightly. The 1976 Clos du Val Zinfandel sure helped, it was as perfect of a wine as one could wish for. 1976, drought year, the year we drove through the Napa Valley in the Falcon station wagon, slept in the car in a Calistoga trailer park, the year my son was born.

Earlier, perusing the wine list, I noticed the account hadn’t the same degree of passion for my Italian wines as I did, although the Italian wine section was more than well represented. Points for the other side(s). Small wine companies with the time to pay attention in ways we cannot or will not. Passion know no scale.

Same as the night before, another spot, this time all Italian. The wine buyer, really the wine gatekeeper, would never realize the great wines we have in our galleys. If for no reason than they come from a large behemoth company, and that alone gives people like him reason to hate those of us who work in that milieu. I noticed a red wine from Etna that was interesting, but at $90, hardly a value. Youth, they have to make their own mistakes, even at the cost of the diner who is parceling out their spending more carefully. Misconnection there. What to do? Maybe the tornado will someday cross the path of the buyer.

After a week in a hard hit area, the real Midwest, back in Texas, back to the daily storms of wine and ego and youth and vs. the established and experienced and the so very dug in. The voice of experience vs. the new voices of truth. Or so they think. Even under a wall of water, there really is nothing new under the sun. Just a new crop of humans who have to learn the hard way.

On with the show - it’s flooding down in Texas, hope the levees don’t break.

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