A Paean to He Who Started with Nothing and Now Has Everything

It’s not every day one can expound about an American success story. Sure, there are scores of them - this country exists for attainment, at any and all costs. Some are dearer than others, and some have cost our collective soul more than we sometimes wished to pay. But pay we do, ultimately. And now, we arrive at another crossroad, this one surely historical, if not now, then definitely in the uncertain future, if it indeed the future will exist. But this isn’t an elegy or an obituary, it’s a celebration of a native son’s success in life. He started with nothing. Now, his cup overfloweth. He has everything.

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As some of you have noticed and emailed me, I no longer entertain a comment section. About four months ago, I tried an experiment to turn them off.

For some time, I’ve been dealing with less than savory comments from sometimes (and sometimes not) anonymous interlopers wishing to steer the conversation in directions not intended for the journey this blog is on.

I don’t like being cyber-bullied, especially in regards to something as insignificant as a wine blog. Really!

So, since then, my life has been a whole hell of a lot more peaceful. and with the world that we are living in, these days, that goes a long way.

In the beginning of blogs, comments seemed important. Nowadays, not so much. If folks want to comment, they can always do so on FB, IG and Threads.

And so it will be, going forward. Thank you for your understanding.

 

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

wine blog +  Italian wine blog + Italy W

July ~ The Juicy Middle of a Hopeful Summer

July was an amazing month for On the Wine Trail in Italy. The readership is tremendous and the response has been marvelous for a category (wine blogs) that everyone, myself included wrote the obituary for, years ago. It has shown extraordinary resilience. In my case, I think part of the success lies in telling personal stories, not just rehashing wine notes and features told over and over again (Really, how many times do we need to hear the “true” story of Etna, or about the existential crisis in Champagne? Enough, already!)

That said, I am re-listing the blog posts for July here on August 1^st, in case anyone lost track of them or forgot to check out OTWTII, where I have been religiously posting EVERY WEEK! Wine blogging may be dead in some parts of the world, but not in this space.

So, here goes, and happy reading:

July 2^nd - The Luxurious Privilege of Outrage

I was taking a coffee break recently with a friend, catching up, and he remarked about some crappy restaurant service he’d recently gotten. I quipped back at him, “Yeah, you’ve got it real rough. You’re white, you’re financially set and you’re relatively healthy and young enough. Sounds like your 1%er white privilege is kicking in, cowboy…”

July 9^th -  Reinventing Italy  The Italy that Americans forget

Lately I’ve taken to reading excerpts from people’s trips to Italy. Wine country, the cities, the fashionable resorts, the restaurants, the countryside. And one thing has stood out from some of those missives. It is the unique position we all have, the singular perspective of Italy from our own point of view, and how it affects how we see and interpret Italy to others…

July 16^th -  What kind of life have you had?  In memory of Luigi Pira and Dino Illuminati

I was in the room next to my wine closet when I thought I heard the murmur of low voices. There was no one else in the house, and it startled me a bit. But as I inched closer to where the wine was, I realized the voices were coming from inside…

July 23^rd - Confessions of a Salesperson: Lessons from a Bygone Era

Recently, I stopped in to see an old friend and erstwhile client, an Italian restaurateur. We had a glass of Gavi together and caught up. He told me this anecdote:

“This wholesale rep showed up with (a very large and new Italian supplier) longtime supplier rep friend. We’ve known each other 30+ years. We’re chatting and having fun…  

July 30^th - Falling Out of Love with Wine

This week, I was re-organizing my wine collection. There were several cases of white and rosé wine that had stacked up in the utility room, and we weren’t drinking it that regularly, of late. So, I made room in the wine cave for them. I keep a spreadsheet and was slightly annoyed to be adding to the list, rather than subtracting to it. Why, one might ask? Isn’t the purpose of a wine collection to continually add and subtract, refine and replenish...?

 

 

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

wine blog +  Italian wine blog + Italy W

Falling Out of Love with Wine

This week, I was re-organizing my wine collection. There were several cases of white and rosé wine that had stacked up in the utility room, and we weren’t drinking it that regularly, of late. So, I made room in the wine cave for them. I keep a spreadsheet and was slightly annoyed to be adding to the list, rather than subtracting to it. Why, one might ask? Isn’t the purpose of a wine collection to continually add and subtract, refine and replenish? I suppose so, but with our diminishing drinking habits, I fear I might outlive some of my wines. And that, in my view, would be an egregious offense.

Confessions of a Salesperson: Lessons from a Bygone Era

Recently, I stopped in to see an old friend and erstwhile client, an Italian restaurateur. We had a glass of Gavi together and caught up. He told me this anecdote:

“This wholesale rep showed up with (a very large and new Italian supplier) longtime supplier rep friend. We’ve known each other 30+ years. We’re chatting and having fun. We have a relationship. The wholesale rep, who is new, apparently didn’t like our cutting up. So, the rep reported me and the supplier to their superior. Said we were being unprofessional. This wholesale rep, who has yet to sell me on themself and their company, is turning me and their very important rep in? Who the heck does that?”

What kind of life have you had?

 In memory of Luigi Pira and Dino Illuminati

I was in the room next to my wine closet when I thought I heard the murmur of low voices. There was no one else in the house, and it startled me a bit. But as I inched closer to where the wine was, I realized the voices were coming from inside…

Reinventing Italy

The Italy that Americans forget

Lately I’ve taken to reading excerpts from people’s trips to Italy. Wine country, the cities, the fashionable resorts, the restaurants, the countryside. And one thing has stood out from some of those missives. It is the unique position we all have, the singular perspective of Italy from our own point of view, and how it affects how we see and interpret Italy to others. This is no simple thing, for there are as many Italy’s as there are people experiencing it. But what makes some of those dispatches noteworthy are the way they not only envelop the teller of tales and their particular cosmogony, but how it brings others into their whirlpool in a way in which the Italy they have created is fully believable and not just a hopeful fabrication that they’ve hoisted once again upon the rest of us.

In other words, that they have given to us an Italy we can share in and not just revel at their prowess in getting there and throwing everything into the kitchen sink of detail in order to regale and influence us, to magnify their place in the pantheon of Italianita, and make it seem they are more important than the story they are trying to tell. This is no easy thing, for it requires self-confidence, for sure. But it also requires stopping the world and letting their intimacy with place take over and be the over-riding influence over one’s perceptions. So much for being invisible, to an extent, yes, but also being open to the cuckoo call in the glen, the gurgle of the stream below the window of one’s hotel, the absolute quiet of the moment, which is always there behind the incessant rattling of the monkey-brain.

The Luxurious Privilege of Outrage

I was taking a coffee break recently with a friend, catching up, and he remarked about some crappy restaurant service he’d recently gotten. I quipped back at him, “Yeah, you’ve got it real rough. You’re white, you’re financially set and you’re relatively healthy and young enough. Sounds like your 1%^er  white privilege is kicking in, cowboy.” He laughed. Of course, our banter can get a bit barbed, but it’s usually not jugular. But it can be to the point. I could have easily made that same remark in the mirror and it would have had an equal degree of accuracy. So, no glass houses here.

Lucania ~ As I See It

from the archives...

Forget anything you know about Basilicata and Southern Italy. Disregard anyone telling you this is the poorest region in all of Italy. What I’m about to tell you, I hope, will change what and how you think about this region and the South.

What does the “Future You” look like in the world of wine?

The other day, I listened in on an NPR TED Hour podcast about what the “future you” looks like. Who will you be in 5 years? In 20 years? Are there things about yourself you’d like to improve upon, or change, and how do you envision going about that?

Indeed, for all of the Italian wine world, the future will change. What capacities and strengths and wisdom will our future selves have that we might not have today?

“Take heed” - Random thoughts about the professional climate change in the wine trade

Ok, here goes. I’ve been in a quandary lately. Don’t know why. Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe the state of the country. Or the world. In any event, I’m thinking about these things. Think of it as a “take heed” list.

Italian wines for the summer of ‘23

Here’s the thing: Life, at any age, can be as rich or as impoverished as one can stand it to be. There, so much for my philosophy of late. Now let’s talk about Italian wine. Huh? On the wine trail in Italy, talking about Italian wine? Well, how about that!

I was making my regular run though my local Italian store here in Dallas, Jimmy’s, when a I saw this stack of wine from Friuli at what appeared to be unbelievably low prices. The winery in question was LeVigne di Zamo’, a winery which I visited many years ago, when it was called Abbazia di Rosazzo. An historic place and an important winery, as the winemaker at the time was reputed to be one of the great winemaking stars of Italy. And the wines were exceptional.

And the wind, it cries Mary [Redux]

After all the jacks are in their boxes

And the clowns have all gone to bed

You can hear happiness staggering on down the street

Footprints dressed in red

And the wind whispers Mary

I woke up from a dream last night. My wife Lizanne, who passed away in 2001, appeared. She was no longer sick, but she was delicate. She only appeared for a moment, and in her way she kindly tapped me on the shoulder. Remember. Outside the wind was blowing.

We all run around making busy lives for ourselves to fill them up with meaning. We are like the little goti glass of Venice, made from left over scraps of glass, all different. All fragile. But still we step outside in the wind, and we run. And run. Competing in a race we will never win. But still, we run.

A faux pas (from the past) in New York and a stunning Sauvignon Blanc (from the present) by way of Friuli

An old colleague of mine texted recently and told me about the death of a French wine producer we knew. We had gotten to know him over the years when he came to Texas to work. We sold his products. We even had a men’s tasting group based loosely on one of the top wines of the estate. A nice group, including the national sales manager for the estate.

A few years ago, in NY for the Wine Spectator Experience, my friend told me to join him for the dinner at a nearby restaurant with said Frenchman. I said I had not been invited. He said, “Hey, we’re friends of his. We all formed a tasting group around one of his greatest wines, ‘The Friends of Chuck!’” So, I went with him.

Peddling Prosecco on Skid Row – An Anamnesis

My last paying gig in the wine trade was as a national ambassador for a venerable maker of Prosecco. One of the days I was out, working the market, in Los Angeles, near where I was born. Los Angeles is a lot of things to a lot of people, but to Angelinos it holds a special place in one’s heart. So, to go back home and be thrust out into the streets, with a bag full of wine and a day full of appointments, was a memorable occurrence.