Firch Pilin’, Recyclin’ & Twitterin’

There’s an old East Texas term called "firch-piling" that I learned about from an Oregon magazine many moons ago. The magazine, called RAIN in the late 1970’s, was about A.T. (appropriate technology) and it was a simple black and white monthly issue. Anyway, I loved that ‘ol rag and read it like it was the New Testament when I first got here to Texas. Ancil Nance took many of the cover shots and I still regret letting them go. They were prescient. But then, many years ago a lot of people were talking about a lot of things and not many of us were listening. Now, we’ve got hell to pay. But I’m getting off the subject. One of the stories was about the East Texas practice of not letting anything usable get thrown away. People would go around the curbs and corners when things were laid out for the bulky trash pickup (still happens here in Dallas to this day) and drive by in their van or pick-up and collect anything that they thought they could use. My living room is made up of used furniture, some vintage and some valuable. A most treasured piece is my two-piece Haywood-Wakefield sofa. It was being thrown away. I firched-piled it and then took it home and refinished it. Now it’s worth something. And again I’m getting off the subject. So tonight I was cruising around the cyber-neighborhood and firched a couple of sites that are worth bringing home and telling everyone about. How to Pronounce Italian Wine is one of those sites I will send to a million people. Anyone who needs to understand a little more about a grape and how to say it, in Italian, should run, not walk, to this site. Pina runs this blog and also can be found at @Vino_Italiano in Twitterland, where I found her amazing and animated site while rummaging around. Detroit Drinks and its author, Putnam Weekly, is a must for your Google Reader. I remember this guy when we first started e-mailing in the mid 1990’s. He was and still is passionate about wine , Italian and otherwise, and now he blogs and tweets (@putnam100)and all that growed-up stuff. Nice re-union from the firch pile. Sunday we went out into the “country” for Mother’s day. At the farm we saw acres and acres of dandelions and I thought about my grandmas. They would love this post, from another site I firched from another Twitterer, @everything_wine . The tweet directed me to a new blog, VINTROSPECTIVE –> An Italian Wine Blog, by Joel Mack, also found here @vintrospective on the Twitterpile. The post that got my firchpile fired up was one about dandelions. Seeing as we have a mountain of them, I can have my firch and eat it too, thanks to Signore Mack. Lorenzo Gabba can be found @_enzo on the tweetball field or on Lorenzo’s Blog. I'm thinking right now wine-folks like Roberto Paris, Andrea Fassone and Giulio Galli would like this post, Italian Region Launches Grape and Football Contest. I’ll send them this link via Facebook, as Roberto is in Thailand, Giulio is in San Antonio, Texas and Andrea is in Bed-Stuy. And that’s the way lot of ex-pats stay in touch in this busy and bustling world. That’s it. Bonna notte y’all.

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

Vonnegut, St. Margherita and Parker

The wine business is on the move. There has been a fundamental shift. Depending on who one talks to, it is either so small as to be barely noticeable, or so huge that the walls have come tumbling down and we are in shock and no longer recognize the landscape we have found ourselves in.

Kurt Vonnegut was familiar with cataclysm and change. And along the way he became a major brand, Kurt Vonnegut. For impressionable youth who had 95 cents for a paperback, Vonnegut challenged our pre-existing ideas about where we were going. And for many of us, he was a huge wave that took us on the long ride out of the doldrums of the 1950’s. He became huge, enormously popular and recognizable to millions. An icon. But somewhere along the line I believe he stayed true to his mission, his “brand”. His books are still enormously popular, though he has long since departed these shores. And while he was attaining, fame, wealth and freedom, he didn’t let it fundamentally change what his message was or who he was. Stardom didn’t alter his course. So it goes.

Santa Margherita, known the world over for light, fruity, Pinot Grigio. Reviled by connoisseurs, envied by the competition and made the butt or the target of so many salespeople and wine journalists who have scoped it in their sights for their own aggrandizement. And all along the way, 30 years and counting, SMPG just keeps knocking them out of the ring. It is a brand and it hasn’t tried to be anything other than what it is: light, fruity, white wine for people who are looking for that kind of thing. Say what you want about it, and I’m sure the navel gazers of the wine world are rolling their eyes right about now. If they read these words. Which they don’t. So we’re “safe.” Santa Margherita isn’t looking to tempt the hairy armpit crowd. All along this brand has really only been successful at this: making a lot of money selling Pinot Grigio for a high price. And making a lot of people happy. Always pretty much the same message, lightly dry and fruity. End of story. But what a success story the “brand” of Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio has been. So it goes.

And now we have Robert M. Parker. The wine critic people love to hate. Or fear. Or copy. Or target. And what has his transgression been? Depending on who you ask and what period of time, he has been accused of liking overly alcoholic wines, overly fruity wines, Bordeaux and not Burgundy, Barolo but not Chianti, oak, malolactic acid, micro-oxygenation, New world wines and Old World wines in New World clothes. People have criticized him for his palate, even though, the whole time, what has he been doing? He has been tasting wine and saying what it is he likes. And in return, many, many winemakers have either agreed with him or wanted their wines to be liked by him, because he was a force of nature and because HE SOLD WINE. Was that his intent? Or did he have a sinister plan to inexorably change the way wine was made?

Parker is the “brand”. Not Squires, not Galloni, not Rovani. Parker. And yes, now he can extend his influence, enlarge his scope by opening up his world to other voices, other palates. Line extensions. But like Santa Margherita, people flock to Parker for Parker, or are threatened by Parker because of Parker. And what has he done all this time? He has stayed true to his vision of what he appreciates in a wine, pure and simple. You don’t have to agree with him. But the man, the brand, became the influencer he has because he built his castle brick by brick. So it goes.

The challenge for a brand will be for it to stay relevant as the future crashes all around us. Parker the man is set for life. Parker the brand is being challenged, by the Vaynerchucks and the bloggers and the many new young wine drinkers whom he might not ever be able to catch up with in communicating in the ways they have set. And while I’m in no way advising him (or anyone) to blog or to set up a Twitter or Facebook account, the ways in which the future is arriving will make his newsletter (and this blog) seem quaint and dated and over. Unless he (and we) adapt.

Or wait for fins, and chrome and broad white walls to come back in vogue.


Don’t hold your breath.

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

Condimentia

I went to a Modern Mexican restaurant the other day. Looking at the wine list, eight wines, and two of them were Cal-Itals, an Arneis and a Tocai Friulano from St. Ynez Valley. Mind you, the Italians cannot call their version Tocai Friulano; EC ruling. They must call if Friulano Bianco. But Californians can. Doesn’t make sense. Even then, why not use the real thing?

Flash back 12 hours. Am conferencing about a Euro-based Italian chain that has franchised in the area. The corporate wine list is all Italian, but the franchisee can do whatever they want to do. So on the list goes Pinot Noir from California, four kinds of Malbec from Argentina and Silver Oak Cabernet. In an area where chain restaurants dominate. And this is going to differentiate them from their competition? So, why not use the real thing?

Wine has been reduced, once again, to condiment, like ketchup and mustard. Doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make sense. Mercury must be in retrograde.

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

Nature and the Hand of Man

“The vine and humankind have walked the same path together for thousands of years.” This quote, remembered from some ancient text, sets our mutual destinies on course. Whatever we think is natural has been in a state of constant change. The vines, the wines and the humans. Some of the changes work, some of them are imperfect, and so it goes. It amuses me when I hear the natural camp express a stringent, unbending philosophy of what they think wine should be. Equally bemusing are those who think wine is all the hand of man. Somewhere in the middle there is an equilibrium, but I won’t be the one to bring both sides to the table. It is not my concern. What interests me is how these two elements, nature and the hand, have come all these years on the wine trail.

After the meetings and the tastings I itch to get out into the fresh air and walk in the vineyards. Do I care about the trellising or the distance between the vines? Not one whit. Is the soil important? For the vines growing in it, yes, but schist, calcaire or gumbo, what can I do about it? Nothing. That is for those who have committed their lives to the soil below them. In my garden, yes, there I have my concerns. Where to plant my tomatoes, basil and squash. The Hoja Santa, which is taking over everything as if it were meant to. And the peppers and the arugula, growing wherever I stick them. The oregano, which has decided it would rather live in the crack between the fence and the concrete decking. And the rosemary, which is thriving in the pot, most likely root-bound, and delirious. That is my nature and the world in which my bees and squirrels and sparrow hawks live.

In Italy, the hand of man (and woman) has many facets. The nobleman, whose family has owned the property for countless generations, his hand is now finely manicured and steady in which to pour his precious liquid. For his and the legacy of his family, the land is everything, for it has given them so much. Pride, prestige, wealth, standing, position and time to read the ancient and modern philosophers. Wine is part of his Cosmologia Generalis. Marcus Aurelius, in his Meditations, says, " He who does not know what the world is does not know where he is, and he who does not know for what purpose the world exists, does not know who he is, nor what the world is.”

Nothing can happen to any man which is not a human accident, nor to an ox which is not according to the nature of an ox, nor to a vine which is not according to the nature of a vine, nor to a stone which is not proper to a stone. If then there happens to each thing both what is usual and natural, why shouldst thou complain ? For the common nature brings nothing which may not be borne by thee. -Marcus Aurelius

The hand of the young son of the winemaker, hands stained with grape and soil, those are his jewels and his gold. Years ago, in Montalcino, at the table of a humble family of vine growers, we had lunch from everything that grew or was raised on the farm. These were farmers, uncomplicated in the way they saw life. They woke up early and worked until lunch. They ate and took a short nap. Then they returned to their work until dinner. And afterwards, maybe a little diversion. But the life was set for them.

Years later I ran into them in Northern Italy. The farmer had a light green suit on. He seemed out of balance in it. His wife, her hands still stained by the pomace of the grapes, were laden with all manner of gold and ornamentation. Their land was valuable and the wine commanded a high price. Their station in life, economically, was changing. And they were, too. Were they moving away from their nature with their suits and their jewelry? And if they were, who could warn them of the dangers they would face with their newfound affluence?

Last month, in the hills of Soave, we were taking one last visit and taste before heading back to America to work. In the late afternoon as we looked out over the vineyards, our hostess pointed to a small figure moving briskly down below. “She has worked in these vineyards all her life. She wakes up early and heads out to the fields and returns at the end of the day, almost every day. And she is 95 years old now.”

I saw not only a 95 year old walking briskly up that steep hill. I saw the spirit of one who had learned long ago what her nature was. And like the birds and the bees in my backyard following their nature, so was this incredible old woman.

To her who gives and takes back all, to nature, the man who is instructed and modest says, Give what thou wilt; take back what thou wilt. And he says this not proudly, but obediently and well pleased with her. - Marcus Aurelius

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

"No one knows the list better than me"

I had to laugh, to keep from crying. The local restaurant critic revisited an old landmark restaurant that had been, in its day, the hallmark of dining and wine service. Sadly the place seems to be in its “old age” phase of its life. Reviewer Leslie Brenner in the Dallas Morning News wrote a tragically uproarious piece about the wine service. You should read the whole review, to get a feel for Ms. Brenner’s style. Folks have also chimed in on the Eats blog here (it has gotten pretty hairy). Her comments about the wine service, after the break:

We asked for the sommelier, told him what we had ordered and inquired about a Bordeaux: a Sociando Mallet 1997, for $45. I love Sociando Mallet but didn't know how '97 was. He didn't answer, just flipped a few pages back and pointed to a Spanish wine I'd never heard of, priced at $100.

"What region is it from?" I asked.

"Spain," he said.

"OK, but what region in Spain?"

"Spain."

"There are many regions in Spain," I reminded him. "Is it from Ribera? Rioja?"

"It's from Spain," he said.

"OK," I said. "We'd like to stay in France." I flipped back to the Sociando Mallet, asking him again about it.

"Médoc doesn't go with what you're having," he said. That was quite funny, as one of us had ordered a rib-eye steak – known in the Médoc as entrecôte, and paired famously with, you know, Médoc.

I gave up, though, and tried getting his opinion about a Guigal Châteauneuf-du-Pape. He didn't think they had it. So I asked him about a Guigal Hermitage that was listed under Burgundy. What year is it? I wondered.

"That's not a very good Burgundy," he said.

"It's not a Burgundy," I pointed out. "It's listed under Burgundy, but it's not a Burgundy; it's a northern Rhône."
He looked at me as if I were insane.

"Is there someone here who knows the wine list?" I asked him.

He laughed. "No one knows the list better than me," he said.

We settled on a 1995 Château Gloria Bordeaux, and before long, the food started coming.

Who's on First?

Many years ago, I called on a man by the name of Victor Wdowiak. At the time he was a wine buyer for a large retail chain, but he often took pity on this “young Turk” as he liked to call me. He knew wine well. He was very intimidating. But he was the real deal. And it was he who set up the original wine service at the restaurant that is now in the autumn of its years. Mr. Victor passed away a while back and it is probably better, for if he read this interchange he would most likely pass out and die from shame, exhaustion and sheer frustration that all his years of hard work, his legacy, has now been so perverted and misinterpreted.

Restaurants are struggling so much without having to endure these self inflicted wounds, some of them mortal. My experiences this week have shown me that we have a lot of work to do. Even with a lifetime of work, the legacy might not be so deeply etched, in the fields we have toiled all these years.



P.S. I promise to be more uplifting on the next post. It's not all doom and gloom. But it ain't exactly a walk in the park, either. But we shall overcome. Yes we can!

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

Muscle Memory

Images flash across the screen of my inner all night movie show. Prone, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the wine or the tequila or the sleeping pill to take one away for a few hours. The stuff that the waking hours produce seems like the dream; the dream seems like the reality. And then the phone call comes.

“Our appointment with Chef Mark has been canceled, he has another emergency.”

That has been happening more frequently lately.

It is like a see-saw of good-bad news. Digging out of this one is going to take longer, I fear.

Last night, sitting around the table with a group of guys I taste wine with regularly. One of them, Hank, throws out the question, “What are some of your memories of food from your past?” We go around the table, everyone with their wonderful memories. Hank’s was especially poignant for me; maybe it was because we share the Italian-American experience. “There were eight of us, and we had dinner at six every night.” Hank is the same age as my older brother-in-law, so there are some early post-WWII memories there. He got to talking about a recent meal he had with his family, I think to celebrate his dad’s 90th or 91st birthday. “When we go to sit down, all of us took our places at the table exactly as we had done as kids, all those years ago. It was like we had muscle memory.”

Ahh yes, muscle memory.

All across the world, the Italians who settled in new lands shared their customs. Meals with the family, picnics, baptisms, first communions, it didn’t matter if it were Pittsburgh, Cucamonga, Sidney, Australia or Maracaibo, Venezuela. Maybe we didn’t have the best wine in the world, surely not like the rare vintages we were sipping last night, but what we had, it took. And deep inside we kept stretching, trying to find it in this new world we planted ourselves in.

The chef never called back. I’d rather not talk to him anyhow. He’s just going to want to shake me down for a bunch of free wine and an ad in the paper to prop his sinking ship up. I don’t have the heart to tell him the truth, that he isn’t going to get it from me or the company I work for. I want to share with him some thoughts on how we can move his business forward; I've been talking to all kinds of people for ideas. I even have a few of my own, after all these years in the biz. But I reckon they will ultimately fall on deaf ears. He wants to do what he wants to do, even though it ain’t working.

So what to do? Johnny Appleseed or George Washington? Plant seeds or chop it down?

More and more, it seems like folks are parading around in their fine new clothes, and nobody can get through to these insulated emperors that they just aren’t quite ready for the big tent. And so we go through the dance, trying to lead, but always picking partners who want to go in their own direction at their own speed. People who don’t listen, tone deaf to the new reality that has plopped down right in front of their empty valet stand.

And so we return to our memories, our dreams, about our family meals with our wine and our friends and our good times. The restaurants that get this, the ones that want to feed our dreams, not their pocketbooks, are winning out there. They know how to listen; they give the customer what they want. And in return for making our dreams last a little longer, they get to live another day, only to wake up and return to the line and start all over again.

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

It Was 64 years Ago Today

From the "life has funny convergences" department...

64 years ago, April 28, 1945, Mussolini was found and shot and then hanged. Crowds converged upon his and his lovers lifeless body and proceeded to take out their collective rage on them in a square in Milan.

64 years later, in a totally unrelated event the IPhone now has a Gambero Rosso Application.

These two images were sent to me from different people and places and they arrived in my in-box at the same time. Funny how things converge...

When I get older, losing my hair,
Many years from now,
Will you still be sending me a Valentine
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine?

If I'd been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oooo
You'll be older too, (ah ah ah ah ah)
And if you say the word,
I could stay with you.

I could be handy, mending a fuse
When your lights have gone
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings, go for a ride.

Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

Every summer we can rent a cottage
In the Isle of Wight, if it's not too dear
We shall scrimp and save
Grandchildren on your knee:
Vera, Chuck, and Dave

Send me a postcard, drop me a line,
Stating point of view
Indicate precisely what you mean to say
Yours sincerely, Wasting Away.

Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

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

Lyrics by Paul McCartney

Just What the Doctor Ordered

The pace of life after Vinitaly has been brisk. The Italians have been flooding the landscape to work with us in our hand-to-hand combat. Welcome to my weekly round-up. Alfonso has gone from ranting to mommy-blogging today.

What does the first picture say about the state of affairs, here in backwater country? A clean cut American male holding a bottle of Dr. Pepper in one hand(the real thing, from Dublin, Texas, made with real cane sugar) and a glass of Brunello in the other? The clean cut American is a hard working farmer who supplies restaurants with some great produce. But he was needing some “Pepper love” so he asked for a bottle of the sweet, unctuous soda so beloved by Texans. At first I thought, “WTF?” and then I thought about what Tim Hanni said about people’s taste buds. The good farmer was just looking for something to balance his meal. Did he drink it with the Italian wine? Yes he did, side by side. And he was, in his own way, a happy camper. Leave him alone, he’s a hard worker. At least he was also enjoying Brunello from Lionello Marchesi.

Lionello worked one whole week across Texas, week before last. Dinners in Dallas and Houston, showing his Chianti, Morellino and Brunello and telling his riveting rags-to-riches story. Lionello understands American marketing and he is, at 72, one hard working son-of-a-gun. Lufthansa had to create a new category of frequent flier as he smashed all records for accumulating miles. By the way, did you know that Lufthansa frequent flyers can trade miles for wine through New Vine Logistics? Lionello however needs "no mo" wine, as his three properties produce a sufficient amount.

In the last week, here in Dallas, we have sold a ton of wine, thanks to Mike and Paul DiCarlo of Jimmy's. Paul hosted Lionello Marchesi, Paolo Cantele and Guy Stout to sold-out houses back in the wine room, the Circolo del Vino.

In one of those seemingly all too often après-wine dinner moments at Adelmo’s, Lionello hosted Paul and some of the local guys for a lunch. Adelmo made his famous steak tartare, which went exceedingly well with Lionello’s Morellino di Scansano.

This week wine luminaries were lining up to work like jets at DFW airport. Monday, Seth Allen, the founder of VinDivino came in with his crew to blitz across the state. I caught up with Seth over a plate of BBQ and Shiner Bock. VinDivino is back up and running with renewed vigor. A few months ago Seth and company parted ways with the Marc de Grazia folks. After 20+ years it was a painful decision, but the economics of the world and the wine industry just don’t leave a lot of room for the super-premium wines. Good luck to Marc de Grazie and his suppliers, some who remain friends after all these years. As for VinDivino, the Italian and Austrian portfolios are lean and ready to go. We had some Gruner face time this week; I think Ms. B will be posting about that at a later date. Suffice to say, I am chilling a bottle of the Loimer Estate Gruner Veltliner "Kamptal" 2007 to go with Bubba's fried chicken and a Beatle’s cover band on Thursday. Good times!

Paolo Cantele spent a week in Texas covering Dallas to Houston and points in between. On Tuesday we were able to get the Apulian wine wonder kid to slip into Texas before the heat, showing his Chardonnay, Fiano, Primitivo and Salice Salentino wines, along with his Amativo, an homage to modern times. The sold-out crowd at Jimmy’s loved Paolo and snatched up his wines with a frenzy only the wine impassioned can exhibit.



Wednesday Pio Boffa from Pio Cesare accompanied Gregory Balogh, the suave and elegant President/CEO of Maisons Marques & Domaines to Texas. Pio is another road warrior who has been on the road for the last 25 years. He is an undaunted ambassador for Piedmont and her wines. When I asked him about the loss of Teobaldo Cappellano, Pio was emotional. “We didn’t agree on politics, but on wine, we were brothers. I loved that man and will truly miss him.” I also asked Pio what he thought of the new Minister of Agriculture, Luca Zaia, he boomed, “I love what Dr. Zaia is doing for Italy!” Well, there you go, another fan of this new Italian coalition government. Today, pineapples and kebabs. Tomorrow, tomatoes and potatoes?

Pio spoke to a throng of fans at the Sigel’s’ Elite wine shop, selling and signing wines for local wine enthusiasts. Afterwards, Steak and Champagne at Nick & Sam's, a local steakhouse, which was packed with steak-eating, Bourbon-swilling, Bordeaux and Barolo and Napa decanting wine drinkers. Speaking of potatoes, if you have never tried them, the fries at Nick & Sam's are some of the best I have ever had. Top notch service and great steaks, we compared the 2004 Château Magdelaine and the Pio Cesare Barolo, a really tough assignment. But glad to be of service!

Thursday - Daily-Double. Serena Bonacossi flew in for a meeting and the annual pilgrimage to Adelmo’s for lunch. I met with her and her local manager and all around nice guy, Ed Kukol, for a round of tastings of the Capezzana wines. Several years ago I went to the estate and met with Serena and her family. Her grandfather Contini Ugo Bonacossi is an amazing fellow. He was manning the booth at Vinitaly this year, an octogenarian who works every day. Lovely family. Serena wanted to show her latest Carmignano and Ghiaie della Furba, which I have a soft spot in my heart for. Great wines from an historic property . Wine was first made there in the year 804.

Later that evening we had to “gear up” for another sold-out dinner at Jimmy’s, this time with Master Sommelier Guy Stout. Guy was only to happy to strike a pugilistic pose for the camera.

The lineup of wines was eclectic, from Franciacorta by Contadi Castaldi to Verdicchio di Matelica from a beloved producer, La Monacesca. I was able to taste with owner Aldo Cifola at Vinitaly this year, and am happy to report the wines are stunning. The 2006 La Monacesca didn’t disappoint the crowd at Jimmy’s’ By the way, those tastings at Jimmy’s, always (at least) two women for every man. I need to get some of my lonely single men friends to these dinners, there were a lot of women carrying out boxes of wine that night.

One of my favorite gals who I like to talk wine with brought her beau. I snapped this shot of them and told him not to screw up or he’d be dealing with the Italians if he broke her heart. I think he got the message.

Red wines? Teroldego, Brunello, Barolo and Amarone, followed by a late harvest Moscato from Sicily. We ran out of wine, sold so much Mike Di Carlo ran out of register tape. More good times!

Guy and Paul, now here are two fellows I’d like to have with me in the dark alleys of life. Nobody’s gonna mess with these boyz. That night we broke records for wine sales, as Jimmy’s is a retail store and we made everybody a deal they couldn't refuse.

One thing Guy, the back room, we refer to it as the Circolo del Vino, not the Goombah Room. I know you worked hard getting to where you are and all that, but a little respect for things Italian, ok? I don’t want to tell you twice.

Nah, really all in fun, Guy was great and we had a ball. And those diners were Jimmy’s stimulus program that night. Business is picking up. The key to success, is to stay in the game and keep on swinging, day in and day out.

Speaking of swinging, the weekend brought me my afternoon meeting with my Italian guru, the iconic Mario Messina, godfather to almost every Italian restaurateur in Dallas. Mario, at 92, was making a light lunch of zucchini and halibut. Whenever I need to talk to someone with a world of experience I head over to Mario’s house for a café’ and some conversation. Mario, you got me started in this Italian crusade, you helped to steer me to a career that I have loved for over 30 years. Thank you, Padrino!

And that leaves me to the end of two really busy weeks on the wine trail. Friday night we took some of the great old wines out of the wine cellar and shared them with our young friends. But that’s a post for another day from some other bloggers. Take it away, Ms. B. Have at it, Dr. J.

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

The Measure of a Master

What does one do if they think the Italian wine industry is going in the wrong direction? And if one has a rather large interest in the success of the Italian wine industry, how does one go about letting one’s thoughts, opinions and feelings be known?

Simple. Make sure the people you are trying to convince think it is their idea.

Last week I was talking to a Tuscan wine producer. And I was lamenting that too many wines from Italy are over-oaked and too alcoholic. He looked at me and said, “I agree.” And then a few seconds later he said, “But you don’t think my wines are like that, do you?”

I looked him straight in the eyes and said,” Do you want the truth or do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?” He replied, "Oh, we know each other well now, I want you to give me the truth.”

Still, I wasn’t sure he really wanted the truth. Something from the last twenty years gnaws at me, a little voice on my shoulder that whispers in my ear, “Don’t show it all, just show ‘em a little. Let them guess what is underneath.”

So I respond, “Would you like to save $150,000 this year?” “Of course,” he replies. Now I’ve got him. “Then buy only half of the barrels you normally would and use them longer. Surely you have strong enough wines. And it would be such a reduction in your carbon imprint.”

The winemaker now has food for thought. I haven’t scolded him for his virtually undrinkable wines. But hopefully I have put him on the road to recovery. And it will be all his idea.

A week later, I am talking to a producer from Piedmont. Over the phone it can be easier to convince winemakers to change. But now I have an anecdote. And over the phone they don’t see my face, so it is my little voice inside of their head this time.

I relate to him my concern that too many wines from Italy are over-oaked and too alcoholic. And then I proceed to tell him the conversation that I had with the Tuscan producer. When I finished with the point about the producer being able to save $150,000, my Piemontese friend affirms that said producer would exactly do that, and that would be wonderful.

We call that imprinting. Now we are starting to change the Italian wine world. One barrel at a time.

It’s been one long battle of San Jacinto for the last 20 years. My opinions haven’t been popular. People don’t want to hear that they need to change. Change is uncomfortable. But inevitable. The next generation is going to do it anyhow. So I load up my jackass cart and head into the marketplace of ideas with my sad and crazy ideas, looking to plant them in the next garden.

You’d think these folks would want to know. After all the business I follow in America represents 8% of all Italian wine coming from Italy to the USA. That’s a fact. But often I feel more like I am the Invisible Man.

The measure of a master is his success in bringing all men around to his opinion twenty years later.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Thank God for Emerson. The quote above gives me strength. As long as I have strategery. And I do. I feel this battle in the hinterlands of wine-drinking America has, for the last 20 or so years, seen some advance. But we are still considered backwater by our Italian colleagues. I’m convinced if I lived in SF or LA or NY that I’d get a similar response.

No, the key is to plant the idea, water it occasionally and then let ‘er grow. If it grows, then we all win. If it dies, hey, it’s a big wine world out there. Someone will get it. Every dog has his day.

But right now, I’m feeling good. I am embracing mastery. And the world will be a better, safer, happier place for Italian wine.

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

Images by Simone Martini

Best Moment at Vinitaly: Savoring Life with Roberto Bava

I’d had it. One more over-oaked, alcohol soaked Tuscan wine and I was going to go bonkers.

It was then that I decided to visit my friend Roberto Bava. We don’t do business together, but he has been to my home and I have visited him in Asti. We are friends. I needed to visit a friend, simple as that.

I sidled up to his booth at Vinitaly, where he welcomed me. We talked about ideas, about the world, about whatever moves us. I needed that. After three days of pummeling my palate with wine I just wanted to take a break.

Roberto doesn't lack for energy or ideas. He is like an Italian version of Marshall McLuhan, or Seth Godin. Heaven forbid if Bava and Vaynerchuck ever join forces, although the two are universes complete on their own.

Bava sat me down and showed me his latest sparkling wines, Giulio Cocchi, Alta Langa DOC. We tasted four: the Bianc ‘D Bianc, the Toto Corde, the Rosa and the Oro.

The Bianc ‘D Bianc is a vintage Chardonnay in the Metodo Classico. My scorched tongue was starting to come back from the trail of broken tears, the result of two days of intense tasting of red, mainly Tuscan. I felt this lithe spirit begin to coax me back to the realm of the living. Juliet of the Sparklers.

The Toto Corde, a vintage blend of 30% Chardonnay and 70% Pinot Noir, was a step further in the rehabilitation of my palate which was ascending from the Dantean hell of wine tasting one often experiences in the trade halls at Vinitaly. Not Prosecco, no, no. Not Franciacorta, either. And not Champagne, this Alta Langa appellation for sparkling wine is regenerative and restorative at the same time. The veils were being lifted.

A plate of crackers with fois gras appear. No heavy cheese or home made salumi. This was my tongue's Betty Ford mini-clinic moment. I was feeling better. The depth of the Toto Corde with the snack was one of the perfect matches I had during Vinitaly.

Along the way, Bava and I are chatting about anything and everything. We just pick up the last conversation we had and head forward.

He doesn’t need me. Or the company I stand with. This is freedom for both of us. We don’t want anything from each other, just camaraderie and sharing of ideas. Making the world safer for Italian wine. Two friends, talking about wine, life and the future.

The third wine, The Rosa, a Pinot Noir in purezza, brings in depth and a baritone aspect to the tasting. Bava is a musician, sings in the choir at his church in Asti. He cannot live without music. And his wines are trios and quartets and whole orchestras of his life’s work. We’re working on a quartet in this moment.

The last wine, the Oro. 1999 vintage. 80% Pinot Noir, 20% Chardonnay, with a twist. The Chardonnay is appassito, a riper harvest left to dry and concentrate the flavors and the sugar. Not sweet, but an older style of sumptuousness, often found in wines made in the days before micro-ox, spinning cones and heavy toast barrique.

Gorgeous wine, and dear to the wallet. But we plunk down the dollars for a Selosse- this is a similar experience. Oh, it isn’t Champagne? Yes, it isn’t. And it Bava makes no apologies for its provenance. Does Umberto Eco express regret for where he comes from?

Not finished with me, Padre Bava had purged me of the torments of the Tuscan barrique torture. Now he would issue my absolution. But first I had to do my penance.

Bava is passionate about cacao and chocolate. He has a network of monks living and working in South America to reclaim patches of land that have been laid bare by Conquistadores, both ancient and modern. And in those lands, these monks have planted cacao. He took me through three levels of Paradise through his OIOIO line of cacao, the 45% Criollo Java Cream, the 65% Sabirano ( from Madagascar) Macis and the 70% Otonga (Ecuador). What next?

Before sending me on my way, refreshed and ready to take on the Piedmont Hall, Roberto pours me a little sip of Barolo Chinato.

How does one go back to making the rounds on a Sunday like this? I have been washed and purged and my palate has been re-anointed.


Thank you, my friend, thank you.

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