The Duty of Hospitality (is not just expected of the Host)

From the archives: Seeing as summertime is approaching and holiday visits to Italy will increase, along with requests to visit wineries, just a little revisit to this subject during our Memorial Day holiday

My dad, Lou, in the 1950's - the consummate salesman

I received an email from Italy, via a concerned and upset supplier, whom I regard as a friend.

“The person you arranged to visit our property in Tuscany never showed up. They never even called! Do you know what happened? We were waiting. We are still waiting. This happens too many times! Please make sure the people you set up visits for really want to come to visit us!”

I cannot tell you how many times this has happened. And with the tourist season ramping up, I fear more incidents like this. In this case I made three calls, filled out visit forms, three properties I made arrangements for and the client was a no-show at all three. To quote my dad above, "WHAT'S THE DEAL?"

Engendering Madness - What Price for an Authentic Italian Meal?

Seafood with Cheese - Authentic or the Ultimate Culinary Transgression?

 Over the past few days, I’ve been chatting with a foodie friend who spares no expense when it comes to food and wine. This is a person who will fly to Japan to eat raw fish. He was asking me for my take on some Italian places here in Dallas. One of his comments, in response was, “I’d rather fly to New York and go to Rezdora,” where the chef is a (local) friend of ours.

It got me to thinking about the costs of getting on a plane and going to Italy to eat authentic Italian.

What? Of all the profligate, indulgent, extravagant, privileged, entitled, senseless babble!

Well, as Batman said, “The world only makes sense when you force it to.”

So, let’s run some numbers.

Why “Italian” restaurants in America still don’t get Italian wine - Pt. II

Forging ahead with my quixotic crusade, let’s turn to red wines. I’ll try and be a little more circumspect in my presentation.

While Italy now has a plethora of great wines, I’d like to start with the less patrician and more serviceable ones. I say this because we still have legions of folks who don’t understand the intricacies of Italian wine. They are looking for easy road marks and equivalents. Not always so easy, but doable.

Why “Italian” restaurants in America still don’t get Italian wine - Pt. I *

A classic Vitello Tonnato in a Langhe restaurant

I know, I know. We’ve covered this already. But apparently some folks out there still haven’t gotten the memo. Are we standing still? Or are we falling behind?

But, falling behind, that’s not news to America. We seem to be sliding in many respects. Still, at my stage in life, most of the critical crises are beyond my reach. An Italian wine list? It might be something I can parse.

This was recently triggered by a new Italian restaurant that opened up in town. Lots of flash. The chef is a food media-superstar and recently went to Italy, and was inspired to come back home and, with the help of an enthusiastic investor, got after it in a big way. No indication, one way or another, that they might have skiplagged their way through the food research.

I don’t wish to pick on any one chef or restaurant in particular, but rather see this latest iteration as a pattern of digression. The food menu, along with the wine list, seems to ramble. Dare I use even a loaded comment such as this: It is my belief that Italian food has been culturally appropriated to the point that some of the items (and combinations) that I see on contemporary menus in America, veer so far outside of the deep-roooted, sui generis pantheon of la cucina Italiana so as to barely be recognizable to those of us who truly love all things Italian.

“Italian wine is an ocean of storms!”

That was the text I got from a colleague while they navigated the aisles and passageways of Vinitaly.

Indeed, Italy and Italian wine is besieged by diversity and quantity. But underneath the thin skin of the grape lies another story. And far too often, those who should tell that story are distracted by other diversions.

And while taking a detour in Italy has become a right of passage for many, there is a fundamental essence to all things Italian that often gets cast aside for the brighter and shinier objects vying for one’s attention.

Vinitaly 2024 – What went down (and what’s going up)

Luca Zaia (L) President of the Veneto Region

It’s been a few days since Vinitaly 2024 ended. Here are some random thoughts about the Italian wine trade show that is held for four days in April in Verona.

My Brilliant Italy

My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante was made into a TV series. We’ve been watching it here on the island. I have been struck by how many places and themes hit home for me. In fact, I had a bit of an epiphany in its 3^rd year. I don’t know how to accurately say it, but it was as if a confluence of memory and observation coupled with an ancestral energy. Like recognizing something I am at first seeing. Anyway, it really moved me to thinking about what it really means to be Italian and have Italian feelings. Especially in the wine world, where we witness all manner of people who position themselves (and their “branded selves”) as experts, capable of influential consequences beyond themselves.

It is a bit folly to watch it. Meanwhile, swimming in this genetic/memory/observational soup over that last 50 or so years, I realize I have a unique picture of the Italy that has been presented to me. 60 trips, most for a week, some for months, some for extended weeks. 21 trips to Verona and Vinitaly! Nothing longer than three months. In and out. No full immersion for a year or more. But still, the impression has been made. My brilliant Italy has left an indelible mark on my soul and on my chromosomes.

A Masterful Class on Franciacorta in Dallas

Since the receding of the pandemic, the wine world has seen the starting up again of traveling shows, seminars and winemaker presentations. And of course, the return of the Master Class, on just about everything.

In today’s hyper-aggrandized environment for aspiring wine professionals, where certification is all the rage, one would think that someone like a master sommelier or master of wine could be more than capable of teaching such a class. And many are. Likewise, I’ve been in master classes led by master sommeliers who had me squirming in my seat for their lack of preparation and dissemination of faulty and incomplete material. After all, they too, are only human. But there is an expectation around an event like a master class, that one who attends such a seminar comes away having greater knowledge of the subject than what he or she had before such an experience. It isn’t necessary that such a class be taught by a master, but it should be handled by someone who has mastery of the subject and is fully capable of communicating the necessary information.

Easter of the Immigrants – A Feast for the Ages

From the archives..

Over the past month, as my personal fog has lifted, there have been dreams. And in these dreams, many of them have had family who are no longer with us. The Grande Cinema of them all is one which has taken on a life after waking.

Il Carnasciale - There Goes the Cabernet-borhood

We are in the month of March – which has been, traditionally, in the wine trade, a time when winemakers and winery owners jet off and taste their clients on their releases, new and sometimes old. Slow Wine, Gambero Rosso, James Suckling, even Vinitaly with its Road Show, are crisscrossing the planet and spreading the Gospel of Italian Wine.

So, it came to be, on a Friday at Noon, one week before Good Friday, that the proprietor of the fabled Tuscan estate, Il Carnasciale, landed in Dallas, between Slow Wine gigs in Austin and Denver for a quick twelve-hour sip and swirl with local chefs and sommeliers.

The New Gatekeepers

This past week, it was raining hard, and I needed to walk my new knee. So I went to the local mall, NorthPark Center, which is enclosed and dry and has a lot of great art and stores. It also has Eataly, an Italian emporium, a dozen places to get espresso, clean bathrooms, and some nice shops. I am into watches, so I like to look at the new offerings as I perambulate my way towards new-knee health. But recently I’ve tracked a trend in retail, which I have been sensing also happens in the world of wine – the new gatekeepers.

Three incidents happened, almost at the same time.

What does it take to be the #1 Italian wine expert in the world?

Recently, I was introduced as an Italian wine expert. I bristled a little, and explained that at this time I am an enthusiast, and maybe one time I had been a little more involved in the day-to-day business of expertise, but that I have never considered myself an expert. But it got me to thinking about proficiency, and specifically, which person out there might be the #1 Italian wine expert in the world. A tall order, for sure, and one which might be different for different people, in different parts of the world.

For the sake of this speculative exercise, though, I decided to erect a few hurdles. Here goes:

Enrico Scavino - A Remembrance

Last Monday, I received a note from a friend in Italy. “Enrico Scavino has crossed over into the Great Sea.”

Our paths first crossed 40 years ago, in 1984. It was my first business trip to Italy and I was with my friend and colleague Guy Stout. We had a duo of Italian restaurateurs with us and our guide Barone Armando de Rham, who represented Scavino to us in the U.S.

We were coming from Vinitaly, which in those days was a smallish (but growing) affair. Piedmont! It was so exciting to be going to the Burgundy of Italy, which was what we were told. In those days, the Italian wines and regions leaned on French equivalents, so the unknowing could find an entry point. Now, not so necessary, as Italian wine has become a force in the wine world.

“Am I drinking too much wine?”

I’ve been abstaining from drinking any kind of alcohol for the past month, as I had knee surgery and didn’t want it to interact with any medications I was on. Things also were tasting metallic, probably a reaction from all the chemicals that had been pumped into me. Do you want to know something? I really didn’t miss wine.

The Day After - A World and a Lifetime Ago

Yesterday morning, very early, I had this odd sensation. I remember lying in bed, as I have done for the past month, recovering from full-knee replacement surgery. I hadn’t been sleeping well for that month, so I just figured it was part of the process, wailing and flailing and general discomfort.

And then I heard an ancient song, by the Shangri-las, whispering lyrics to their hit song, “Remember”:

(Remember) walking in the sand

(Remember) walking hand-in-hand

(Remember) the night was so exciting

(Remember) smile was so inviting

(Remember) then she touched my cheek

(Remember) with her fingertips

Softly, softly we'd meet with our lips

And then, I remembered.

The same day, a Saturday, 23 years ago to the day, February 17, 2001, I got a call from the care center where my wife Lizanne was. It was 5:30 AM. “Mr. Cevola, you need to come. Your wife doesn’t have much more time.”

So, I got up, fed the cat, got dressed and headed out to say good-bye to my dear wife.

My Italian Bucket List – Version 2024

After having been to Italy multiple times for work and play, since 1971, one would think someone like me might have ticked off all the boxes of an immersive and exhaustive Italian experience. It seems though, on further contemplation, that there are a few boxes remaining to be filled in. So, here goes.

What makes up Italian wine now?

As one looks over the evolution of Italian wine, one can find one consistent factor – change. Nothing stays the same, whether it be technological, tastes or styles. Today's bright star was yesterday’s smoldering nebula, just waiting to appear in time. Wines that were thought to be the “end of the world,” in 1980, are now conscripted to the dustbin of history. Not that this jives with quality or value. In fact, some of what propels Italian wine is this contrarian philosophy, a stubbornness to accede to whatever has become dominant, to maybe even become suppositious of that success.

“Every generation re-invents the wheel,” as the saying goes. And in wine, as in Italy, re-invention is part of the culture. “One cannot take chances in the shallow end of the pool – you must dive into the deep end, the unknown, with both dangers and rewards awaiting.”

How can it be that Italian wine, from 1946 until 2000 blazed a trail towards dominance in the wine world with incredible speed and accuracy, only to give it away to the new generation?

I Left My Heart in Barbaresco

[from the archives while our blog monster is out on medical leave]

High on a hill, it calls to me

What is it about a place that marks one’s soul? When a place seems more than recognizable the first time one walks in that place, although one had never been there? And that the spirit of the place infuses upon that soul and being, a sense of belonging, of an intimacy that transcends mere time and place? Such is the effect Barbaresco has had upon me for the greater part of my adult life. And it surprised no one more than myself, this attachment, this passion, for a place and its wine.

Embracing Classic Italian Wine While Becoming Your Authentic Self

ed. note: Alfonso is out on medical leave and he is letting one of the young’uns take the reins of the blog until he comes back.

What a kick, it’s 2024! If not now, when? I will make this the year I become the most authentic me I can be. I will curate myself to a more genuine person. And along with that I will embrace classic Italian wine culture. No more orange wine, no more col fondo. Arrivederci, Etna. Hello Tuscany!

Yes, this will be the year, for me, when we go all resto-mod with Italian wine. I want to embrace the tried and true, not the trite and banal fashion imperatives of my ever so au courant contingent. I’m stoked! 2024 is gonna be such a bitchin’ ride! It’ll be the most sui generous saga I’ve been looking to broker, all my short-lived life - I’m ready and raring to go!! On my way to being an epic polyhistor!!

Making Sense of Today’s Italian Wine Lists

"Everything that is done in the world is done by hope." - Martin Luther

I’ve been checking out some of the new Italian spots in my region, as this area, North Texas, has become one of the most dynamic economic sections of the country. And with commercial development and growth comes the hope of diversity in the new restaurants that have been opening up lately. Further down the rabbit hole, though, is the discussion of what an all-Italian wine list should look like. And because my recent forays in town have offered up a plethora of new choices in Italian wine lists, my quest for the optimally curated wine list is what this post is all about. So, let’s dig in.

The Small, Small, Small, Small World of Italian Wine

“Compared to what?”

The land mass of Italy figures out to be 0.2% of the world, similar to Poland, Ecuador, New Zealand and Vietnam. In regards to wine production, though, Italy is often the largest producer, occasionally swapping with France, depending on the harvest. How such a small land mass became to account for such a large amount of wine production is a fascinating thought. The reality, is that Italy, like France and a few other select areas of the world, is uniquely situated to produce large amounts of fine wine. A miracle one might even say. However, that miracle took a long time to create and it was not without its share of purgatorial tribulations.

Still, as one observes today on the social media platforms, one might think it to be one giant movable feast. The young generation who’ve inherited it from this point surely make it out to be a well-tanned cake walk, with the commensurate high-toned tastings in exotic places from Bangkok to Miami. Along with that, the four and five star stays at hotels in fascinating spots like Dubai and Singapore, poolside moments notwithstanding, as well as sumptuous dining experiences at all hours of the day and night. One might think the essence of Italian wine was just one long glamorous ride on a magic red carpet, like something out of One Thousand and One Nights. Were that it was as simple as that.

Walking on Frozen Water

“When life is sweet, say thank you and celebrate. When life is bitter, say thank you and grow.” — Shauna Niequist

Often, I sit down at the desk here and just start typing, as I am doing now. And then the words appear, maybe making sense, and sometimes not so much. After eighteen years doing this, at least once a week, often more, I’m resigned to seeing where it takes me, and you, if you’re still with me.

About 85% of you will not make it to this sentence and new paragraph. So, it goes. We want it in small bites, and we want the punch, the energy and the electricity right from the get-go. No time to waste.

Knowing more acutely about that aspect of time at this point in life, I empathize. There is precious little to waste.

We’ve Come So Far, So Good

Looking back over the past year, if I were to assess it as a grape-into-wine harvest, I might say this:

We started with a late but mild spring. Rainfall was average, with little to no hail or tornadoes. Once summer arrived, in June, the heat went up and stayed there for months. And months. And months. For humans, as well as grapes, it made for a difficult growing season, as there was no recovery available during the night. Often temperatures never went below 90⁰F, even at midnight! It was a brutal summer, the second in a row.

Still not as brutal as the summer of 1980 or even 2011. In 1980, it was just plain hot for hundreds of days, temperatures over 100⁰F the whole time. And 2011 also had extreme drought. Thousands of cows died from lack of water and relief. So, 2023 wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

And if a wine were to come from a harvest like that?

What do you call home?

Having migrated to Texas from California 45 years ago now, I have been occupied with two things: the next chapter and the meaning of home.

Years ago, I read a book, Gods, Men and Wine. Somewhere in it there was a passage about how humans and grapes traveled together through time and history. Making home where they landed and hopefully thrived. Italy was surely a good move, for both grapes and humankind.

I’ve wondered if 45 years has been enough for me in Texas. And I’ve gone to other places to research uprooting and transplanting myself. It’s getting late for these old vines, to be sure, but what if? I grew up in California and spent my early years and most of my youth there. I loved it. But that was then, and the California of my youth no longer exists.  To quote Yogi. “Nobody ever goes there anymore — it's too crowded.” It’s also too expensive now.

Where in Heaven's Name?

This past week I’ve been racking up miles across the great Southwest looking for the future. The journey has taken me to Santa Fe, New Mexico, a place I hadn’t been to in more than 25 years. It used to be a place I went to often, for work and for play. I even went there once for a honeymoon. So, there are plenty of good memories in that place.

This time, while on other business I managed to go to a few wine shops and restaurants. I was happily surprised to see Italian wine thriving there. Mind you, you could fit Santa Fe into one of the new developments in Dallas or Houston. But the place attracts artists, intellectual and the very well healed. Some of the folks in Santa Fe have another home in Tuscany, from the conversations I was privy to. The Italian connection is alive and well.

It All Depends on You

Jackson Pollock Salmon

It is so very entertaining observing from the edge of the river. Swimming along are the young fish, all bright and shiny and determined to show the world just what great swimmers they are. And aren’t they beautiful? Along with that, regulated by the river and depending on the fish, they might just be swimming somewhere to save their species, as members of their group have done for countless generations.

Likewise, it is a similar swim, on land with the up-and-coming crop of wine tradesmen and women. They’re all suited up and shimmering in the bright room, say, at a wine tasting. I love to study their movements in the room, who they talk to, what they talk about, which wines they are drawn to, and the people they connect with. We all did it, consciously or otherwise. It’s part of our humanity.

The Right Time to Open That Bottle

The clock of time is a wild child...” - Priyansha Vashi

Lately, as it seems I have a lot more time on my hands, although it is somewhat abbreviated compared to 30 years ago, I often muse upon the logistics of when to open a bottle. During the recent holiday, I wanted to find something red and with a little bit of age on it, maybe 10 years. Along with that, I needed a crisp fresh white wine to complement the foods we were serving along with the preferences of the other folks enjoying the wine with me. Both wines needed to be opened at the right time. In the case of the white wine, that was a little bit easier. But in the case of the red, a 2013 Barolo, I wondered just what I might be getting myself into. No, not anything dramatic. More of a desire to pinpoint the right bottle at the right time kind of thing. And if it didn’t work, well, there are plenty more willing participants in that cold, dark room, where they huddle in peace waiting for their moment to shine.

Pivoting While Whirling

Recently, longstanding and noted wine bloggers have been declaring. Things like:

“I don’t suppose I have many of you checking this site daily for updates…” - Vinography

“I have in fact been blogging without a break about every two weeks for more than a dozen years now, and I would be less than honest if I didn’t admit to feeling a little stale at it…and (will) take a brief sabbatical from this blog” - Tom's Wine Line

“…the blog will end its 16-plus year run on Jan. 15…sadly, I don’t think it’s relevant anymore.” - The Wine Curmudgeon

And while I have noticed the world of blogging in general doesn’t seem to have the oomph it once had in the world (it’s no longer the bright shiny thing in the corner) my take on anyone who might be having an existential moment (we don’t need another crisis) in regards to their relevancy is an optimistic one.

The Most Important Wine Harvest of All Time

How many times have you read it? The harvest in process and the ensuing data regarding the weather, the quantity and the quality that inevitably leads to an initial prediction that this year will be the wine of the decade? Wine of the century? Greatest of all time?

Recently I looked back over a slew of articles, going back forty years, and read something similar to that. At the time, I’m sure many of the journalists thought, indeed, that they were reporting an accurate assessment.

What I find curious, though, over time, is that the “lesser” vintages, the ones not thought to be so great, actually delivered wonderful vinous experiences. That probably indicates that my interaction with the wine might have had less to do with the climatological conditions of past than the present conditions of my perceptual and emotional being.

Remember Me? I'm Your Brother

From the archives: Grappling among the Offshoots ~ Gaglioppo and Nerello Mascalese

I’m the one who played tag with you and listened to you sing and play the piano. I’m the one who fell, more than once, sometimes just to the earth and sometimes out of sight. I’m your brother.

In the vineyards, when the grapes were full, you called from afar to pick the ripe ones for wine. You made pasta and poured red wine and gave shelter for the time. And when the harvest was over you bid adieu, until the next time you were in need. You paid just enough to make it through the winter.

Bidding Adieu to a Longtime Friend

Lately, on the blog and IRL I’ve been opening up elderly bottles from the wine closet. Part of that stems from an analysis I did of the wines in the closet, and found that 25% of the wines in there were over 25 years old. While that might be magical words for some wine collectors, to me it caused a sense of dread on two fronts. Firstly, that old wines tend to get even older if not opened. And as we see from elderly humans, not all get old in the same way. Secondly some of those wines 25 years or older (especially from the 1990's) I remember putting them in there on release and wondering when and if they’d ever be ready.

Well, did I get a wake-up call on that! Seems that a majority of red wines 25 years and older are either ready, sick or dying. Or already dead. And it happened faster than I thought it would. So much for my glorious wine collecting aspirations from youth. These bottles are like tattoos. Some of them worked and some of them didn’t. But all of them were an oblique reference to an earlier me and my state of mind. Fortunately, an off bottle of Barolo is easier to dispose of than a faulty tattoo of Jerry Garcia.

Interviewing Italian Wine - The Moment When Everything Changed

Italian culture is a timeless and ongoing revolution. Wine has been swept up in that benevolent maelstrom. Thus, it seems like a good time to revisit our old friend, Italian Wine, and interview them. Over several long lunches and a myriad of bottles opened, young and old, this interview has been streamlined for today’s attention span deficient society. However, this process has been going on for hundreds of years. Glad for you to dip in.

 

Q: Ciao, and thank you for joining us.

IW: Niente, you’re most welcome.

Q: Let’s jump right in. Did you notice an inflection point, a moment of illumination, internal/external, when your awareness changed (when you awoke to the meaning/ direction in your process), was there an event that changed or was there something that took place, internally, that happened?

IW: Wow, a long question with not a short answer. But I will try and explain. As you know, we’ve been around for hundreds, if not thousands, of years, in some form or another. But realistically, it wasn’t until the 20^th century that wine, in general, took on a more rapid evolution. It seems to have coincided with the technological changes the world was undergoing. But there was also a new energy coming from the earth, a novel expression of life, that was being captured in the vines. It was as if the earth was awakening from a long sleep. And Italy is more than blessed to be an epicenter of the world’s energy, or so the Italians like to think. And maybe that is so. In any case, the momentum right after World War II gave impetus to the most rapid set of changes in Italian (and I daresay the world) wine creation. Technology, rebuilding a world that was destroyed by war, economic investment, more rapid and efficient forms of communication and transportation, and the desire to get back to life and living, by the humans, gave us hope in the ground. The long sleep was over and a new dawn was upon us.  So, I hope that begins to answer our question, although there could be a book written about that subject.

The Battle for Wine – Symbolic vs. Economic Value

“When, and under what emotional pressure, does a memory shift from being a reliable account of something to a story that we tell ourselves about what we wish had occurred?

– Anthony Lane reviewing the film, “Anatomy of a Fall” 

 

As with almost anything on planet Earth these days, wine is also experiencing conflict. Mostly from dueling perspectives and accounts about what wine is. Throw in a dollop of virtuousness, a sprinkle of inexperience, a teaspoon of youthful confidence and a cup of the shifting of cultures, and right before your eyes all the tried and true, the mainstays, the fundamental market movers, shift in their relevance.

A young writer friend who I admire put it this way: “I sometimes feel like there’s the actual wine market and what moves it, and then there’s the tiny bubble that a small number of cool kids in NYC and LA think is cool. Which has symbolic value, but actual economic value? Not so much, I guess!”

What I learned about wine writing from a Black female science-fiction author

When I graduated from college I moved back to the town where I was born, Altadena, California. Unbeknownst to me, one of my neighbors was a budding science-fiction writer. She lived one street above us, and she was on her way to becoming one of the greatest science-fiction novelists of our time.

I was working various jobs. In the morning I would head up the hill to work making custom furniture. After lunch, at our home workshop I would work on custom frames. And in the evening, I would drive to Pasadena or Hollywood where I worked as a waiter. We were starting a family, we were broke, the economy sucked, and I still entertained visions of becoming a great photographer. I had a full plate in my 20’s. So did my sci-fi neighbor, as she was also in her 20’s and no one had any idea the greatness she could achieve. Except for her. She was on a mission. Her name was Octavia Butler. And she changed my world.

A Remembrance ~ Anisetta in Palermo

revised from the archives... 
 

I remember that sinuous ceramic floor, on top of the building on Via Roma. Of all things, why that floor? Perhaps the floor was the safe, the repository for all the memories stored up on the roof overlooking Palermo. All the long dinners, late lunches, cups of coffee in the early morning looking out over the water, watching the ships pull into the harbor. Looking at Monte Pellegrino in the afternoon, in the aperitivo moment. For whatever reason, that odd squiggly tile floor pulls me into the shots. Most of these people are family in some way, most of them are now gone. But here it is, Memorial Day, and one of their kin is remembering them, channeling them, looking back into the past peering into the magic mirror of images my grandfather brought back.

Countdown to Zero

There’s this sci-fi novel about the end of the world. In it, the people of earth are trying to figure out how to get all the people on earth off. And with that there are those in denial who think it’s just some kind of fake news. Suffice to say, some get off and some don’t. Those who do are shepherded to another planet, similar to earth, far, far away in another corner of the galaxy. And those who don’t, well we the readers never find out.

That’s kind of how I see Texas now. It’s almost October here, and the temperature today is 99⁰F. And coming off two of the hottest summers I’ve experienced here in nearly 45 years. In other words, I feel like one hell of a slow-braised rump roast.

Celebrating Two Giants from California

Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon – 1968 Charles Krug and 1983 Far Niente

This past week, in Texas, we've experienced with mixed results. For one, the weather has finally cooled down to mid-80’s, from a summer which saw an endless assault of 100+ degree days. Literally made me sick.

The other, not so welcome, was the expected outcome of the impeachment proceeds of our Attorney General. Acquitted on all counts, but it came as no surprise. Why would overwhelming evidence of corruption and unethical behavior (I watched the proceedings) necessitate an impeachment, when the political landscape here is so broken beyond repair, in my estimation. I’ve been here 45 years now - a stranger in a strange land.

That said, to end the week, a dear couple celebrated their 30^th anniversary and we were invited. A generous wine couple I should say, with a rich and deep cellar. So, why not celebrate being alive and well, with maybe a cool evening, regardless of the celebrations that were probably going on (and most likely at taxpayer expense) in Austin.

A Very Difficult Buyer

Social media has become the sound of a Band-Aid being ripped off with abandon. Last week, a friend of mine who has a wine shop in California posted a funny picture of a car that had landed on a roof, for a friend and colleague. Just something funny. That friend had a “friend” on Facebook, who commented about the poster. “A very difficult buyer.” And then proceeded, in later comments to remark that said buyer also had other enduring qualities of a toxic nature. This from someone in the wine trade, a supplier rep, commenting in a public forum, about a buyer, and not in a positive or affirming way.

The Invisible Wine

“Sometimes the older ones, the ones that have been in there a long time, they get forgotten. They become invisible."

It had been a month of Sundays since I last updated my cellar list. Over the years I managed to work up a spread sheet. It was far from perfect, but at least it provided me a list with what I had collected over the course of a life and a career in the wine trade. Sometimes it was in multiples – of three, of six, even twelve. And often it was a lone solitary bottle, stashed away for that perfect dinner, or celebration.

And sometimes, a bottle would get away from me. Maybe we only had eleven and drank all of them. Maybe we actually drank the twelfth and I forgot to mark it off the spreadsheet. It happened from time to time. But when I’d do a full inventory, those stragglers usually showed up and were put back on the list.

This wine was different. It was, well, let’s just say, one of a kind. It was old and dark and from an odd vineyard. Not terribly fashionable with the snotty somm set that beat their drums loudly over every pét-nat and grower’s champers, or an ancient Barolo from Mascarello or Conterno, Aldo or Roberto.

No, this was a wine that had gone out of style around the turn of the 21^st century. You could imagine where it came from.

But first, it had to reveal itself to me.

Leading From Behind

Recently I watched an absorbing and compelling documentary about the musician, Ron Carter. A giant in the jazz world, Ron is now 86 and still playing. Or working, however you might see it. I was fortunate enough to see him perform in 1968 at UCLA, when he was part of the Miles Davis Quintet. He’s a master, not one who passed a written test or a blind tasting. He mastered his art as he journeyed through time and his world, slowly, often painfully. But he succeeded. In the documentary, towards the end, he talks about what success is:

"I think success involves more than me. I’m sure that I could have been successful a lot sooner and maybe a lot longer. I thinks success is a difficult word to define, because it means different things to different people. Does it mean that you work all the time, is that successful? Does it mean that you walk onto a street and everybody knows who you are without your instrument? Does it mean you get paid on time? Being able to fill a house with my name being the band leader? Call three or four guys and say, ‘Hey, now, I got this gig, can you make it?’ They all say yes ‘cause I called? Is success going into the bank and they know you’re not going to rob them? I mean, what is success? I don’t know. I’m not sure how I would determine success 'cause I'm still trying. I haven’t gotten to the place where I necessarily see me as being successful, given all those possible definitions. Having said that, I like where I’m going. My last efforts have been honest. I have meant every note that I have played.”

The man is 86 and he likes where he’s going. If that isn’t success, I don’t know what is. Or at least, that explanation struck a chord in me.

Rare and precious – And other unlikely juxtapositions

from the archives...

It started last night while I was looking for a bottle of wine to go with the lasagne. I wanted something a bit rustic, not too heavy, maybe with some age on it, and red. Isn’t that how everyone does it? Go to your wine closet and pick out something fabulous?

Earlier in the day, at the nearby supermarket, I noticed a display of wine and saw the word Rosatello. Once upon a time, that meant a lightly dry rosé wine from Tuscany, long before “that” was famous. Now it means sweet, red or rosé, still or fizzy, depending on which bottle is presented. But someone shopping in this supermarket would probably get a bottle of either, to go with their lasagne.

Sicily ~ The Oldest Kid in Italy

from the archives..

Ed. note: Prescient this post was, in 2014. For when I next went to Sicily in 2016, I indeed was in a pretty awful car accident that sent several of us to the hospital. Knocked me unconscious and broke a few ribs and cracked my skull (again). A produce truck ran a stop sign, a sign that had fallen to the ground and was not seen. The conspiracist in me might say I was targeted by the produce cartel in Sicily, ha-ha! Nonetheless, I survived. But this tale eerily foretold of things to come, c'est ne pas?

 

Of all the places in Italy, Sicily is the one that scares me the most. I have cancelled trips to Sicily because I was afraid something was going to happen. I have gone to Sicily when my bones were sore from a car wreck. I have driven a car in the streets of Palermo and Catania, which is questionable for an able bodied person. I have stared at dead people, their skin dry, their eyes missing, their bones falling off their skeletons. I have walked on mosaic floors that were laid thousands of years ago. I have gazed up at ancient temples, the sun glaring back. I have walked the streets in the heat in the dark with a bum leg, with the legs of youth and with the gait of one who is no longer young. And all through it ancient Sicily kept getting younger.

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.