The ˈknobbly road of business, camaraderie and wine compiling

Gran Sasso - Abruzzo

For some reason, I have been going over my wine career and the speed bumps along the road that I incurred during that 40+ year long journey. Not the successes, not even the failures. This dive was into the hearts and souls of people I worked with and for, and their sullied motivations. We are living in a moment where retribution and  grievance are center stage, I get that. And I’m not one to harbor a grudge for long. I’ve witnessed that in wine and friendships since retiring, some have come, some have gone. 

Italian Wine and its SMH moment

The annual Italian wine trade show, Vinitaly, has just ended, and the threatened US tariffs against Italy have just been adjusted down to 10% (for now). What a hell of a week it has been. Now what?

For those who are wondering what direction Italian wine should take in 2025, this could be a bit of a “shaking my head” moment. After all, Kyiv is 1,300 miles from Milan, less than the distance Houston is from New York. And with a protracted war that has taken trade off the table for Italy with Russia, and with an unstable reality driving the American economy (for the foreseeable future), where does Italy pivot to? Local consumption is down, as has alcohol consumption, worldwide. China is seeing their growth slow down, who is going to drink all that Italian wine? Is it time to pare down wine production in Italy? Have we reached that moment?

Where Does Italian Wine Go From Here?

The Quo Vadis Chronicles

Let’s start with the small questions, shan’t we? All kidding aside, as we are in an epochal shift, what shall Italian winemakers do to tackle the existential threat to their livelihoods, their families, and their land? What would I do if I had 5 acres of Sangiovese in Tuscany? Well, there are a number of hacks, short term, so I’ll start with that.

Spring Break

 

Back next week... 

 

 

 

 

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

wine blog +  Italian wine blog + Italy W

First there is a tariff, then there is no tariff, then there is.

Learning to love wine again in the era of Patrioligarchy

“Welcome to earth. Please take a glass and a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.”

I was hoping for a haiku, but the words were too long. It was that time of the year again, for my annual examination of my long-standing relationship with wine. What, you say, can one have a relationship with a liquid alcoholic substance? Well, if one can have a relationship with someone who lived and died over two thousand years ago, why not wine too? After all it was His first miracle.

But that was beside the point. What was really set before me, in that examination of that “relationship,” was a deeper look into the  nature of material reality. Anyone who enters into the world of wine thinks, on first glance, that wine is wine, much like water is water. But upon spending years studying wine, one might realize that wine isn’t just wine, it is a lot of other things. It is culture. It is sustenance. It is history. It is agriculture. It is business. It is beguilement. It is seduction. Yes, it is, all of that. And more.

And then….

Tariff Tornado Season: Steering Alee from Excess Wind, Dross and Excisions

"It's like déjà vu all over again" -Yogi Berra

There appears to be no bottom in the hustle to bloviate and sully us with all the excess bullshit that is being produced these days. Now we’re being sucked into the crisis-cycle of European wine tariffs. If only it were wine, and domestic wine at that. One thing for sure, most of it (the bullshit) is domestic production. It just isn’t anything we can distill, ferment or drink. But it’s a heyday for the honey bucket man - the septic and sewage systems are close to overload from our overlords, who have now proffered upon us the threat of a 200% tariff on European wines (up from 100% in 2020). There’s been a lot of wailing and flailing on this subject. We’ve gone down this road before. Before we, once again, surrender to fear and one more distraction, allow me, if you will, to unpack this manufactured crisis with a little bit of perspective from all my years in the wine trade.

Happiness, happiness…

…everybody wants happiness. Round and round we all do race, everybody looking in a different place.

Yeah, pretty much how it seems. I see so many wine professionals rushing all over the globe, living their best life.

Living large!

And I remember when I was in that stream. It rushed, all about me. I was caught up in it, just as they are now. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

But it is not forever. It is not permanent. Just like wine, it peaks. And it has a time when it is perfection. And a time when that moment has passed.

I say this as if I am speaking to any one person in particular. They might be laid up right now, healing. But this also applies to all of us in one way or another. I’ll speak for myself.

Who in Hell Knows Where This Ride is Going?

In Memory of Patty Wright-Ferrini...

Yesterday a dear, good friend died. We met in college, that’s how long we go back in time. She was a force of nature, always positive and upbeat. Not to say she didn’t have her dark side. But she never let her flowers bend with the rainfall, to borrow a line from a Simon & Garfunkel song. She will truly, truly, be missed.

And that is where we are at these days, ladies and gentlemen. George Clooney mused recently to his wife, upon turning 60, “I can still do everything I did when I was 30. But in 30 years, I’m 90. That’s a real number.” Let me tell you, from someone who is midway between those numbers, it’s like a train that’s rushing to its destination. Not an Italian train in the 1970’s – more like a Frecciarossa. Look it up.

The Bullshit-ification of the Italian Wine and Food Experience in America

Inspired by Jon Lovitz of Saturday Night Live fame...

I had an epiphany recently. And it was, the new reality in America is that the old maxim – Money talks, Bullshit walks – has been hacked. It appears that bullshit also talks, and man, oh man, are we wading in it, up to our eyeballs these days. That said, I walked into a new Italian-themed restaurant. The “chef” greets me with a “Ciao y’all.” Boy, I must be in a real genuine, authentic Eyetalian restaurant.

The Wine That Wasn’t - Anymore

I’m just going to come right out and say it: I don’t like being me anymore. I was born a wine, but I’m tired of being locked up in this dark, dank, confined space, year after year. If this is living, I don’t want any part of it anymore. I want out!

Oh, The People You’ll Meet! (At a Wine Trade Tasting)

Oops!... I did it again - Went to a wine trade tasting and seminar. Something I used to do, lots and lots of, when I was visible. But now, it is a rare appearance I make for these things. In any event, it stirred up memories of the kind of folks you might meet at an event like that – let’s call them prototypes of  folks who attend such events, classic exemplars:

• The know-it-all
• The late arriver
• The button-downed
• The always curious, always hungry, always thirsty.
• The odd man out
• The perpetual student
• The true believer

Let’s dig in!

The Depthless Abyss

Somewhere in time - when you remember another time - things were deeper, truer, bluer, more connected to a believable reality. But here we are, with this pitiful excuse for a genuine moment. We’ve come all this way through time, through epochs, millennia, and for this to be the current crowning glory of acceptable existence? This is a dark, but thin comedy. This is a poor replica of the future, an even poorer byproduct of the past. This is a stretch that should be wiped away, for all time. And some day, I pray it will be. This is a travesty.

I’d just opened a bottle of red wine. Lest we think it was a commentary on contemporary happenings in the world, well, you might just have been misdirected. The wine was a washout, it displayed no redeeming features. It was foul smelling, sour, rotten flavored and reeked of spray on tan and mimeograph paper. What were they thinking when they brought this one out into the open?

It had been days since I’d tasted wine, as a cold prevented me from imbibing. Standing up, it had been a bottle I snagged back in 2016 and just let it rest in the cellar. It went through a tumultuous historical period lying there in the darkness. So, I thought it was time. Little did I know, if it was time, it was of another time. Not any time that I’d like to be associated with or in. And yet, here we were.

I put it aside and disregarded it. Hoping the next time I’d have a better experience. And just like that I decided not to pick up another one, nor just yet. “Just leave it be,” a voice inside said. “This is not the time. Let it pass.” So, I did.

There are times when one cannot step into the abyss. Yes, I know it’s there. And every time I open one up, there is the possibility that it could be paradise or perdition. I’m just not ready for the gamble. Let ‘em all rest. I’ll come back later.

 

 

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

wine blog +  Italian wine blog + Italy W

The Sunset Trip

It seems, more and more lately, that aging folks just can’t step away from the dais. Whether it is confined to the wine and spirits trade (and that includes those who write about it) all the way down the spectrum, to the political animals who assume that they are in charge of all of our lives. Once you turn 70, the light just doesn’t burn as brightly. I thought we were going to get a break from the gerontocracy last year, but the old ways, and the illusions about what it is we’re entitled to in this life, burned bright enough to carry them over for another cycle.

The End of the Golden Age of Wine

Wine, associated with appreciation and enjoyment and part of a cultural and culinary movement that was defined by the freewheeling social and economic post-World War II era, succumbed in America today at the age of 79. Wine was pronounced dead by Dr. Vivek H. Murthy, the Surgeon General of the United States.

“Wine was the quintessential Boomer, having risen up in a time which we will look back at as the golden age of wine,” remarked one longstanding wine lover, who was seen wiping a tear from his eye, among the crowd that formed upon hearing of wine’s demise.

Destroying Memories with Invisible Eyes

Temporarily shut in by the arrival of snow (and winter), I was remanded to a nostalgic dream space that has been annexed by an external calamity of Biblical proportions. It’s a strange land, this Gulf of America, I find myself in. At once I’m excavating images from the past to rework them for a photo project. Yet I can’t help feeling somehow, I am destroying memories. It seems that is the price of art, so I have recently been reminded, by a master in the field.

A French Gladiator on Italian Soil

A young wine friend texted me a photo of a bottle he had in his presence, a 2013 Domaine Leflaive Puligny-Montrachet 1er Cru Les Pucelles. In the secondary market that wine sells for about $350 today.

In the last month I have been craving a bottle of Puligny Montrachet. I don’t know why. When I was working in Hollywood in the 1970’s, I was introduced to Puligny, and it stuck with me. I loved everything about the wine. So, when my young friend dangled that bottle in front of me, I was both salivating with desire and foaming at the mouth with envy. Alas, it was not to be. The wine was out of my reach.

At Long Last – A Prescription for Uncertainty

This week I cleared out the RSS feeds for wine writing links. Since I’m not following the wine news anymore, and not part of the wine news-making claque, why track it? There’s this unspoken “rule” in photography that I learned from one of the masters that I followed: “When you don’t know what to shoot, turn around and go the other way. After a minute, turn left. In another minute, turn right. That should get you back on track.” So it is with wine, and especially about writing about it.

What I’ve  found from doing this blog since 2005 is that my interests lie not in the latest trends or the buzz around things like that. Just like photographs, my yardstick is, how will it age in 20 years?

Onward Through the Fog ~ A Treatise on Montepulciano d’Abruzzo

At long last, the red wine known as Montepulciano d’Abruzzo is having its day in the sun, basking in the glory from the newly anointed acolytes in the world of wine writing and wine influencers. I say both, because now it is that an influencer has much more sway than a journalist, a blogger or simply, a poster (that is, one who posts). This is not a lamentation as much as it is a tract on how we got here, and why it took so long for us to get to the Promised Land of Abruzzo.

Strange Bedfellows ~ Non-Traditional Wine and Food Matches

Photo by Louis Cevola

In my life, there have been those occasions when a seemingly odd wine and food combination made perfect sense. Far from traditional, these moments offered insight into the arcane mechanism of wine and food pairings. As I add up my revolutions around the sun, I find things like absolutes to be more of a roadblock than a thruway. Viva la revolución!

Dispatch from the wine cellar: Is there a place for Italian wine in 2025?

After Thanksgiving I started a project: reducing, eliminating, paring down and finely tuning my wine collection. After 40+ years of amassing wines, I realized there were wines that were: 1) too old, 2) already dead, 3) not interesting, 4) too many and 5) I’ll never live long enough to drink all of them.

Now, we’re not talking about thousands of bottles. I’m not that kind of collector. But it has gotten up into the hundreds. And my wine closet, where I kept most of them over that past 30 years, just didn’t seem to be a good usage of space and energy. I bought a small unit, holding about 160 of the top wines I wanted to keep. And I had an older unit, which could hold the larger format bottles, the port and some additional wines that didn’t make it to the larger cooler, but I just couldn’t part with them yet. That left me with 150 or so bottles that just needed to go.

Everything I Know About Wine I learned in Ballet Class ~ A Revision

Well here we are December 1^st! Wow, what a year it’s been. For me, it started off with surgery and a knee replacement. And then, like a snowball – on a one-way road down to hell - it just kept accelerating towards chaos. I’d share more about the trials and tribulations of yours truly, but quite frankly, I’m fed up with them. So, I’m going to pivot, now that my leg is much better.

When I was in university, the arts department chairman and his wife, who ran the dance department, “recruited” me to join the ballet class. They “needed” men, and I was low hanging fruit for the picking. I “volunteered” at first reluctantly, and then after I realized I would be in a close setting with 35 women, just them and me sweating to the oldies, I thought again. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

The epiphany moment I had was when we were doing this “opening of the flower to the sunrise” choreography. I was the “pistil” and the women were the “petals.” They all laid their hands on me and did some movement and their pressure held me in place while I held them up, in a manner of speaking. It was then that I realized that not only was ballet an amazing discipline, both physical and cerebral, but it was a model for things to come in my future life in wine. Yeah, I know, it’s a stretch. But so was the all the stuff I learned about wine from the nuns and Catholic school. So, here goes:

End of harvest notes: "So, where we at?"

“Are you still doing your wine blog?” I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard that lately. Usually followed by “For some reason, I haven’t been getting them.” Which was news to me, as I hadn’t realized that I was “sending” them to anyone. Maybe once upon a time, Blogger had a process by which that happened, But if they did, long ago they stopped that. And seeing as I am not invested in technologically figuring out how to deliver my weekly blog to folks, I’m a bit bewildered. Actually, it doesn’t really matter to me. It is a web-log, after all. It is something I do as a weekly exercise, for myself. Anything beyond that is gravy.

From the archives: Remembering Dad, Dallas, JFK & a bottle of Thunderbird

Friday would have been my dad’s 98th 109th birthday. How the world has changed since he left us in 1985. I was thinking about that as I was driving past Dealey Plaza and the Texas Book Depository the other day, while in downtown Dallas. Dallas, the place where so many things happened that affected me, my family and ultimately our country.

What Does the Future Hold for Wine in Sicily? A Sicilian Sojourn Pt. II

“You’ve got it all wrong, Alfonso,” a young influencer tells me. “You have to get yourself in front of the camera, show your face, strut your stuff!” Yeah, that might have been OK for me 30 or 40 years ago, but now? I don’t think so.

That was part of a conversation regarding one’s place in the world of wine and how to explode one’s brand online, as recommended by someone who is very successful at it. They also happen to be young, good-looking and affluent. None of which I purport to be, ever again.

Always Coming Home: A Sicilian Sojourn Pt.I

Imagining cultural difference that sheds light on the limitations of one’s own culture.

Riding on a bus, from Catania to Palermo, my time on Etna was done. I had apprehensions about coming back to Sicily, almost cancelled coming. The last time I’d been here, someone, or some thing,  tried to kill me. They failed, but not without leaving scars. With the passage of the last eight years, and all that we have been through, what with Covid and the ensuing chaos that surrounded that time, I didn’t know if getting on a plane to come to Sicily would be a wise thing.

Fortunately, last year, my experience in Venice allayed larger misgivings about travel. Look, Italy is a very easy place to be in, for many people. Even if one isn’t the most fluent in the Italian language or knowledgeable about the quirky regional customs, with a little humility and the faintest hint of awareness, one can navigate across Italy, and it can be a most pleasant experience.

Like no other place on Earth ~ The Etna Report 2024.5

It happened, after tasting over one hundred wines in a three-hour period, that the vinous impact of Etna became overwhelming. But not before the realization that what Etna means to someone like me goes way past wine. There has been a sociological adaptation made, with regards to agricultural practices, which is driven beyond mere climate and seasonal changes. There is the reality of La Muntagna – and La Muntagna drives everything, and everything derives from it.

If we didn’t have climate change, or as some called it early on, in the beginning, global warming, we’d still have Etna. Can the local practices put into place, because of the pressures of Etna, act as an instructional manual for other grape growing places in the world dealing with the immediacy of climate change? I wondered that as I walked along a lava strewn path early one morning. The weather was changing from the warm breeze of summer to the looming fog and coolness of autumn, in the background was the eternal soundtrack playing the low groans of the earth’s core and Etna acting as a megaphone for those rumblings.

Interview with a Centenarian ~ The Etna Report 2024.4

One of the advantages of having Sicilian blood and being raised in California in the latter half of the 20^th century is the uncanny capacity to listen to life forms other than humans. I first found out about this ability at university, when  a palm tree told me the story of its life one evening as I was sitting up against it. It was a fascinating experience and one that was apparently not singular. So, when I was on Mt. Etna recently, I happened upon a very old grape vine, well over 100 years old, up in one of the vineyards I visited. It was at the end of the day, and the vineyard was a short walk from where we were staying, so I asked my minder to allow me to stay awhile and make my own way back. I’d heard about this old vine from a winemaker friend who intimated that I might be interested in hearing its story one-on-one. Said winemaker knew about my propensity to channel other life forms on earth as we once talked about it and he understood completely what I was talking about. As I’ve mentioned before in these reports, Californians and Sicilians are kindred souls. And seeing as I’m a hybrid, I reckon my openness to these kind of interchanges is facilitated by that. So, here goes. I was standing there when she made contact, we’ll call her Dora, or as she more than once said, Nonna Dora (ND).

“Giuseppe Versus the Volcano” ~ The Etna Report 2024.3

For those who work in Nature, there are certain immutables. Fire and water are forces to be respected, not ignored. We can try and tame them with dams and forges and make them work for us. But there comes a time when furies are unleashed that simply overwhelm mere humans. Hurricanes, tornadoes, floods and volcanoes come to mind.

While on Etna recently, I talked to a farmer, Giuseppe. He’s been tending his land for several decades now. He’s not a young man, but he certainly has many years left under the volcano. I asked him about co-habitating with La Muntagna.

“I fell into a burning ring of fire.” ~ The Etna Report 2024.2

When I was a young boy, I lived in the shadow of a great mountain. For hours, I would sit outside and stare up at it, mesmerized by the play of light and shadows as the day progressed. Known for centuries as i a-kitch, I still dream about that mountain.

While on Mt. Etna recently, I would get up early, before sunrise, and sit on my little patio, watching the sun making its way to the mountain. Birds were awakening, the world was rousing. Etna was there, waiting.

The Etna Report – 2024.1

It has been eight years since I last reported from Etna. In 2016 I was here as a blogger, but primarily as a photographer, covering for Eric Asimov and the New York Times. Eric’s articles were wonderful, as always, and I was privileged to be there to document it visually.

But now, in 2024, I was here as a guest of the Consorzio Tutela Dei Vini Etna DOC at their event, Etna Days. They arranged my airfare and meals and hotels while I was in their care. They didn’t ask me to cover the event in any particular way, or really at all. There was no tit-for-tat, although being a lover of Italian wine and Sicily, that, for me was a given. So, let’s dig in.

Gone Fission...

Stepping away from the big screens for a pause. See you in two weeks.

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

wine blog +  Italian wine blog + Italy W

The Life and Death of Barbaresco

While shopping in my little Italian grocery store, the one with an oversized selection of Italian wine (only), I happened upon one of the Italian specialists who knows much more about the current market than I do. And I asked them a question. “What’s up with Barbaresco? It’s down there on the lower shelf, and just a few of them. And meanwhile Barolo wines are bulging, overcrowded, eye level, filling the racks. What’s up with that?”

They answered simply, “Barbaresco? Oh, it just died.”

Huh? Did I hear that right? One of my favorite wines in the world, one of the greatest examples of Nebbiolo the world has ever known, has left us?

“I can’t believe I ate (and drank) the whole thing” – Italy’s Odd Couplings

 🎵 I got the poison, I got the remedy 🎵

As Americans, we can dream up some pretty goofy stuff. Foodwise, we’ve got a lock on weird. Just go to any state fair in America and you’ll see.

Not to be outdone, the Italian-American amalgam, a quasi-conspiratorial plot against authentic and traditional food and wine, has catapulted onto the scene, conjuring up wine and food combinations. This either signals the beginning of the end of days, or at the very least, presages a seismic shift from rational common sense thinking to the current craze for a pseudo-realism based on one’s one whims and fancies. Expressed herewith are a troika of such abominations that have recently been spotted in the wild, and which could foreshadow Italian wine and food culture wriggling into Mainstream American culture. Or it might simply mean the end is near. Let’s jump in.

The Milky Way and the Man Who Fell from Earth

Lately, when thinking about Italian wine and its place in the world, I’ve been pulling back the focus, way back, and envisioning it from a much-removed perspective. Is it really all that important in cosmic terms? Is anything, for that matter? This, coming from an earthling who happened to stumble upon this greater thing, this galaxy - I just fell from Earth.

“What is wine?” asks an asteroid, as it careens past me at 40,000 miles per hour. As if said asteroid even had time to consider a deeper dive, such as “What is Italian wine?”

“No matter,” I reply, although I would imagine the asteroid did not hear me, as it was long out of shouting range. And so, I found myself alone, in a cold sector of the Milky Way, pondering how I got there and where in Heaven’s name I was going.

“Climb Your Mountain!”

While scores of Italians and other Europeans flock to the beaches of Italy, Spain and Greece, suntanning their bums off, America is in the full throes of another push. Where are we going? What does it matter? There’s a mountain over there, and we must climb it!

I’m simplifying matters a bit, but if you are living in America right now, there is an energy, a fire that has been lit, and we’re not talking about an arsonist in the Sierra Nevada, or Burning Man, which is imminent. No, this is a larger upheaval. And while it might be a communally driven one, I’ve also been thinking about our individual climbs.

This was precipitated by the death of a long-time friend who battled DLB for the past five years. My friend was a world traveler, an art lover, a wine and food enthusiast and a love-magnet for beautiful, accomplished and fiercely independent women. Oh, and he loved to climb mountains.

“They’ve stolen our dreadlocks!” ~ Have American chefs culturally appropriated la cucina Italiana?

As an Italian food chronicler, by virtue of working through the past few decades and witnessing many iterations of Italian-divined restaurants, living where I live in 2024 can be a bit discombobulating.

While I understand the spirit of Italian cooking draws upon improvisation, there is also a good argument for the great classic dishes that are rarely seen in these parts in their pure form. Ingredients matter. The season matters. The place where one lives matters. But sometimes lines are crossed, and from where I observe, we’ve crossed over into the land of contravention. They’ve stolen our dreadlocks. Italian food has been culturally appropriated. And it’s an unsightly mess.

Big (and little) Alc’s Fall From Favor

The large alcohol companies are sounding their alarms. People aren’t drinking as much as they used to. Their business is down. Their projections are also down for FY25, just to let their shareholders know not to expect double digit returns any time soon.

Meanwhile the younger generations aren’t drinking as much as the older ones did when they were young. Adding to that, it is estimated that about 5,000-6,000 baby boomers die a day. It is estimated also that there are now 11 million less Baby Boomers than there were in 2020, and about 21 million less than in 2016.  So, yeah, the liquor and wine businesses are in the crapper.

But it’s not like the mega corporations didn’t have something to do with it. Let’s take a look.

What Is Your Cause?

It seems like everywhere you turn these days, someone is prosecuting their case for something that they deem purpose driven. We’re shouted out, poked, cajoled, interrupted, stopped mid-speech or worse, mid-thought, by any number of distractions in the name of cause. So many people are strip mining our attention for their brand, their cause or their spiel. So, what’s your raison d'etre under the sun?

A Journey Through the Early White Wines of Abruzzo ~ Or, Self-Investing in Your Path to Mastery

Recently I had a long conversation with a young wine professional. Currently they’re sommeliering in a very exclusive hotel which has a restaurant with a quasi – Italian flavor. This person believes in taking deep dives into wine countries at their own expense, in order to further their knowledge and education and love for wine, which is part of their livelihood. Imagine that – spending your own money to learn more about wine?  

Look, I’ve known wine buyers and sommeliers who really didn’t have much interest in Italian wines over the years. I remember telling one that they should try going – they might have their minds changed. One, I knew, dipped their toes into Italy with a free junket to Prosecco-land. It was a start. But there were always more interesting places for them to go to – France, South Africa, Argentina – more exotic, and of course, no charge. It was as if Italy were this indecipherable, non-linear, complicated jumble of regions and wines and opinions – duh. That was often enough to put off the most left-brained of wine-experts-in-training. But for people like the young somm above and myself, it is a ticket to an endless parade of characters – rich stories – unpredictable wines at times – but always somewhere a great meal and a beautiful cache of scenery.

Able Was I Ere I Saw Elba Rosso

Not long ago, an erstwhile colleague recounted a story they had while making an Italian wine presentation. The account was a tony Italian-styled eatery that had recently changed wine buyers, so a meet-up was de rigeur. The  person who oversaw the wine lists was Gen-Z’ish in age and predilection.

My confrere was discussing Tuscan wines, with the new buyer. The subject of international varieties came up. You know, things like Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and grapes like that, which also grow in Italy. This was an all-Italian wine list, and whether we like it or not, diners come in looking, at times, for wines they know and recognize. Like Cabernet Sauvignon. The young overseer interrupted him and said, “Italy doesn’t make good Cabernet or Merlot. The place for that is Napa Valley.” Ok, so no Masseto? No Sassicaia? (said restaurant is in a high net-worth neighborhood) My friend then asked them about Super Tuscans. “Not my thing.” Dismissed again. So, as the meeting came to an end, and my friend was getting up to leave, the wine buyer asked him, “But do you have any orange wines?”

Taking a ride on the EU’s dime – a field guide to wine “press junkets” in the 2020’s

Although we’ve been told we’re in a post-Covid world now, we still might be suffering from the hangover that almost three years of isolation gave the collective world. However, you wouldn’t know it from looking at your socials – there, the party has just got started. Regional wine groups and consortiums are throwing around EU money like candy at a 4^th of July parade And the kids are scrambling for all the free sweet treats they can stuff in their gullets.

I’m not a stranger to wine junkets, having partaken in several over the years. I remember a long-gone colleague who always seemed to be jetting off to one wine destination after another. Their American Airlines frequent flier miles were an object of amazement. The thing is, they couldn’t ever make a deadline, as they were never on the ground. So who did that benefit?

That’s the crux of this piece – who benefits from it? I’m going to try and work through the varying point of view. I’m hopeful, but wary.

Learning to Trust Italian White Wines

While in my local Italian store the other day, a sales rep was doing a tasting of Italian wines. He had a bevy of whites and one red. It was over 100℉ outside. People were gravitating to the red wine. Maybe it had something to do with the meat counter beyond, so nearby the tasting station?

During the demo, a young, exuberant alpha-male comes up to the table. “Let me try one of your white wines,” he barked. He took a swig, “Not bad. I’ve stayed away from Italian white wines because I don’t trust them. They’re too nothing, don’t have a lot of body. They’re ‘meh’ wines.”

That was a trip down memory lane. He should’ve been here in 1974. But there was a kernel of truth to what he said about not trusting Italian white wines, even in 2024.

The Guy Buys the Parrot

 

There’s this old joke going around. I heard Colin Quinn tell it recently. It goes like this:

This guy goes into a pet shop looking to buy a parrot. The person at the counter says, “You don't want to buy this parrot. He's got a filthy mouth.” But the guy goes “I can handle it.” The parrot comes home with him. The parrot says, “Hey, Mister, Mister.” He goes, “What?” The parrot goes “Go f*ck yourself.” The guy goes, “Don't talk to me like that.” He smacks the cage. He beats up the parrot and he goes,“Don't ever...I'm not the guy to play with like that.” Next day, he comes home. The parrot goes, “Hey, Mister, Mister.” He goes, “What?” The parrot says, “Go f*ck yourself.”  The guy goes nuts. “You piece of…” He smashes the cage. He almost strangles the parrot. He goes, “Next time you tell me to go f*ck myself, I'm going to kill you. I promise you; I'm going to kill you.” Next day, he shows up after work. The parrot goes, “Hey, Mister, Mister.” The guy goes, “What?” The parrot says, “You know what!”

Many of us are like that when we buy wine retail or order it in a restaurant these days. It’s not that we don’t know what we’re getting into, but we go ahead anyway and then when it doesn’t go the way we wanted it to, we find we have landed in chaos. All because we bought the damn parrot.

Affogato and Averna with a Sicilian Surrealist

Our time at the dinner table was over. Giorgio motioned to me and his wife that he was moving to the drawing room. His wife said she would prepare the affogato. Meanwhile Giorgio foraged in his liquor cabinet for a bottle of amaro. “Seeing as we are all Siculi, shall we have some Averna with our dessert?” he suggested. As long as it wasn’t Cynar, I was fine with it. I’d been plied with the artichoke amaro in Palermo with every family visit. Averna was a relief.

“Isa was visiting a friend near Piazza Navona and brought back some gelato from Tre Scalini.” Isa had a sweet tooth, I gathered. Giorgio too. Fine with me. I was 20, skinny and ready for whatever came my way. I could handle amaro and gelato.

Fettuccine and Forastera with a Sicilian Surrealist

Una favola continuava

It was 7:00 PM and Giorgio’s residence was about 15 minutes away from the pensione I was staying in. But I wasn’t that familiar with Rome, and we didn’t have GPS in 1971. So, I gathered my myself, a little gift I had gotten In Sicily for his wife, and my camera, and headed out. I thought I should probably take a bottle of wine, and earlier in the day I had gone into a shop which sold wine, beer and liquor and looked for something appropriate. I knew little to nothing about wine, despite the fact that my dorm mates  at university had last names like Mondavi, Sebastiani, Heitz, Pellegrini and Filice. My uncle back in California was a wine merchant and he told me a little about Italian wines.

The store had what I would now call a selection of tourist recognizable wines from places like Umbria (Orvieto),  Lazio (Est! Est!! Est!!!) and Campania (Lacryma Christi del Vesuvio). The white wines all looked more amber-like, so I tried to find one that wasn’t as dark. On a display I found a white wine, simply called Ischia Bianco, from the eponymous island that was a popular day trip for vacationers.

Caffè and Cannoli with a Sicilian Surrealist

una favola...

My first trip to Italy was in 1971. I was a student on summer break and spent days in Rome, wandering the streets at all hours with my camera. One night I happened to be near the Spanish steps when it was very late. In fact, it was almost dawn. And down the street from the steps on the Via Condotti, the familiar noises of a coffee machine, the grinding, the steaming and the drip, drip, dripping, sounded. With the aroma of fresh coffee, I was drawn like an insect to light.  It was there where I first encountered the Sicilian Surrealist.