How do you solve a problem like Maremma?

For years, the aura of the Super Tuscan has reflected a masculine, testosterone-laden persona, depicting a “Magnificent Seven” persona. The world was presented with a portrait of the tall, dark and handsome Italian cowboy, an outlier, albeit with perfectly matching boots, belt and cape. It was a Kodak moment, riding off into the sunset with their luscious, masculine, amped-up rosso in search of a Maremmana to wrestle, rope and quarter and serve over an open fire - the perfect accompaniment to that big ,juicy Super Tuscan.

But there is a problem with spiked-up Super Tuscans today: they’ve become collector’s items for the super wealthy, locked away in secret cellars, occasionally resurfacing on an auction block in Hong Kong, London or New York. Some have gotten far removed from the emerging tastes of the upcoming generation (and those whose palates have evolved towards wines with less volume). They’ve become Bubble Boys, living in their own rarified orb.

The 2017 Harvest in Umbria and Tuscany - Fear and "Global Weirding" - Pt.I

Italian wine often arrives in a van loaded with emotion. Call me moonstruck from day one. As an observer over the years, there’s something about Central Italy that gets under your fingernails and into your bloodstream. And it ain’t in the usual places.

This year marks a cycle of sorts for this observer. Moved by the floods of 1966, I made my way to Florence five years later. In the summer of 1971 there were still signs of a deluge of Biblical proportions which ravaged the largest town in Tuscany. I spent days walking the narrow streets, huddled in the cool galleries of museums, and sampling the food and wine, on the streets. I fell in love every ten minutes.

Thank You, Italy

Echoes from the archives - Posted Nov 24, 2011

1) Thank you for the wonderful variety of your sparkling wines, especially the ones from Lombardia, Trentino and the Veneto. Franciacorta is a delicious wine for food, for pleasure and for more than just special occasions. Thank you for not thinking you have to be Champagne and forging ahead with your own sparkling destinies.

2) Thank you for the bright and mineral rich white wines of the Alto Adige and Friuli. I love your whites, whether it be Sauvignon or Kerner, Friulano or Sylvaner.

3) Thank you for the fruit driven Montepulciano wines from Abruzzo. For many of us who cut our teeth on field blends from California, Montepulciano is a taste that hearkens back to the roots of many of us reared in the West. And thank you when you let Montepulciano be Montepulciano; not Cabernet, Merlot or Pinot Noir.

As you age does your taste in wine change?

Echoes from the archives - Posted May 20, 2012

That was the question I posed on a Facebook months ago. I have been thinking about it for some time now, and doing active research.

In my life, I have to say, my tastes have ranged all across the board, like waves of appreciation. For a while I would taste all the Bordeaux reds I could get my hands on. And I developed a taste for them. But my diet, which ranges from low to no red meat, really doesn’t complement them. I also was into Rhone reds as well, and again, aside from the occasional spicy chicken on the grill or holiday repast, I found them hard to take on a regular basis. Not that I didn’t like them, it was more that I just didn’t have a lifestyle where these wines fit on a regular basis.

Stripped, Shocked and Surprised - Is There a Unicorn in the Cave?

Over the lifespan of this blog, I’ve written a post, on average, once every three days. For those who aren't familiar, they’ve developed into essays, around 800 words. With over 1,300 posts written, over twelve years, there are several blog posts that have surprised me in the way they have been received in the oenosphère, these unsuspecting Unicorns in the cave.

Making Wine Your #Life - And Making It Matter

We are now officially in the post-ferragosto dog days of summer. The kind of days where, if you walk outside to get the paper or the mail or jog around the block, when you come back inside you are soaked to the bone – and not cold soaked. A warm, mushy, oatmeal kind of smotheriness that doesn’t abate for several hours. There are reasons why grapes do not grow so well here in North Texas.

What does grow well, though, is the wine community. In the past week, 1,000 or so have braved the heat of North Texas to witness, during a long (ponte de ferragosto) weekend, a full-immersion of wine!wine!!wine!!! at Texsom 2017. Texsom has become a Big Thing, now entering the terrible teen years from its natural birth in 2005. There are many interpretations as to how it got here from there, but the reality is that there are hundreds of people who come to the event, and there are hundreds more waiting to get into the event. It is three days of critical mass, an introvert’s dread, an extrovert’s frat party, and for the rest of the folks, a time to soak up all they can about wine, reading about it, tasting and drinking it, rubbing shoulders with masters (and not just the ones with the letters after their name) and gazing into the light of aspiration. A dream, perchance to become someone who can make wine a Big Thing in their life.

The Sunset Somm – Tinkering Forever with Chance

“Start as a dishwasher. Become a salesman. Exit as an accountant. Sunset as ambassador. QED” – Joseph Spellman, M.S.

I read the quote above, from a most distinguished Silverback in the wine/sommelier world, and experienced déjà vécu. No, it wasn’t an allergic reaction to some Grands Vins sans sulfite or the newest, petulant Pét-Nat. It was the mirror of time – sans Dorian Gray. And it was strikingly accurate. So many of us who started out in the wine trade took this path. The progression was very much like a well-executed double play, performed once-upon-a-time, on a field of dreams. Loving wine, selling wine, mastering wine. Tinker to Evers to Chance.

Reflections on (almost) turning 50 – it’s the little things

Festina Lente

Steadfast upon this sweltering little orb in the universe, rotating in 24 hours at 1,000 limes per hour, moving around a sun at 66,000 miles per hour, in a solar system that is moving at 450,000 miles per hour, and in a galaxy that is barreling at 1.3 million miles per hour, one can't help but wonder what's the big dust-up over turning 50. 50 years is infinitely less in magnitude than a quark or an elementary boson. But it seems significant to humans here on an Earth propelled with an unthinkable velocity from the Big-Bang, billions and billions of years ago.

And so it was, one cool evening in the Pacific Northwest in July, surrounded by towering fir trees and observed by a family of Cooper’s Hawks, that we celebrated the almost 50-year-old’s life and death.