While traveling across the central width of Italy last month there were signs of interest in the coming election in the United States. Italians love to display their opinions. Anyone who traveled in Italy in early 2003 saw a preponderance of multi-colored flags with the word PACE streaming from balconies and balustrades across the country. In that moment the sentiment was of protestation against an imminent invasion and war against Iraq.This time the PACE flags have faded. In windows and as fashion accessories, the Italians once again express their thoughts on an election they can neither vote in nor influence. That is unless some of those Italians also happen to be American citizens.
We visited one such family in Florence. I have been friends with photographer Maurizio Berlincioni since the early 1970’s. So as we traveled from Castiglione della Pescaia to San Benedetto del Tronto (one side of the country to the other – left to right) we took a break for lunch with Maurizio and his two kids, who can vote, because their momma is an Americana.It appears from all signs that the Italians greatly favor Obama. The fact that Biden in a Roman Catholic also adds a connection, just as it did when Kennedy ran in 1960. The Italians don’t forget so easily when one comes along that inspires and causes many of us to look up and beyond the current mire we have found ourselves wallowing in.
But seeing as we were (and are) on the wine trail in Italy, we thought we’d query the locals to offer vinous equivalents to the candidates and some of the supporting cast. And as we were in Tuscany the logical progression made it seem like we should stick to wines from that region. Here's our Tuscan tally:
Sarah Palin is a Chianti "in fiasco". A little wicker model, something fresh and fruity and not too deep. Not made for the ages, this is a wine to enjoy “for the moment” as it traditionally doesn’t offer much interest in the long run. It still has the dreaded DOCG appellation, but as many have commented elsewhere, that simple Chianti shares the highest denomination as a Chianti Classico or Brunello says more about the political wheeling and dealing than anything else. Pick a young one and sell it far and wide- take the money and run. A long shot.Joe Biden is also a Chianti, but a Chianti Classico
Riserva from a well known and time tested producer. And like some of those riservas folks often underestimate their power or their presence among the cognoscenti of Italian wine lovers. Anyone who has let one of those wines rest in the cellar for 10,15,20 years and then open it up on a late October night knows the untapped potential and surprise that awaits the patient ones. Elegance, restraint, depth, character, if the cellaring has gone well. A good value if properly kept.Cindy McCain is a Vernaccia di San Gimignano. We like to quote the poetry of
Michelangelo, especially the part that he wrote about Vernaccia when he said it was a wine that licks kisses, bites, pinches and stings. Ask Carol McCain (the 1st wife) about the sting. John probably could vouch for several of those descriptions as well, though he might not remember them after so many years. And a doctor or volunteer back in the day over at AVMT (American Voluntary Medical Team) might be able to Xerox their affidavits from 1992 to cover the pinch. Vernaccia is a thin, acidic wine that everybody praises but almost no one in Tuscany likes. The only reason for not hating Vernaccia would be to save that emotion for Galestro, which by this time has been laid to rest, hopefully. Praised but seldom enjoyed.Michelle Obama is a Super Tuscan, one that hails from Greve.
The Tuscans made her wine-avatar a blend called Batàr, 50% Pinot Blanc, 50% Chardonnay and one of the few recognized white wines to qualify as a Super Tuscan. Too new and blended to be marked as a traditional wine (or potential First Lady) but able to stand up to the Big Boys and fire away with plenty of power and aim. While this is a white wine and many folks suggest that white wines from Tuscany (and Italy) don’t have the ability to stay in the game for long, Batàr has been proven to withstand the rigors of time, in fact ageing quite remarkably well. “Sublime”, writes Parker. “Truly extraordinary,” says Jancis Robinson. To get both of those folks on the same page is a real feat. Rare, but worth the search.John McCain is a Brunello in today’s political
landscape. Under fire, not quite sure what is inside, elements of long-standing tradition, but somehow our Italians think his image has been “swift-boated” by his own party. The jury is still out, though they are being pressed to come in with a verdict. We might have to wait a little longer to find out what will happen to Brunello than to John McCain. If he doesn’t win, he can always drown his sorrows in buckets of beer and bucks, something he has access to both of in excess. Then again he can search one of his many cellars, from Sedona to Coronado and maybe find a bottle of red even older than he. Pray it isn’t corked, or cooked. He certainly seems to be of the latter disposition at this point. Their verdict for Brunello: When young, unstable, when older, unreliable. A wine we want to love but at this moment don’t quite trust.Barack Obama is, like his wife, a Super Tuscan. He is an amalgam of indigenous
and transported grapes. His vineyard is on the Maremma, the sunny coastal area which is new and relatively untested. But there is a great deal of enthusiasm for these wines and the wine that Obama reflects in the hearts and minds of our Tuscan prognosticators is, although untested, reminiscent of a once great one from the 1960’s. It might be that our Tuscans are just tired of the same old Sangiovese, they are ready for a change, and this Super Tuscan has arrived in time to anticipate their hopes and dreams. We shall see. Their conclusion for the Super Tuscan: Young and lively, with a mid-palate of composed notes, carefully composed and arranged. If it hasn’t been over-oaked, it might be ready within the next 4-8 years.We went back and forth with the emails on the characters and the wines but it wasn’t until this past Sunday that we had our final entry.
Colin Powell is a Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, for like the wine, they both served at the pleasure of their rulers. Often cast aside in favor of the more obstreperous Brunello, Vino Nobile is the phlegmatic one, calm under fire and very dependable, and a great dancer. Able to take the hill and "get down tonight". Our Tuscans thought the Colin Powell showed great strength of conviction even though his latest moves probably wouldn’t be too popular back in his grand old party. But like Vino Nobile, sometimes being the most popular one isn't the highest goal. To serve as an agent of change and veracity seeks higher ground and purpose.And that dear readers, is how our Prada Italians are calling the race. We shall see, shan’t we?
In keeping with my earlier post, 
If it sounds like I'm drawing a line in the sand with the direct marketers, I’m not. Let them try to dismantle the last 75 years of this industry. And if they can build a better framework, so be it. But as a past president of India, Radhakrishnan, once said, it is easier to destroy than to create. Much easier to talk about how corrupt and outdated the wine industry is rather than pitch in an actually do the heavy lifting of raising the tide for all boats.
There are reports and 
Over those two days last week, we took a break from meeting and piled into two buses, 79 of us. Our group represents the state management for a large wholesaler here in Texas. With about 2,700 employees, our mission is to provide leadership and direction, along with making money and building brands. And while there are plenty of essential employees up and down the org-chart, we are tasked with steering the ship. It’s a big ship, one in which on any given day, over 150,000 cases of product are being delivered. That’s about 1,200 40-foot containers. Amazon can’t handle that, nor can USPS, FedEx, UPS, DHL or any number of delivery companies. Physically improbable.
Our buses took us to the Milestone/Viking center, where we were broken into 9 groups (8-9 people per group) for an “Iron Chef” burger cook-off. We had a set time to assemble a burger. There were three essential segments of this contest; 1) the idea of the burger, what it was conceptually, 2) Selling it to the judge (the pitch), and 3) what it tasted like. Our group, made up of folks from their late 20’s to their late 60’s, got together and we moved pretty fast through the concept of the burger. Assembling it, along with eighth other groups, took a good deal of teamwork and co-ordination, along with making sure we didn’t “overwork” the idea of the burger. It all flowed pretty well. Meanwhile the other teams were brainstorming and trying to come up with their idea of the perfect burger.
Hey, it could have been anything, but the burger was the fulcrum upon which the teams directed their attention. The idea was to transfer some of that energy, in the days to come, with other projects and working outside of our normal groups.
Through the process I snapped shots of the other teams, people I have known, some for as long as 25 or more years. People I admire, but because we are all so darn busy and directed in our tasks, we seldom get the opportunity to hang out and do these kinds of exercises. Remember there are 2,700 people whom we usually are directing out attentions to.
I know this sounds real Pollyanna and I am sorry, I cant help it, but I was really stoked about getting to be involved in an exercise in which when it was all said and done we sat down and ate what we dreamt up along with a glass of wine or a nice pale ale.
Folks seemed to really light up over this event, lots of laughing and great, great memories.
The next day, we went back to the conference room and continued with our workshops and discussions, back to business. But as if to put icing on the cake, we took a short break to recognize one of our peers who was turning 70 that day.
As the cake rolled up and we all sang “Happy Birthday” to him, I saw a colleague who was not only surprised but also very pleased that we not only celebrated his birthday, but a birthday, that in many industries the person would already have been retired and celebrating it quietly. Not so in the wine and spirits business. No, we’re a spirited bunch and we need all hands on deck, from 24 to 70 and counting. That bodes well for some of us other silverbacks in the pack, who just want to swing from the trees and make a little difference in the world we have found ourselves in.
So, folks looking on the outside in want to call what we do, and who we are, wicked? I call it the home team, and am very proud to be on it.
A. How can we believe a man who would sell out his friends?
Being born with a pair of beady eyes was the 
The Lone Ranger: Only you, Tonto, know I'm alive. To the world, 
I have hunted you so long, I have become you.
I think what I think. I hate you all. 
How many times do I have to tell you? 
Well, Clarice - have the lambs stopped screaming?
Never send a monkey to do a man's job.
Last month at the Illuminati estate in Abruzzo, I had lunch with my people. No, they weren’t Sicilian or Calabrese cousins. They weren’t my co-workers or clients meeting me in Italy. It was much more visceral than that, almost tribal in the connection. I was invited to have lunch with a wine sales team, guys who sell to wine shops and restaurants in Rome.
Over the years I've had many meals at Illuminati. In the early days we had meals on the second floor of the old house, sometimes outside. If it was cold we’d invade the dining room. As the winery grew and the Illuminati family redesigned the old stable on the main floor, we settled into the space they called the Luperia, a space with a kitchen and an open hearth. And a larger dining room. Many great memories exist in this room, but I had never sat down to eat with my own regiment. And during those years, friend and cellar master, Agostino, has opened many a bottle for us to enjoy. We’ve grown into the job together.
I was really excited about this meal. I was prepared to pick the brains of rookie and veteran alike. Who would know better the travails of selling wine than a salesman from Rome? What kind of kickbacks did the Roman restaurateur demand? How did one go about getting control of the wine list or selling a wine from Abruzzo to a Sardegnan? I was hoping for all mysteries to be revealed.
Dino Illuminati, the patriarch of the estate, motioned for me to sit next to him. Lunch is serious business for Dino and he didn’t want anyone to get too near him with idle chat. He wants to eat and drink first. I know the drill. When Dino and I sit down we both go after food and wine pretty well much in the same way. Except Dino has a capacity that I will never be able to match.
One of the older veterans sat across from me. He reminded me of one of the salesmen back home. This gent had a peaceful air about him, he was the elder statesman; he grew up in Amatrice in northern Lazio.
I asked him how his route was. Was it competitive? Cutthroat? Was it hard to collect money? Did you get resistance with all the new wines coming out? What about the prejudices of owners from one region against the wines of another region (i.e. Piedmont vs. Tuscan). I was surprised to be reminded that they don’t go around tasting wine, sampling as we call it. Now they just carry their list, with maybe some Gambero Rosso review (very big in Rome) and the price list. Pretty cut and dry. Rome was a city that was prepared for all comers, and has been this way for hundreds if not thousands of years. Anything goes.
I was looking for their “hook”. How did they catch the big fish? Figuring Rome would be like NY or LA or Houston, there was always the particular technique that worked for the peculiarity of the particular city.
He was a thoughtful guy. And we were starting to drink pretty well by then. The big slurpy purple stuff they make in Abruzzo that they call “Montepulciano in purezza.” All the while the young salesmen would come over to him and bear hug him or jostle him around. You could tell these guys liked working with each other; there was camaraderie among them.
“Alfonso, what really works best is the rapport we build with our customers. Trust, time and relationship.” Ah, the “R” word. So the secret was, there is no secret; daily treading, pressing the flesh, and being reliable. Showing up. Building trust. Just like almost everywhere else.
Look at these people. They’re having fun. They’re enjoying their lives. They’re enjoying each other.
I told some stupid story, trying to be funny, about a sales experience here in The States, but I don’t think the experience translated so well to their frame of reference. No matter, platters of grilled lamb, sausage and pork were pulling up to the table and we soon were diverted to the main course.
After lunch we went outside for espresso and cigars and fresh air, what a combo, eh? The sales crew had to get back to Rome. It was only three hours we’d had to sit down and break bread, but in that time I felt like a huge gift had been dropped in my lap; An afternoon with my selling tribe; with the young ones, the veterans, the crazy ones, the calm ones. Its not a closed brotherhood but it is a deep connection, to capture what is growing right out there in the land and transform it to wine and take it to Rome and NY and Austin and try and share with all those folks in those places these amazing miracles in bottles. Not just wine, but the lives, of Spinelli and Spinozzi and Illuminati and you and me and anyone that wants in on this.
This is the joy of selling. This is why I am on the wine trail in Italy and anywhere else the road takes me.
My faith has been restored. In Texas. In Italian Wine. In Italian wine in Texas. In Restaurants in Texas. And in the whole chasing after windmill exercise that we do when we attempt to bring the Word of Wine to the outer edges of civilization. I finally got my groove on, and in Marfa, Texas, no less. Word to Sancho: Flyover country has been secured and made safe.
My background in the arts didn’t have me getting all wiggly and wobbly as we spent some free time strolling among the buildings at the 
Cochineal 
We met 
A new day, and we find ourselves in front of Chef Maiya Keck of 
As I was cogitating what I would order, a woman stepped up to get her to go order. When I heard her voice I said to myself, “That is the voice of Isabella Rossellini.” I then looked to her and made eye contact. Were those the eyes of Isabella Rossellini? It wouldn’t be out of the question that someone like her would be here, seeing as this was the week for the Marfa annual Open House. I looked her over and she seemed to resemble Isabella from one of the scenes of Blue Velvet. I would encounter her later in the day, when perhaps that little mystery would be solved.
The falafel at the Food Shark was one hellatiously good lunch choice, though the Falafel Forage might be a little more difficult in these parts.
A block away was the 
We set up the wines, Italian and otherwise. As the folks rambled into the tasting we were able to talk to folks a little more in depth. Isabella came up to me and we had a little talk about opera. She was from Germany: not Isabella. Or was she in some kind of character for the evening. I‘ve seen too many David Lynch films.
One lady, Virginia Lebermann, who has 
Next morning we met up with Virginia Lebermann to look over the new 
After all, we don’t come here looking for some worn out windmills. We came out to see what was in store for us in the future, here in flyover country. In a bright, stark, clear-cut way, we were shown what might be in store for us. If we keep our eyes, and our minds, open.
