I was looking inside my fridge at all the bottles of opened wine inside. They have been there for a couple of weeks now. I had a tasting for a wine journalist and we had 45 or so wines to go through in a half a day. Afterwards, I took some of the opened reds to work and left the rest of the wines, reds, whites and rosés in the cooler. And over time I have gotten around to tasting them again, and for many of them, enjoying them even more with food and friends at a slower pace.The wine business, in its present course, is a jumble of priorities, emergencies and opportunities. Often it is hard to tell which is which. But alongside all of the daily duties of the job, there really is a lot of pleasure.
Pleasure, the joy of wine and life and being alive and healthy. Does it have anything to do with one who aims to be better informed about wine and life? And for the elite members of the business, the master and supersensitive palates, how does that fit in with where they are?
There is so much chatter lately about where one goes to get information about which wine to drink, buy and cellar. The established journals, The Wine Spectator, Wine Enthusiast, Wine Advocate and Decanter, along with the specialized reports from Burghound, Stephen Tanzer, WineLibrary TV also adding to the mix. Blogs, folks like Alder Yarrow, Tom Wark, Fredric Koeppel, Alice Feiring, and many more, Wolfgang Weber, Ray Isle, Tom Hyland, Dr. Vino; the list grows daily. All this to say that to be a better informed lover of wine, the way to get there isn’t always the same for everyone. And to rise beyond to the status of an influential member of the wine community, there doesn’t have one and only one way to get there. It is really an exciting time, because we are witnessing the beginning of a Golden Era for wine lovers. And then there are folks who are just looking to get their drink on. Even for them, there are better choices, more wines from more places, better prices and lots of choice.So is it choice that makes one better informed? Or is it selection? Is it hard work? Or is it dumb luck? When does one get to a point when one opens a bottle and seamlessly knows that wine to be the real deal? And is that because of better information? Or is it the pathway of the elite accomplices, on their way to being the best and the brightest?
There is nothing wrong with being elite or wanting to be elite. The word bears no resemblance to the popular Fox News aberration, elitist or elitism. Those are words that have been miscued for the purpose of propaganda and forwarding a particular cause. I am not thinking in that direction with this post. No I am really interested along with the pleasure principal, of the steps along the way. And I think after pleasure one reaches for more data, to become more informed as to what this enjoyment is all about. And then, if one stays on the road for a time, then one begins to see the mountain peaks or at least bask in the shadow of them for a moment or two before the inevitable sunset.Let’s take an area on Italy, say Liguria. Some good wines, some better wines, maybe a great one or two in the mix as well. But for the purpose of this exercise, I’m just going to go through the stages to illustrate how I look at them.
You’re new to wine; you might be young or young at heart. So you have a month in Liguria, hiking. Along the way you sample a fresh Vermentino or Pigato. Not exactly your entry level wine, but we are in Italy and going with the flow. Somehow the wine made a mark, the way it went so well with the food, the time and the state of mind you were in.Several years later, you have gotten into wine and food and are really interested in it. You are beginning to be better informed. You still like to hike, so back to the rugged hills of Liguria for a two week hike. Sounds fun already. Along the way you run into a winegrower like Dino Masala in Airole and taste his Rossese di Dolceacqua. The wine informs you of the land which the grapes are grown, a wildness in higher elevations where bees roam freely and the wild things are safe. There is more to wine this time, not just as a casual partner for the lunch meal or an extended evening of well being induced by wine. No, this time one is looking to go deeper.
Some years beyond, maybe two maybe twenty, that same traveler is wanting to return to those hills. This time they head to Arcagna above Dolceacqua, a little locality that hangs on the steep hills. In the quiet of these hills a winery, Terre Bianche, makes wine from those same grapes, Vermentino, Pigato and Rossese di Dolceacqua. But something happens on that hill. Maybe it is the quite of the place; maybe the wines have touched a spot inside the traveler’s soul. Something points to the life in the wine that is a higher expression, an elite moment of reckoning. No review sends that person there, no points, no accolades, no awards. But somehow this person on the path has found an expressive wine that rose above pleasure, above an informed experience. It was transcendental and it changed that person for life. More than any letters after one’s name.That’s one way in. It can be solitary. Difficult to take your tasting group with you. But in all the years that I have been on the wine trail, the lessons I have learned in the field, among the vines, the dank cellars and the splintered bench outside the barrel room, they have been my teachers as well. It won’t get anyone a better paying job or a higher position, it won’t even equip one for the dining room on a Sunday night. It will take you on the ride of a lifetime, though; one which anyone has ever been on will hesitate to end.
written by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy
The recent awarding of a DOCG (
I could understand Conegliano Valdobbiadene a little better than Colli Asolani, but really, is there any Prosecco worthy of a DOCG? If there was, perhaps we might want to consider reserving it for wines that come from the Cartizze, a small and revered spot which is the heart and soul of Prosecco. Maybe a Cartizze would be a laudable rival to one of the great Italian sparkling wines, Franciacorta. But, no, that wasn’t the solution. Why recognize a lion when there are so many asses braying for attention. Let’s give it to them all. But just one problem, say some of the producers. The new law will restrict production, forcing higher prices. Perfect timing for a world where the popularity of Champagne plummets daily.
A couple of whites (not the only ones, by the way) that I find hard to imagine being DOCG-worthy: Albana di Romagna. What in heaven’s name allowed that to happen? It’s a fine wine to have when one is in the area, but really, is it on the same par as a Fiano or a Gavi? I think not. I tried to grok the wine, and as early as the mid 1980’s I was on to it, looking for every example I could find to determine the mystique of this wine. But, like Galestro, it fell short of fabulous and I couldn’t figure out why the Italian authorities thought this wine worthy of a DOCG. So I chalked it up to a brilliant political maneuver by the communists of the region. I am surprised they haven’t gotten a DOCG for Lambrusco yet.
The other white, I am sorry to say, is Vernaccia di San Gimignano. I know, I know, Michelangelo, is said to have described the wine he loved and wrote poetry as one that "kisses, licks, bites, pinches and stings". In all the many times I have drunk Vernaccia from San Gimignano I can attest to four out of the five qualities. But kissing? Rarely. Sting, yes. Bites, yes. Pinches, yes. Even licks. But no smooch fest is Vernaccia. So it was given the DOCG for the respect that one gives to an early white DOC? That’s like saying let’s give the part in a new movie to the old star even though the role calls for a younger person. Vernaccia is a minor player in an operetta. Not Puccini and La Boheme or Madam Butterfly or Tosca. No. Not. Ever. Quel dommage.
While we are rampaging through the Tuscan countryside, let’s tackle Chianti. First, let me be clear. Chianti Classico has a right to the claim of DOCG. Absolutely. But plain vanilla, made in an industrial manner straight Chianti? In Fiasco? What’s up with that? Other than appearing to be totally wrong and sending a very off beam message, it isn’t likely that the powers that be in Italy will ever rescind the DOCG for plain vanilla Chianti. But the whole legitimacy of the Chianti Classico, and even the sub regions, Rufina et al, is compromised precariously. Guilt by association. Hard to keep staying alive. I reckon the lesson that the folks in Bordeaux are learning once again ( the hard way) are not comprehended by their Italian cousins in Tuscany. Might as well be another planet. It too is a shame, because as the world fine wine market is melting down, and we have just seen the tip of the iceberg, the Italians are more interested in their August vacations than the 4th quarter of 2009. Bordeaux is failing and with more revelations to come. Tuscany, well they are waiting in line to get a towel and an umbrella and a beach chair. Bless their hearts.
Last one- Bardolino Superiore. Now I like Bardolino and I love the Chiaretto. But the wine is a romp, a fun time, a fast ride with the windows down. Bardolino is a hot date with a cute blond in a mini. But there is no gravitas attached to it. Bardolino is a summer affair, while the faithful spouse, let’s call her Amarone, sits at home and waits. And feeds the kids. And is full of character. Yes, Bardolino is fine as a DOC, but no “G’, no “G”. Ah gee.
A million years ago when I was a young buck, I had a large territory in North Texas to cover for the wine company I worked for. We were a fine wine company, with classified growths, exceptional Italian wines, great Mosel wines, ports and Champagnes. And cult California wines. About once a month I’d go on my country run which would take me to the Oklahoma border to a little town in North Texas.
I can almost drive the road in my sleep; so many times I remember doing it. Once when I was up there, on Dec 31, 1981, when I got home my apartment had been broken in and my precious 
The sign was pretty funny, and there was a waiting line for lunch. But it was cool inside and the smell of fried hushpuppies and catfish was too much. Within minutes, after stepping into an east Texas dialect we ordered up, catfish, shrimp and sides.
But the icing on the cake was the fried pie. I had an aunt, her name was Amelia, but we all called her 
After lunch we headed on over to the 
After our pilgrimage we headed back home but not before stopping by one of my old accounts, Driggs #3. The owner, Robert Driggs, was there and we barely noticed each other. But after a few minutes of reminiscing, we hit our stride and got back up to speed. Robert is a really great guy, so friendly and really one of the people who put fine wine on the map in North Texas. He lives in a pretty quiet way and place, but some of the wines I have sold (and bought) with Robert have been pretty amazing. I saw a 1975 Il Poggione Brunello in the display case along with a 1988 Ridge Montebello. And the prices are so reasonable. I picked up a 1979 Château Ducru Beaucaillou and a 1980 Foppiano Petite Sirah for a song. I know in his cellar there are stashed some great Mosel wines from the mid 1970’s along with almost every Opus One every made. And that’s just for starters. The man has an incredible sense of what great wine is and I have never been disappointed in the wines I took home from his shop. The 1968 San Martin Petite Sirah (bought the day of the Dec.31 break-in) was one of the greatest wines I have ever had. I hate to tell you how little I paid for it.
My earliest memory is in the cellar of an old Italian restaurant, helping the leggy female sommelier open all the wood boxes. It would take 20 or more minutes, from the 750ml to the 1.5 Liter, the regular "Tan" and "Gold Standard" Riservas. We could have sold those boxes now, but in 1979 they were broken down and thrown out. A shame, because they used a kind of pine that dried to an almost hardwood density.
Has this ever happened to you? You are visiting a winery and the guide takes you through the stainless steel tank room, and then a barrel room or two and maybe the bottling room or even the board room. Have you ever been in that situation and someone said,” You’ve seen one stainless steel tank room, you’ve seem them all?” And then as you go into the tasting room as the first wine is poured all those tanks and barrels and executive tables and chairs didn’t seem as important as that tiny little precious liquid that you were getting ready to taste?
Somewhere between the spirit of wine and the soul of humankind there is a connection. It is different for some people and maybe others just don’t get that sense. But with a little imagination those little tastes can take one on amazing trips in time. Think back to the oldest wine you ever had. If it was 30 or more years old, most likely someone involved with the wine has passed on. For one brief moment we can connect with the work and life of a soul who is on the other side. Isn’t that a wonderful benefit of immortality? At least for those of us who remain. I think this often, whenever I open an older bottle of wine.
Sometimes one needn’t wait that long, unfortunately. The wines of Gravner have the touch of the young son who perished this year.
I think of the time I was in Pio Cesare’s cellar. Way down below the ancient Roman wall we came to the end. There, staring at me was a wine as old as I was. This winemaker, someone my father’s age, was long gone. But we met, for that brief moment, in front of the wine he had given birth to. How can one not love this business?
In truth, we descend the staircase daily, looking to bring up wines from the past. Wine is really all about a moment in time, frozen and preserved for people in the future to enjoy. It is a confluence of the ancient with the modern, the dead with the living. It is a mystical connection to souls beyond life.
I have a friend who passed away four years ago. In a linen closet I found a bottle he must have left when he was staying here. It was a simple Sangiovese from the Marche and it was marked in his handwriting as a sample to try. That is probably one of the most precious wines I have in the house. It is a connection to the life and work of a soul who gave everything to wine and the business of wine. Just like those ancient Chaldean winemakers 4500 years ago. These are markers in the life of the spirit of wine that renew my joy for this calling.
Aside from the deep belief that we must bring forth the vital energy of the fields to the new lands, it goes into an even deeper section of the cellar. It is because when you do have those beyond time and grave experiences with wine you really do get signed up to an ancient army of the wine god. And then there is no turning back. From the ancient winemakers in 2500BC all the way to the importer in the 21st century, we have burned the boats. There is no alternative to anything short of carrying out the wishes of the spirit of wine and the souls who have gone before. There is no direction home. You have arrived to the Promised Land.
There has been discussion in Italy about the 
Can Cabernet help bring wealth and fame to Calabria? Who knows? When a wine like a Ciro or any number of wines from Calabria tries to make it in America, it is a combination of energies. When the 
When I first went to Calabria in 1977 and visited my family in Bucita, it was harvest time. I’ve written 
But the wine that really was the one that turned the light on for me had been put up in a used beer bottle with a crown cap. It was in the wine cellar of my family, the one at the top of this post. My cousins brought me down in the evening after the meal, when the children had been put to bed and the women upstairs were busy (always) making something. We’d go into the cellar and empty bottles so they’d have them for the new vintage. They were not wealthy, but there was a lack of raw materials, so nothing was ever wasted. They weren’t poor. They had a washer and a dryer. Back home in those days, we didn’t. And they had a better car than I had. And a TV. We didn’t have TV because we didn’t want one. But the cars were old 1962’s, a Corvair and Falcon wagon. So to me my cousins were doing well. They just didn’t have enough bottles.
I loved how they accepted me. All too often everyone is too darn busy or angry to give a damn about anyone except for themselves. But in 1977 things were different. Things were slower. Not as many people lived in their own little reality bubble. No phones, no email, no blog rage, no tweet-spies. Just the sun in the morning, a day of work, two meals, a nap in the afternoon and in the evening after the last meal and the occasional passeggiata, a venture into the wine cellar. And here we were.
The taste: was a wisp of fruit, not enough acid to matter, but nothing awkward or out of balance. This was a wine pure and natural as it had been made for hundreds, if not thousands of years. It connected me to all of the people that had come before and made me feel like finally I had been born to something that I was meant to do, something I loved. It was my entrance interview that the god of wine had arranged with my cousins. It was test and celebration, certification and baptism all rolled up in one. It was the choice that was being given to me for a vocation of a lifetime.
I asked Hank why he chose Dallas. He can live anywhere, and for most of the year he does. Hank is a straight talker, no b.s. kind of guy. Simply, he said Dallas was small enough to have friends and large enough to find whatever he needed when he wasn’t exploring the world. A great place to come home to.
When the wine guys get together, drinking a vertical of the Old Hill Zin from Ravenswood going back to 1991, with that marvelous Lasagna al ragu Bolognese from 
But I don’t see us resorting to drinking 2 Buck Chuck and eating a Whopper when we get together. We all like good things too much. What I have found, in this short time together, is something very hard to find in today’s modern world. It’s a group of men who have taken pleasure in the conviviality of brotherhood, under the guise of wine and food.
You have a wine placed before you. You might be a judge in a competition. Or you might simply be ordering a wine in a restaurant. In either case the wine is poured. Then, what do you do?
With Italian wine, there is a fork in the road. One way says, stick to the tried and true (whatever that is for each person). The other way is this wild beach party where anything goes.
Just once, try and approach a wine you think you know really well and imagine you have lost your memory of it. Maybe that is the essence of blind tasting. But instead of trying to find markers, imagine this is the first time any wine has ever passed your lips.
I’d love to know what someone like Roberto Paris might think about this. At this time Roberto is in the middle of a 10 day meditation retreat in India. I reckon it probably isn’t high on his punch list right now. But the clarity of his mind, after ten days, yes, I’d like to know his thoughts.
