Under the Tuscan Big Tree

It’s a common occurrence. The father has accomplished many things. His life force is still strong. And his son is standing there, growing, reaching for a little piece of sky. Some light, some warmth. And time, rages in a corner laughing at us, mocking our every movement, because the fates are ultimately poised to win the final battle against all of us. And yet we try, we stretch.

It might be a bottle of wine or a million bottles of wine. They are grains of sand. But each grain of sand is a universe in someone’s world. And so, here we are again, on the side of the road, this wine trail, with a father, and a son, and time, wicked time.

Jacopo knows his father is a lion. And he loves his dad. His dad, Marco, is one of those larger than one lifetime guys. But as far as we know, we all get just one. So he has packed a lot in just 50 years. Jacopo is past the halfway point. He has taken Germany, Holland, China; he is reaching past the big tree line to grow under his own sun.

I‘ve written before here about this big tree challenge. My dad was a big tree. I’ve worked for big trees. I know big trees. But this is one with nature on its side. Marco reaches over to me and says, “My son is the one person I trust 100%.” That simple sentence is the light in the forest, breaking though and providing room to grow.

In Italy there is a tree, the albero di bosso, that grows tall. Google "bosso tree" and one of the links that comes up is grande albergo. So this site, this Bossi area, where we are, is named appropriately.

How many of us have our own grande albergo we must live with and try to push beyond, to grow to live?


As the father opened and decanted two bottles of his 1961 Chianti, he picked one of the decanters up to the light. “See how beautiful he is? He is ready for the world. It is time.”

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

The 1000 Kilometer March

To just give a perspective of what we just did, imagine if you lived in Dallas, Texas and just drove to Big Bend National Park. Or San Diego to Santa Rosa, California. Or New York City to Detroit, Michigan. And somewhere in the middle, stopping to visit two wineries, including visiting the vineyards, cellars, tasting and throw in a lunch. With porchetta.

Mom, that was my day. Starting at 5:00AM we left Lecce in Deep South Italy drove to Abruzzo and Marche, stopped and then made the haul to Florence, via Bologna, to our dinner appointment. Mom, that was work.

I will scrape myself off the bed, because we have several appointments in Tuscany, first thing, Friday morning. Loving it, Mom, but I am a little tired.

So a few words and pictures, and I promise I will get back to talking about wine and Italy and DOCG’s (including the two or three new ones I have heard about). Will somebody please get me a cup of coffee?

Last night, after the death-march portion of our trip was concluded we joined a few new friends for dinner in a little Tuscan town near Vinci. After all that driving we needed some bistecca fiorentina, no? We met at Ristorante Adriano in Cerretto Guidi.

Until then, feast upon the images of the bloody cow which we had with unadorned Chianti Classico. None of this talk about natural wine or any of the current popular buzz-words or buzz-directions in the lofty world of wine-speak. Just meat and potatoes and greens and beans and get in the truck, kids. We’re heading to Montalcino.

Five steaks - 12 men - Who will get the bones?

Baseball pro and wine lover, Steve Trachsel, taking his time with the Big Bone

Wine pro and meat lover Carmine Scala instructing the young'uns on the "Luca Brasi method" of cleaning a bone

Roberto Sabatini getting the "signal" from the catcher in the sky that it's time to wind this party up and get some rest

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

What Makes Italian Wine "Important?"

As I tear up the Italian wine trails, both the autostrada and the back roads only found by GPS, eventually when I land in a winery tasting room or around a table with food, the conversation is led by Italians wanting to talk about important wines. I am hearing that a lot lately. But what really are they talking about?

In reality the Italians have been talking about this for some time. In the past they used the word “particolare.” Somewhere after Y2K the phrase became “important.” But this important word, what is it to some people and something else to others?

I think what many are talking about is a wine that can be seen to compete on an international stage. Accepted as one of the wines that run the world catwalk and can stroll with the best of them. High cheekbones, good body (more fat than thin), a deep smoky mode and fast racy flavors. And of course, NFB (new French barriques).

I like the smell of barrels. But growing up in a Bourbon and Scotch culture, I think we in America are moving away from that profile fairly rapidly. And to the well trained European palate, what is this mania? Is it the exotic, the out of the ordinary? I am amazed at a culture that has come up with so many nuances in their flavor spectrum that they would just roll over and die to the aromas of wet paper and smoke layered with a sweet saucy note and finished up tied nicely with a bow of fruit and glycerin and more oak and sugar and alcohol. I’m sorry, but I think America is going away from that. And Italy, at least the winemakers and tastemakers, seem to think for the last generation that this is a curiosity but one that they must address, or rather, embrace, And it has me absolutely mystified.

I keep coming back to the aspect of the Italian mind that sees the high and mighty as a goal. The wealthiest Count, the most landed Duke, the (commercially) successful artist, the outrageous haute couture sun dress that bares even more flesh, perfume and tarted up characteristics

I’m going to leave it at this for now, because it is late and I really want to start a discourse in my virtual world. I surely am not having much luck with this conversation in the real world. At least, not that I can tell.

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

An Antonioni Set in a Noir Ortona

Excuse me while I go a little deep into the Italian heart of darkness with this one. I’m sure most of you all are tired of the panoply of apparel, Pecorino and pasta porn these past few days.

The further south I go, the deeper a sense of crisis has been surfacing. Last night, during a stopover in Ortona, I started noticing some tribal rumblings. Youth hanging out on the streets, nothing to do but have foreplay and fiddle with drugs. I saw it in Genova 20 years ago and in Sicily 40 years ago. This is like being stuck in an Antonioni movie written by Pasolini.

Even a business encounter seemed edgy and clipped. I am not new to this area. But once again, I am the outsider. Now, what is going on in Italy?

Maybe it’s the earthquake. Maybe it’s the volcano. Maybe it’s Greece. Maybe it’s Berlusconi. But something is stirring. The Lega Nord signs in Ortona seem ominously similar to the movement that spawned a Mussolini. Except this time the object isn’t to unite but to divide. And after that for whom to conquer?

It felt like someone was waiting for the hammer to fall or the bomb to drop. And the youth, i vitelloni, in the countryside, hanging out amidst the wild thrushes as we zipped past them on dark little provincial roads. I swear I stepped back into the 1970’s. Something strange has gripped this area.

In a restaurant by the sea, nearly empty. It was a Monday, ok, alright. But the young server, her method so deliberate, such a high level of care for the food and the wine. She was veiled behind a wall of shyness, or was there a sprinkle of fear in there as well.

Walking on a beach in the darkness waiting for the sun, the sea, the summer breeze. But in this moment it was the scene of a potential transgression. Odd, how there seemed to be this vein of apprehension.

“When America was America, anything, everything was possible.” A European and an American sitting at a table talking about the world that is supplanting their dominance with the rising sun from The East. We are being reduced to serving Asia and simultaneously being slaves to their cheap products because we have trained ourselves that the cheapest is the best.

Meanwhile the server pours us a sparkling Pecorino, then a Cococciolo, an indigenous white, while the bounty of the sea below us is being served up on little plates under incandescent lights. People my age, who have lived under this regimen, this “Italianita”, seem reticent to change. “America is the change place.” Still they look to America to send their Nina’s their Pinta’s and their Santa Maria’s loaded up with the bounty of the lands, no?

Back on the beach at midnight, walking slowly, I came across a bottle that had washed up on shore. It was a wine bottle that had been scrubbed soft by the sand over the years. What promise did that bottle have for the people involved with the making of it and the wine inside? What dreams did the people have? Did they work to spend a holiday on this beach in August? Did they labor to buy a little home on the cliff, only to leave it as an entitlement to some thankless niece or son?

Three young boys running towards me, the sea slapping to my side, a dog barking at a passing train and above a fighter jet races by, patrolling the coast. Antonioni would love this.

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

Pasta Porn & Gamberone

This couple this morning were swimming right out in front of where we
enjoyed them. They looked like they were enjoying themselves too

Hey folks it’s been a long Monday. Started out early and by 1:00 PM we had tasted two dozen wines. We’re heading South from Marche through Abruzzo and on, hugging the Adriatic coast. The past few days I have had more pasta than I’ve had in months. But I am in Italy, where you don’t have to ask twice for them to make it the right way. A late run on the beach (more photos from what I found, coming) and back into Ortona to try a little more pasta and a little more seafood, along with some auchtochtono wines, Pecorino, Cococciolo, a Rattafia of Montepulciano and Amarena, finished off with a taste of a grandfather’s solera of vino cotto. And again another post. I’m posting as fast as I can , making the appointments in time, figuring out how to get there and trying to find time to eat, sleep, exercise and blog.

Linguine con vongole (Abruzzo)

Mezze Maniche con Cicala di Mare (Abruzzo)

Maccheroncini di Campofilone - Maccheroni alla Chitarra (Marche)

Sono sopravvissuto? Not yet.

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

Simone Capecci, please call me!

From the Pouilly-Fuisse/Piesporter/Pecorino department...

That’s what me and your cousin Lorena Tanzi are both saying. Lorena works at Puerto Baloo in San Benedetto del Tronto, where she served us up another amazing meal of fish and pasta. We were guests of Stefano Illuminati and we drank all his wines up (just so everyone knows, it happens in Italy too, not just in Texas, people run out of wine). But when we ran out of Illuminati on a Saturday night, at this most popular dining spot on the Adriatic, we punted with a Pecorino from Simone Capecci. My colleague James, whom I just spent a week tasting the exemplary 2009 Bordeaux wines, was besides himself. Honestly, I haven’t seen him that excited about white wine since the last time we tasted though a slew of Corton Charlemagne’s.

The Pecorino from San Savino is from 20+ year old vines. Today we drove over to the area to have a look. Simone wasn’t there, but the vines were in full bloom. Up above where we are staying (which is on the coast at San Benedetto del Tronto) the season is a few weeks ahead of the sea level. How do I know this? I am a fan of Tillio (Linden) and right now the fragrant flower is blooming up in Monteprandone (see picture below), while down at sea level it will be June when that happens. Anyway, the area is warm and there is a long growing season. Does the fickle Pecorino like that? Earth to Texas (and Santa Barbara): this is a cool wine to look at for warm climates.

Meanwhile, Simone, call me. Your cousin Lorena opened a bottle of the 2008 Pecorino, which again was a tre bicchieri awardee. Succulent, rich and welcoming, we don’t even want to tell you what we paid for it in a restaurant in Italy, but it was a super deal.

Anyway, after a pictured perfect day and a night before of great seafood, we ask you, Simone, how much would you like to sell your Pecorino in America?

Did I tell you how great the food was here?

Call me, operators are standing by.

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

Two-fer Sabato ~ Two Suits, Two Shoes & Two Tailor Saturday

Tailor talk-Vittorio to Sabato: "I'm sending you some more suits"

My tailor back home, Sabato Napolitano, is going to be real happy. I’m bringing back a pair of Italian suits that he will lovingly caress and reshape to fit my new svelte body (that is if I don’t stop eating all this incredible food).

Yesterday as my colleague and I left Emilia Romagna and headed down the A14 (Adriatic route) towards the Marche, our friend Stefano Salvini recommended a seafood restaurant in Pesaro. “Go there for good fish. Really good fish.” Happily it coincided that we would be driving by this sleepy little beach town right at lunch time. So we had a plan.

Sabato to Vittorio: "Make my day!" 

I wanted to drive through the town of Predappio and see where Mussolini grew up. It is a repository of Art Deco buildings, some of which are in serious need of restoration. It’s a bizarre little town, having such an infamous person as Il Duce as one of their homegrown products. I am sitting on a set of pictures for another post for a more pensive time. But it’s Sabato (Saturday) and we have a mission.

Eating light-you get the picture

After a “light” lunch of anchovies and melon and green beans, gamberi, a little crudo, an incredibly delicious pasta with delights from the sea, finishes off with a fritto misto and a bottle of Bianchello di Metauro (starting to sound like an A.J. Liebling lunch?) we strolled the beach. These little Adriatic coastal towns are some of my favorite places in Italy. Maybe because it reminds me a little of my California days ( La Jolla with really good Italian food?). Really the reason is because of the great memories of have of coming “home” to Italy and often heading here. The scene is relaxed, the people are mellow, the food, did I tell you how great the food is here? And the wine, crisp white wines that aren’t fussed with, and you get the picture. But today was about shopping.

We were met by another Stefano, our friend Illuminati, at the hotel in San Benedetto del Tronto. We had an “appointment” in the Marche hills on the way to Offida, to meet another old friend, Vittorio Boccabianca to get “suited up”.

I was fascinated by the rack of “important” suits, clothes for weddings, confirmations, first communions. This gold suit screamed “Elvis”, I don't know how I resisted its siren call. But if I were a musician, or a magician, it would have been going home with me. Senza dubbio.

As it was I went the conservative dark gray suit and midnight blue (trust me, the flash) pinstripe route. These are some mighty fine threads. Up in the hills the little factories supply the expensive boutiques in Rome, Milan and Florence, and if you go to the source you can get a pretty good deal. Let’s just say I did alright.

Eugenio, Graziella and Vittorio in 2001

Vittorio was the best friend of my old pal, Eugenio Spinozzi, who lived in the area. They would hang out when both of them were home from their traveling salesmen jobs. I used to love hanging with them in the 1990’s along with Vittorio’s lady, Graziella. Good times. Bon anima Eugenio.

Vittorio and Graziela have been "going together" for as long as I can remember - they live separately. She takes care of her ailing mother. But he is philosophical about it. “Women, they share our joy, they double our suffering and the triple our spending.” Yeah, Vito, but we can’t live without them, now can we?

Vittorio is one of the great characters in anyone's life. I remember him walking his dog, Dick, on the beach and meeting us for a gelato and a grappa. Now, Vittorio doesn’t travel as much, but we travel to him and he has the hook up for fine threads. He and his colleague, also named Stefano, turned us on to a shoe store nearby. And I bought me a couple of pairs of shoes – Made it Italy – as shoes were meant, by God, to be made.

Before we headed back down the hill, for another meal of fresh, delicious, succulent seafood ( I did tell you how great the food was here, didn’t I?) Vittorio pressed me to buy some ties. I have several over the year that he has supplied me with. And this year the ties are getting skinny again (like me – if I stop eating so much of this really fine food over here). So I bought a couple of ties. Vittorio gave me a third (non c'è due senza tre ties) and showed me this article on how men tie ties and how it relates to Freudian psychology and what kind of man you are by the knot. It looked pretty kooky, but I allowed myself this short epistemological detour, on the wine trail in Italy.


Now where was that restaurant? I need me some Italian wine. After all, it is the weekend…

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

wine blog +  Italian wine blog + Italy W

Artusi, Taglierini & Cheese Cake Friday

Barely on Italian soil for 12 hours and I’ve been in a vineyard, found ancient Roman ruins, eaten fabulous pasta, been schooled on the cookbook of Pellegrino Artusi and witnessed a bathing suit competition in the rain. Man this country sure does get busy! And this is just the first day.

From Rome to Forli there is a little highway that is beautiful and worth finding. It isn’t an autostrada; it is a trip back into an Italy I don’t see often. The destination, Bertinoro, near Forli, was a winery that I am interested in, Campodelsole. Fresh, simple Sangiovese is what I was in search of. I found it.

Along the way, we walked a vineyard that was being replanted, via GPS and a Lamborghini tractor. I really need to post all about that another time. I have been up too long and need to get some sleep. But I just wanted to drop a few photos in along with these short notes.

It was wet today, so there were muddy boots galore. Real people working in and with the earth, as it should be. I know some folks like to get all mystical and use fancy terms, but there ain’t nothing like getting into the fields and getting after it.

Lagniappe, ancient Roman ruins. Just sitting there, not quite blending in with the fields. Wealth of culture beyond time.

After a day of work, on the wine trail in Italy, we were hosted by Susy Patrito Silva, the director of the Casa Artusi , a museum, school and restaurant devoted to the work of Pellegrino Artusi. I was given an English Translation of his book, “Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating,”, with a forward by Michele Scicolone. Susy had a great grandfather who was born in Colorado (like my mom) and family who were in the shoe business in California (like mine). As well, she hails from Ivrea, between Torino and Aosta, where some of my relatives live as well. Small world.

A bowl of taglierini with a ragu that was indescribably delicious. Brought tears to my eyes, so gorgeous it was. And with a local Sangiovese, it was the perfect food to arrive at once we finally got here.

For dessert? Well, I am still on a diet, but my eyes feasted on a local beauty pageant. Imagine a swimming suit competition under a stormy spring night. Someone left the cheesecake out in the rain.

"Signor polpettone venite avanti, non vi peritate...lo so bene che siete modesto e umile…”

And this is just day one. I am a lucky, lucky guy. And very, very tired. Buon Weekend, y’all!

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