Sangiovese and the Duel of Sex

From the "Hello, is it me you're looking for?" dept.

No one looked, no one asked, when Sangiovese frolicked in the hills of Tuscany with childhood friends, Canaiolo, Malvasia, Trebbiano and Colorino. It was a simpler time. Sure, there were reports of Sangiovese co-mingling with the Cabernets, Sauvignon and Franc, near Florence. Florence was more liberal, less discriminating in who they chose as their partners. But in the rugged country, it was loyalty to long time workmates that cast the pattern. And then along came Tachis.

Chianti was boring. Property values made walking away from historic estates a realistic alternative. Head to Florence, embrace the 20th century, have some fun along the way; that was the pattern. No one wanted to stay back at the farm.

But Sangiovese couldn’t go. Rooted to the land, and as with so many marauders over time, overcome by the international army that was hitting the shores of Tuscany.

Giacomo Tachis and his Legacy of Disruptive Innovation

“One riot, one ranger”

Looking out the window on an early morning in March, leaves are falling from the trees. Spring is pushing the last of the old expressions out, making way for new growth. It’s been a month since Giacomo Tachis died. I have some things to say about his life, now that the obituaries and articles have come and gone.

You had to be there. I mean in the streets. Selling Italian wine. What it was like. What was it like? It was dark. It was gloomy. It was discouraging. The gatekeepers, like Pierre, with his aquiline nose and tarnished tastevin, would see us coming with a bag of Italian wine. They’d put up their hand, motioning us to stop there. “This is no place for you. We are a serious establishment. We already have an Amarone on the list. Go somewhere else with your bag of (inferior) Italian wine.” You think it didn’t happen? Oh, it happened. For years.

Life without wine

Inside the glass, this hurdling liquid, rushing into all the empty crevices, seeming to fulfill a need to order the world around us as expressed in love of wine. But are there those times when wine can be in the way, even a toxic element? Life without wine could be a scenario for more and more of us as we age.

Hitting the end of the runway with a bump and a needle

“We’re going to hit you with a low dose of morphine, to help you sleep.” Was I dreaming? After a day which saw no sleep, a hurried drive from Napa Valley to San Francisco, a bumpy flight (and sitting in the last row of the plane) and an even bumpier landing. As I exited the plane and headed for my luggage, it felt as if I had been hit on the side of my head by Mike Tyson.