While I was otherwise occupied with my flights of fancy, this week was a return to the foxholes and corridors of the tradeways. From Italy, we have new arrivals, getting here a little earlier than expected. They get bonused to move the ships ahead ( and out of the way) of the latest hurricane. These barely made it.
Looking over a recent special order for a client, it was like an heirloom seed catalog. You know, when the winter has approached and it is dark and cold outside and all one can think about is the spring. So one starts looking at seeds. Sunflowers, squash, tomatoes. But here we are in the midst of that time, the earth is bursting with flavor.
Today these eno-immigrants who have shown up at our door and have asked for asylum.
Bonarda, Ciliegiolo, Gaglioppo, Granaccia, Grechetto, Greco, Mantonico, Marzemino, Nosiola.
Not a Chardonnay or Cabernet in the bunch. Nowhere is Sangiovese or Pinot Grigio to be found. Pinot Nero is absent along with Merlot. It’s just us indigenous ones today.
No tired, no weak; just ready and willing to spill their blood on foreign soil. We're still talking about wine, folks.
The wines hail from Lombardia, Trento, Liguria, Umbria and Calabria. I am not going to describe these grapes or these wines, there are resources for that already. Two books, Wines of Italy by Patricia Guy and Wines, Grapes and Vines, by Jancis Robinson are the sources I go to read about these grapes. So have at it if you wish.
Meanwhile, I have the next few days with the folks that bring you Armani, Brioni, Kiton and their ilk. They who must know about wine, that sort of thing.
I'm ready for my close-up Mr. De Mille.