On the Wine Trail in Italy

Langhe Report: First Snow of 2012 (and It's a Big One)

2012-01-29T13:51:00.003-06:00

From the "Cuckoo for Cocconato Files

Just the beginning...

Have you ever gotten into a car and headed to a place, feeling there was something waiting for you that you might not be waiting for yourself? Yesterday (Day 3) in Alba after I finished my appointment with the Pio Cesare folks, I looked towards Asti and wondered if I should be driving up there. I sent a text to my colleague, Robert Bava, but didn’t hear back. I took that for an “all clear.”

As I neared Cocconato I started to see a light dusting of snow, and as I climbed the snow started to fall a little harder. If I had not been born a fool, I would have turned around right then and there. But I didn’t.

As it happened I met up with Roberto and we went to the winery and tasted though some of his wines, talked about some new projects and spent a pleasant enough afternoon.

I had left my travel partner John back at the hotel in Serralunga, as he was nursing a stomach virus and was in no condition to travel, or to eat or drink. I was flying solo. But I was in Bava’s hands, how bad could it be?

Roberto's wife, Galatea, trying to cheer me up

Roberto is the quintessential optimist. His whole family from his wife, to his brother, his son and his dad, they are all pretty strong folks. No fear; no reason to. Everything will turn out OK

Maybe it’s Roberto’s faith that keeps him ever the optimist. But when we came out of the winery the snow was coming down harder. And when we left the restaurant there was no one on the roads.

As I piled into my car to make the drive back, Roberto followed me to make sure I would get out of the small road. But it was not to be. I couldn’t make it up the hill in my little car, too slippery. “No problem, Alfonso, just stay with us and get up in the morning.” Problem was, my pal back at the hotel and the hotel was closing the next day for a month. Oh, and we had an appointment. So reluctantly I took him up on his offer and went to sleep.

I woke early (Day 4) and the place was covered under what seemed at least a foot of snow. I know one of these possible things was going to happen on this day:
1) I was going to learn how to put on snow chain in Italy.
2) I was going to crash down a snow covered mountain
3) I was going to die

Roberto’s whole family, his wife, son, even his 80 year old father, were out in the courtyard, clearing the snow, while I wrestled in four languages with directions to put the darn chains on. I finally got them on, somewhat, and the area was cleared for me to head out.

2 ½ hours later, on a trip that should take, at most, 1 hour, I arrived at the bottom of the Serralunga road. I still had to go up, get John, pack and move to the next place. Oh, and male an appointment that we were really late for now.

Trying to figure out Italian Snow Chains

I almost didn’t make it twice. I had taken off the snow chains, as I really hadn’t put them on correctly and they were making a funny sound and an even funnier smell. But I really could have used them. Somehow, I gathered all my goat sense and made it to the top. John was feeling better, and the hotel folks offered to put the chains on again, this time correctly.

As we headed to the guest house the hotel had offered to provide for us, our lead car was having trouble going down the road. I took that as a sign and begged off their hospitality. One of the best moves I made all day. Not because of anything except my total fear of getting stuck. I am writing this from a warm hotel room in Alba (with Wi-Fi) so perhaps it was a good decision. Hell yes it was.

We made it to our appointment, Marchese di Barolo with Anna Abbona. As always, Anna was a gracious host and she spent many hours with us going over the wines. John was feeling better, so we tasted through 5 Baroli and a handful of whites and Barbera wines along with a tasting of traditional Piemontese foods. Things were looking up.
As Roberto Bava said in a text so early this morning when I was in my first panic, “ah ha, it will be a good day, I am positive.” So says the happy guru of Cocconato. Words to remember and ways to learn from my Piemontese cousins.

Sometimes life hands you inevitability. How you react and what you do with it is all up to you, whether you are on (or way off) the wine trail in Italy.

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

Langhe Report: From Ovello to Novello to Bolly in only 14 hours

2012-01-27T23:59:00.002-06:00

Day 2 started out early in Barbaresco to visit with Aldo Vacco at Produttori. Aldo was running late, but Luca met us with hot espresso. Luca’s grandfather was one of the very first to help set up the cooperative and at only 26 his life’s course it set. Like a monk, Luca diligently explained to us all the new improvements and the comings and goings (one grower recently passed and the property was sold to another grower, etc.) along with the new construction at both of the facilities. The places are beautiful and I will have to post on that progress in another post.

Aldo showed up and led John Roenigk and I through a tasting of the 2007 crus. I noticed Aldo seemed pretty excited. As we worked our way through the wines from Muncagotta to Montestefano to Asili, across the hilly vineyards of Barbaresco, Aldo got more and more animated. Now Aldo is a pretty sedate fellow. But with wines like this and with Produttori essentially being a hue control experiment for the quality of Barbaresco, I could sense Aldo, after all these years, is more than a director of a winery. To me he represents one who is actually charting the course for a village of winemakers. And not just any village, but a spot on earth where one of the great wines is made. And yes, there are people in the village who also chart their own destiny, folks like Gaja and de Gresy.

We moved into the 2008’s and Aldo really couldn’t contain himself. “For me possible the vintage of the decade,” Aldo tried not to say it, fearing it would sound like hype. But anyone who has ever been with him knows he is not one prone to exaggeration. The 2008 we tried was deep, rich, full, balanced and delicious. I could feel why he would say something like that.

We took a quick trip to the storage (and larger) facility, to see the new addition (really a beautiful sight). “We started this project in 2008 right before the Lehmann Brothers crisis started. If we had known then what we know now, we probably wouldn’t have started. But we did, and now it is finished. And it is all paid for.” Even in crisis times there are people who know how to do the right thing, make it through a tough time and come out the other end. There is more demand today for the wines of Produttori than ever.

Aldo had to run to pick up his son, so John and I stopped for lunch at the nearby Antica Torre. We were early but soon the room filled up. I saw a chap who looked familiar. He eyed me ever so slightly. He turned out to be Sergio Esposito, who several years ago moved back to Italy, to Genoa, and was in Barbaresco for the day. We sat nearby and Sergio shared a bottle of 1979 Produttori Barbaresco with our table. Very generous gesture. And the wine was in great shape, having only moved several feet in 32 years. What a treat, something that can happen on the wine trail in Italy, once in a while. Thanks, Sergio.

Later in the afternoon we headed to Novello to meet up with Valter Fissore of Elvio Cogno. It was starting to get colder, threats of snow were reported. Inside the warm tasting room of Cogno, we went through a battery of wines, starting with a wine made famous in the blogosphere, Anas-Cetta, the Nascetta white. Now a Langhe DOC, we sampled the 2010. Valter was also animated. Maybe the cold weather was making these guys move a little faster, I don’t know. The 2010 was well balanced and had that steely minerally quality when young. Later that night we tasted the 2008 at dinner and could see the evolution as the wine mellowed and crept into a more comfortable skin, slightly resembling Riesling without the high concentration of fruit a German wine can typically exhibit. I commented to Valter about something like that and his reply was, “Riesling, my favorite wine!” Here we were in Nebbiolo Valhalla and something like that reaches my ears. Something I actually think from time to time as well.

The Cogno post also need to be written, but not when I am sleep deprived and needing to get on the road for another day. I could sense John was really immersed in this tasting, and we lingered, even though both of us were fighting off maladies. Needless to say, the wines helped our condition. I have never seen the wines of Elvio Cogno as delicate and elegant as I have on the trip. Complimenti, Valter.

Before we parted, Valter took us to the nearby Locanda nel Borgo Antico, where chef Massimo Camia and his staff plied us with wine and an array of culinary dazzlement, starting with a bottle of Bollinger. The young sommelier was confidant and like everyone on the staff, fully committed to the service aspect. Impeccable wine, food and service in a very beautiful and alto-Borghese atmosphere.

Yes, it’s getting colder outside. But this is what it is, a fast account on a day to day basis, from the Langhe. More to come.

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

Langhe Report: Nebbiolo "Full Immersion" Day 1

2012-01-26T18:09:00.004-06:00

I had no longer said goodbye to my Austin amigo, Devon, sending him on his way to the Real Madrid –Barcelona game in Barcelona, than I set upon to make my way to Marseille, so I could catch a very early plane to Milan to gather up another Austinite friend, John Roenigk. Before that though I had to endure a night in a smoky room and some Colombard-Chardonnay to go with my (most-likely) Atlantic farm raised Salmon. But after 36 hours of being the walking dead, and working through it, it was not too bad. Other than I had to leave behind the pure and wonderful wines and friends I made in Montpellier. But that is the life and… Italy calls.

So a 4:30 AM alarm to catch a shuttle and a plane to get to a noon appointment in Serralunga. No more Grenache or Carignan. No more Viognier or Grenache Blanc. On to Nebbiolo and company.

All went well as I found my traveling companion earlier than expected. A sturdy little Lancia and before long we were in the Langhe.

Side note: I love France. I really do. I get along well with the people, hell they talk to me even though they know I do not speak. But they talk to me. And I do my Buster Keaton and we do just fine. But when I land in Italy, it is really like I at home, Or I should say, my Euro-home. Nothing to hold me back, even though I am barely conversant. I have enough simpatico to make whatever I need happen. Yeah, yeah, I’m not fluent or idiomatic. But hey, Italy, I am here. And that is, at my stage, really good enough. Better than most.

We had two appointments and a dinner. First stop I think saw us tasting 11 wines. Batasiolo. A good entry point for John’s full immersion into the Langhe according to Alfonso. Our guide, Angelo, took us through the wines he wanted us to taste, not the wines that were currently for sale or the most popular wines. A trained sommelier and one with a really engaging personality and easy going style. The last flight of wines we tasted, three 2005 single vineyard Barolos form Monforte (Bofani), La Morra (Cerequio) and Serralunga (Boscareto) along with a 2006 also from Serralunga (La Corda della Briccolina) set the stage for our first day in Nebbiolo country.

A short drive followed to Castiglione Falletto and the Boroli estate La Brunella for a tasting. There also we tasted a normale 2006, and two 2005’s, a Cerequio and a Villero. But wait there’s more.

John didn’t sleep on the plane, so I dropped him back at the hotel. Later we joined the owner of Batasiolo, Fiorenzo Dogliani and his group, including the ever energetic Ricardo March, Fiorenzo’s colleague from Miami. Stefano Poggi (“grasshopper”) was just back from his extended Italian honeymoon, so Ricardo stepped up to the plate and was a huge asset.

Dinner was a knockout. I am just getting back to life and eating and drinking (and enjoying) wine. The Sommelier at Il Boscareto’s Michelin One Star, La Rei, walked us through what was, hands down, the best meal I have had in many months and one of the best wine and dining experiences I have ever had in Italy. I do not know how I fall into these things, along with a vertical “blind” tasting of single vineyard Baroli going back to 1996.

Ok, yeah, yeah I am bragging now. But I need to mention this is after the end of a 19 hour travel and work day. So, if you think I’m taking the easy road, think what you want. As for us, we're just back on the wine trail in Italy.

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

Millésime Bio: Three days, too many wines and only one master sommelier

2012-01-24T16:55:00.004-06:00

From "the times they are a changing" département

Somewhere in the last few days, here at Millésime Bio 2012, the subject of Gravner came up. Millésime Bio is a three day expo of organic and bio-dynamic wineries from France, Italy, Spain and all the rest who showed up. Pretty impressive showing for the natural yeast, sans sufre, bio-groupies. Nirvana for the hairy armpit lovers.

Oddly enough, friend Alice was nowhere to be seen. I reckon she was off in more fertile pastures, ensconced in egesta, harvesting the fruits of her desire. Still, there was plenty of folk at the show to make three days in Montpellier a time well spent. Outside it was La Californie.

I arrived in a sullied situation. Beat up from traveling in planes, lost connections, too many different climes, temperatures and changes for even this well-honed body, I finally succumbed to 14 hours in my own personal sweat lodge of a room. Not a pleasant way to spend time away from home. There is only one thing worse than being sick in a foreign land; that would be to be in jail in a similar setting. So I set myself a time and made it through the time period. Much better now, thank you.

Devon Broglie, the young wine buyer from Whole Foods and a newly minted Master Sommelier, met up with me and we tasted though a bevy of producers. Our tastes and attitudes are pretty much in synch. If the wine is natural (or not) it has to be 1) Delicious and 2) a good value. That’s where Gravner came into the conversation.

As much as I love the idea of the poet in his dark room with the amphorae, I must admit those wines do not resonate with my soul. Give me I Clivi. Those are wines I can dig into and there is plenty of poetry in the glass for me, with light and clarity. Gravner is too dark and heavy, both metaphorically and in deed.

But the world of the Organic and beyond, it is diverse. And there are plenty of expressions for all kind of takers.

As it stands, the category is growing. Fast. Devon told me he is aiming to grow this category to 25% of his wine sales. If anyone can do it, Whole Foods is perfectly positioned to take the lead. After all, with Wal-Mart converging along those lines in the food department, the trend is now touching massive amount of folks.

And the wines? What has resonated? I went and tasted Fatalone’s wine based upon the recommendation of my even better friend, Jeremy Parzen of DoBianchi and his latest post. While I don’t think their Greco is the best white wine from Apulia (we bloggers sometimes do those kinds of headlines for SEO) it was pleasant enough. But I had a natty Falanghina that Devon and I and Ken Chase, the wine buyer for American Airlines (maybe this will get me an upgrade?) kept going back to again and again. Crisp, some delicate fruit, not too tropical and not cat-scratchy dry and acidic. Well balanced. And tasty. Did I say we kept going back for more?

And that really is the crux of the issue, whether it is mainstream wines or the organics. Wine needs to benefit the drinker with pleasure. After all, if one wants alcohol, they could as easily buy a vodka (regular or organic) and mix it with orange juice (regular or organic) and get the benefit. As I looked around the room of people dedicated to the category of organics, whether they are the cross burning types or the “just do no wrong” version, there was a mellow devotional attachment to offering their best effort and to make it flavorful. Is that asking too much?

A Vita's Gaglioppo was pure joy (and all natty too).

There were more. In fact, I met some wonderful growers, sipped with them, supped with them. More on that if and when I am able. For now France is heading into my rear view mirror as I make my way to Piemonte in the next day or so. Till then make do with this little lagniappe from the Languedoc. Bon nuit, y’all!

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

Zero to 80 in two hours

2012-01-22T09:50:00.003-06:00

I’ve been under the weather. And I’ve been over it too. The past few days I have been in many airplanes. Houston, Chicago, Dallas, Paris, Montpellier. The O-N-D season seems light in comparison. But this is the life. Well, not exactly “the life” but a life. Freely chosen.

I knew I wasn’t feeling good when I went to Chicago. An early work week in Houston, and a layover at my house. When we got to Chicago is was bitterly cold. What does one expect in January? We shuttled between hotels, meetings and restaurants. On the return back to Dallas (for another brief layover) the temperature was zero and the storm was approaching rapidly from the west.

Barely made it off the runway. Landing in Dallas was another world. 80 degrees, cloudless, smoggy like LA, but no storm, no chill. But my head was throbbing, my throat was raw.

A little bit o' gumbo also helped

Two days of ginger tea helped, but even if ginger is a powerful potion, no healing then. Must pack; getting on a plane the next day to Paris.

Sitting on the plane. 30 minutes. One hour. And then the captain announces we must change the plane as this one was using too much oil. So off again, And on to another plane in an hour or so.

Finally, two or more hours later we’re in the air. Off to an airport where most of us will miss our connecting flights.

Which I did. But hey, it’s a Sunday in Paris, even if I just am shuttling between Charles de Gaulle and Orly. Europe, where friends and family take lunch together, followed by ice creams and café. Civilized even in an airport brasserie.

All through this I have been spying on the 21st century. It seems we have more than dipped our toes into it by now. And even with such a fiery birth in 2001, the 21st century is indeed weirder and more unbelievable than anything our finest science fiction authors dreamt up. Or so says William Gibson, one of them writers.

It is odd, getting plane tickets from a box, watching folks, most of the dressed in black, play with little screened things in their hands, barely talking to one another. One of the good things about the mobile/smart phone is that is has reduced the decibel levels of humans speaking; an unintended extra.

I’ll take it. It makes the world seem more like a silent movie. Insert your own dialogue. Make your own damn movie. Isn’t that what we all really do anyway with the external reality playing out in front of us?

At Orly. Three ticket agents have given me three different times for checking in. Each one with a steadfast Gallic certainty that marks this country, for better or worse. Baby, baby won’cha go away mad?

So I am off to Montpellier for a few days, where I will be attending an organic wine fair, talking, tasting observing, before heading to Piedmont to meet up with a friend for a few days. No vacation, this is all work. But perhaps I can relax a little bit. At the very minimum, soon I will be on the wine trail in Italy. Until then, let’s see what our French cousins have to say about the state of organic wine in this here 21st century.

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

Baby, baby, don'cha go away mad

2012-01-19T06:50:00.005-06:00

We’ve all had it happen to us. You walk into an Italian restaurant, somewhere in America, and the place is bustling. Waiters are carrying trays of steaks, pasta, chops. Bartenders are mixing up classic drinks. Women have their bright red lipstick on. And resounding from the ceiling, good old blue eyes is crooning. You think, “now we're in for a good time, Sinatra is in the house.”

Music doesn't seem that crucial to the success of restaurants in Italy. It’s a place to eat, to talk to friends, hear one another, even. But it’s not a scene you see that often in Italy, using music to recast nostalgia as cutting edge.

But in America, restaurateurs have grown accustomed to setting up an atmosphere, making it all dreamy and stuff. And who better to co-opt than a famous Italian-American icon from the 20th century?

Look, I have no ax to grind with Frank. Much of his music was lovely; his voice was one in a million. The songs are energetic and snappy; I understand why operators like to play his music in their establishments. After the 456th time of listening to “My Way” or “New York, New York” or “That’s Life”, I’d just like to propose that we give Frank, at least some of his songs, a rest. But I know that probably isn’t going to happen.

It seems having Sinatra in charge of the ambiance has turned into code for many things. “I want the place to be cool and edgy.” “This is the kind of place people will come to because it reminds them of better times.” Or, “I’ve run out of ideas, just slap Sinatra on the CD.”

My mom tells me a story, about when she and my dad were in a nightclub in Palm Springs, my old hometown. She asked the waiter if the band would play the love theme from the Godfather. In Hollywood it was called, “Speak Softly Love.” In Sicily it's “Brucia la Terra.” (Yeah, Hollywood wins).

So the waiter comes back to my mom and tells here the band cannot play the song she requested. My mom, in her indefatigable way, replies with something like “It’s only the most popular song in the world, don’t they know how to play it?” The waiter tells her that of course they know how to play it, it’s just that they cannot play it right now. “Why in the world not?” my mom shoots back. It seems a certain Italian-American gentleman is in the club, one with blue eyes, and the band has been instructed not to play any of those kind of songs when he is in the house. I was not there, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if my mom didn’t try and go over to Sinatra’s table to work him over. She’s not afraid of anybody. My dad probably talked her out of it, wisely.

All this to say there’s a time and a place for everything. But in today’s world, nostalgia, like garlic, can be over used. And Sinatra and his music have been so utilized, propping up pasta and all kinds of alleged Italian dishes.

What would be really hip and cool would be if folks started playing some of Sinatra’s lesser-known music. It would be like finding Aglianico in abandoned fields, or gold bracelets in Etruscan caves. Something like “Don'cha Go 'way Mad,” “Tangerine,” or maybe “I will drink the wine.”

Are we beginning to see the light?

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

Booking passage on the 2012

2012-01-15T22:25:00.003-06:00

Babies are born. Winemakers die. Ships take people to different places. Clothes sit in a dryer until they get folded. All part of life’s laundry list.

This is the time of the year when winemakers in the Veneto start thinking about their second wine. The grapes dry, to press for Amarone, are just about ready. The Valpolicella has been sitting in the tanks for a few months now. Some of that wine will be transformed when the pressed grapes for the Amarone lend what little life is left to re-infuse the Valpolicella with its energy. We call it Ripasso.

Life in the Veneto right now plays out the patterns that have been played for generations. Today the Veneto is a little quieter. A big tree has fallen in the vineyards. But in time, the tree will make way for new sproutlings and life will transform the land and the people and something new will arise.

I cannot feel sad for the cycle we all must submit to. Some lives are happier. Some are more fulfilled. Some lives are miserable. Some just go on interminably until boredom stops the beating of the heart. All of these players with their lines and their moves. And we too, with them, making our way across the stage.

These words, as if they could ever substitute for the precious life of wine and the people who circle around it. Take yourself less seriously, one writer suggests. Yes, good reminder.

2011 didn’t seem like such a good year for wine in places like Italy, France, California. But something gnaws on me inside saying, “Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be OK.” I really cannot ignore it. I think it will be just fine.

The passage of folk in the wine world; it happens all the time. We lose a giant in Tuscany. And then one in the Veneto. Sooner or later someone will cease in Piedmont. Or Sicily. Or Abruzzo. It’s inevitable. What isn’t unavoidable is the search for the gems and the stories and the people and the paths that make this short time in the vineyards of Planet Earth so bloody intriguing.

In the short two weeks of 2012 so far, it has been a blur. I think much of this year might be like that, looking at the upcoming travel schedule. My bags are packed. The camera batteries are charged. The SD cards are clean and ready. The passport is at hand. Italy and 2012, I’m ready for you. Here I come.

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

Vin Santo: Full Moon in the Microcosm of Tuscany

2012-01-12T00:01:00.005-06:00

I recently drove from Dallas to San Antonio for a meeting. It was decided at the last minute; the plane ride would have cost more than one to California. So my frugal being got up early one morning, before sunrise and with sheets of rain falling from the dark heaven. It’s what we do in the wine biz. Go see potential customers, taste wine with them, and try and get them to like the stories we tell, enough so that they will buy the wines or better, let us improve their wine lists.

The meeting went well enough, but we didn’t make a sale. We weren’t there to take an order, but to plant seeds. Ok, we did that well enough. My colleague told me, “He never spent that much time with me, " referencing the wine buyer I had driven 300 miles to see.

At the end of a full day, sitting in my hotel room, I was tired enough to order room service. But after a run, I wasn’t in the mood to eat crap. So I cleaned up and headed back out.

The first place I stopped at, known for very good pizza; there was a line out the door. I was in no mood for that. I spied a Korean BBQ/Sushi place across from the Pizza place. It was tempting, but I really didn’t want to eat oil-soaked meat. Or thawed out raw fish. I know, cynical. But I was starting to get tired. I looked up the next place on the GPS and saw it was only 5 miles away. So I made my way to it.

I found the Italian-styled place, which is very popular, so popular in fact it’s hard to get a seat in the place. But lately I have been lucky like that. So I poked my head in and sure enough there were two tables open.

Once seated the sommelier came over. “I know you from Twitter.” And then the other wine person, who works usually at another one of the chef’s places, came over. We’re friends. “What are you doing in San Antonio?” I was spotted.

No big deal. These are sincere fellows. Hard workers. Affable. Likable. They made me really feel welcome. I was just popping on for a little something to eat and a glass or two of wine. What happened then was one of those moments, on the wine trail, that makes me want to get down on my knees and thank my lucky stars for this life.

Both of the sommeliers offered suggestions; let’s just say I was in good hands. There was a young couple across from me, visiting the town, they were eating and drinking well. They were really enjoying plunging the depths of the wine list and the menu. And so young. And beautiful. Nice to see.

All this to lead to the inspiration that hit me at the table that night. I ordered a glass of Vin Santo from Badia Coltibuono. I didn’t recall having it in many years. I have a particular kind of Vin Santo that I really like and it seems to elude me. There was the one once from San Gimignano, Pietraserena, I still have a bottle of it. For me that was the greatest Vin Santo I have ever had. It had a creamy depth to it that was calming. Reminding me a little of a great Marsala. Is that a compliment?

Avignonesi, I remember theirs too. But this really isn’t a post about any one particular Vin Santo.

No, what hit me that night in San Antonio, as I stared at the glass, reminding me of a stained glass window in the Milan Cathedral, was how misunderstood Vin Santo is in relation to the Tuscan wine microcosm.

We all seem to think Chianti or Vino Nobile or Brunello are the quintessential expressions of Tuscan, and to a greater extent, Italian wine. But that night, Vin Santo was the full moon in the sky shining brighter than all the rest.

And don’t take it wrong, this isn’t a “Vin Santo is better than Chianti” kind of assertion. Far from it. No, the spirit of the evening, the perfect storm of wine and service and respect and the weather, and yes, the full moon above might have had something to do with it too. But in that brief moment, a flash it was, and with it Vin Santo appeared to me to be the perfect symbol for the spirit of Tuscan wine.

Oh, you were expecting a tasting note? Or a score? How about a recommendation? I have one for you. Forget all you know about wine. Sit in a room without a cell phone or other distractions. Let yourself fall into the glass, smell it, breathe deep. Don’t think about it, just feel it. Enjoy the beautiful colors, the myriad of aromas. Let yourself go. And then, take a little sip. Don’t dip any damn stale cookie into it. Just you and the wine. Period. And see if you don’t have some kind of revelation. I dare you.

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

What John Fahey Taught Me About Wine, Women and Song

2012-01-08T15:54:00.004-06:00

A reminiscence

College life was one of my most cherished periods. I was away from home and the parents for the first time. My college was in the San Francisco area and the era was the late 1960’s - early 1970’s. Radio stations in the Bay area were progressive and the music scene was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Sure, during high school I had gone to concerts and love-ins; seen Jimi Hendrix and Iron Butterfly, Country Joe and The Electric Prunes. I’d had the rock ‘n roll indoctrination just like all youth in that generation. But when I got to Northern California, the music scene took me in a direction I had never expected. Folk music was still popular, tied in with the anti-war movement, and the general changing of the guards associated with the times. One night I’d even sat around with a group of folks and we all had dinner with Joan Baez. My little town upbringing, somewhat isolated in the desert of Southern California, didn’t prepare me for the larger world I was stepping into. But that was alright with me; I was all ears and eyes and heart as I stepped into an uncertain adulthood.

John Fahey was an acoustic guitarist who made simply some of the most melodic and beautiful music I had ever heard. Listening to his music was like falling in love over and over again. And it seemed some of the young, long haired ladies in my generation also fell for his music.

Small venues, whether it was Fahey or Leo Kotke, Dave Van Ronk or Robie Basho, were an opportunity to connect with all the loves of one’s lives in those days. Tom Rush had an instrumental hit that played daily like a mantra, called Rockport Sunday. How many couples laid by one another in the afterglow of love? I could only imagine.

It was because of John Fahey that I was able to put wine and women together with song. Whether it was a simple Chianti or Frascati from Italy or by chance a Grignolino from Heitz or a Barbera from Sebastiani, it seemed that life was so darn full of the hope for love, even in a time when war was pulling young men like me into its vortex of destruction.

Because of the dearness of the time and the fragility of existence, those dark haired lasses with their long dresses and longer legs seemed like a way to forestall the impending doom waiting around the corner. The sweet music and the even sweeter lips, tasting of wine and youth and raging hormones. There wasn’t a sweeter wine than those moments. And the soundtrack of those times was the acoustic guitar of folks like Fahey.

Music was the great cloak and overcoat for my shyness. I know now I shouldn’t have been so reticent. But that was how my path played out. Sitting on a blanket with a bottle of wine, listening to the music, with a young lady, man that was some heady stuff for me. It all seems so innocent now, but if you were to ask those two kids what they were thinking, or better, feeling, in those times, I am sure they wouldn’t have been able to really tell you. We were young; a little scared of the future, adulthood staring us in the face, the end of childhood in our rear view mirror, and all we had in that moment was right in front of us. John Fahey taught me that wine, women and song wasn’t something to be scared of. It was something to embrace and love and drink in and cherish the frailty of life, the foolishness of youth and the final inevitableness of life on this mad little planet.

It was an amazing period. I look back, just for a moment, with nostalgia and the inevitable sadness for a moment forever lost, but so very glad I was there in that moment.

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

Out with the Old, in with Newton's Italian Wine DOCG +

2012-01-05T00:21:00.002-06:00

from the "Pour Me a Little More Wine" desk

Giuseppe Martelli = DOCG Wayne Newton = DOCG +

It no longer appears to be a secret that there are 73 Italian wine DOCG’s. Everyone's discovered it. Walter Speller is writing about it for Jancis Robinson’s Purple pages. Giuseppe Martelli is proclaiming it within the pages of Gambero Rosso. Even bristly architechts in Southern Italy are laying claim to advancing the information. We’ve come a long way baby, from Wiki pages describing a scant 23 DOCG’s to various Italian government agencies reporting different numbers. Now the whole world knows. But what Walter Speller or Giuseppe Martelli or the occasional draftsman down South doesn’t know is that a whole new category of Italian wine DOCG has been born. Not in Italy but in the good old U.S. of A. That’s right, what Italy cannot do, America will. And who better to do it than Americans of distant Italian ancestry. So here it goes. You heard it here, first.

The statement:

In order to keep up with the demands of the marketplace and to insure the continued appreciation of Italian wine, we the people of distant Italian ancestry, have so proclaimed the creation of Italian Wine DOCG +. The criteria for the first group of Italian wines selected, the initial 10, are that they be:

1) From a traditional producing region.

2) That they utilize indigenous grape varieties that have been historically established in Italy.

3) That the use of popular blending grapes, such as Merlot, Cabernet or Syrah not be exploited to enhance the wine flavor and garner high scoring points from the dominant and influential international wine press.

4) That the use of oak be only for subtle purpose and not as a flavor substitute.

5) That the wines respect tradition but do not shun technology.

6) That the wines exhibit Italian character and delicious qualities.

Simply these wines offer a solid bulwark for the patrimony of Italian agriculture and viticulture to the world at large and represent all that is pure and good and fine about Italian wine.

This is not to limit these claims to these 10 wines solely. But initially that these wines are national treasures and should be so designated.

The wines (in alphabetical order) are:

Aglianico del Vulture
Amarone della Valpolicella
Barbaresco
Barolo
Brunello di Montalcino
Chianti Riserva (Classico or Rufina only)
Etna Rosso (fast-tracked from DOC to DOCG +)
Sforzato della Valtellina
Taurasi
Vino Nobile di Montepulciano

We have hired an iconic American entertainer to publicize and promote this event; none other than Wayne Newton, who it appears was separated at birth from his counterpart in Italy, Cavaliere Martelli.

Our snappy slogan, in keeping with the European community guidelines : DOCG +, because DOCG just isn’t good enough anymore.

Special thanks to Jason Cohen of Convicted for Grape for the initial jolt of inspiration for this post. And for Wayne Newton, for just being the swell guy that he has been throughout this amazing process.Danke Schoen!

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

Yes, this is a fictional piece and should be taken in light of the fact that the world is a very serious place and we all take ourselves very seriously. Not so in this case and post. It's just for fun.

Can Italy be Roused in 2012?

2012-01-01T17:57:00.003-06:00

Posted from a sunny perch in America ~ Somewhere between a "cloud of unknowing" and "unknown knowns"

2011, that was the year that was. The numbers aren’t all in yet, but for the world I chart, which is the mid-section of America, Italian imports are up 8% for the year. Maybe we should have started an Italian wine import index fund; it surely would have performed better than most investments in 2011. But that is looking backwards, and today is a day to look the future straight in the eyes and move forward.

That said, I will channel my inner Don Draper and attempt to offer any Italian who would care to know, how to succeed in business in America in 2012.

1) What you smell is success. But it is the success of four grapes – Sangiovese, Pinot Grigio, Moscato and Prosecco (or Glera as we now have to call it). All other grapes are still battling against Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Merlot and Cabernet. The problem is that we don’t need any more crappy Sangiovese, Pinot Grigio, Moscato and Prosecco. And under no circumstances do we need any more Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Merlot and Cabernet, especially from Italy.

2) I have said this more than once, but it bears repeating: Do not think this is the time to raise prices. If you want to lose market share, go right ahead – Argentina, Portugal, South Africa, Australia and California will be more than glad to take your customers. Revise your expectations or lower your margins. And don’t think you can do it by firing your importer and eliminating them unless you are willing to sacrifice one of your own to move to America and travel 12 months a year.

3) The large markets, the ones everyone wants to visit - New York, LA, San Francisco, Chicago, Vegas - forget about them. If you want to make strides in 2012, try hitting it out of the park in Birmingham or Indianapolis, Cleveland or Fort Worth. If you can figure out how to sell Italian wine in those places, the big cities will be like sitting ducks for you.

4) Try being known for doing one thing well. If you are pushing Prosecco, make it the best flavor, the best value, the best package, the best price – don’t try and mess it up by bringing out a rosé or worse, a nameless “sparkling Brut” from the Veneto. It just won’t fly. Or try and make a Sangiovese that is really delicious. Not one that tastes like a Cabernet or a Merlot or a Super Tuscan. But a simple, delicious, mouthwatering Sangiovese, something like a Poggio di Sotto Rosso di Montalcino. Is that too much to ask for?

5) Once again, Italy in crisis and everyone is gone for two weeks between Christmas and New Year’s? All work stops in Italy. Even when Rome is burning. Really, do you think we have stopped eating or drinking or buying wine in your largest market, America? But we cannot even get most folks to answer their phones. Fine. Do it your way. But in Jan after the Epiphany, please don’t cry like a baby.

6) I will invoke the character of Don Draper again: “People tell you who they are, but we ignore it - because we want them to be who we want them to be.” That typifies the Italian (and the human) problem. Italy wants to see it the way they want to and expects the world to fall into step with their vision. All good when the final result offers something of value to the buyer as well as the seller. If all of this is to merely pay obeisance to a wealthy industrialist who “has a dream,” don’t come knocking on America’s door. We already are genuflecting to our own wealthy 1%, and it has pushed our country into a philosophical civil war between the haves and the have-nots. Bring us something of value, something the 99% can afford.

7) We do not need any more wines from rock stars, movie stars or baseball managers. We do not need any wines for folks who collect Alfa Romeo, Fiat, Ferrari or Lamborghini souvenirs. Wine is not a knick-knack. Wine is a living creation that is part of everyday life and does not need to be put on a shelf to gather dust. When will these ridiculous wines stop being made? We want something real.

8) Speaking of real, if you use sustainable or organic or even biodynamic methods, that is great. But if the wine sucks, who cares? So I would suggest if you do have a tasty wine that is pleasant and enjoyable, and maybe even a good value, and it just happens to be “green,” you don’t have to make that the dominant message. Green is my favorite color but as causes go, it’s been worn hard and put up wet one time too many. Let it go, it isn’t cute. Just do the work, put something on the back label and let those folks who care find it. But for the rest, it is not a selling point; in fact, it is an anti-selling point to those who actually care about those things. In other words, it isn’t something you can “sell.” It is a process, not the product. And we’re being worn out by Madison Avenue over green these days.

9) Just because you got 90 points from Galloni or Suckling or The Wine Spectator or the Wine Enthusiast or you got three glasses from Gambero Rosso, doesn’t mean you will instantly sell the wine out. Or that you can raise the prices. Admit it: a good score is a crap shoot. Some years you get lucky. Some years you don’t. Or in the case of Gambero Rosso, if you have gotten Tre Bicchieri every year for the last 10 years and you still aren’t selling your wine out, maybe there is a reason. Maybe Gambero Rosso hasn’t a clue about what the export market wants, or maybe you are asking too much. Again, make a nice wine; make it real, keep it simple and cheerful and a good value, and you will sell it out.Year after year.

10) And lastly, if for some reason last year your winery to market strategy didn't go quite as well as you had expected, allow me to give you $10,000 worth of advice for free. First, don’t blame the economy. Second, don’t blame the importer. Third, don’t blame America. Now, go to a mirror and look at it and repeat: My wine failed in America last year because I didn’t care enough. I didn’t work hard enough.I have no one to blame but myself.

Like I said, with the Italian wine import market indexing at +8% in my world, some folks did not fail. Now they might not have made the wines you make – but there is change in the air, and you can either be a part of it or you can continue to take your month off in August, your two weeks in December and your week at Easter and continue to live your life as long as you and your country can sustain it. Or, in the words of Mr.Draper, “Change is neither good nor bad, it simply is. It can be greeted with terror or joy, a tantrum that says ‘I want it the way it was’, or a dance that says, ‘Look, something new!’”

Oh, and Happy New Year. Look, something new!

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

20- 25 years, max…

2011-12-29T00:02:00.005-06:00

Lately, folks around me have either been dying, dropping out or retiring. Yes, I know almost everyone living looks in a mirror and sees the young person they were or indeed they are. For the moment. After a day of throwing boxes in retail, my knees tell me what my mirror won’t: You don’t have that much time. And that goes for all of us.

I have seen some ridiculous things this year. Folks who got the boot who not only showed up for work, but who also stayed after the lights went out in the office. And other folks, who by merely being in the right place at the right time, caught the big fish. There is no pattern of reason – sometimes it just gets down to luck. But in the time department – time, the great leveler – luck has no chance. Whether it is a big-face watch that costs $5,000 or a $50 Timex, the clock, she keeps on ticking.

Let’s say you are in your early 30’s. You have a good job or a position in a company somewhere that allows you to think you’re in a good place. Let’s talk about the wine business, and let’s drill down to the Italian wine business. You travel, stay in places like New York, Hong Kong, Helsinki, Berlin. It all seems so important, balancing the travel and the business with the stuff you have at home. Maybe you live in the Tuscan countryside by the winery. Maybe you live near Alba. Maybe Palermo. And when you are out “in the world” you are making a difference, moving Italian wine forward. Maybe you allow yourself the indulgence to feel powerful, important. You are a game changer, a force of nature. You are young, with all of life handed to you on an enormous buffet plate. It’s all there; all you have to do is show up, wearing the nice clothes, whether it’s the snazzy suit or the shabby but chic jeans. You’re Italian, and Italians are known for this kind of thing. You come from a great country with a great heritage and a history and a mission and a purpose, and you are in the stream and you are fishing for your fortune and fame and you catch a fish every now and then, and life feels just bloody wonderful. Yes?

And you do this for several years. And then. Something. Happens.

You might have passed 40. Maybe you have gotten married and had a family. Maybe you are juggling all you had with this new course. Maybe you didn’t have time to get married. Regardless, life keeps flowing. Moving you forward. Or so it seems.

Have you looked at a newly born baby lately? Their little eyes, shut. They spend nine months safely swaddled in serenity. All they hear is the murmurs and the shuffles of the life express outside their berth. And then the moment comes, all hell breaks loose inside, and it’s time to go outside for the rest of their life. And swoosh, just like that, there they are. It all seems so odd, we being hatched like that. Oh, don’t get me wrong; it is one of the most amazing moments I have ever witnessed. But still, a little unusual, considering.

Considering that, as little as 20-30 years later, that little person might be shuffling along the street somewhere trying to sell Chianti or Prosecco. I don’t know, maybe it just feels odd to me, looking at it from the perspective in time I have.

The thing that always used to bug me about old people was they were always talking about the past. Like it was still alive to them. But they couldn’t remember something we had done 10 minutes ago. 25 years ago, that was even more resonant. Now, I begin to understand what those old folks were doing. Not that that I will agree with them or it and relent. I’m moving forward. Or so it seems.

A young blogger scolded me the other day. Seems in my zeal to illustrate a pattern and a progression, it came off as a “lecture.” Meg Houston Maker wrote a wonderful piece on her site, called Advice to Young Professionals. She is talking to the journalism crowd (what some young bloggers like to think they are). One of her points: Don’t assume you already know everything you need to be successful. Worth a read, whether you are 25 or 65. If you don’t believe me, read someone younger, like Meg. Or wait for the baseball bat in the face as you round that corner of confidence you thought you had nailed. Life is like that. Relentlessly waiting to toss a pie in your face.

Yeah I know, it sounds like I’m all maudlin and stuff. I just threw 100 cases and then ran 3 miles. And it’s the holiday season. I might be a bit fatigued.

What I really am is perplexed, in a good way, about the way life works.

What I realized last night, in the dark, with a sliver of moon overhead to light the way, is that if you are fortunate with health you have 20, 25 years max to run it hard. And then, you have to get out of the way. But before you do that, you give it all you have, don’t expect much in return (remember the “luck” factor), and hope you make it to a place where the rest of the ride still means something.

What you might want to avoid is being the chap who had all the luck, did all the wrong things, except one, and got the big reward at the end, at 65. Only to die three years later, depressed, sad, alone, without a purpose. Thinking it had been because he was such a brilliant force. When all it was, really, was dumb luck.

Good luck.

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

Prosecco vs. the world

2011-12-26T10:22:00.008-06:00

Sergio Mionetto on top of Cartizze

Wine writers must be running out of meaningful subjects, the latest diversion from significant stories being this little piece about Prosecco finally triumphing over Champagne. Perhaps this is just an unconscious jab at France and Sarkozy over dragging the Italians into the current existentialist predicament of the Euro zone. Or maybe it’s that folks have run out of things to talk about between Christmas and the New Years. It would be better for most of the writers to take another stab at a turkey sandwich, watch the “Law and Order” marathon and let the ship pass. This is not important news. Somewhere in the world other sparkling wines are outselling Prosecco and Champagne combined. Should we write that once again for the 25th year, Andre has outsold Champagne too? That’s the image I get in my head when I see these silly stories.

I don’t have a bone to pick with Prosecco. They are riding high. Price increases are forthcoming, by the way, so the Ferris wheel, she goes up, the Ferris wheel, she also goes down. Rarely does the Ferris wheel stop for one at the top. So there will be challenges in 2012, with an election year in the USA, to move the category forward in double digit growth territory.

Champagne, what do they care? They sell everything they make. Veuve-Clicquot (I was told by a highly placed person in the company) has been in “allocation” mode this year. Regardless of how you fell about any brand of Champagne, one can rest easily knowing the plans the Champenoise have for their brand can take you or leave you. Not so with Prosecco.

Sergio (R) and longtime grower and friend Giuseppe (L) in Valdobbiadene

Prosecco is a loosely strung out collection of producers, spread out over a territory that is vastly different in the terrain, and hence, the final results. There are classes of Prosecco, as there are in Champagne. But the stylistic differences that Champagne denotes in their vineyard classifications, let’s say the Italians are playing with a looser set of values. Example: One can find Prosecco wine from the Cartizze site which is sublime and rich and delicate. And with retail prices approaching $60 or higher. And then there are all those ones that are not DOCG and can be produced in large quantities that will sell for $10. Nothing wrong with a sip or two or mixed with mango or peach in a sparkling cocktail. But not something one might have with poached fish or risotto. The Italians haven’t made Prosecco into a premium brand. In Italy that should be the role of Franciacorta, and for those who are in the trenches of that skirmish, everyone there knows that is no easy battle. Not quite a hopeless charade, but something that has taken years of work and will require many more years.

If there is a dog in the fight against Prosecco, look to Cava. Their export business has been steadily growing in the last 30 years. From 10 million bottles in 1980 to 149 million in 2010 sent abroad. According to Alberto Mattioli (of LA STAMPA/Worldcrunch) "Coldiretti, Italy's largest farming group. Coldiretti reported that in the first nine months of 2011, 200 million of bottles of Prosecco were exported, versus 'only' 192 million of bottles of Champagne." With the O-N-D season unreported and with that time period showing the highest volume of sales, traditionally, those numbers will jump.

Renzo Montesel, trained as an agronomist in the Coneglioano-Valdobbiadene zone, now makes and excellent Prosecco DOCG from his Vigna Paradiso vineyard

What I am looking at are several things. First, Cava has shown organic, steady growth in exports and in a time when prices sensitivity is an important determining factor. The other consideration is that Cava tends towards a dry style, while Prosecco has played in to the arms of folks who love White Zinfandel and Moscato. The trash heap of wine marketing history is littered with the remains of sweet wines (Blue Nun anyone?) and with the newest foray by Johnny-come-lately marketers with sweet red and flavored reds (Chocolate being the current darling) that bus is getting pretty crowded.

Meanwhile, Champagne doles out their cases to the countries who still seek status. But the dry factor is still high up on the list of desirable qualities Champagne possesses. And Cava is no slouch in that department. Add to that the method of production is similar.

Now Cava might not be your cup of Macabeo, for folks who prefer their sparkling wines made of Chardonnay and Pinot Noir, but I would train my eye to stay on the rise of Cava. Not as a substitute for Champagne, but as a good honest product (in most cases) that screams value.

It seems the Italians are in the process of shooting themselves in the foot on that one. Not that such a factor will matter much in the trendy bars of Santa Monica or Manhattan’s meat packing district. But for the tea rooms in Omaha and Birmingham, price might be more of a consideration than style. And as anyone who has crawled around the coasts in the trendy areas, style in those circles is a moving target.

Final conclusions for now. Champagne has nothing to worry about. Cava is a good bet for continued, steady growth in the sparkling value market. And Prosecco? Where is it going in the second decade of the 21st century? Hop on the Ferris wheel and take a ride with the rest of us. I am sure of one thing; the Italian penchant for tinkering with success will provide all of us in the trade with creative challenges in the coming months and years.

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

A very complex grain of sand...

2011-12-25T00:00:00.000-06:00

...this little orb is - twirling, seething, rushing at an almost unimaginable speed through the universe. And inside it and all around it are us, thinking, feeling, worrying, hoping, laughing, crying, wishing, loving.

Merry Christmas everyone!

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

Pivot or Persevere

2011-12-22T07:26:00.025-06:00

Pan di sudore, miglior sapore

The messages emanating from the Italian peninsula in recent days have been ones of concern for their future and whether or not the average Italian will be able to live a life as their father and grandfather have. The reality is that the life their father and especially their grandfather lived wasn’t a bed of roses. Funny how the human mind forgets history so fast. Thankfully the human heart is there to redirect the course of one’s life. And in the average Italian’s life here is what I see.

I see that the world is no longer a place where one can work until 60 and then retire for the next 25 years in pursuit of leisure and pleasure. Those days are gone. They do not even seem right to me, for as we are here on earth for a short time, why spend the final 30% of one’s life resting when that is what one most likely will be doing for all eternity? Find a cause, help someone, make a difference. Pivot.

I see strikes in Italy as we had in the 1970’s making a comeback. Sciopero is once again in fashion, like skinny jeans. Wonderful. So what to do about it? If one is dependent on things like public transportation, not much. One might find a way to get to a place in a car. But with the new levies of fuel, effectively setting the base price of gas at $10 a gallon, that might not be a solution for everyone. For the folks with millions, the ones who won’t like it but will carry on driving their Bugatti (with an effective registration fee of over $100,000 a year) or their Ferrari, it will be an irritation. But it won't be a deal breaker. Both sets of problems and the people who have them will most likely have to persevere.

Already I am seeing folks coming out with price increases, effective Jan 1, 2012. These increases most likely are being drudged up because folks have absorbed the higher costs of energy, the reduced flow of capital into the hands of the average Italian. Or the lower profits that folks who are exposed with property and product and must move the juice. My sense is this: If the increases are negligible, commerce will not be disrupted. But if a country like the USA absorbs the increases and life goes on, and then there is a transportation strike and the flow of products is interrupted, be ready for a howl from the front line – the folks who drink the stuff. Or watch the demand dry up. Instantly. I have seen this cycle many times now in the last 30 years. But as I said above, the human mind forgets history. This time on the receiving end, the reality is this: the spendable dollars are less for the average American. And there are options from other parts of the world. Just wait until China starts sending their wine to America. I will say this to anyone in Italy who might be reading or listening or who gives a damn about their economic future in the USA, which at this time is the largest consuming country of wine in the world: If you ask America to persevere and they don’t, be prepared to pivot – in a nanosecond.

I have written tirelessly on this site for years about what I think the Italian should do or not do. And in this time I have seen an evolution of the way Italy goes to market. I will take no credit for that progress, as I am on a relatively minor river looking at the flow, and know my place. I love Italy and her people and her wines and as stated many times before, I have burned the boat, I am here, and here to help. An ambassador who will never get called back for the simple reason that there is no going back. I will persevere.

Lastly, this wine material is a product of earth, an agricultural process. It is affected by everything around it, as we are. It is within the realm of the Italian psyche to be sensitive to this. It’s what makes Italy so special, to me and millions of us throughout history. Please do not lose that special characteristic in these challenging times. I guess what I am really saying isn’t that you should be prepared to pivot or persevere. It really looks like all of us, in 2012 and for a time, will need to be ready to pivot and persevere.

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

Please Send Me Some Wine to Love

2011-12-18T16:42:00.002-06:00

The week before the holidays and the wine and food shops across America are buzzing with people looking for food, for wine, for connection with something that descends upon humanity in these times, allows for a few moments to stop the machine, get off, and let a little fresh air in. I saw it all weekend in the stores, as we go into the final stretch of the O-N-D selling season. For Italy and her food and wine, this has been a very good year, again.

“What Chianti do you suggest to go with our spaghetti and meat ball dinner?” “Do you have that Brunello with the coat of arms that has the wings on it?” “Where is the Orvieto?” All these and many more questions are peppered at us, like at an important press conference. Except we aren’t solving the massive problems of a country. We are merely trying to help folks set their tables for their friend and their families.

Show the world how to get along,
Peace will enter when hate is gone,
But if it's not asking too much,
Please send me some wine to love.

“I’d like a really good bottle of Amarone, but I don’t want to spend more than $20. Can you help me? It’s only my dad and I who like good wine. The others don't care if it comes from a bottle or a box.” Oh, yes, dear lady, we can help you and your dad find a nice bottle of Ripasso, no problem.

“Do you have any Cava?” No, I am sorry we only have Italian wine here. “What about Prosecco then?” Yes, we can do that, but how about a Franciacorta? “I thought you said you only had Italian wines?” And then we tell the story, for at this juncture she has stepped into the web and cannot get loose until we place a bottle of Saten in her hands. It’s that simple.

“I really love Negro Amaro, but I want one that is truly Italian. I don’t want one that had been made to taste like a Merlot.” Yes we can. Or we can give you also a stunning Primitivo that has been made the same way for generations, since before electricity and television, airplanes and the World Wide Web. “Give me two of each. Thank you.” Simpler yet.

“I need a Pinot Nero.” Sorry, all of ours say Pinot Noir now. “But it isn’t the same, those Neros from Southern Italy are so much better.” Ah, the light goes on. They aren’t looking for Pinot Noir; they are looking for Nero d’Avola. We forget how confusing this Italian wine business can be. Fortunately we have Italian wine whisperers on the floor to help you get what you need and want. Effortlessly.

Just because I'm in misery.
I'm not begging for no sympathy.
But if it's not asking too much,
Just send me some wine to love.

There were more than a few Zen moments this weekend, when folks who have so many other things on their minds were just looking for some wine to love

“I just had this Barbera at a new restaurant with a funny name.” The wine? Or the restaurant? “Both!” Ah, you had the Bava at Zio Cecio’s. “Yes, how did you know?” A little angel whispered it into my ear.

“That 4.99 wine can’t be much good, could it?” That 4.99 wine should be 11.99. But we don’t know how to sell it to Americans. So we are discounting it while it is still good. Our gift to you. “Let me have a case.”

Another person comes by the stack. "Let me have one too. I love this wine. I hope you won’t run out of this soon.” I hope we do, at least before it goes to a point where it is not at its best. You might want to take a second case, while it is here in front of you. “I normally don’t, but you might be right.” In this case, trust me, I am. Unfortunately. But at least this wine will warm someone’s heart this holiday season. Better than spending another summer in a warehouse getting warmed itself.

“I need Vin Santo.” “I need some Moscato.” “Where is the Brunello section?” “Do you have Barolo Chinato?” Be still my beating heart, did someone say Chinato? There is a God, indeed.

Yes, the season is peaking and winding down all at the same time. Nothing like a photo finish. We’ll be dead tired. We’ll win a few, we’ll lose a few. But we will keep the world safe a little longer for Italian wines.

Heaven please send to all mankind,
Understanding and peace of mind,
And if it's not asking too much,
Please send me some wine to love.

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

Lyrics "sampled" from the genius that was Percy Mayfield

Three Wise Wines

2011-12-15T23:59:00.009-06:00

From the "I'm Dreaming of a White (Wine) Christmas" Collection

In the traditions of the wine world, the conventional wisdom has been that the real serious wines are red. Old wine books push the adage, “The first duty of wine is to be red.” And scores of wine connoisseurs wandered into Burgundy or Bordeaux, Piedmont or Tuscany. But the times they are a changing.

For all of my wishing, I have hoped to be one of those types, where red wine was placed high on an altar so I could too worship it. And I do love red wine. This evening we sampled an Etna Rosso next to a Chateauneuf du Pape. But I cannot get over how much I love white wine. I really have affection for cool, crisp, luscious wines. They seem to go with the foods I love and I never have enough of them around the house.

Here are three wines that I do hope to have around for the holidays. Please read on.

I met this wine in the Maremma this summer. Literally when I was on a hill watching the sheep grazing. Actually, when I came back home to the US and tried this wine, the Aia Vecchia Vermentino, I was stunned that the wine smelled exactly like where I had just been. The winery was a hop and a skip over the hill from where I was staying. Maybe there is something to this terroir business my French colleagues always tell me about. If so, this wine has it and for a wine that sells well below $10 on the retail shelves it’s nothing short of a revelation. Fragrant but firm bouquet, a little dusty and filled with sage like hints. Scratchy-dry and crisp on the entry, the bling of acidity ringing through the cave of the palate. Not overly alcoholic, refreshing and ultimately quenchable.

My white wine epiphany came from this wine, Damilano Arneis, during an outside concert, a Beatle’s Cover band was playing. I had made some of my Italian style baked chicken (breadcrumbs, Parmigiano and olive oil) and brought it to the picnic blanket. The band was playing “Love Me Do”, and boy did I love the combination of the chicken with the Arneis. The wine has this ethereal shimmer of slightly green hue, like the Marfa lights before the dawn. Absolutely out of this world. The fragrance is like a newly bathed baby, all cuddly and delicious smelling, you know, like when you just want to eat it all up? In the flavors, it is, medium-weighted, has good texture and fills the palate. But it doesn't over deliver. It is subtle, waiting for the palate to meet the precious juice. Very Continental and cool. And then the grand waltz, the marriage, when the food is matched. Like I said, there ain't nothing better than a platter of baked (or fried) chicken. Man do I love that wine. You can find it in the retail world for under $20.

Lastly, a wine I fell hard for this summer. From Apulia and the Li Veli winery. Like the hikers who accidentally found the 30,000 year old cave paintings in France a while back, so too, winemakers in Italy have been rediscovering some of their ancient patrimony. This wine is one of those survivors. I don’t know how to describe it, but when I tasted this wine it transported me into a time that could have been 500 or 5,000 years ago. It spoke of the Ages, it told all the stories the Ancients muttered in their time. It is a weighty solemn wine in what it holds but not in how it delivers. Cicero would have loved this wine. Hell, Cicero did love this wine! What else can I say? You may never find that beautiful Italian lover, the opportunity might be past or it might never be something you will ever have happen to you. But for under $20 you can have a wine that will love you and never, ever leave you.

The light is shining in the Eastern sky. The wines are waiting to present you with their gifts. Now, go get you some. Cheers!

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

All in the (Italian Wine) Family

2011-12-11T20:59:00.019-06:00

From the archives - posted 12/27/09

The temperature was barely above freezing when I took a longer than intended run today. When I got back home, there was a message on my voice mail, from my friend Cassandra in Italy. “Alfonso, where are you? I need to talk to someone who I am so close to but not related by blood.” I could tell by the tone of her voice that this would be a long talk. So I poured myself some tea and called her.

Cassandra (not real name) and I met in Italy when we were in our 20’s. Her family is in the wine business (among others) and whenever there is some little piece of information I must know (or verify) Cassandra is usually the one I call. She is a no B.S. person, very passionate and loved by her friends, whom she is fiercely loyal to. In my view, I would punctuate that with a “to a fault.” She and I never were romantic; we both saw that we were much too alike and that it would be best if we didn’t go down that road. Thankfully that short and wise moment of otherwise testosterone-laden youth has served us well. We have remained close friends for many years.

Her family has holdings in the Central part of Italy (where she lives) as well as in the South and the North along with vineyards in Europe and the New World. They have made some great wines and they have made some terrible wines. Cassandra has been involved in wine over the years. Today she is less engaged in the day-to-day business. She has resources and dreams and she intends to realize some of them. But lately she has seemed to be a little pre-occupied with her family, so it didn’t come as a big surprise that she wanted to talk to me about them, especially during a holiday when so much of what we perceive family to be is put under a big microscope to be fully revealed. I had no idea if she was going to drop a bombshell on me.

I called Cassandra; she had just awakened from an afternoon nap, where she had fallen asleep by a warm fire. It was cold in her part of the world and she was curled up with a book and a hearth and had promptly fallen asleep. But she wanted very much to talk.

“I am reviewing my family life- my parents, my sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, nieces, grandparents, children, all of them- and my relation to them now.” Her father was still very much alive. He was always traveling somewhere for the family. Her sister had married a man who was an outsider but who had done very well for himself and had taken a large part of the family business to international scale. “But Cassandra, tell me, you sounded stressed on your voice message, what is going on?”

She took what sounded like a deep breath and proceeded to tell me all.

“I don’t think my family likes me. I don’t know what I have done to them. I have been a loyal daughter, usually doing what I have been told to do. But I have this independent streak; you know it so well, Alfonso. And because of it, it seems I have never done what my family thought I should do, even when I have been successful. My brothers and sisters and I seldom talk, and when we do it seems like we are playing pretend, like we are being polite because we know we must be. But there is no depth to our talks. I feel as though they have all built a moat around their life and they control who gets in. My nephews are growing up and they seem to be so, what is the word I have heard you say in English, they think they have it coming?”

“Entitled?” I ask.

“Yes.” She continued. “They have these fancy BMVoos and Prada and Dolce & Gabbana and they have so much arrogance for anyone who is older or even thinks different. What has happened to Italy and the family?”

I didn’t know if it was a rhetorical question but I knew Cassandra would continue. I just wanted to focus her a little. “Cassandra, what is going on with your son, is he ok?”

“Alfonso, he is the dear light of my life. When my husband died (tragically, some say perhaps not so accidental) he took it so hard. He became very dark and not willing to share his feelings. But he is a grown up person. What can I do? When my father calls him and he doesn't call him back, I must listen to my father tell me that the young people of today have lost all their respect. But my father was never available, emotionally, for him or for me. And then there is the subtle way my father turns the conversation into a criticism of my parenting. And then I am caught between the two of them, grandson and grandfather, who are both so much alike, but will never look into each other’s eyes. And then it is all my fault.”

“And the wine business, Cassandra, what about it?”

“Alfonso, you know what is going on it Italy right now – you read the reports – do you remember what I told you back when the Brunello scandal was just surfacing, that this was just the edge of a very big knife that would be found sticking through the body of the Italian wine industry? And here we are now, with another large corruption looming. Not good.”

“What about your sister and her husband and the business? Are they affected?” I don’t know why I asked her, I guess I was trying to get her to talk through the whole family thing.

“They are like that little quote from Gattopardo that you love to recite, when the Jesuit tells the Prince, ‘Excellency, the efficacy of confession consists not only in telling our sins but in being sorry for them.’ They are so removed from their sins, by their wealth and their moats, that they feel no compunction to even confess. So it is a big mess. My dear sister is from the old school, she doesn’t like to make any waves and why should she? She can ski in the Alps during the winter holidays and tan all summer on the Costa Smeralda with her grandchildren, playing in the water and eating insalata di polipo with Vermentino from her little vineyard. Why should anything change in her way of doing things?”

“No, really what I see now, is that everyone in my family had gone on to live their lives as if the other members of their family should fit an image they have. And if they don’t fit in that frame, they don’t go on the wall in the gallery. They don’t stay part of their family. Young and old, the Italian family in Italy has disintegrated to a wall of Venetian plaster with pretty little pictures of people as we see them, not always as they are. And in my case, I know I do not exist in their reality. And why should I? I am single without a mate; my children are grown up and flung across the world. Our lives rarely intersect, except at a funeral or when the Cardinal summons us to a Mass or a meal. We say to each other ‘I love you,’ before we close the phone, but we don’t act like we really love each other any more.”

This was getting dark. I know the holidays are a rough time for people, I have had my share of challenges lately, but Cassandra was starting to worry me. Here was an accomplished, loving person who thought that her family neither liked her nor loved her anymore. And I really didn’t know what to tell her. I mean, what can one say, make something up from the Rod McKuen play book? None the less, I took a stab at it.

“Look Cassandra, you are better served by the love you give than by the love you receive. And you are a lover of life. I know this is hard for you, you have lost a lot in your short life, but you have your health and you aren’t worried about having enough wood to make a fire to keep you warm at night. You are in a low period right now, and it seems the world might be in a low period with you. But you will not climb out of this pit with a rope thrown to bring you up. You were never this way, and you will not be this way now. You know what you must do, don’t you?” I was trying a little tough love with a huge dose of giddy-up, gal you can do it.

“Amica, I will be in Italy soon. And I must come to your region; it has been a few years since I laid some tulips on the grave of my dear wife, Liz. When I do, please lets spend a day or two together, talking this over. I want to help you as much as I can.”

Maybe that was all she really needed. Not judgment, not to ignore her completely like it seemed her whole blood-family had during this holiday. But a sincere acceptance of who she was and the promise of another day, soon, when we could talk, maybe over a same fire, for as long as she needed.

“I so would love that, Alfonso. You are a friend who knows what I have gone through. And life doesn’t just let up; it keeps throwing things at you. I know I must be strong and love even when I don’t feel it coming back to me. And I will be patient. And when you come, we will have your favorite polenta in that rustic style like we do in the hills, with the wild salad and that wonderful rough red wine with the color of the martyred saints that we first drank, so many years ago when we first met. I will wait for you until then. Ciao, mitico.”

Cassandra struck a cord - the universal desire to be loved. How extraordinary it is the person who gives and gives and asks for nothing in return. In Italy they are called Saints.

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

The Million Point March

2011-12-08T01:08:00.009-06:00

In the early 1980’s in the United States, the practice of selling wine in the trade was a fairly simple process. You made an appointment (or had a set appointment time) and you took wines into the account, showed them, often tasting them, and then talked about them and tried to get an order. There weren’t a lot of third party endorsements, reviews, sales aids. There were a few writers; Finigan, Balzer, Connoisseurs Guide, a little newspaper coming on called the Wine Spectator, Hugh Johnson, Gerald Asher, Michael Broadbent, and a handful of historical books. But it was pretty slim pickin's. That said, many folks were well read, reasonably educated, fairly open minded. And ready for whatever could help them sell more wine. And then a young lawyer from Maryland came on the scene with his newsletter, aptly named The Wine Advocate. And the race for the high scoring wines began.

The Wine Spectator joined the race, as did the Wine Enthusiast, and before long shelf talkers started appearing with numbers on them. At first anything over 85 was good. And then it was 87, then 89. And then the scores started climbing into the 90’s. Before long if a wine didn’t have the magic 90+ score, it seemed the wine just wouldn’t sell. In reality there were plenty of wines that didn’t score 90; there were still folks who sold the wines on their merits and there were tasters who wanted to form their own judgments. But then a lot of folks started getting into the wine game. 60 minutes did a report on the French Paradox, and before you knew it, folks were talking about wine. In the 1990's, even Jerry Seinfeld was making jokes about Pinot Grigio.

The Wine Enthusiast grew; the Wine Spectator grew even larger. But the Wine Advocate, “Parker” was the gold standard. It was a pivotal time. Wine sales were climbing; more people were drinking wine, coming over from “brown goods”. Women loved wine, shopped for it, daily. Oddly, women didn’t flock to a wine because of the score. They loved the story, the label, the name. The points, that was something men loved.

Men love scores. they pore over ballgames and labor over every point. And so it was wine won them, because they didn’t have to study wine extensively or taste though the panorama of wines across the planet to find those special wines they should cellar. It was a simple formula - find the high scoring wines from Bordeaux, Burgundy, Napa, Tuscany, Piedmont, Walla Walla, anywhere there was a 90+ wine there was an opportunity to fast track a personal wine collection to prominence. Possibly a vault for future riches, an investment vehicle that, if wine as an investment went south, would still bring pleasure to the owner, the collector. And it worked. And the critics, Robert Parker the prominent one among them, became powerful and wealthy and influential. Hell, he changed the way folks made wine in France, in Italy, in California, in Australia, in Argentina, all over the world. Never in the history of wine had one person in so short a time spearheaded a frenzy of winemaking (and styling) focused on attaining the highest possible score. A few even made it to 100 points – these were the perfect wines – the Golden Fleece. A lot of people made money; their careers (and salaries) intensified. It was an exciting time, an historical era.

But there comes that time when one can have enough of a good thing. The events of Sept 11, 2001, the economic meltdown, the globalization of communication, the growing influence of the blogosphere, a perfect storm hovering over a confluence of unrelated events that has forced the world to change. And just like that, a wine with 90 points just doesn’t seem to be as important as it once did. But it did get us to a plateau of appreciation and intensity. And Robert Parker has been a major force in getting the wine business there.

Is Parker now like Moses, who can only look upon the Promised Land as he watches his people go forward without him?

I don’t know what’s in store for him; he is the one in control of his destiny. Unlike Moses, however, I imagine his life, from this point, will follow a course in which he might pursue his desires in a slightly less critical manner. He’s earned it. He’s exposed his body (and his palate) to an onslaught of pleasures that while to the man on the street might seem like the ultimate pleasures, in such large doses can be quite fatiguing. I do not envy Antonio Galloni and his colleagues the task they have in their future.

As for Parker, wherever the road leads him, his career has been a million point march. And his feet, and his tongue, and his body must be ready for a (well deserved) cool down period.

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

Photos by Stanley Kubrick. Courtesy of Museum of the City of New York

The Italian Wine List in America

2011-12-04T13:30:00.002-06:00

From the "Knick-knack paddywhack" dept.

The setting: A hip Italian neighborhood restaurant, once upon a time in America.
The clientele: Well-traveled, well-heeled, conservative but adventurous with food.
The chef: Inspired, deft touch. Hails from the neighborhood; sensitive to the seasons and the spirit of Italy.
The wine buyer: Newish, youngish, enjoys big wines; is not from the neighborhood.
The challenge: fitting the sensibilities of the chef, the expectations of the clientele, the tastes of the wine buyer and trying to make it all work in harmony.

I am setting up this scenario, an amalgam of places I have noticed, from Park Slope, Brooklyn to San Francisco, California (and places in between) in order to try to understand how something like this can work best.

Let’s say this is not a classic Italian place, for which there might be other factors, such as a well established wine cellar, a clientele who are used to certain things and don’t want to see much change in them. After all there is a place for vitello tonnato and Gavi. Or pasta Bolognese with a hearty red wine.

But let’s say the chef is capturing all that is correct about La Cucina Italiana in that he/she understands food has a season, that simplicity is preferable and that there should be clearly focused flavors and a harmony on the plate. If one understands that, it is my belief, then a chef can make a dish that may not resemble the food we see coming out of a kitchen in Italy, but still encompasses the spirit of the Italian kitchen. I have seen it many times in America. Likewise I have seen kitchens in Italy, where the chef tried to elaborate a bit too far, stretch the ingredient list one (or two) too many for the plate he/she has trying to create. Yes I have seen disasters in Italian restaurants. But usually there was a wine to rescue the dish, or the evening from being a total loss.

But what if a chef in America passes all the tests and the wine list doesn’t harmonizes with his or her philosophy?

That is a trend I am seeing. Why? Well the easy answer is that we have a slew of young wine buyers who just do not have enough life experience. Chances are they have never (or seldom) been to Italy and experienced the magic of the Italian table, including the wine component. In Italy, wine is seamless in the event of dining. It isn’t a religious experience, but it is something, which without it, the meal would be incomplete.

If the wine buyer doesn’t have that frame of reference, he or she will have to turn to other points of inspiration: Wine reviews, high scoring wines, wines that are more recognizable, wines that fit a price point. Wines that resonate with the wine buyer.

But if the wine buyer was brought up on Jif ‘n jam, or beans and rice, or steak and potatoes, their palate might have been imprinted with a whole different set of expectations in the beverage department. And if growing up they drank Pepsi, or sweet tea, or Fanta Orange, then that could take a certain amount of deprogramming. I’m not saying those things are bad. But they aren’t part of the Italian experience and a wine buyer needs to separate their personal experience from what the goal of the restaurant is. Or get in sync with the mind of the chef, the philosophy of the food. And that takes letting go of ego, and having what they call in certain circles, a teachable spirit. And the education experience in America doesn’t quite exactly engender that attitude. Not to say there aren’t people who are ”naturals”. But I have seen enough disconnects lately that if I were an Italian winery, I might be having second thoughts about where I’d import my wines in America.

How does this manifest itself in the real world? First, I get a fair amount of input from salespeople that their clients (wine buyers) are looking for “Super Tuscans”. That’s like code for an “Italian Silver Oak.” I also get my share or queries looking for a list of “Big Barolos:, which translates out as “Brawny Italian Pinot Noirs”. Furthermore, I get a lot of people looking for “Amarones and Ripassos”, which is deciphered as “Give me something big to go with the Chesapeake Bay scallops the chef just brought in”. That really happened, you ask? You have to ask?

Maybe it’s because I like Italian whites so much that this really has come home to me as a problem. But I do like red wine too. I love Nebbiolo, just don’t think of it as “big”. High acid, yes. Tannic? When they don’t overuse oak, no, the tannins aren’t out of control, generally. And I love wines from Tuscany. I can think of nothing better than a beautiful little traditional Chianti, let’s say from Querciavalle or Selvapiana, to name just two, that age well, drink beautifully when they are young and are expressive enough to take on a bistecca fiorentina but wouldn’t fight a nice grilled fish from the nearby sea. There are wines available, I am just not sure they are the gateway wines the young wine buyers have first contract with. And that is a subject for another post in the future.

Is this a problem? Do any of you see this problem as I do? Do you have other views, points of reference, comments? Do you have some spots, which you know of, that are getting it right, knocking it out of the park? Please inspire us. I know there are many who'd love to hear your comments.

written and photographed (in Marfa and Big Bend, Texas) by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

The 31st Dec 1

2011-12-01T22:44:00.005-06:00

James Di Carlo delivers the pies

Do you ever have one of those weeks when all you can say is “What do you say?” Well, let me tell you, this has been one of those weeks. We entered into the final month of the O-N-D wine selling season and we are just hitting our stride. Lots going on. Let’s get right into it.

First off, I was with a young salesman in an account today and I told him that Dec 1 was traditionally the busiest day of the year. “Traditionally?” he asked. “Yes” I replied. “That’s so old school.” Uh hum, that it would be. But that’s where my ship launched from and I’m now sailing into my 31st Dec 1. I still get that surge of energy, that certain butterfly in the stomach feeling when Dec 1 rolls around. Call me old school.

Earlier in the week, one of my Italian colleagues, Giulio Galli (great wine name) flew into town for a night of Franciacorta, Sangiovese and pizza at, where else, Jimmy’s. We sold a boat load of wine and violated any number of weightwatcher rules that night.

Photo styling by Salvador Dali

A couple of notes. The back room at Jimmy’s looks so warm and wonderful in the pictures. It makes me really step back and look at the phenomenon that room has become in my life. Anybody who is anybody in the Italian wine business comes through that room. It’s like a birthing room for Italian wine royalty. Anyway, I’ve said it before (and likely I will said it many more times on this blog) – places like the Circolo del Vino (the back room at Jimmy’s) is one of the wonderful confluences of wine and people and food and great, great memories. I love that place.

Lidia pouring Vespa Bianco to some of the staff at the Mozzarella Company

The next day I had the occasion to take some wine to my friend Paula Lambert, not far from Jimmy’s. I have been working with Paula since 1982, when I had olive oil from Tuscany I used to sell her. Now we trade Hoja Santa leaves for cheese and Paula promotes local growers and homemade cheese. Anyway, that day Lidia Bastianich rolled through town on a book tour and she spent the afternoon making cheese with Paula and a few friends. Bob Long ( remember Long Vineyards?) popped in, surprise! We sipped on the wines from Lidia’s vineyards in Friuli and also the Maremma property.. Lidia asked me where my mom was, She wants to talk to her now. Great photo opps, cheese to die for and again, that warm and fuzzy feeling one shouldn't really be having this time of the year. After all it is the high season. But maybe this really is what O-N-D is about. Well, this week, it was.

Lidia, Paula and Bob Long

I could get into a couple of things that are buzzing around my brain, but I don’t want to go there right now. Y’all know I am like clockwork and will elaborate in subsequent posts. But the teaser. One of the things rattling around the old cranium is the idea that Italian wine hasn’t really claimed its rightful place on the Italian table in restaurants around this country. I see disconnects between, let’s say, the deft touch of a chef who has dialed into the Italian sensitivity and his wine director who is young and inexperienced and is looking for gutsy throaty, high octane wines from Italy. Mind you they exist. They just don’t go with every kind of Italian food. And so that is something I am concerned with and am working on. Hell, it’s a freakin’ battleground for me.

Weekly breakfast meeting with one of the old school guys

The other is this sense I have, especially with larger distributors, that they dumb down the Italian experience for their clients. And yes, I know I work for a large distrib. But this week I ran smack dab into the “other” larger distributor’s messes. It seems they have the Italian experience boiled it down to two wines – Chianti (Ruffino or Antinori) and Pinot Grigio (St. Margherita) and of course now Prosecco and Moscato. Make that four wines. The largest import wine country sending wine to America. Four wines. Big whoop.But by and large they (and we, all of us who allow that to continue) are complicit in the dumbing down of Italian wine on the American table. And I, for one, am damn sick and tired of the continuing splay of simple-stupid solutions. So there will be more. In the meantime, off the soapbox and back onto the couch. And good night to all y’all.

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

So glad our paths crossed in this world, Doc.

2011-11-29T23:09:00.003-06:00

There are all kinds of people one encounters on the wine trail, but once in a while one comes upon one of the gentle souls. Arthur Levine was one of those.

I met Dr. Levine many years ago at a wine tasting and we hit it off. He was frank, funny and didn’t take himself too seriously. He was a bit self-deprecating and he had a wonderful wife, Harriet. She looked like Janet Leigh’s twin.

They both loved food and wine and banter and people.

A few years ago Arthur had me over to their house for a sip of wine. My wife had recently died and he was trying to pull me out of the rabbit hole I’d scrambled into. He was such a kind man. It was then that he told me he’d just been diagnosed with cancer. Being a doctor (and a scientist) he was pretty brutal with himself in regards to the diagnosis. Something he would have never done to his patients, but in regards to his condition he faced it, fought it and kept it at bay for some time. I saw Arthur last month at the Farmers Market Hoedown at Fair Park's Food & Fiber Pavilion. I went over and sat with him for a spell.

“So how’s it going Doc? That nasty old cancer hasn’t taken you out yet.” We always played fast and loose when talking about death. “Yes, I’m running fast but they’re gaining on me,” he replied. We shared a glass of wine and spent a few minutes visiting before I was called back to doing something over on the other side of the building. He looked well, but he was a lousy liar.

Arthur passed away this weekend. The obit is here. It really got to me today. The good news is that Arthur lived 89 years, 61 with an incredible woman. They had a large and lovely family. And he had a good life and was filled with happiness. And he passed his happiness along to those who met him with an open heart. I will really miss Arthur, as I think many in the Dallas wine scene will also. He was one of the good guys and will be sorely missed.

Happy trails, dear friend, may your memory be a blessing to all who knew and loved you.

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

Interviewing Marty

2011-11-27T12:36:00.005-06:00

If there is one person I could sit down and share a bottle of Italian wine with and talk to for an afternoon, Martin Scorsese has to be at the top of that list. I am an unabashed fan of his movies. When I get puny there are two things I want: home made chicken soup and a stack of Scorsese films, starting with Goodfellas. I love his energy, his passion and the way he has captured the American spirit and the Italian-American experience in his films. They are gritty, they are harsh and often they are crude. But they come from the streets. I have walked some of those streets; I feel his films in my bones.

So with a nice bottle or two of Sicilian wine, some Rapitala, a little Regaleali, maybe an Etna Rosso, if I could sit down and talk with Mr. Scorsese, I would love to. Until then, I must have a conversation with him by way of the dialogue (in italics) in films such as Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Goodfellas, The Age of Innocence, The King of Comedy, Gangs of New York, The Departed, The Aviator and The Last Temptation of Christ. So, dear reader, no, this is not an actual interview, but one made up, as it is done in the blogosphere, exercising a little creativity and wasting a lot of time.

Q. Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Scorsese and sharing a bottle or two of wine and an afternoon. What brings you to Dallas?

A. "You talkin' to me?"

Q. Why yes, I was just wondering if you’d like to start with a red, a white or a rosé?

A. You wanted to say hello, eh? I can't believe it. When did you fallouta heaven? Anyone ever tell you you're the most beautiful one here, princess of the pool. You got a baby face. Look at mine. Whatcha wanna meet me for?

Q. Not sure I follow you Mr. Scorsese.

A. Call me Marty. As a matter of fact, that's why I'm here. I've known about this place for a long time. I just didn't want to make my move until I had something to offer you. Everything's a question of timing.

Q. Great, where do we go from here?

A. Just listen. I'm at the start of something really big. I don't want to talk about it here but it's going to happen soon and it's going to be great -- for both of us.

Q. Well then what do you want to talk about?

A. Why didn't you just listen to the tape when I asked you? Then I wouldn't have to be doing all this. Was it really too much to expect --a few minutes of your time to listen to something I'd worked on my whole life?

Q. I did, but figured with you in town we could enjoy some wine and talk a little about it. You’re a funny man

A. What do you mean, you mean the way I talk? What?

Q. Oh jeez, I don’t want to go down that road with you Marty.

A. Mr. Scorsese to you.

Q. Ok, Mr. Scorsese, I just want to ask you this. What do you think of Italian wines?

A. A lot of holes in the desert, and a lot of problems are buried in those holes. And call me Marty.

Q. Sure, whatever you’d like. Are you saying The Italian wine industry has problems?

A. You don't make up for your sins in church. You do it in the streets. You do it at home. The rest is bullshit and you know it.

Q. So someone like Angela Gaja. You’ve had his wines? Where does he play into this?

A. He plays fast and big and he has the cash and the credit to turn out your lights. About a year ago, he cleaned out a couple of casinos in the Cayman Islands. Downstairs, he takes us for two million... and upstairs he takes free soap, shampoo and towels. Another billionaire cheapskate who loves his free rooms...

Q. Wow, maybe we should open up the bottle of Etna Rosso now?

A. You're a funny guy - but looks aren't everything.

Q. Do you read any of the wine publications? Parker, Spectator, Gambero Rosso?

A. Remember the first rule of politics. The ballots don't make the results, the counters make the results. The counters. Keep counting.

Q. Well, Marty, pretty deep. Lots of talk about the 100 point scoring scale. Is that where you’re going with this?

A. Boy, you are just hitting on all six cylinders, aren't you? My God. Would you do me a favor and just? Would you just smile for me one time? Just once?

Q. Uh , sure. Say this wine is pretty good don’t you think?

A. I don't know what to say to you... The Empire State in fog means something, don't it? Do you know, or don't you? Well, you should know, damn it, or who else would know?

At this point we take a break…Marty needs to return a call and a young lady came into my office to give me a report.

Q. Ok, Marty, so where do we go from here?

A. Listen, try a place with some sun. Swimming pools. Palm trees. Girls. I don't know what to say to you... . There's a girl here. I'm gonna show her around the house. Why don't you just finish your wine?

Q. You don’t like the wine? It’s Sicilian.

A. Look, friend. I'm trying to have a nice civilized conversation with the young lady. Be a good little lad, huh, and give us a break.

Q. Uh sure, but isn't she a little young for you?

A. What should I say? Silence is good, it says everything. Listen to me. What do you think the Kingdom of Heaven's like? It's like a wedding. God's the Bridegroom and Man's soul is the Bride. The wedding takes place in Heaven and everyone's invited.

Q. Yeah, I like the wine too. Do you ever drink Brunello?

A. I think we should look at reality, not dreams.

Q. Tuscany isn’t real?

A. Better to be King for a Night than Schmuck for a Lifetime.

Q. Well uh, you got me there. A lot of important folks have set up shop in Montalcino. Even Antinori.

A. Yeah, I like him too, I just hate his taste in music.

Q. Maybe we should open up a bottle of Barolo? Or Amarone? What would suit you?

A. Today, everything is different. There's no action. I have to wait around like everyone else. Can't even get decent food. Right after I got here, I ordered some spaghetti with marinara sauce and I got egg noodles and ketchup.

Q. I’m sure it isn’t like that all the time for you. I mean you’re an “A” list guy. Like Clooney.

A. He was here before. I saw him. He had a suitcase and everything, and then he left.

Q. I don’t know what you are talking about.

A. Look at it this way. A man takes a job, you know? And that job - I mean, like that - That becomes what he is. You know, like - You do a thing and that's what you are.

Q. Are you saying my work, my life, is a joke?

A. I'll tell you why. I think you're a lonely person. I drive by this place a lot and I see you here. I see a lot of people around you. And I see all these phones and all this stuff on your desk. It means nothing. Then when I came inside and I met you, I saw in your eyes and I saw the way you carried yourself that you're not a happy person. And I think you need something. And if you want to call it a friend, you can call it a friend.

Q. Man, you are as intense as my pal in Hollywood told me you would be.

A. Afterwards, you'll thank me.

Q, No doubt. So lets talk about Brunello. I know you’ve been scouting a movie location in Tuscany.

A. In the fifties when the communists started in with this country and they tried to clean them out, we offered to do it for them...but they didn't want us to...so we kept out of it.

Q. Brunello. Thoughts?

A. The appearance of law must be upheld, especially when it's being broken.

Q. Ezio Rivella?

A. Yeah, he had a foolproof scheme, all right. It wasn't very scientific but it worked. When he won, he collected.

Q. Did you meet him in Tuscany? What did he say?

A. He said, “We're not getting any younger. Don't you think it's time? Aren't you gettin' tired of all this shit?Bangin' around, hustlin' around?

Q. So you went under cover in Tuscany?

A. Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses? Kissing with inside lip? Stopping the career of laughter with a sign? -- A note infallible of breaking honesty -- horsing foot on foot? Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift? Hours, minutes? Noon, midnight? and all eyes blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only, that would unseen be wicked? Is this nothing? Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing; the covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, if this be nothing." -- That's from something called "The Winter's Tale" -- Shakespeare! You all remember Shakespeare. He wrote all them famous plays one after the other, then he went into a big slump and he ain't done anything good in years. That speech is about jealousy -- jealousy's a bad thing.

Q. True. But somewhat of an Italian affliction. Anything else you heard from Rivella?

A. Just to hear him say, “I need ten thousand dollars. My lawyer says if we can spread ten thousand bucks around, we can get the case dropped.”

Q. So the film in Tuscany will be about Brunello? Wine?

A. Why don't you stick your goddamn head out of the goddamn window once in a while and find out about the goddamn fog!

Q. Sorry, Mr. Scorsese, I didn’t mean to touch a nerve

A. Romans can't find carpenters to make crosses. Except for you. You throw yourself into it like a madman. Everybody thinks you're crazy. But not me. I can see through this act of yours. Fainting, hearing voices, having visions. Everyone thinks you're a madman. But I know what your are. You're an enemy. You're worse than the Romans. You're a Jew who's killing Jews. And you're not ashamed. You don't even have any pride.

Q. Actually Marty, I’m an Italian American, like you.

A. Oh, I see. You sit out there all day with the others. Then you come in there with your head bowed, saying 'Forgive me, forgive me.' Well it's not that easy. Just because you need forgiveness don't ask me to do it

Q. I don’t quite follow you.

A. I'm sorry if I have to tell you stories. But is seems to be the only way I can tell you what I have to.

Q. And a great story teller you are, sir. We’ve polished off two bottles of Sicilian wine, a Brunello, a Barolo and we are finishing up a half bottle of Recioto della Valpolicella. Any parting words?

A. I'm you. I'm your heart. Your heart is so hungry. It pretends to be humble but it secretly wants to conquer the world. It's a revolution that will come with love, not by the sword. Either way it's dangerous. It's against Rome. It's against the way the world is. And either way, I don't care. Sword or love, it's all the same. I don't care how you want to change things. We don't want them changed. So you know what has to happen.

Q. Thank you Mr. Scorsese. I hope to share a bottle with again, maybe next time in reality.

A. As a matter of fact, yesterday I went to the outdoor market near where I live and I bought twenty grapefruit.The grocer looked at me and said, "What are you gonna do with all those?” So I bent over and told him (in a confidential tone) "I'm gonna take 'em back to Florida and set 'em free!"

photo by Tyler Durdan

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

Thank You, Italy

2011-11-24T08:31:00.003-06:00

1) Thank you for the wonderful variety of your sparkling wines, especially the ones from Lombardia, Trentino and the Veneto. Franciacorta is a delicious wine for food, for pleasure and for more than just special occasions. Thank you for not thinking you have to be Champagne and forging ahead with your own sparkling destinies.

2) Thank you for the bright and mineral rich white wines of the Alto Adige and Friuli. I love your whites, whether it be Sauvignon or Kerner, Friulano or Sylvaner.

3) Thank you for the fruit driven Montepulciano wines from Abruzzo. For many of us who cut our teeth on field blends from California, Montepulciano is a taste that hearkens back to the roots of many of us reared in the West. And thank you when you let Montepulciano be Montepulciano; not Cabernet, Merlot or Pinot Noir.

4) Thank you for Aglianico. I cannot think of another wine from the South of Italy I have enjoyed so much over the years, especially from Basilicata.

5) Thank you Sicily for finally getting Etna wines back out there. Thank you for letting the terroir driven wines be exactly what they are – highly acidic, minerally, rich but with an elegant austerity. Probably my next love of red wine from the South.

6) Thank you for the red wines of Piedmont, from Grignolino to Dolcetto to Barbera to Nebbiolo. These wines are constant companions on my table and are a joy to drink and to grace the Italian table.

7) Thank you for the extreme wine regions of Liguria, Valle D’Aosta and Valtellina. While the wines from these regions don’t make their way to America as well as the other more popular regions like Piedmont, Veneto, Tuscany and Sicily, these are an important part of the patrimony of Italy; they are wonderful wines from dramatic vineyard locations the likes of which are seen in other places like the Mosel and the Douro.

8) Thank you for Tuscany. Not Chianti or Brunello, not Vernaccia or Super Tuscans.
But just plain Tuscany. For without the tourism to Tuscany, Italian wines wouldn’t be as well received in the world as they are. And while many like to poo-poo Tuscany as sell outs and an older established wine region, they brought Italian wine to the American table early on in the game.

9) Thank you for Soave, Frascati, Verdicchio and Pinot Grigio. Even though much is now commercial and industrial, there can be found many examples of superb white wine from these appellations. And they brought many folks into the Italian genre – they were the gateways. Thank you

10) And thank you for the souls that you send to America to tell the story of the ever changing Italian wine landscape and philosophies. There is no other place in the world like Italy and Italian wines are part of that unique expression of Italianità. Thank you!

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

The First Thanksgiving

2011-11-20T15:57:00.007-06:00

Thanksgiving 1976. My son had just been born, we were living in Altadena and I was working in Pasadena at a restaurant known as The Chronicle. I had been working there a few months as a server. Dressed in a uniform (essentially a tuxedo outfit without the jacket, and was allowed to keep my hair and mustache). The main clientele, it seemed at the time, were wealthy and very conservative types. “Business and social elite”, I think it has been described as. The restaurant was mere miles from a John Birch Society office.Moderate conservatives were considered liberal in that neighborhood.

I remember working the restaurant the night Jimmy Carter was elected. We had just gone through the Bicentennial year, and Jerry Ford, who had stepped into office when Nixon was forced to resign, was running against Carter. But early on, with polling stations already closed on the East Coast, and this being dinnertime in California, we could already sense there was a change coming. The clientele were pretty upset by it and I could feel their anger and their fear. But I was young, had a new baby days away from being born and didn’t feel as wary about the future as the older establishment folks did. They had more to lose than me, I guess. I was glad for the change, always felt Jerry Ford had been thrust into a position that he really didn’t relish.

A few weeks later I was called to serve the Thanksgiving meal at The Chronicle. The restaurant was good for its day. Continental style, with California flourishes. A great wine cellar, lots of French and classic California. That’s where I first found out about Ridge. It was quite the place.

But the reason I chose to reflect about this place and that time. On with it. I was a young hopeful lad, with a young family and a life all uphill. And while I didn’t want to leave my family on our first holiday, Thanksgiving, I was compelled to work. And so I did.

What I saw that day spoiled it for me ever going out on Thanksgiving. While I was away from my new family, I was serving other families. Fixed menu – turkey with all the trimmings. Usually a turkey per table with tables being parties of four or more.

One private room I was serving in must have been a party of 6-8. Very wealthy family. Mother was an alcoholic. She was sucking down martinis like they were spritzers. She was thinish, but frail and very stern. Her husband was slightly overweight, very full of all manner of importance. The children, college aged and younger, were dressed formally, in suits, ties, and formal dress wear. I was 25, so maybe a few years older than the eldest child. But there were worlds of difference between us. They wouldn’t even look me in the eye. Not that I didn’t know my place – in the service industry it's all about that- service – and I never crossed the line in that restaurant. The unsympathetic Greek floor manager would make sure of that.

I remember serving a bottle of Ridge. It was a Zinfandel, I think a Lytton Springs. Wonderful choice, an American wine with an American dish on a so very American holiday. It was all so perfect. But why weren’t the diners enjoying themselves? Were they still upset that Jimmy Carter had won? I remember hearing a man at the bar saying something to the effect that “the country would soon be done with that peanut farmer.” I recognized the man as a regular. Bad tipper. Bad hairpiece. He also would never look me in the eye, always mumbling to me, “son get me a pack of Winstons,” as he gulped his Old Fashioned’s in anticipation of a woman (wife? mistress?) who always kept him waiting at least 45 minutes.

I did my job, listened to them gripe about Governor Jerry Brown, heard them wax nostalgic about Ronald Reagan and how much they missed him in the Governor’s mansion. I heard it all. I saw the powerful of my little city as they bit into their white breast turkey meat and dipped into the mashed potatoes with gravy. We were invisible to them, the wealthy, the powerful and for so many of them, the miserable. It bummed me out, I have to say, because the whole point of holidays, for me, was to spend it with your family. Even if you didn’t get along with all of them or see eye to eye with one another.

I remember my dad would make a big deal out my young wife and I being vegetarians. So I would eat a piece of turkey just to quiet him down, and then he’d become Archie Bunker, “See isn’t that great? America is a great place. You don’t have to starve yourself with vegetables like some poor person in Russia.” I couldn’t believe his audacity, but then I realized, years later, he had been thwarted in his life’s ambitions and that was the way the pressure escaped. Sad.

All this to say this year I will spend the holiday with the family that wants to spend it with me. My wife Liz's family, who died in 2001, we will spend the day before Thanksgiving at her sister's house with her son's, my nephews. It is a tradition. I love them. And the actual day? We will go out to my other family, Kim’s dad and her family in the country. My son will probably be a no show, but if he does show that will be nice. I hope. But I have learned not to let hope string me out. See, I am older than I was in 1976, and while I am not bitter or stern or pissed off like those folks I served on Thanksgiving in 1976, I am realistic. I wasn’t home for my son’s first Thanksgiving. I was a no show. Maybe this is payback. Maybe it’s just another day.

I hope not.

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

No Dignity in Dying

2011-11-17T01:34:00.005-06:00

We’ve all read it many times over. The obit said “Shirley died after a courageous battle with ovarian cancer.” Of course, Shirley isn’t anywhere to dispute whether she waged a battle or if it was even courageous. Having written an obituary once upon a time, I know folks stumble together a jumble of words; they’re in pain and shock and are just looking for a little way to assuage the ache. So they make mention of the deceased person's bravery in the face of insurmountable odds. But in reality, none of us are getting out of this alive, no matter how much valor and grit we gather up. We are born to live and then to go away.

I’m in a pensive mood tonight. Live with it. I’ve been doing some looking back. Over decades of joyfully carrying a wine bag into accounts, year after year, many times with wine I now am no longer associated with. But wines that still dot the various wine lists in the regions I have worked in. Not that the influence is due to my influence, if at all. In reality, the longer you are at this game, the more insignificant you come to realize you are.

I exchanged texts tonight with a young sommelier who consulted on a list for a restaurant that was recently reviewed. And while the restaurant was praised, the wine list was dinged, mainly for just being too expensive. When I looked at it for the first time tonight, I saw some selections that were under $60, but the majority of the wines were at the $100 threshold. What came as a shock to me was the Italian section – 85% of the reds were priced over $70. Sure, most were big reds from Piedmont and Tuscany. But these are not the wines we drink on a regular basis in Italy. Nor are they the wines I drink at home regularly. So where is the disconnect?

For me, the incongruity is in how Italian wines are perceived in America - as something special, as something rare, as something to consider in a moment of indulgence. Dining has become this elaborate lap dance affair. Size matters. Public display. Heavy breathing. Lots of $100 bills being thrown around.

$100. Really? Is that a winning strategy? Or is it another one of those “wine list as wardrobe malfunction” notions?

So where am I going? Let’s just say that’s not where I and many of us are going these days. Like I told him, “It’s a bitch to be misunderstood.” This I know from years of being disregarded; first by my elders and now by the younguns. So the young sommelier needs to learn the lessons the hard way. They won’t learn from my experience. Some of them don’t want to; they need to “discover” wines that go “where no man has gone before”. Pity many of these fellows haven’t had to carry around a bag of wine, up the stairs of the subway, across a West Texas pavement so hot you would burn your feet if they were bare. Through all climes and times. Yeah, 10 miles in the blinding snow. That can give one perspective on the real world we live and work in. But now it’s all become one giant Orange County Chopper-fest, some of these wine lists; and Italy is an accessory with Super Tuscan, Brunello and Barberesco(sic) options. Screw the courageous combat crap; my mentors would be rattling in their graves about now. Zombified. Night of the living dead.

Talk about a battle; all the years giants like Al Moulin and Tony LaBarba, to name just two, went to bat in really tough times (like say, 1972) for Italian wines (and French, German, Californian and more) only to have had their life’s work mutate into a collection of cult wines the likes of which many folks have never heard of, including many of those in the wine business. And many of us wine geeks at that. There was once probably a reason to go where no man had gone before. There weren’t that many wines to choose from. But now that’s all a thing of the past. We have an orgy of choices, with all the residual confusion that goes with it. Often it weighs in on the backs of the diner (taking a chunk out of their wallets in the process).

As for those who got us here? The Moseses? Their “courageous battles” laid the foundation for future generations to re-invent the wine list. Sometimes, often these new lists are an improvement. But often, they lack historical reference, that continuity with the procession of the wine trade. A backhand slap to the men and women who got it to this point? “We’ll take it from here, old man, we know what we’re doing” kind of thing.

All this to say, even after a generation of chopping in the woodshed, digging into the foxholes of the wine trade and trying to make the world a better place for Italian wine lovers, friendly fire from the newly enlisted can be as lethal as inertia. And there is just no dignity in that kind of dying.

Shirley, you must know what I mean.

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

Haven’t we had enough?

2011-11-13T13:58:00.007-06:00

With news of Berlusconi finally stepping down, I can now look towards the wine trail of the future in Italy. I am sure all manner of reforms will transpire in the coming days, months and years. One can only imagine what changes we will see in Italy in the next 5-10 years. This is my punch-list for improving the Italian wine industry:

1) Encourage wineries to harness solar and wind power on their estates. Do not make it a bureaucratic nightmare for wineries to collect wind, sun, steam and waterpower on their properties.

2) Loosen the grip that organized labor has on setting prices for drivers who pick up wine shipments at wineries and collection station. Often it is more costly to pick up 50 cases of wine from the Marche and take it to Livorno then it is to transport those same 50 cases from Livorno to New Jersey. That makes for uncompetitive pricing and only protects a small cadre of the industry; usually the wealthy folks who own the trucking lines.

3) Utilize the internet and the hyper-connectedness we all have in the developed countries to embark upon a more egalitarian way to asses the quality of wines from Italy. Rather than relying on The Wine Advocate or the Wine Spectator, or Gambero Rosso or any number of other forms of “award publications”, develop an algorithmic process by which we really arrive at a populist assessment of the quality of wines from all over Italy. Too often, the wealthy players, or the players in the wealthy regions, supersede unknown wines and wineries. Do we not have enough overpriced super Tuscans with great press already? And has that really been a viable economic solution? Maybe for the few at the top, but for the rest of Italy and her wines, this has not been a sustainable model.

4) While we are finding a way to make it easier for everyone to determine truly where the great wines are coming from in Italy (other than from the wealthiest 1/10 of the 1% of the country), perhaps we can fix the minds of Italian who think their web sites are easy to navigate. Where is Amerigo Vespucci when we need him? Well, now you really need someone(s) to get you off the addiction to Flash and cyber-bling and make it easier to find out information about your wine from a smart phone when we are in the store looking at the wine. I mean is it really that hard to list the Nebbiolo grape on your website as the grape you make your Barbaresco from? Do you think everyone knows that? Do you know how many more people might find your site if they Googled “Nebbiolo” and were directed to your site? It’s not that difficult. Oh, I know it takes away the “particularity” of your operation, makes you seem more common, more regular. Pity. Change or perish.

5) Natural, sustainable, organic, certified organic, manipulated, stylish, sexy, garagiste, mass-marketed. How many more terms do we need in this Tower of Babel that describing wine styles has become? Italy, find a way to present your wines, to your people and to the rest of the world in a way that is less confounding! Honestly, I am confused and I have been studying this for over a generation. Rather than as you have done with the appellation system (the DOC that became a political tool), we need a way to note which wine is made in a style that is easily identified on the label. Period.

6) Folks, there is no “the next Pinot Grigio”. Let Pinot Grigio go its way. If you make a Vermentino or a Falanghina, a Pecorino or a Grillo, make it the best way you can and sell it on its own merits. Not every wine is the head cheerleader. Many of us are not even attracted to cheerleaders. Stop making wines into something they aren’t. To thine own self be true.

7) Save the forests, save the money, save palate fatigue. Never, ever, will wood substitute for a well-made wine. Too often Italian wine, since the mid 1980’s, has relied on propping up a wine with wood. Barbera d’Asti, Verdicchio, even lowly Valpolicellas. This has been a silly, narcissistic maneuver and it has destroyed the lives of trees and the character of many wines. Stop doing this now. Use the money you will save to send your sons and daughters to America (and the rest of the world) as ambassadors for Italian wine, not some misplaced sense of importance masquerading as an “international style we must make to compete in the world market.” Balderdash. Complete rubbish. Bring on the revolution. Ban the barrique!

8) Italy, you are not the Georgian republic. Nor are you a country of wealthy Silicon Valley execs that are "returning to their roots" via Leeds Certified wineries with concrete eggs and bees wax free Spanish clay amphorae. If you are going to embrace antiquity, make it a better product, not a worse one. The market will sort out the rest, as it has. Gravner is not a stylistic factor in America. We tried to like his wines, but too many folks just didn’t get them. And that’s all I will say.

9) The world is not waiting for another sweet red (or white) wine from Italy. The moscato phenomenon is just that – it is white zinfandel in a mini skirt and high leather boots. It will pass. Just like Blue Nun, Thunderbird and Yago Sangria passed. Stop this lemming-like race over the cliff before a scandal halts it and taints the whole Italian wine industry (Brunellopoli was just a few years ago, did we already forget?). And while we are at it, this whole Prosecco thing is just a ridiculous extension of that Moscato-mania. You all are close to the precipice of destroying a hard-fought for category by coming out with lifeless, washed out, tasteless sparkling wines, Champagne isn’t dead; they are merely dormant. And Spain is biding their time; waiting for Italy to screw up with Prosecco, just like they did with olive oil.

10) The DOCG system. As one who has taken a person interest in this area, initiated on a challenge by a colleague to note every DOCG awarded (32 at the time when my colleague laid down the gauntlet) I now look at this parade of awarded wines and wonder if I haven’t been transported inside
a) an Umberto Eco novel,
b) a three part movie directed by Alejandro Jodorowsky, Pier Paolo Pasolini and David Lynch or
c) a very bad scientific treatise that has been co-opted by the Camorra.
This DOCG madness is just that. It is self-serving, and again, narcissistic. And Berlusconi is now gone. I suggest Italy you suspend further DOCG awards. I know you will ignore my advice.

That’s all I have for now. But I am sure there will be more in the future. Ah, Italy, always an inspiration and full of “materiel” for those of us who love you and hate to see you trip on your so very pretty shoelaces.

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

Deepends

2011-11-10T23:59:00.002-06:00

What a week for no one to care. Not that this is the reason. No, it’s more complicated than that. Looking back in the mirror, so much easier now, but in that space of time, who could resist? Life, the embodiment of the moment, the fleeting moment. Piled one upon another until ten, eleven years have passed, and ten more coming and rushing through the canyon, picking up speed before shooting towards the Big Sea.

Yesterday, thirteen years ago, the wedding. Tomorrow, 100 years ago, the birth. Along the way, tears, laughter, food, wine, sex, loss, life.

Lasagna and Sagrantino. Cerasuolo and chocolate. Franciacorta and fava beans. Cococciola and pizza bianca. Pale ale and hazel green eyes staring out from a million years ago.

What a week.

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

Finally, they are here.

2011-11-06T21:25:00.002-06:00

This all started in 2005. Roberto Bava was in town and for some reason we were hanging out. I’m not really sure how we met, but I liked that he was interested in all the things around wine besides just trying to get me to buy a bunch. After all, his wines are from Piedmont, and in 2005 that category wasn’t exactly tearing it up. The events of Sept 11, the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, the worsening world financial slump, in its early stages then. Oh, and a miserable 2002 harvest and a hot, over ripe 2003. Along with that prices were rising, for less than perfect vintages, the demand was off and let’s just say Barolo and the other reds of Piedmont weren’t a hot commodity. But Roberto Bava was unphased.

But unphased not in a “Hey, we have a great tradition, and our wines are the best in the world and we are from ancient royal lineage” way. No Robert was interested in music, in visual patterns, in seemingly unmatched intangibles making a new expression of art or culinary achievement, or a new sound. Anything but Barolo. Or so it seemed.

He was cool about it, though. Never pushy. After our first visit, sitting around the kitchen table, drinking someone else’s wine, talking about politics and art and God knows what, he went back home. A year or so later, I visited him in Italy, on my way through Piedmont for a harvest visit. We met in Asti, had dinner, drank some of his wines. He didn’t have an established importer anyway, at the time, or that whole thing was in flux. Whatever. I wasn’t in a buying mood, yet. So he let out more line, gave me some space.

For the next three years I would visit Roberto at his booth at Vinitaly. As busy as that event is for me (5 days isn’t enough) I would always find time to spend 30 minutes with Roberto. I like him, we’d talk about art or food or jazz or anything under the sun; Roberto is nonlinear, so am I. We connected on that basis, an ethereal link but one which friendships are forged from. Every year he would show me a new cocktail from his famous line. One year it would be a Cocchi Americano, the next he would be doing something with the Chinato. His aperitvii concoctions are the current darling of the mixology set. Very trendy, very cool, just like Roberto. After a day or two of tannic, high alcohol Nebbiolo or Sangiovese, or worse, Merlot, a stroll into Pavilion #9 for a sip of something light would actually recalibrate my palate. And then there was always the conversation with Roberto, who would always make you feel like you were the only person in the world worth talking to. Never selling. Never. But doing all the right things to close the sale. Very cool. Very smart. Marketers, take note (Take 8 minutes to look at this wonderful film for even more insight into Roberto and how he interacts his wines with the rest of the world).

Roberto Bava and daughter Francesca

So when a mutual friend was putting together a new Italian restaurant with investors, and he had a little wriggle room with the wine list, he simply put all of Roberto’s wine on his list. And then proceeded to tell me I needed to order the wines of Bava. Simple as that. Roberto never had to ask for the order. One of his friends did that for him. Very, very cool.

Last night I went into the place, here in Dallas. A little spot, maybe 15 tables, maybe seating 60 people, max. Saturday night, 8 PM. The place was jumping. Standing room only. Somehow we got a table, a deuce by the wine room. And we ordered a couple of things to eat, after we ordered a bottle of the Libera Barbera. $38 on the list. A bargain.

A few months ago, I was in Milan and Roberto found out I was there, probably via Facebook. He messaged me to come up to the winery. They were celebrating 100 years. I was with a couple of colleagues and was slated to do other things. But I was sorry to have missed the event. Roberto is a conductor; he puts together people and events like a symphony. Unfortunately that night it rained, but I am sure he had an alternate plan. Anyway, I missed it. Last night I had my own celebration off to the corner of a new little Italian spot in an obscure corner somewhere in flyover country. But I could have just as easily been in Asti or Verona or New York, with Roberto. Because he doesn’t sell his wine, his wines speak to me in much the same way he does. They don’t scream. They talk in audible terms. They aren’t flashy, but they are full of style. I like them. And last night we finally welcomed Roberto Bava and his wines into our world, after six years of preparing and relationship building. Finally, they are here.

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

Italy’s 1%

2011-11-03T00:48:00.005-05:00

Recently I was perusing Doctor Wine’s website. Dr. Wine, aka Daniele Cernilli, had to settle for the English moniker (Dr. Vino having been snapped up by Tyler Colman years ago). But don’t cry for Cernilli, for he hasn’t missed much. If anyone knows how to monetize the internet (or anything else) it is Doctor Wine.

On his site, he has a post about the Gambero Rosso awards from 1988 up to now. Cernilli recounts, “The idea of a classification in terms of ‘Glasses’ was mine”, in case anyone had doubts. Whomever had the idea, a virtual Pandora’s Box was unleashed, when Slow Food, in concert with Gambero Rosso, and their “Three Glass” awards started gaining momentum. Recently Gambero Rosso and Slow Food parted ways, with both pursuing their own “awards” process. It is too soon to tell if the separation will dilute an already fatigued public, confused from now having to follow Wine Spectator and James Suckling, a new Wine Advocate (with Galloni taking much of the work over for Parker), all the fractured publications along with the eno-blogosphere and any number of other critical corridors in the wine world, all supported by what the futurist Alvin Toffler called “The great growling engine of change - technology.”

With that I managed to spend an evening looking over the lucky list of Gambero Rosso winners (I Tre Bicchieri 1988/2012) from a link on Doctor Wine’s site. A hefty document, if one were to actually print it out (163 pages), which thankfully as a PDF can be perused from a laptop, an IPad or for those with young eyes, an IPhone.

What I read from this report was virtually the 1% of Italian wineries (or perhaps the .1%) make up a small percentage of the wine production of Italy. Many of the producers have gotten wealthy, like Angelo Gaja, who is the undisputed king of Tre Bicchieri, with 49. Marchesi Antinori srl, old money, have 43 between Tuscany, Piedmont and Apulia, while cousin Nicolò Incisa's Sassicaia estate has garnered 23 coveted Tre Bicchieri awards. Piero Antinori's younger brother Lodovico Antinori's Tenuta dell’Ornellaia fared slightly less with a paltry 19. Pity.

The richest regions for the Tre Bicchieri awards(mind you Due Bichierri just ain't as sexy as Tre): Piedmont comes in 1st with 1066, followed by Tuscany with 967. The leanest awarded regions? Molise (7), Calabria (16) and flood ravaged Liguria (25).

As if to prove this club isn’t just for old royalty and new Capitalists, a few Co-ops, by-products of the Socialist experiments of the 1900’s made the list. Our friends at Produttori del Barbaresco garnered 11 awards. But Alto Adige took home the biggest share of Tre Bicchieri in the Cantine Sociale/Produttori category. Cantina Produttori S. Michele Appiano (23) and Cantina Produttori di Tramin (21) were the leaders in the region but a huge majority of the 315 Tre Bicchieri winners were from co-operative winemaking ventures (who said a committee couldn’t make winning wines?).

Sparkling wines also fared well, with Ca' del Bosco taking home 36, Ferrari (21) and Vittorio Moretti’s Bellavista (21) leading the charge. And what about Prosecco, the sparkling darling of America? Bisol took home a paltry 1 and Nino Franco (2) and Ruggeri & C. (3). Lesser known Follador received 1 for their Cartizze; Villa Sandi (of Geox shoe fame) took home 2 for their Cartizze (a grand cru zone if there ever was one for Prosecco).

A fascinating list, these 163 pages of awards. In the 1990’s Gambero Rosso “made” some wineries. I know it sparked a whole generation of winemakers (and winemaking) much in the same way as Robert Parker did. Unfortunately it also steered much of the premium Italian wine industry towards an internationalization of style we are only beginning to dig out from. Not to say that all wines were formed from the global mold. Josko Gravner (21) definitely danced to beat of his own drum, as did Bartolo Mascarello (10) and Edoardo Valentini (27).

Oddly the just because a wine had a DOCG didn’t necessarily include it in the pantheon of winners. Of the 73 current DOCG designations, there are many of those who didn’t make the cut. And there are many “outlaws”, wines made outside the regulations, that placed often from 1988-2012. So no real pattern, no conspiracy, at least that I could tell.

And has it been good for business? Well, there are more than a few farmers now riding around their vineyards in their Range Rovers and Porsche Cayennes, having taken the opportunity to capitalize on their success by raising prices. They definitely shoved themselves into the 1% club. These days, they better have those fancy cars paid for, as the whole world shudders from an economic global chill. Let’s hope they have seat warmers in those vehicles; winning another Tre Bicchieri in 2012 will not provide enough “warmth” for some of those pampered behinds.

Take a look at the list; as I say it’s a fascinating read, sociologically, culturally and economically. It is likely an end of that era- big wines, big awards and bigger prices. As the palindrome goes, “are we not drawn onward to new era?”

Say good night Dino, Angelo, Piero, Josko, et al. You made it into the 1% club.

written (artworks photographed in Milan, Italy and Marfa, Texas) by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

What makes a wine great?

2011-11-01T00:30:00.013-05:00

"They say that life itself is really just the dead on vacation." - Tom Waits

Over the years my ideas about wines have changed a little. A lot less than I would have thought, though. Looking back over 35 years of seriously tasting wine, there have been moments all along the span of that time when I tasted greatness. What was it about those moments? Was it the stage the wine was in? Was it the season? Was it my physiology? Was it a magical confluence of all the above and more? Or was it just dumb luck?

What makes a wine great? I think about that all the time, not just because I must constantly taste and evaluate wines for my work, wines which don’t need to be great. Often they just need to be good enough, or good values, or just non-offensive. Yes, not all moments are in need of greatness. Not all days are vacation days. No, there is a need for everyday wines. But this is not the time for that discussion. I am pursuing greatness. So what is it that evades these pages, darts about, zips off the screen like a dragonfly or a refraction from a light source? Where does one find this greatness factor?

Is it like our children, whom we think are beautiful, but the rest of the world sees their imperfections? Is it like the place we choose to live, which suits one, but repels another? A person perfectly happy to live in London. Another soul blissful in the searing heat of Tucson. Who is on to it more? Who lives in a great place?

Then, we aren’t talking places where people live. Maybe where grapes do, but people adapt, from the dreary dark drip of Seattle in March to the drought ridden Hill Country of Texas in August. In both places we find people luxuriating in life, but not grapes.

But wine, the after effect of place and grape. And greatness. Elusive, slippery, greatness.

The greatest wine I ever had? Can I plead for one of the greatest, please? Yes?

Yes. The 1964 Monfortino. Last had in 1981. But I remember it like it was yesterday. Try telling that to someone who is 30, that the next thirty years will come as soon as the day after tomorrow. But that’s how it is. And the wine; we were in Galveston, on the Strand, where the warehouse and main office of the first company I worked for in the wholesale business was situated. It was in the autumn, and Galveston was humid but not tepid. Someone opened the wine and we stood around for a taste.

My first impression was of a grainy texture. The wine had sediment. The aroma was flowery, like a pink rose in my grandmother’s yard in Southern California, one of those ones that when the dew is still on it and the early morning sun hits it and warms it up, making a sweet, perfume, that is moist with a little steam rolling off the petals, the smell of the sun. Dipping deeper in the glass, a La Brea field trip stench, like melted licorice that is very mellow. And finally a little touch of unsweetened chocolate, which followed with the initial taste. Proceeded by a wave of thick, viscous animal essence. Not a vermin, but a prowler, like an impala, but nothing foul or rotten. Not yet. No, there was this sensation as if the most perfect animal on the savannah had been distilled, the fast runner, the sleek bodied predator, that was captured in this red wine, Nebbiolo only 17 years old at the time. And then the finale. The compressed forest floor, leaf after leaf, a loving poultice interspersed with the purest minute hints of rock and mud and gravel. Not to be left at the altar, the promenade to the end of the church was a glide from 1,000 feet with the velvety chute open and landing softly on a bed of chocolate rose petals.

We then went to lunch somewhere on the Strand.

90 minutes later we came back to the office and the partially completed bottle of the ’64 beguiled me with its loneliness, silently, patiently waiting. I was slated to fly back to Dallas, but someone was driving me, so I moseyed over to the table and lassoed myself another taste.

And then I went outside to listen to the waves.

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

The Mirage of the Maremma ~ Ghost Stories from Grosseto

2011-10-30T22:16:00.003-05:00

~ True Story ~

This time last year, I was traveling with a group in Italy. We were one day away from being finished and were in Grosseto to meet up with Morellino producers. At the end of the day we headed back into town, checked into our hotel and agreed to meet later for one last dinner.

Settling into my room, I opened my window, only to be greeted by the onerous barking of a hound below. I went down to see what the poor little creature was crying about, but was unable to find his owner. About then it was time to go to dinner.

We’d had a long day and most of us were tired. One in our group, a young buyer (let’s call her Carrie), wanted to stay up, so I hung out with her. She was cool, had good energy, and although she probably would have rather been there with her boyfriend, humored me. She was kind of an old soul, and that was how we interacted.

After hanging out in the main piazza of Grosseto and finishing off a bottle of bubbles, it was getting rather late. I mentioned to Carrie that we should probably get back to our rooms, as we had an early departure in the not so distant morning. As we were walking back to the hotel, she said to me, “I think my room is haunted.” I pressed her for more details, but she only said she had a creepy feeling when she went into the room to drop her bag and wash her face. I said, “OK, let’s go investigate.“

As we walked up to the hotel, the town had an eerily deserted feeling. The front desk was abandoned. I walked her to her room. As we approached the room, my left side went chilled and numb, with a tingling sensation. Not a heart attack. Not warmth. Utter chill. Goosebumps. My head felt like it was going to explode. As we rounded to corner to her room, there was a picture on the wall right before her door. It was an odd image, like a death bed scene. Not very cool for a four star hotel. As we got to the door, Carrie became more fearful, but I volunteered to go into the room and check it out. Inside, the room was freezing. There was some kind of energy in that room that was out of place. I didn’t fear for my life, but I wasn’t about to swap rooms with her.

She stepped inside. Nothing changed. Still cold. My head was still on the verge of exploding. I looked at her and asked her what she wanted to do. Carrie was uncertain, but I could tell she was afraid. She wanted to change rooms, find the clerk downstairs. It was after 2AM. So we walked downstairs trying to find the clerk.

We found him and told him there was a “disturbance” in her room. We asked him to come up and see. Upstairs we took him in and showed him the room was cold and that the young lady was afraid. He looked at us as if we were crazy and told us the hotel was all full. No other rooms. I told him there was something evil in this room. He made the sign of the cross and left us to our own devices.

I mentioned to Carrie that I was not going to change rooms with her; for I could see what she was telling me had some substance to it. Something was very wrong. I offered to her my bed and I would sleep on the floor. “No funny business,” I promised. She didn’t think that was such a good idea. I wasn’t looking forward to sleeping on the floor, but it amounted to the best offer I could come up with. It was now 3AM.

“No, I think I’ll just stay here,” she said. So I left her in the room and took the small set of stairs back to my floor. The whole place stared feeling just a little too weird.

In my room, the dog had long stopped barking, but I wasn’t about to open up my window. My room, on the other hand, was burning up. What was with this hotel in Grosseto? I jumped into my bed and tried to get 4 hours sleep.

At 7AM I went down to breakfast and on the way down I stopped by her floor and I knocked on her door. No Answer. I thought she might have already gotten up as was at breakfast.

At Breakfast, Carrie was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she was out running. I settled into a seat in front of a picture of a young girl.

During breakfast, the picture drew me towards it. There was a little breakfast bar nearby, so as I got up to gather a fruit or refill the coffee, I would walk close to it. As I got closer it was is the energy of the picture told me something. That something was, “It’s only me in that room, nothing evil. Just an unresolved issue.” So it was the energy of a little girl. Maybe she had died there; maybe her father was the manager. Or the owner. Somehow there was a sadness in that hotel, that manifest itself as this weird cold and hot vibratory energy. I was glad we were leaving for Rome.

On my way back up to my room, I stopped at Carrie’s room and knocked again. She answered, looked disheveled, as if she had not had a wink of sleep all night. But she was alive and was going to grab a quick shower and meet us at the bus in 20 minutes.

Outside as I was waiting for our group and Carrie, I stood looking at the hotel. In the early morning with the morning sun on the front façade of the building, it shimmered, as if it were a mirage.

To this day, I get goosebumps when I recall this story or tell it. Tell me it’s nothing. My visceral response tells me otherwise.

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

"In Texas you still live in a happy country."

2011-10-27T22:58:00.005-05:00

Two-stepping across Texas with Marco Bacci

Marco Bacci with Damian Mandola near Austin, Texas

How does one top a week of Italian wine in New York? How about piling in a car with an Italian and his wine and traveling across the state from Dallas to Austin, and then to Houston and back to Dallas, in four days? That was my mission this week, back home in Texas with the Tuscan Marco Bacci and wines from two of his properties in Montalcino and the Maremma.

I have just about resigned myself that as long as I deal with Italian wines I will be dealing with Tuscany. And I say that not with a sense of resignation, although it sounds that way, but as an inevitable acceptance of the realities of the wine business in Italy. Tuscany has a lot to say about the way wine from Italy is perceived and they represent a huge portion of the wine made in Italy that comes to America and the rest of the world – correction – Fine wine made in Italy – because Tuscany is a leader and they have a pole position in the high stakes race to make Italian wine seen and thought of as the finest wines in the world.

Dallas - Oak Cliff - Lucia's

It doesn't take a lot of convincing for me to know Italy is an important player in the world of wine. And while I hear a lot of nonsense, from wine buyers to salespeople to folks on the floors of restaurants claiming that Italian wines are too complicated for most people, some of those same people can wax the glories of Diamond Mountain versus Spring Mountain. Talk about making a mountain out of a molehill! None the less, those who really discover their love for wine cannot afford to sweep Italy under a rug – or if so, they do it at their own peril, for Italy is not that complicated – it just takes a little patience and understanding of the subtle nuances that are packed into every nook and cranny in the vinous landscape of Italy.

Marco Bacci is now safely on a plane back to Italy as I write this, but I wore his Tuscan behind out this week in Texas, driving him across Texas and putting on 1,000 miles in four days. Along the way we hit the various cities, met with buyers , took some of them to lunch and then went on to do the dreaded winemaker dinners. 14-18 hour days, with little room to rest. Wine, dine and sign on the dotted line. We came to taste, to sample and to sell, baby sell! Because it is O-N-D and that’s what wine warriors do.

Dallas - sales meeting

Marco was a good sport, submitting to my form of hazing those who want to work the market. I’ve done it dozens of times with market hopefuls, from reps to owners, from winemakers to counts – no class escapes the “week in a car with the Italian wine guy” rite of passage. Resistance is futile.

To top it off, this week Texas is all aflutter with the World Series – possibly for the first time in history a Texas baseball team has a chance of winning it. So there have been a few distractions – Texas is all about Beef, Baseball and Beer – and we were out there this week trying to make Texas all about Beef, Baseball and Brunello.

Dallas - Oak Cliff - Lucia's

Day 1 Dallas- Monday night – the Texas Rangers won their third game – meanwhile 30 friends and clients enjoyed the wines of Renieri and Talamo paired with David Uyger’s cooking at Lucia. Stellar performance by all; the Rangers, Bacci’s wines and Lucia’s comestibles. Day one was veddy veddy good to us.

Austin - Four Season's - Trio

Day two- After a very early breakfast meeting in Dallas, Marco and I hightailed it to Austin for a pre-lunch appointment and tasting, followed by a luncheon at Trio in the Four Seasons. Once again several of the superstar sommeliers were not in attendance (ahem, Mark and June, I have come to your town many times lately, and you all have been regular no-shows – what? Didn’t you get the invites?) . Meh, those who showed up, we had a marvelous time. My old pal John from the Austin Wine Merchant didn’t let me down – old friends know what their old friends need- thanks John and all the young’uns who showed up too. Great wines paired with Todd Duplechan's cooking – Day two – all veddy veddy good, so far.

Austin - Vino Vino

After a happy hour for our local sales team ( you guys rock!) at Vino Vino in Austin, Marco and I mad-dashed it through the Austin rush hour traffic to Driftwood Texas and a wine dinner by Damian Mandola’s team at the Trattoria Lisina. An impressive array of salumi, pasta and carne awaited us – the trifecta of a perfect wine dinner – and we were well out of the snares of any baseball fever – it was all about the wine and food – Marco was starting to get the idea that there is life – big time – outside of Tuscany.

Driftwood, Texas - Trattoria Lisina

Day three – I found Marco near the UT campus drenched in sweat at around 7:30 AM. “We have to leave in 30 minutes, Marco. We have an appointment at 11 in Houston with Marcy at the Houston Wine Merchant. I do not want to be late.”

Highway 290 was a flash in the rear view mirror – knowing that we were going through BBQ Mecca didn’t make it any easier. “Hey, Marco, there’s City Meat Market,” I noted as we rolled though Giddings. City Markets signature meat is the pork Boston butt and the pork ribs smoked over post-oak wood. Too bad it was so early and we were running late. Another time.

Houston - Coppa

Houston – We make it to Marcy and HWM and taste – then on to Coppa for a small wine lunch – Guy Stout just flew in from Cincinnati on his way to Dallas. During lunch, Marco was talking to the salespeople and the clients and remarked, “In Texas you still live in a happy country." It takes one from another place to remind us of our fortune, eh?

Houston - Spec's

We broke bread. And emptied glasses. And sold some more wine, before heading out for more appointments (including a visit to Spec's and Joseph Kemble, the Italian wine buyer for the chain) and a happy hour with our sales team in Houston. Busy days.

Cooper's in Llano - sadly missed this time

At days end, I promised I’d find Marco some BBQ and an outdoor seat, so we could enjoy the balmy autumn weather in Houston. So-so BBQ (compared to where we just drove through earlier that day) but it had some outdoor seating and ashtrays (for the Havana’s he brought with him). Houston was buzzing with a new crop of mosquitoes, who feasted upon my garlic laden skin. Only fair, as I have been feasting all week in Texas and the week before in New York.

Marco and I sat outside and talked over our week. It had been a busy one, and we still had to drive back to Dallas. In the meantime, we noted our many appointments; the many assurances made to us and how we were going to come up with all the wine that folks had promised us they were going to buy. Only a 14 hour day this time. Let’s see, Monday was a 16 hour day, Tuesday was 18 and Wednesday only 14. That’s 48 hours in three day – about right for O-N-D.

Tasting in Dallas

Day 4 Houston to Dallas – slept in didn’t have to leave until 8:45 for a Dallas lunch and then Marco to the airport – Piece of cake. All in a week’s work

And they say we have the life. I say yes – we have the life we chose. I hope you chose the one you wanted – as for me, this week, pulling corks, I made the world safer for Italian wine this week. Now to plan next week’s victories.

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

An America Without Italian Wine

2011-10-23T23:36:00.002-05:00

From the "nothing to kill or die for" dept.

Let’s take a imaginary scenario – trade between Italy and the USA is halted for economic and security reasons. No more Italian wine comes to America, ever again. What would this mean to Italians in the vineyards? To Americans in Kankakee?

Assuming we had no choice, let’s say the distribution of wealth had been arranged so that the bottom 80% of the population held 15% of the wealth and the top 20% of the population held 85% of the wealth. And about that time someone got the idea that to trade with Italy would cause further economic imbalance and would jeopardize the peace in the world.

And so, just like that, bye-bye Barolo and Brunello. Adios Amarone. Ciao, Chianti. Hasta la vista, Vernaccia. Who would suffer more, Italy? Or Americans?

I would imagine in America, Italian varieties would take off. Sangiovese from the Texas Plains might, all of a sudden, become more valued. Vermentino from Lodi might be more popular. Pinot Grigio and Moscato wouldn’t miss a beat, as California winemakers have saturated the marker with their versions for some time now.

So what would the downside be?

I’ve been thinking about it for a while and have come to realize that we are in a world where events taking place do so with such rapidity, that the human, wired for another time, will just not be able to fathom the change and will accept rather painlessly. And while there might be all manner of personal tragedies unfolding, both in Italy and in America, I somehow think it wouldn’t be as bad as people might think.

Take Italian restaurants- They would adapt the quickest. Many restaurateurs look for the simplest way to get products on their table. They’ve been doing it for years substituting Californian, Oregon, Australian and Argentine for Italian wines. Pinot Noir, Merlot, Malbec, Shiraz, they’ve come to take a larger command of the Italian wine list.

Italian wine importers have been branching out too, looking to South America, Austria, Spain, Chile, even Japan for other products. They would be very flexible.

Retailers might be different. While the large stores have been generally sourcing their own private labels to a larger degree, why would it be so difficult to design an Italian looking label and then slap it on any wine that came across their path or suited their fancy? It has also been happening for some time; this scenario would merely quicken the pace at which many of these large entities have been working towards.

And shoppers and diners, would they miss a Vino Nobile all that much? I think that the trauma of having to speak a foreign word having been removed, they might be even less inhibited to order a wine from the list now. Or go into a store and not feel foolish because they didn’t know where the country was or how to pronounce “Soave” correctly. It could be a boon to the wine industry; folks freed up might be even more motivated to drink a little more for their country and the national pride.

What about back in old Napoli? Or under the Tuscan Sun? I wonder how blu that pinto would be? I’m just wondering? Anyone out there have any thoughts? Would it be the end of the world? Or would the world keep turning?

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

New York snapshot – Barbetta's timeless appeal

2011-10-21T11:57:00.004-05:00

This week has been absolutely beautiful in New York City. Autumn is in full swing, with cooler weather, gusts of cooler wind with a scattering of rain and wine makers from Italy (and everywhere else) crawling all over the city. And though I am headed back to Texas and ready for some blue skies and dramatic sunsets, this time New York was really a joy.

Last night, in a moment of spontaneity, a friend who grew up here and spends a lot of time in New York, invited me to dinner. As we walked from the NY Wine Experience (a total mosh pit, but filled with many friends in the wine world – my tribe) we headed towards a dark little spot. “I promise you this isn’t a dive. Although I like dives,” he pleaded. I was game. We headed into a darkened bar and he greeted the man at the bar. They reminisced like old friends.

We were led to a dining room that looked like it came straight out of Il Gattopardo (or the Savoy era). I started getting goose bumps. I am after all a bumpkin from out west, remember? As we were seated and handed the menu’s I instantly recognized Piemontese influence. The restaurant was Barbetta, one of the oldest continuously owned Italian restaurants in New York, perhaps the USA.

It had been a long day and we were tired, but a small plate arrived with robiola medallions wrapped with zucchini and a feather of frisée. Lightly dressed, not interfering with the lovely Gavi the sommelier brought.

A small plate of Tajarin (Tagliarini with a salsa di campagna: tomato, basil and garlic) appeared and I was more than satisfied.

And then the dessert cart rolled up. And while I am on a restricted regiment, there were wonderful strawberries swathed around a cradle of zabaglione. I didn’t realize zabaglione originated in Piemonte, thinking the Marsala influenced indicated the origin as being more southerly. I made many zabaglione desserts in a copper pot when I served in a classic Italian spot in my youth.

So Barbetta isn’t cutting edge. The fashion of the place is well worn, but it’s one of these places that, if you go in with an open heart, will reward one with a historical dining experience. It’s a living museum of Italian wine and food culture. It doesn’t scream bling or pretend to be anything it isn’t. It’s not a 21st century experience, it is a place to go back in time and put aside the cell phone and the distractions s of modern life, an oasis in a whirling-dervish city moving at a million miles an hour. And it is one of the pilgrimage stops along the wine trail in Italy that I was glad my friend pressed me into service to visit and honor. For without places like this, those of us who came later would have an even more difficult time making the world safer for Italian wine and food.

Buon weekend, y’all.

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

DOCG Comeuppance, Classified Dregs from the 90's and Other NY Tales

2011-10-20T06:30:00.007-05:00

From the “life’s too short to drink bad wine or eat bad cheese” dept.

Anyone who follows this blog for that last few years probably have read about my friend Andrea Fassone. Andrea moved to NY from Torino in August of 2001. Great timing. And in Oct of 2008 he started his own wine importing business. Again, his timing was impeccable. Andrea lost both his parents when he was young and essentially has a sister and aunt and uncle left in Italy. Let’s say when Andrea came to America he burned the boats (but not the bridges). Now he is happily married to Lorraine Hinds and has been welcomed into her wonderful family. Andrea and Lorraine recently had twins, Max and Matteo. Those boys are a post for a whole ‘nother time, but suffice to say, Andrea and Lorraine have their hands full. In the very best sense of the word.

Yesterday while in NY on a panel for Social Media for the Vinitaly USA tour, I stopped by and tasted wines with various friends and producers. I don’t do business with Andrea – we’re friends – but I do enjoy seeing what he has found in Italy – he is not an industry insider – but he is a natural – and he has good business sense and an even better work ethic – he is a model importer/wholesaler on the small scale – and he is growing – remember he started up in a downturn.

Anyway, a long way to say he really gigged me the other day with a DOCG question. He knows I am the unofficial watchdog of the ongoing DOCG cavalcade of wines to be nominated and awarded the vaunted ribbon of excellence.

“Did you know, Alfonso, that the only wine that has a DOCG that is both red and white is Roero?” As a matter of fact I did not. So to elucidate and share with the rest of the room, I snapped his picture with one of his wines, from a producer he knows simply as “PACE”. So there you have it – news you can use – from NY.

Also this week I have been traveling around checking out food and wine – while waiting for colleagues for a nearby dinner I ducked out of the rain into a cheese shop in my old NY neighborhood – Beecher's Handmade Cheese – and lo and behold what was in there? My sweet little Mexican Pepperleaf from Paula Lambert’s Mozzarella Company in Dallas – I introduced myself as one of the growers of the leaf that covers the cheese, now known as the Hoja Santa cheese – and we all had a good time sipping a Long Island Cabernet Franc.

Across the street at Pizza Fresca, Charles Scicolone and friends (along with Ed McCarthy and two of their younger friends Nicole and Travis) were assembling an impressive array of wines to try from France and Italy. Ed and Charles had just been to a huge Bordeaux luncheon and they brought some dregs from the ‘90’s – Lafite, Lynch Bages and Clerc Milon – not too shabby – Ed brought a Champagne (he is an expert in that area, for all who didn’t know) and Nicole and Ryan amazed us with two very old bottles of Fontanafredda Barolo – 1961 and 1964. Nicole and Ryan work “in the trade” and he has the amazing luck to find all manner of old Italian wines in great shape – he is what we call in the antique business a “divvy”. A great find.

Along with all manner of pizze (and Weightwatcher points) we lurched, and voraciously worked our way through the lot. The 1961 was in a perfect state for drinking – ready to go - as they say in the operating room.

The 1964 probably had more stuffing in it – and being also from a fabulous vintage could have more years left to it had we not finished it off with the 1961.

Charles also brought a bottle of ’88 Grato Grati which he thought was the ’82 – he seemed a little disappointed – the wine did not disappoint – lovely Sangiovese expression – clearly a great wine that we could have enjoyed all by itself. But we had an embarrassment of riches that night and no apologies for it – only gratitude to the wine gods – who always come through – always!

Great generosity from friends old and new, in a place I remember from my early adult years – I do not miss living in NY – I am too much of a Westerner – love the skies and solitude of the spaces out West – but once in a while I do like to come "back East" for my Nebbiolo and come uppins'.

Awesome bubbles, Ed. Thanks!

Thanks, y’all!

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

Full Immersion

2011-10-16T21:48:00.005-05:00

One has to know that the Italian influence has gone deep when the official wine of the 125th Texas State Fair is a Sangiovese. I never thought I’d see that day, but last week while giving an informal talk about the history of Texas wine (bet you didn’t know I knew something about that) I not only came across the wine but also uncovered a treasure trove of information about wine and grapes in the early days of Texas wine lore.

To say that I love the Texas state fair is an understatement. Who could not when it is in one’s own home town? For as long as I have lived here I have been drawn to the timeless aspect of our yearly festival. Three weeks long, with food, beer, wine, and any number of imponderables.

The architecture – reminds me a little of the style made popular in the 1930’s in Italy. In that country it had fascist and nationalist leanings. In Texas, it was given over more to the deco affectation. Although, the sculptures, influenced by Italian artisans brought in when the construction was underway, they could have been just as naturally placed in Milan, Rome or even Predappio.

But we are in Texas, as a stroll to the Midway will attest. And on the Midway, there is a confluence of tasteful architecture with the mind numbing glitz of Venturi's Vegas gone bad – trailer trash meets E.T. – bizarre stuff – but charming and somehow alluring to this observer.

But what does it have to do with wine and the wine trail and Italy? In reality, nothing much. But it is colorful. So much to that I found myself lingering, gazing at the impossibly dizzying rides and the people that inhabit the space. Fascinating. I have taken my Italian friends to the Texas State Fair; it’s quite unusual and delicious.

At the wine garden, folk were sitting out enjoying jazz and wine. I glanced at the offerings and thought back over the last generation of wine from Texas and how it has improved vastly. A Sangiovese as the official wine of the state fair of Texas? Whodathunkit?

Tasting wine with a winemaker, we got to talking about her area, near Montague County. Come to find out there is an abandoned vineyard there started by Munson. Vines up to 100 years old. Not far from where I picked grapes to make the only wine I ever made in Texas many moons ago. I plan on taking the winemaker up on the offer to visit this heritage site, available only by permission. Putting it on my must do list before the end of the year.

Look, Texas is its own place, for better or worse. Sometimes I get frustrated with the lack of progressiveness in the political end. It’s still run on the buddy system a lot. And folks around here don’t have a lot of tolerance for East (or West) coasters. Although they love to brag about going to New York or Napa. But going home – full immersion in this independent life in Texas – there is a definite draw to it.

And when I am out of the state, and gone for a while, there develops a longing to be back home. Even before I leave, I start counting the days I have left to sleep in my own bed. Hop a plane to New York or Milan, and I’m OK. But when the time is up, I am ready to get in the truck.

Maybe it’s just the sense that I have a place to go home to. No, it isn’t New York, or California, or Tuscany. But it’s home. For the time being.

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

Full Moon Under the Spell of the Spanish Sun

2011-10-13T01:27:00.003-05:00

There are those days when the wine business can be a real treat. Yesterday was one of those. In fact all week has been a textbook “perfect beginning” to the October onslaught. Earlier I was driving home at the 11th hour and thinking about all the wines from the many countries I had tasted. New Mexico, Italy, Texas, Germany, California, Spain, Washington, Australia, Chile, Argentina and Germany. What, no France?

And while it has been a parade of riches from the vineyards of the world, what has really grabbed me? This week, I’d have to say, hands down, that I have been under the spell of Spain.

Starting earlier in the week, when I popped into a room to grab a glass and saw an array of wines from Montilla. Sherry-like, but with their own identity. I blogged about it a little on the business site. That really primed the pump.

Yesterday, at lunch, a glass of Soave started it. All morning I had been preparing for a large tasting with a client, one of whom I had never met. But I gathered wines to help the salesperson who really wasn’t as familiar with some of the wines from the other divisions.

Before I got to the tasting I had to run to get the white wines chilled. While I waited for that I got online to see how our new business social media beta site was faring. As I logged on, I felt an energy that I hadn’t felt with folks in my company. This new site was in a fast launch. In fact I got a call from one of the early adopters in the company. “Alfonso I can’t believe this. It’s going viral. I can barely breathe.” He was right, maybe we were actually going to embrace this enterprise social networking a little more earnestly.

But I had to run to the front lines, wine opener in hand, and get to the face-to-face work – trying wines for a new wine list. The young salesperson had a new computer, and it wasn’t booting up. She called me from the car out front. She: “I can’t get on the computer. Start without me.” Me: “We did already. But I need your samples too. Walk them into me. Customers before computers.” She did. And we were off to the races.

In a mere hour or so, we blitzed through 20+ wines. A sin, but a necessity. And it went quite well. Some surprises, but then when you taste with five people, you’re going to get five opinions. Funny thing is, at that table, and on paper, I had the edge on expertise. But several of the folks at the table, all very qualified in their fields, weren’t about to surrender the process to this self-appointed wine expert. So we duked it out. That’s right, street fighting. I love a good brawl, especially when I am fighting for the winemakers and for the folks who come into these food establishments looking for simple, good, pure, wines. Not necessarily name brands. Not necessarily big wines. And not always dry and oaky and full of alcohol. But several of the other folks at my table, who like big wines, they weren’t having anything to do with my take on the wine world. I mean this is America, where everyone has an opinion. Everyone. And everyone knows better what’s good for them. Remember, America. The good news was that I have been in this battle many, many times before. I know the armaments, the terrain, the lay of the land. And I like to fight and win for the folks I represent in the vineyards and in the consumer end.When you're a Jet you're a Jet all the way.

So I didn’t win the war, but I didn’t lose the battle. And off to the next thing.

On my way home to change for dinner, one of my colleagues calls to explain his unfortunate mistake in accidentally uploading the wrong profile photo on our new beta site. Seems he got a call from one of the superiors. No malicious intent. But a hiccup. Take the photo off, apologize and move on. Next.

Rush home, change, and head back out. It’s 6:30 and there’s a bevy of Spanish wine and their importer waiting for our national accounts team to try his new wines at dinner. I’d met this importer once before. Liked him. Important guy, but really seemed like he was into wine and his country and was doing some important things to help bring his wines to the world and maybe even help them to craft their wines for a modern world. Not a bad thing when some of the ancient practices might need to have stayed in the past. Not all, but some, surely.

Lots of Viura, Tempranillo, Alicante, Garnacha, Moscatel, and I lost count at 20 wines. For me it was stimulating enough. But the interesting part was when we finished and all headed out to our cars. The importer went out with us to smoke a cigarette. Which is where I first saw him and talked to him earlier that night when I arrived.

This last time, though, that’s when Bacchus climbed into his skin and took over. And took us both on a trip across time and space. These things happen in Italy. But the Spanish way is a little more dramatic, a little more connected to the past. Perhaps because they haven’t been ripped into modernity as harshly as the Italians, or the French. But none the less, before you know it, we are talking about winemaking in the 14th century. As naturally as if we had been having the conversation 700 years ago and were just restarting where we left off. No big whoop. But kind of a big deal in the realm of time and space and all the realities that have passed since then.

And that is one of the reasons why I love this business so much. Because we can finish a conversation we started 700 years ago, and it doesn’t seem odd or out of place. Because the vine, and the wine, which has been traveling with us all this time, is still there, ready, willing and able to facilitate our ongoing conversations. Social networking the old fashioned way, with a bottle of good wine.

Yes, a good day. A very good day.

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

The Burden of Beauty

2011-10-09T15:50:00.001-05:00

Italy’s charm is her innate beauty. Art, architecture, music, food and the multi-act opera we’ve come to know as family. Youth, strength, prowess; throw them into the pasta bowl and careful observers look at Italy as a paean to perfection. Beauty is the crown, the reason why the eyes look towards her, why they lust for her art, her food and her wines.

And then there is Brunello. The first wine to be exalted with a DOCG, back in the days before personal computers. Brunello, a simply lovely wine, content to amble about the countryside in search of adventure and love, only wanting to make people happy.

Brunello was so beautiful when young. Stylish, but strong. Complex, but not confusing. Rich, but accessible to the other 99%. And then somewhere Brunello tumbled on a slippery path in the forest. And she has been spending more than a few years trying to get back up.

Underneath the sludge and the grime and the audacity of old men who have effectively had their way with the young and beautiful creature we have come to love as Brunello, she is grappling with the reality that she is no longer so young and beautiful in the eyes of the world.

Traveling around Tuscany this year more times than I should have, neglecting my Sicily and all the South, in order to delve into the meaning and mystery of life in the wine region that went before many others, I am still mystified. All that there is; the fecundity, the wealth, the climate, the soil, the location, and still with all that and beauty, Brunello has been sullied beyond recognition, unable to reveal her real nature to the world.

Yes occasionally, she slips out in an expression of immeasurable gorgeousness. And she is pursued again, if only in the moonless night for a brief moment. Unfortunately there are pursuers who have only one thing in mind, and their agenda isn’t for all time or all wine, but to throw her down to the ground and ravage her again and again. Who will see? The moon and the stars can’t tell anyone, even as they hang in the heavens above.

And that is one of the burdens of beauty that Brunello had been bearing for some time. Pursued for her attributes, she seduces with a mere gait across the cobblestones.

If I could reach out and grab those thugs that have ravaged Brunello into a state of almost irrelevance, I’d back them up against a wall, Sicilian style and demand of them: “What if Brunello were your daughter, or your sister or your mother? How dare you do this to your loved ones?” But they aren’t listening. Their eyes and mouths are filled with lust and their hearts and ears a contaminated with hubris.

All this because of the simple fact that Brunello was simply beautiful. And because of it she has had to carry the burden of her gifts as if it were leprosy.

And Brunello isn’t the only beauty in Italy that has been upended and maligned. Since the beginning of time, merchants and their agents have distorted the wines of Italy for their own edification. In essence the Italian wine evolution has been under the yolk of pitiless men looking to fill their lustful gullets with gold. As if that would even make anyone happy. Just ask the 1% in America if they are truly happy because they hold so much wealth. If you could even get them to return your call.

So light a candle, say a prayer, make a wish, that Brunello and her sisters across Italy weather this current storm of disdain that threatens to take down an industry, a country and a world.

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

Sore Losers

2011-10-06T07:44:00.003-05:00

Where O-N-D meets O-M-G

I figured it must be the holiday season when I woke up from a dream that had me arguing for Italian wines on a wine list. During the sacred O-N-D season (October-November-December) where a lot of wine and spirits are moving through the system, the emotions and the expectations run high, so much that they invade the subconscious. My hope is to go into that cavern and try to effect changes on those who dwell more in the unconscious than in the reality I would prefer to see them in. But, alas, after 30 years of battling in the trenches, I have come to realize there are some folks who just will never get it. Do you want to know a secret? I’m Ok with that. Because I have moved on. I am limiting my exposure to the slow pacers and those who don’t run to win. I have found other fields that will accept the seeds I have brought to them from Italy.

It really all gets down to intellectual engagement, for me. I mean, after pounding on a chap for 20 years and he really doesn’t get it, isn’t it time to abandon that plot if there are richer lands to harvest? Yes. And man are they out there.

So rather than lamenting about the many suns that are setting, let me tell you about a sunrise over a rich field.

No, it isn’t Italian. It’s an American place. The chef has a healthy respect for local food. Just like Italy. Their menu had chicken from a ranch from folks I know. Not some industrial produced disaster of a life made for the large breast meat. This American place has a cheese steward. He rolled into the room, between courses and gave us a run of his latest offerings. Not that they didn’t have me at cheese, but the first one he offered was Paula Lambert's Hoja Santa wrapped goat cheese. It was as if a little of my terroir was inserted into the conversation. Has my Hoja Santa guardian angel been working the back channels?

Have you ever had crab cakes with a Barbera? Lately I find those unlikely combinations coming across my path. Let me tell you, it is a whole lot better than more garlic, which seems to be the solution for many tired “Eyetalian” spots. Take carefully, no, consciously prepared crab cakes, as the one I recently had in that American Steak house. Typical man cave looking place – but under the armor, the chef doesn’t fuel her decisions based on the testosterone levels of the country. Looks like a lot of food angels have descended into the man cave to help her out.

Impeccable Italian wine service from folks for whom Italian is not their roots. Again, a change from the Italians that caught a boat 20 + years ago and passed themselves off as wine (and food) experts in all things Italian. Mind you they rarely strayed from their region all the years they lived there.

No, these young Americans, don’t assume that they “know it all”. Odd, for me to have the interface of humility and interest in what it is I have been working on all these years. Even more odd not to find it in an Italian place. Or is it? We are in America, even if it is flyover country.

Even more odd that after the experience last week in New Orleans, where they do “get” things Italian (and they “get” folks like me). But once in a while people show up from other places, intellectually engaged souls, looking for the good stuff with open minds and hearts.

So all these years pounding the streets has proven to be less influential than two other things: working my little plot of land and plucking away at the keyboard. All these years I thought a sword in a battle was the way to go. Now I realize a trowel and some compost and a blog and a fertile imagination has been a better choice of implements when waging my crusade to bring Italian wines back into the forefront.

Thirty years ago if an Italian restaurant put a French wine like Chateau Lafite or a Pommard or a Chateauneuf du Pape on their wine list it was meant to convey a certain legitimacy for their efforts to be seen as serious and committed to wine. Now when an Italian place does that it throws up a serious flag. Unfortunately for both the French wine and the Italian restaurant, it isn’t a good sign. It indicates someone doesn't know wines from their own country well enough. And that they don’t have a willing spirit to take their cues from folks who do know better and want to help them. And it throws into question their food menu. Is that pasta dish really reflecting the sensibilities of things Italian or is the pasta just a decoy?

This is my midweek ramble. Is it any different from other rants about the industry I seem to throw out once in a while? Probably not. The sea change for me this week is that I really have found other fertile fields to plow in. I no longer rely on the Italian emigrants from the 80’s to be ambassadors. They came from a country that is in as much trouble, politically and economically, as America. They came here to get away, not to get up into it.

No, I’m looking to my own country and our own people, especially the young, the energetic, the ones willing-to-change, in order to keep the Italian wine revolution moving forward. And believe me it is proceeding. But through the efforts of success-minded forward-thinking souls who aren’t afraid to take a leap, intellectually as well as in the trust department. And all that is good news.

Losers need not apply.

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

My Last Meal

2011-10-02T16:12:00.007-05:00

Today The New York Times Magazine, the issue about food and wine, posed the question “What would you order for your last supper?” Seeing as nobody bothered to ask me, and reading some of the entries, it got me to thinking.

For one, I wouldn’t order out. In fact, I reckon I wouldn’t be in any position to order anything or anyone. If indeed it were to be my last meal, I would hope at the moment I would be beyond trying to orchestrate those around me to do my will. But…

….what I would really like, if I could, would be to make the dish I have been making for as long as I can remember. That would be the dish loosely known in our family as Eggplant Parmigiana. And while it bears little or no resemblance to any eggplant dish I have ever seen outside of my family, it is my ultimate comfort food, and would be the dish I would want to have in my belly as I crossed over into my very own Valhalla.

It was a dish my mother taught me. I watched her make it countless times. I listened to my father complain about the onions not being strained or the eggs too hardboiled or the eggplant being too bitter. And she would just make it again and again and try to please a man who was so tormented from not having the life he wanted that it seemed with all she did she could never do anything much to please him. But we ate the eggplant, sometimes in silence, and sometimes with fireworks. Fortunately the power of eggplant is more powerful than fear or sadness or loss or pain. Thank God for eggplant.

I remember the dish from my college days, when I was so young and hopeful. I still am hopeful, just a little older and a little sadder from seeing the things that have been thrown into my river of life. But in the college days, with my trusty little ceramic bowl, I would impress young women and make them food. A little red wine from nearby Gilroy or Santa Cruz and it might have even been a magic night or two back then. If I hadn’t been so darn serious. Or if I hadn’t wanted to do just the right thing, always. Damn that right thing business, taking so much joy from this young idealist.

Then in the 1970’s, I went to the hills of Calabria and saw my Calabrese aunts making it, so rustic and pure. Their chickens laid the eggs, they grew the eggplant. They started the fire with wood they gathered and we drank their wine. That really set me on a path greater than eggplant. But through the evolution of my life there it was, eggplant at a pivotal moment, teaching me about local and pure and organic and wonderful. And love and comfort.

When I came back to California, where my young family and I lived, and we were vegetarians, eggplant was really front stage and center. And with a little red wine, again this time maybe a light Sangiovese, one that I could find at Trader Joe’s for under $3, it would fill the bill. I was the only one who drank, the kids were too small and my wife didn’t drink. But my neighbors would. And the tribe sprawled out into our little California courtyard and, well, you just had to be there. Eggplant was, and the little iconic dish that could, it was the one I would wish for as my last meal. It seemed it would also be there with us, celebrating life.

When I moved to Texas and my family disintegrated, and it was just me and my little son. I’d make eggplant from time to time. My Aunt Mil revived me with her version.My, son, he was pretty good about it. He still loves it. I take him some from time to time, when he is receptive. Or when he is there. Lately though, he hasn’t been “there”. I don’t really know where he “is”. I think he probably isn’t where he wants to be. Maybe I should make some eggplant and take him some, pull him back out.

It has been a great summer for eggplant, even found some growing behind my plot. A neighbor was experimenting with a little victory garden in the green space behind all our yards. Unfortunately, he let it get too dry and it shriveled. But it did show me that eggplant could grow in my terroir. The next house will have an area devoted to eggplant. And maybe some of those chickens too.

But I was talking about last meals. And so, probably what I should do is make some up and freeze it, just in case I will be incapacitated and not able to make it from scratch. My mom probably will be gone by then and so I couldn’t ask her to make me some. Maybe my middle sister could, but she lives so far away and has a life of her own. I wouldn’t expect that from her, if she were to outlive me. She probably will.

So there you have it. I will just have to make sure I am well and able. And while I am at it, I would like to ask when it is my time, that I just go to sleep and if I were not to wake up, then it would be like I were just dreaming on through eternity. And if so, there I’d be, by my little grill and a fire and a pile of eggplants and eggs and tomato sauce and all the other ingredients. And a big bowl. And an oven (hopefully not the big oven down below). And a nice bottle of red Italian wine. It wouldn't have to be anything special – just red and dry, with some lively fruit and not too much tannin or oak. Yep, I’d be one happy camper.

And yes, my last meal would be my favorite meal of my life, and eggplant would be there, as it has been most of my life. And if I get my wish, on the other side too.

Cevola Family Eggplant Parmigiana ( please note this will be published in the Edible Cookbook and I believe they will have copyright to it - so if you post, please note and give credit, even though it is my recipe . -AC)

Cevola Family Eggplant Parmigiana

Alfonso Cevola, hoja santa grower for Mozzarella Co.

Serves 8 to 10

A wine professional by trade, Alfonso Cevola is one of a handful of hoja santa growers for Paula Lambert’s Mozzarella Co. The huge leaves are used to wrap her prize-winning hoja santa goat cheese, imparting a wonderful, herby flavor. When it’s time to make this Calabrian family recipe, Cevola uses Paula’s fresh mozzarella as part of the cheese mix. This dish is not like any eggplant parmesan you’ve ever tasted. It’s more in the tradition of a timpano. Cevola has given it a Texas twist by grilling the eggplant slices rather than roasting them, making the dish more rustic and complex.

4 to 5 medium eggplants

Salt

Olive oil

8 to 9 hard-cooked eggs

2 (8-ounce) balls fresh mozzarella

1 (25.5-ounce) jar Muir Glen cabernet marinara sauce, or your choice

2 cups grated regular mozzarella

1 cup shredded Parmesan cheese

1. Slice the eggplant into 1/ 4-inch thick medallions (no need to peel). Lightly salt both sides. Lightly brush both sides with olive oil.

2. Fire up the grill. Arrange eggplant slices on the grate. Grill until they turn golden and get grill marks. Turn and grill the other sides. You may have to do this in batches.

3. Once the eggplant is done, remove to a platter. Set aside.

4. Using an egg-slicer, cut the eggs into horizontal medallions. Set aside.

5. Break or slice the fresh mozzarella into pieces about as big as your thumb. Set aside.

6. Preheat oven to 350 F. Select a bowl-shaped, oven-proof glass or stoneware container for your eggplant parmigiana, and gather your ingredients together to assemble it. (You may need 2 bowls depending on the size.)

7. Coat the interior of the bowl lightly with olive oil. Spread a thin layer of marinara sauce on the bottom. Add a layer of eggplant, covering the surface. Dot with some eggs, and a few pieces of fresh mozzarella, fill in the layer with the grated mozzarella. Add a light layer of Parmesan.

8. Repeat layers, ending with marinara, and reserving a little grated mozzarella for the top. Finish with the grated mozzarella.

9. With a baking sheet positioned underneath to catch any spills, bake for 35 to 45 minutes. To serve, cut slices roughly as you would a layer cake so every slice has layers in it.

Tip #1 Don’t worry if some of the eggplant slices get too dark; you can still use them. The main thing is to cook the eggplant so it isn’t tough. As you cook the eggplant, the skins will soften up, too.

Tip #2 Don’t use a metal dish. It will interact with the marinara sauce for an unpleasant taste.

Tip #3 This is a fairly free-form casserole and often winds up making 1 large casserole for immediate eating and 1 small one that you can freeze and heat up later.

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

Parallel Paths - La Cucina Italiana and Jazz in New Orleans

2011-09-29T23:58:00.003-05:00

Limoncello by symbiosis at Domenica

New Orleans has a relationship with things Italian similarly as it does with jazz. While there is a lot of traditional food and jazz in the Crescent City, there is also a good deal of improvisation. And in the world of La Cucina Italiana, this is welcome news. New Orleans is experiencing new and renewed energies in this arena. Places like A Mano, Ancora and Dominica are shining examples of innovation and experimentation. And just like jazz, there are some pretty little melodies floating out of the neighborhoods of New Orleans. In three short days, I just touched the tip of the iceberg.

Salumi, hog butchering, pizzaioli in the food corner. In the spirit department, the city is a repository for infusions and amari, digestivi and hand created libations. One bartender told me ”I’m not a mixologist. It feels more like I’m a pharmacist.” Indeed, some of the hot spots like Cure are experimenting in making drinks that not only make you feel good, but which might even bring a better state of well-being to the imbiber. Who knew? Wine, alcohol and potions that make you feel better. But the Italians knew this ages ago. And now we are seeing a resurgence of that energy in one of the most neglected and beloved cities in America.

I love New Orleans; I feel my ancestor’s spirits roaming the streets of the French Quarter. Along with San Francisco, New Orleans feeds my soul, my spirit and my belly. I come here to recharge, even when it is a paltry three days filled with tastings, meetings and a hectic work schedule. And here it is, we are on the cusp of the dreaded (and highly anticipated) O-N-D selling season. To those of us in the wine business, this is the holiday season.

In one of the beautifully symmetrical quirks of fate, this week saw the beginning of the Rosh Hashanah holiday; Dominica was in full swing with a special menu. A tribute to the Jewish roots of the chef, the city and Italy. And a segment of the Jewish cuisine that is highly inventive and creative. I had a lentil soup that was pure Padova. Loved it; it went extremely well with the Petra Mareto, a Maremma blend of Syrah, Malbec and Merlot. A marriage of disparate things, the grape diaspora landing in Tuscany and yielding a gorgeous offspring for everyone’s enjoyment.

On a slightly critical note – one kvetch, while I am in character; Wednesday we brought out a killer selection of four wines (see photo). While tasting them I started to smell this ammoniated fragrance wafting over in our direction. And there in the middle of the presentation a woman with a bucket of Lysol and a mop was totally destroying our olfactory world. This happened twice this week – what do they say – three’s a trend? Does the chemical company have a greater hold over the restaurant culture than the wine business? Probably a bigger business, but really in a place where food is so elevated, there should be no tolerance for such mindless movements. Not the cleaning ladies fault – but everyone needs a little more consciousness raising on this matter. And with such a cache of rare and hard to get (to taste) wines.

One wine in that flight I rarely get to try (we usually sell it all) was the Dal Forno Valpoilcella 2004. A wine that I don't normally see as my kind of wine, but with such bracing acidity, to go along with the ample fruit and wood, it was seductive and it sucked me right into its vortex of Corvina. I love when a wine fools me and slaps me – a wine I’m not normally attracted to on a philosophical level, but which none the less, won me over. Shattering my preconceptions and prejudices. And a wine on the other end of the spectrum from where I think I’m going. Bravo, Romano!

Stunningly beautiful 2007 Barbaresco "Faset" from Marziano Abbona

What else? Some really cool wine shops. Bryan at W.I.N.O., David at Cork & Bottle and Beth at Swirl – some, kindred souls from the same tribe as me- wandering around the desert of wine looking for a meaningful oasis of Italian wine. David, an old hand, a journeyman, a tribal elder (not that old – but cellared and seasoned – we need these mentor-like folks). And Beth, lively, vigorous, totally won over to the Italian end of things so much that her shop looks like an Italian enoteca. Occhipinti, Cornelissen, any manner of unusual things. And totally infatuated with the wines of Etna, as I am. Sometimes I feel like a motherless child, but knowing I have the occasional brother or sister is a relief in these times.

Crostini with liver pate, hard boiled egg and capers at Domenica

Adolfo Garcia of A Mano and Ancora and Alon Shaya of John Besh’s Dominica exert influence on their staff and their diners to stretch. Their wine lists are inventive, even courageous at times. The love for hand-made food, for process, for husbandry, for nurturing the food onto the tables of their clients, inspires me to continue.

A world apart from an Italian “concept” restaurant. You know the ones: their PR person sends out all manner of blather about unique, authentic, and humble and then you look at the menu and see Chilean Sea Bass slathered with Dungeness crab and topped with a creamy “Alfaro” sauce. Or "Aristocrat” - Alfredo with a touch of Marinara and Parmesan I can’t make this up better than the stuff I run into. And you don’t even want to look at the wine lists coming out of those places – It’s as if the only wines that existed were Sassicaia and Ornellaia – sure a good choice for humble seafood dishes which source their components from every sea but the one right out back. Yes, Alice, there are still folks getting into the restaurant business that should have never gotten off their donkeys.

Photo by Teresa Rafidi

And on that note, Buona Notte and Buon Weekend!

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

Bouzeron in the Afternoon and Biancolella in the Evening - Just Another Day on the Wine Trail in New Orleans

2011-09-27T22:39:00.005-05:00

This week finds me in Louisiana, starting in New Orleans, one of my great-great-grandfather’s haunts. Meetings in the morning and an afternoon tasting of French wines, mainly Burgundy, at the Windsor Court Hotel. A chance to see old acquaintances and make some new ones. And a great showing of wines.

I headed straight to the “other” table, where Moxy Castro was pouring wines from Alsace, Bordeaux and the Rhone. After a dash of white Bordeaux (to calibrate the palate) she poured me a few precious drops of the 2002 Trimbach Cuvee Frederic Emile Riesling. I know I shouldn’t have gone there so early, but how many times does one get to taste a great wine like that? Mea maxima culpa.

Afterwards I set off to try a few Burgundies before making a late afternoon appointment. Jerome Hasenpflug, the GM and national sales manager for Esprit du Vin (a Palm Bay company) was manning that table. A little Bouzeron from Domaine Michel Briday, some Chassagne from Domaine Coffinet-Duvernay, and some mighty fine Meursault and Puligny from Domaine Henri Darnat.

Tugged for time, I waved at the reds and sorrowfully headed back to the world of commerce and the warm streets of New Orleans.

Warm indeed, pizza oven warm and into Ancora, in the recently refurbished New Freret district in Uptown. Talk about energy, this is one little neighborhood to hang in. Several good eating places, one specializing in cocktails, Cure, who pay homage to traditional libations. I first fell in love with the area years ago when we stepped into the wonderful time machine, Gautreau's, one of my favorite restaurants on earth.

But tonight we stumbled into Ancora and pizza. And an all Italian, make that, an all Campanian wine list. Heaven, what I, rather, we, have to do to get folks in places to just put Italian wines on the list? And these folks have the stones to do only Campanian wines? Note: ( i.e., folks I have been talking to for years) it's not all about the mighty dollar.It is about passion and perfection. Chapeau, Ancora amici

Palagrello (Bianco and Nero), Biancolella, Piedirosso and more…Gragnano on the way guys, I promise.

All this while trying to stay on my Weightwatcher allocation of 36 points a day? Thank the Lord for bonus points, I have not yet strayed. But I got pretty close to the devil and the fire, mamma.

Ancora's Diavolo ( homage to Hockney)

Lots more to come, on the wine trail in Italy, err, New Orleans…

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

Italian High Noon: Five Rode In

2011-09-25T15:25:00.005-05:00

As morning dawned, only five were left. After many wars and battles, they couldn’t claim victory. They had been left behind, without any entitlements to greatness, as their fellow warriors had enjoyed. No victory laps, no medallions, nothing. Just the blank stare from the sun as it rose to shine upon everyone else but them.

How many more years before these five could taste the glory of greatness, riding tall in their saddles, heads held high? As if it were ever in the cards for these five?

Soon, the curtain would fall, and there would be no more pageantry, no more striving for the highest honor. Before long, they and all their compatriots would be swept away into a larger procession. And with it, dashed is the chance to go into new battles with a taste of triumph.

They were all alone now, waiting for the noonday sun to cast no shadow upon them, to become invisible even to their star and the earth they strode. They were Valle d’Aosta, Trentino, Liguria, Molise and Calabria – the shunned ones – the outlaws – the disregarded – the unkempt – the unloved.

Making a little breakfast in the fire before they broke camp and set off for their reckoning at noon, they drank strong black, bitter coffee and ate rock-hard bread which they seared in the coals. Molise was first to speak, as the junior fighter among them.

“What did I have to lose? Only my precious Biferno, the only one they could have recognized. My Rosso, perhaps? But the Montepulciano from our neighbors in Abruzzo have stolen that glory. The white? Who would give a Trebbiano any honor? She is the pretty little sister everyone wants to bed down when young, but as she ages, she is scattered, haggard, and uncertain. No, she would never be honored. Only Emilia Romagna, with their political power could have gotten that victory with their Albana or Tuscany with their precious Vernaccia. But not we terroni in Molise. We should have gone back to shoeing our horses, content to be a drive-through for the cattle.” Dejected, Molise saddled up and headed out first.

Then Trentino roused. “We are a border place, neither Italian nor German, nor Austrian, nor any of the other many conquerors who have spread their seed on our ravaged lands. But our Teroldego is nobility; our Teroldego should have been acclaimed, recognized. But we are on the frontier, and we have no one claiming us but everyone wanting a piece of us.” And he threw the rest of his coffee into the fire and strode away to his final meeting in town.

Liguria then rattled out his paean. “We are also a border, and we have the traditions of France and Italy and the Savoy, but we are an inhospitable terrain, not noble, but fleshy, sensuous and hard to claim. Our great red in the hills, the Rossese, is as noble as any Dolcetto or Primitivo. But alas, no honor from Rome. And our Sciacchetrà? On a par with Picolit or Sauterne and more precious and hard to find, but for the few princes that harbor in our ports in the calm months. She has no advocate in Rome, either.” And Liguria ambled towards his horse and joined the other two.

Only Calabria and Valle d’Aosta remained, chewing on the last pieces of hardtack, mulling. Valle poured a last cup of the bitter liquid and launched his lament. “We are also a frontier and with inhospitable winters and borders and mountains and vineyards difficult to traverse. Who would know the glories we contain? We have not one nor two, but a plethora of worthy candidates. Six come to mind - Blanc de Morgex, Fumin, Donnaz, Enfer d’Arvier, Torrette and Chambave Rouge. Any could rival most of the DOCG’s that have been handed out. And I say, HANDED OUT, NOT EARNED.” Valle D’Aosta was known for dexterous gun handling. You didn’t want to anger this one. “The vineyards of Torrette are like the Douro, or the Mosel or my neighbor in Liguria. But no, the fools in Rome get our taxes, and we provide them with a safe border. But we have nothing else they want. And so they give nothing else to us, unless we grease their palms with fat coins. I would sooner wrap a cord around their necks and string them from the highest tree.” He was angry, but he pulled his boots on while Calabria said his peace.

Calabria, tall and tan and lean with an aquiline nose, shaped from the many years the Greeks held sway over his lands, he was more philosophical. “We have one, maybe two, wines destined for greatness. The Ciro, without a doubt. But as it has been for thousands of years, not because some minister of Parliament decrees it so. We will be here long after Rome is sacked a second, third or infinite number of times. We feel the greatness of our territory, and no one can take it away from us. As for the masters of the DOCG – they can all burn in a hell much worse than any Dante can dream up.” Calabria was their negotiator, but he had had enough. These two joined the other three as they rode to their noontime meeting with destiny.

And what a meeting that would be, the five remaining territories, none of their wines with a so much as a single DOCG.

Oh, to be a crow high in the sky over the dusty little town when the sun was at its peak and the tower clock would strike noon for the last time.

They weren't going down without a fight.

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

Images from the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C

Picking and Pulling in Tuscany

2011-09-22T00:08:00.001-05:00

Regardless of the political or economic situation in Italy, there are some certainties that the Italians will faithfully address: When the grapes are ripe they will be picked and when the sheep are full they will be milked. Though many of us are dreamers, Italians know when it is time to pick and pull.

That’s one of the wonderful things about this country that my family emigrated from over 100 years ago. Yes, the political scene is a disgrace. Giving a lifetime stipend of €3,000 Euros a month to a hard-corn porn star or giving the country away to a failed torch singer who treats it like his own personal bordello is an ineffable shame. But to neglect the grapes or the sheep, where I took these photographs, in the Tuscan countryside, that would be a bigger shame. And so the harvest proceeds. And the milk is drawn. And wine and cheese are made. And Italy sustains herself for another day, to fight on the moral grounds. I do not doubt it for a moment.

I know it looks like a hopeless battle, from inside Italy. Much like it often seems inside the United States, when one looks at the divisiveness of the people who live side by side. Acrimony, hatred, fear, loathing, all the negative emotions that are fueling this current state of rage. But this is not sustainable. We must eat. And we must drink. And we look to the Italians to rise above their current situation and move forward. Proceed.

Are we stuck? Some of us are indeed. People close to me are hurting; some of them refuse to come out of their manufactured world. Some are trapped inside labyrinths that their mind has fashioned. It kills me to see it, especially for ones I love. But life is a force to be reckoned with. And Italy knows this force as well as any place on earth.

I revel in the knowledge that while I am sleeping, my Sardinian friends in the scraggy hillsides of Tuscany are getting up before the sun to tend to their flocks. Likewise all through Tuscany, and Italy, men and women in their 30’s, 50’s, 70’s and older, and younger, are also heading out to their fields and picking the grapes off the vines, taking them to the crush pad and making the miraculous liquid we call wine. This is a magic time for wine and cheese makers. This isn’t a time to be sad or to lament the foibles of politicians or to even fear the temporary depressions. We must make cheese! We must make wine! We must lean forward!

We have all eternity to be dead and gone. Now is the time for life and for living. Hand me a bucket.

Let's get busy!

Happy Birthday to my big sister Julie

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

Pensions for Porn Stars and the Newest, Bestest Italian DOCG list ~ now "73"

2011-09-20T08:46:00.011-05:00

It’s been a long, lonely summer, but the Italians are back from holiday. Two important new DOCG appellations now have received their well-tanned reward. Almost as good as giving a hard-core porn star (who was in the Italian Parliament for five years, albeit with a lawyer hired to “write” legislation for her) a reward of a pension of €3,000 a month - for the rest of her life - Bunga! Bunga!! Bunga!!!

Ahh, Italy, you make all of us emigrants so proud.

Here are the two latest deliveries :

· Suvereto

· Val di Cornia Rosso (or Rosso della Val di Cornia)

Making a grand total of Italian wine DOCG’s now, for the moment, “73”

The complete list, and new map, after the jump…

A huge thank you and shout out again to Franco Ziliani for alerting me to this development. I am ineffably grateful.

Complete (Provisional) Listing of Italian DOCG Wines (as of September 20 2011) : 73

Abruzzo (1)
Montepulciano d'Abruzzo "Colline Teramane"

Basilicata (1)
Aglianico del Vulture Superiore

Apulia (4)
Castel del Monte Nero di Troia Riserva (newest)
Castel del Monte Rosso Riserva (newest)
Castel del Monte Bombino Nero (newest)
Primitivo di Manduria Dolce Naturale

Campania (4)
Fiano di Avellino
Greco di Tufo
Taurasi
Aglianico del Taburno

Emilia Romagna (2)
Albana di Romagna
Colli Bolognesi Classico Pignoletto

Friuli-Venezia Giulia (3)
Colli Orientali del Friuli Picolit (including Picolit Cialla)
Ramandolo
Rosazzo

Lazio (3)
Cesanese del Piglio
Frascati Superiore
Canellino di Frascati

Lombardia (5)
Franciacorta
Oltrepo Pavese
Sforzato della Valtellina
Valtellina Superiore
Moscato di Scanzo

Marche (5)
Conero
Vernaccia di Serrapetrona
Verdicchio di Matelica Riserva
Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi Classico Riserva
Offida (Rosso & Bianco)

Piemonte (16)
Asti - Moscato d'Asti
Barbaresco
Barbera d'Asti
Barbera del Monferrato Superiore
Barolo (including Chinato)
Brachetto D'Acqui (or Acqui)
Dolcetto di Dogliani Superiore (or Dogliani)
Dolcetto di Ovada Superiore
Gattinara
Gavi (or Cortese di Gavi)
Ghemme
Roero (Rosso & Bianco)
Erbaluce di Caluso
Ruché di Castagnole Monferrato
Alta Langa
Dolcetto Diano d'Alba

Sardegna (1)
Vermentino di Gallura

Sicilia (1)
Cerasuolo di Vittoria

Toscana (11)

Suvereto (new)

Val di Cornia Rosso (or Rosso della Val di Cornia) (new)
Brunello di Montalcino
Carmignano
Chianti
Chianti Classico
Elba Aleatico Passito
Montecucco Sangiovese
Morellino di Scansano
Vernaccia di S.Gimignano
Vino Nobile di Montepulciano

Umbria (2)
Montefalco Sagrantino
Torgiano Rosso Riserva

Veneto (14)
Colli di Conegliano
Montello Rosso or Rosso del Montello
Friularo di Bagnoli
Bardolino Superiore
Recioto di Gambellara
Recioto di Soave
Soave Superiore
Conegliano Valdobbiadene Prosecco Superiore
Asolo Prosecco Superior
Amarone della Valpolicella
Recioto della Valpolicella
Piave Malanotte (or Malanotte del Piave)
Lison
Colli Euganei Fiori d’Arancio

Revised Map

Click here and hit the magnify button when you get there to enlarge map.Or click on the map and enlarge...Enjoy!

Note to American sommeliers studying to pass various levels in the Guild of Sommeliers:

I gather if you all are looking for a site with a list that the (American) Guild of Sommeliers governing board deems to be the official one for their purposes in order to set a standard for their testing, then by all means stay at 59 (and counting). However in the Italian wine (and sommelier) community, most of us know the Italian government is painfully slow in publishing the new DOCGs, rendering them "official". In those circles, the number is now 73, whether the “official” paperwork has been filed or not. And with a summer vacation now behind them, those of you studying for your MS, etc. might be even more stressed to receive timely information in order to differentiate between the Guild of Sommeliers official number and what we know in the Italian wine community to be the current ( and climbing) number of DOCG’s. Sorry for the confusion. I didn’t set it up, just reporting it.

Good luck, in any event…

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

Does your rosé swing both ways?

2011-09-18T17:17:00.005-05:00

Joe Bastianich, please call me

It never rains in California
But girl, don't they warn ya
It pours, man, it pours

My mom, for anyone who hasn’t been perusing this blog lately, is not one to shrink from an opinion. She didn’t get to be 97 by being a pushover. I don’t know too many people who win an argument with her. Ask my sisters. Or her numerous grandchildren. So when she gets something into her head, let’s just say, there isn’t anyone I know, dead or alive, who can talk her out of it.

As is my custom, when I drive home from work, if I am in town, I call her. And lately she has had in her mind that she just doesn’t like Joe Bastianich. Oh sure, I tried to tell her what I thought. I’ve met Joe; we’ve “supped” in Verona a time or two during Vinitaly. The company I work for buys (and sells) his family wine. In fact I have been to the winery, during the COF2011 blogger trip to Friuli. I know the whole crew, and they’re a pretty good group. And I’ve also met Lidia a time or two as well. She reminds me of my Sicilian grandmother. My mom likes her. In fact my mom told me to tell Lidia, the last time I saw her, about that fig recipe she saw on the show. I did – I’m like the information mule between my mom and Lidia. And since my mom is almost a celebrity in her own right - as witnessed last week during the taping of the Suze Orman show - let’s just say being stuck between these two women in a conversation relay is quite entertaining. But Joe, man he can’t get no love from my mom. Joe, call me please, we’ve gotta get this straightened out, before my mom calls your mom. It could get ugly.

It started out when Joe went onto the network Masterchef program with Gordon Ramsay. Now, my mom isn’t exactly a fan of Chef Ramsay, though she does like the show where he goes into the restaurants of the “little people” and fixes their places up. My mom thinks Gordon is a stand-up guy in that show. But in the national network show, Masterchef, man there isn’t much my mom likes about either of those two, actually all three. “That big boy with the stupid glasses, who told him he could cook?” I think she was talking about Graham Elliot. But back to Joe. Man she likes to tear him a new one every time the subject comes up. And she likes to bring the subject up often.

“Why does he talk down to his mother like that?” she asks me. “Mom, I don’t know, I think it’s TV and they have to have drama. You now, conflict and resolution?” She doesn't buy into that though. “Well, he’d do better to show her some respect. He wouldn’t be anywhere without Lidia.” Yes mom, none of us wouldn’t be anywhere without our moms.

“He’s too skinny. Did he have an operation?” she asks. “I don’t know, mom. Joe doesn’t share that kind of information with me. I just try and buy and sell his wine, that’s all, ma.” Undaunted, she replies, “I think he looks like sh*t, he’s trying too hard to be something he’s not.” Mom is on a roll, as I sit stuck in rush hour traffic in 100°+F heat in Texas. I’m dying here. But she is pretty entertaining.

“What kind of crap is that?” she asks, referencing a remark he made to a contestant on the show.”Ma, I dunno, I didn’t watch it. But it’s a reality show. It’s not meant to make sense. They’re just trying to blow the show up, get ratings, and ask the sponsors for more money to advertise. That’s’ what TV is all about.” But she won’t have any part of that. She’s pissed at Joe.

Mind you, my mom, at 97, is feisty for a reason. Been that way, all her life. It’s part of her longevity gene. It serves her well. It keeps her pumped up. And how many nonagenarians are out there who are excited about something. So I give my mom a pass. Like the good Italian son I am. She won’t always be with us. None of us will, for that matter. But I drift into gloomy territory. Back to my mom.

“Do you know what that horse’s ass said on the Today show the other day?” Pause. “Al, are you still there?” I was thinking. “Ma, I couldn’t catch the segment because I was at work. What happened, pray tell.”

Joe, you do not want to be on the wrong side of this woman

She launches,” That fool called a rose wine bisexual. Now what kind of nonsense is that?”

“What…” I almost run into the car in front of me. “…What did you say?”

“You heard me. Joe, skinny, bald, sick looking, rude-to-his-mother Joe called a wine, I think it was Italian, he said it was bisexual. Now how do you think people are going to think about that wine when they go into the store?” She had a point. I needed to watch that segment of Today and see what she was talking about.

Sure enough, he called a Tuscan rosato a bisexual(see clip above). Actually, it seemed kind of off-the-cuff. Like, you know, when you’re in front of a crowd and you are speaking and something comes out, kind of a thought experiment and it’s not at all what the brain meant to send? That’s kind of the look I saw on Joe’s face when he said that. Of course Matt Lauer took the ball and ran with it, really didn’t let Joe off easy.

Will it damage the future of Italian wine sales? Unlikely. After all, it’s just network TV. Hey, we need help selling rose wine from Italy. I know sex sells, but maybe bisexual marketing sells a little better in NY or LA than in the great bulging midsection of America. I’m not likely to be making a shelf talker for an Italian rosato for Jimmy’s quoting Joe Bastianich on the Today show. But that’s the least of Joe’s problems.

After all, Joe, my mom is on the fast-track to Oprah with her Suze Orman connection. Just to be safe, Joe, don’t you think you might want to give her a call and patch things up between you two?

Send me a note, Joe; don’t hang up your flip-flops just yet. I’ll give you my mom’s home and cell phone.

There’s this feisty 97-year old lady in LA that I can't hold back who thinks you’ve got some ‘splaining to do.

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

Which wine with the world's most expensive Cannoli?

2011-09-16T16:48:00.004-05:00

from the “nicest things sometimes happen for no reason whatever” department

The world's most expensive cannoli (o) James Ferris Photography

Down in Deep Ellum this morning I happened to meet a fellow Sicilian (and customer I might add, in Kansas City, MO), Jasper Mirabile. One of the nicest fellas I’ve met in a long time, Jasper owns the eponymous (and great) restaurant, Jasper's, and being a lover of cheese, he was visiting our mutual friend Paula Lambert, who is the iconic cheese goddess of New American cooking. I grow (and just harvested) Hoja Santa and Epazote for Paula (it’s an Herbs for Cheese barter program) and we all met on the steps of the Mozzarella Company. Jasper and his wife Lisa were in town visiting their daughter Alex, who is attending SMU.

Anyway, after we talked about some of the new Italian spots in town (Lucia, Dough, Nonna and Il Cane Rosso) Paula and I both asked if he had made it to Jimmy’s yet.

Down the street 5 minutes from Paula’s Mozzarella Company in Deep Ellum, Jimmy’s is in Old East Dallas, where many Italians settled in the early 1900’s. My grandmother and aunts; one aunt still lives there (at 95). So I get this email from Jasper:

"After Paula took us on a tour, we went to Jimmy's. I am in trouble. I bought so much I have to get a suitcase. How about that deli and the sausage? Wow!"

Yeah, wow! Jimmy’s and Jasper that’s an Italian-American combination made in heaven.

James Ferris Photography

Jasper recently was in the news for his Worlds Most Expensive (@ $26,000) gold leafed cannoli (really a cannolo because it is the singular use for the word – cannoli implies more than one).

I was thinking what wine would be best with it? The article about this special dessert had a picture of the Roederer Cristal, and that’s a pretty good choice. I also think something closer to the Sicilian mainland would be good, like a delicate Marsala, say from Marco De Bartoli, or a dessert wine from Planeta or Rapitala? Maybe too sweet, might be a little overkill in the sugar department.

But the Marsala from De Bartoli , two that I would love to see with a cannolo (or more, say like two cannoli?) would be the Vecchio Samperi, made according to their web site, “using the traditional Solera method, in which small quantities of young wine are added to wines of older vintages as they pass through a sequence of wooden barrels. The complex, harmonious result celebrates the fruit of many harvests.” Or the Vigna La Miccia, “classified as an ‘Oro’ or gold Marsala, which is a sweeter, fresher dessert wine produced using a cold vinification process.”

All this to say, it’s Friday, find some sweetness on the world to celebrate. Soon enough Monday and all that it implies will be back on our shoulders . Buon Weekend, y’all!

L-R Paula Lambert and her "grower" Alfonso, Lisa and Jasper Mirabile

written and reposted from The Blend by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

Mixed Case

2011-09-15T00:21:00.003-05:00

and around and around it goes in the circle game

Wacky week, really a mixed bag, so far. Gotta say, so many of my friends are grieving over things going on around them, around all of us. I am kind of stunned by most of it. Like I said to my closest confidant tonight, it seems like we are looking at a train wreck in slow motion and it is right there in front, heading straight at us, and there’s not much any of us can do except possibly get out of its way.

In the meantime, these divertiti from the wine trail and beyond.

Another great tasting tonight at the Circolo del Vino. Daniele Gaia, a young man from Piedmont was in town from Elvio Cogno winery. Stunning wines, from a rare Anas Cetta (Jeremy Parzen's iluminating post on the enigmatic grape and wine here) to a youthful Dolcetto, a Barbera with some age on it, and two Barolos, one from the 2006 and the 2005 single vineyard Ravera. Exceptional tasting, with some light fare from Sausage Paul. Good stuff. We sold a bunch of >$30 wine and a good measure of >$70 wine too. So there.

Daniele is only 25 and has been in the game since he was 18. Travels the world for the winery, when he isn’t working the harvest. He’s a keeper. Good guy – very passionate – Yes!

One of the mythic old-timers was at the dinner, Alessio Francheschetti, who had a really nice Italian place in Dallas in the 1980’s and 1990’s. Alessio is gearing up to work with Francesco Farris at the incoming Zio Cecio and he is pumped. Looking a little tired from working all day on his feet in the kitchen, preparing for another event in the Circolo del Vino. Busy place – busy time of year…

More old timers on the move. Let’s take a look at how old, really old people are tackling their everyday existence.

Mario Messina. Anyone who has read this blog knows how I feel about this guy. He is the reason so many of us are in the Italian business in Texas. Period. Three or four months ago he was down for the count. His hope needed replacing and his heart was week. But Mario is not a quitter. Hear that, younguns? NOT A QUITTER! He got a new hip, had some routing done on his arteries, and did the hard steady climb back up to health. Months of recovery. But he is back. I caught up with him at his home. He was going from inspecting work on a new outside fountain (he loves fountains, the Roman in him) and cooking up some cauliflower soup. He also had time to walk me over to his computer to pull some recipes off the Food Network. Mario is indomitable and an inspiration. Everyone should have an older person in their life that just doesn’t give in or give up. It is a great way to balance one’s own little personal tragedies that befall us all too often every day. Thank Mario, for being there and for FIGHTING and WINNING – for 96 years now!

Not to be outdone, my mom called me the other day. “I bet you want to know where I was when you called the other day?” she asked. Not really. My mom is usually not home when I call her. She likes to cry that nobody ever calls her, but the reality is, she’s never home! She’s at the gym, she’s outside cleaning off the sidewalk, she’s at the beach, she’s at the desert, she’s with a friend. Truth is, at 97, she’s on the go. And so it was the other day her friend Linda took her to Hollywood for a taping of a Suze Orman show. Lo and behold, a producer spied mom and took her to the front row. Before you know it, as my mom tells the story, Suze has her up on the stage right in the middle of the taping. But wait, there’s more. After the taping, Linda and mom go backstage and there’s Suze with a cameraman, taping my mom and telling her they’re gonna send it off to Oprah, who produces the Orman show for her OWN network. What a crazy, wacky woild!

Photo by Brad Murano

Like I said, wacky mixed bag week. Seems like my mom wasn’t the only one in studio this week getting videotaped (is that even what they call it anymore?). I had my 15 minutes as well this week in the Splashmedia studios, courtesy of fellow Italian and blogger Brad Murano who turned his sidekick Renay San Miguel (ABC, CNN, NBC) on to my story. Splashmedia is a way-out-front Social Media management company, and they were interviewing me about the blogosphere and business. Thanks fellas! (More on that later).

In the meantime, illegitimi non carborundum.

Everyone's a Winner! Photo by Brad Murano

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

Red Wrath & Beyond

2011-09-11T16:30:00.006-05:00

From the "You say you want a revolution..." department

I am in one of those states where I don’t really know which direction to go. Finding myself again as a stranger in a strange land, among friends, workers, family, countrymen. I know it’s me. It must be, the perception versus the reality. But it feels way too convincingly familiar as no man’s land, these trails I find myself walking. And as the Zen koan goes, nothing above, nothing below, so I leap off.

And leaping I find myself looking at the Italian peninsula and the latest revolution that seems to be emanating from Tuscany, in regards to red wine and the emotions that have been stirred these past few weeks via the Montalcino consorzio vote to keep the cépage of Rosso di Montalcino from being vitiated with Cabernet, Merlot or Syrah.

That said, it is not my political position to dislike Cabernet Merlot or Syrah, even from Tuscany. I think folks who read these posts know that if I like a wine, even if it is spoofulated to the hilt, well I’m gonna keep liking it. No one can tell me better than myself what I will or will not like. I do gravitate towards certain styles. I do not care for industrial processed meat. But once in a blue moon I try an In-n-Out burger. I prefer chicken that has been able to walk around rather than to spend its life in a cage. But what happens when I am in a restaurant and they serve a chicken which I have no idea of the provenance? And what if I like the dish? I think what I am trying to say is, I am not so proficiently good that my inner gauge always points me to the most pure expression of food or wine. One in a while something slips by and I like it. Not that there isn’t an ideal or a goal to reach. I would like one day to not ever eat any kind of meat again, in my lifetime. It probably is a difficult goal in the wine business. And maybe I am a little too weak to actually self-enforce such a lofty goal. But we can dream. It’s more that I prefer plants over meat.

And so, red wine? My Calabrese brothers are looking to Montalcino and mulling over among themselves what to do with red wines that have been devised of Gaglioppo with Cabernet or Merlot. They see Montalcino as the possible start of a revolution, as a way of saying their aspirations for wine, should they be based on what a few wine critics from America think wine should taste? If that even means they will be less commercially successful in America?

I say – GO FOR IT! We will find the wine drinkers who want a pure unadulterated Gaglioppo. They are coming up. And yes, there are plenty of people for whom a Tuscan wine laced with Syrah or Malbec or Cabernet or Pinot Noir will work just fine for them. Should we make them sit in the back of the church, mere Catechumens waiting to experience the true light of the Savior? Sangiovese in purezza? Will that rescue the Italian economy or recast the soul of the Italian wine industry? Is it that simple? Is that the battle?

Of course it isn’t. The Italian wine industry is made up of thousands of souls with ideas, fears, hopes and dreams. And they all don’t coincide with everyone else’s. Perhaps the final arbiter is the street, the marketplace, egged on by a few powerful marketers looking to sell a lot of wine and influence wine drinkers. But who made Moscato such a force that it has become? Lil' Kim? Lil Wayne? Or a whole lot of people who like sweet wine that’s low in alcohol? Of course the marketers jumped on that tiger and will ride it until it collapses. Like they always do.

So where is this going? It is probably an omni-directional movement, part revolution and part the momentum of the marketplace. There is no “One Way” in anything, even though there are those who would like to wrap it up all neat and tidy and put it on a shelf and sleep peacefully at night knowing that all things are well with the world.

I am in the marketplace, daily. I know what I like. I also know many of my buyers like totally different things. Have I had any luck in that last generation to move some of those folks in directions I want them to go? Some, yes. But for the most part, I cannot say that my influence has moved the market. Sure it’s nice to get the occasional compliment, and I do. But I am a realist in that area. None of us are that big. Well, maybe a Terlato or a LoCascio or a DiBelardino or a Mariani. But the majority of us, the little people, we carve and we sand and we burnish and we oil and we hope to make something that will provide direction and maybe even a little joy. It’s not a position of power many of us are looking for.

And likewise with many of the winemakers, I think they are responding to their earth and then the influences around them. Some are better perceivers of those things around them; some are able to balance the expectations of others with their personal vision. Hence, we have pure wines from Sangiovese with little use of oak and manipulation that taste great now and in 20 years. And down the street we have fancy baroque red wines, all manner of grapes, all manner of French oak, fancy labels big heavy bottles, big price tags. And someone, somewhere, wants those wines too.

My hope for the Calabrese, and the Sicilians and the Marchegiani and the Apulians and any one in any region that is searching for their soul in the wine they make is this: I want you not to think about what we want you to be. I do not care that you make a wine for high scores. If you do, fine. If you don't, fine too. What I am looking for is wine that reflects your truth, your soil, your earth, your heart.

Happy Harvesting!

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

A Brother, a Father, a Son

2011-09-08T06:35:00.005-05:00

Our little group had an appointment at a winery which our host imports. We were on the outskirts of San Gimignano and the family has been established there since the 15th century. We were slated to have a tasting and then after a meeting, a little light lunch.

We had been on the road for almost a week, and the August holiday was winding down. I don’t ever remember being in Italy at the beginning of August and at the end. It was a passage for me; seeing folks heading north on the Via Aurelia on August 1 from Rome to the coastline of Tuscany. And then, traveling south on that very same highway at the end of August. It almost got me into the mindset of an Italian on holiday. Not that I was there on vacation. I just happened to be there, for work, both times. But I do have an imagination and a sense of placement when it comes to trying to get myself inside the head of an Italian.

But this last meeting was different because on August 1 this family we were visiting lost one of their members. When we sat down to lunch I looked at the family. The son, who was having a birthday on the day we were there, his 19th, was still raw from losing his father. His aunt, who runs the winemaking side of the winery, lost her brother. And the mother, who cooked us our meal, she lost her son. Theirs was an August none of them will ever pray to recapture. There was no holiday for them in August. Their August was a month of hell.

Still the figs ripened, the sun shined, the wine will be made. I looked over to them at one point in the day, sitting at the end of the table together like three little clothespins dangling on a line so precariously. I don’t know who I felt worse for. The sister lost her brother, which in Italy is like losing a father and a son. The son lost his dad, years after he lost his mom. The mother lost her son, the worst possible news a parent can get at any age. And yet they cooked for us, poured us wine, listened to our fractured Italian and our requests for more water, wine and bathrooms.

That’s part of the wine business. Life goes on. Grapes get harvested, and autumn follows summer.

I had this crazy idea in my head that folks in Italy must really hate to die because of what they have to give up when they leave their life in Italy. I know it is a romanticization of something that really isn’t quite like that. I was like when I first came to Italy 40 years ago and thought all Italians were good, honest, artistic, intelligent people merely because they lived in Italy. I came to find out that wasn’t true.

And so it is with leaving Italy. It isn’t any harder to leave the Italian life behind than any other. But it is just as heartbreaking to lose a brother, a father, or a son, in any place and at any time.

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