On the Wine Trail in Italy

The Wine Week, So Far (looking for a wine of the week)

2009-11-19T00:09:00.008-06:00

It’s just been three days this week so far but it feels like a week or more. Evening events, tastings, wine dinners every night this week so far (with more to come) along with full day’s work, working lunches even. And then there are the deals.

Two truffle wine dinners this week. I am all truffled out. Some lovely Nebbiolos though. The Produttori Barbaresco 2005 is gorgeous. I still can’t believe when Etienne de Montille was at the house recently, he was jonesing for Nebbiolo. Too much great Pinot Noir can be too much of a good thing? I reckon.

Before I head back to Austin tomorrow and before I go to bed tonight, I laid out 60 or so bottles of wine for the Becky, the wine of the week writer to try. “Can you be here at 9:00AM?” I asked her. So in a few hours after a little sleep and a caffe latte or two, we’ll get started.

I’ve written about this before, but every time it is different. Earlier in the week I took a stroll around the warehouse and looked over thousands of different wines, all crisp and cool and waiting to be adopted. I pulled out the wee gee board and chose wines from Italy, France Spain, South America, South Africa, New York and Texas. Very few of them looked familiar to me, but that isn’t the issue. We’re looking for sleepers, values and out of the choices, a gem or two. I had to laugh the other day when my friend Tom Wark was lambasting the three-tier system and claiming “What truly gives consumers in any market real choice and selection is direct shipment rights by out-of-state wineries and retailers.” Dear Tom, you certainly haven’t walked a mile in my shoes. That’s plainly inaccurate. Now whether we (or direct shippers) can sell all the wines we have at our disposal is another matter. And while I’m at it, how about this one?

An importer friend calls me and tells me a retailer has this wine that looks like it came from his import company and the customer wants to return it. My friend asks the retailer to send him a picture of the wine, front label and back, so he can determine the provenance of the wine. It turns out the wine had another importers strip label on it (grey market) and the wine had been heat damaged (possibly by shipping in warmer months). My friend mailed the retailer back and suggested they tell the customer to try and return it from where they bought it. It’s a hassle, boxing it up and shipping it back to California or New Jersey, if the retailer would even take it back. Bottom line, there still is a place for people to people business and as long as those of us in the wine business (via the traditional platform or the ones in the future) remember who the most important person is – that would be the wine end-user.

Sausage Paul was bubbly today. I went over to the shop to make sure his Tuscan wine sale was rockin’. And he proceeded to take me to the back room and show me all the great Sicilian pastries that just showed up, along with a bunch of wonderful dried pastas from Campania. Add to that the Pandoro and Panettones that arrived and the place has the Holiday feel. The only thing missing was a war bride from Calabria for Joey the Weasel. Sausage Paul was waiting around for him. Brothers in arms, they are.

As I stepped outside to go to my wine dinner, flying winemaker Chris Ringland was pulling up to go to dinner at a local spot, a BYOB place. He was in town to showcase his holiday sparkler, Bitch Bubbly. Chris, up since 4:00AM wasn’t too effervescent at that point. I’m sure the bottle of ’82 Mouton he sampled revived him a bit.

And yes, I am again officially rambling. But hey, it’s just a little blog by an obscure Italian wine guy in flyover country, what do you expect, Nossiter or Grahm?

A big shout out to Tom Maresca for jumping into the bloggy-blog world. Matt Kramer where you at, brother? Come on in, jump, Matt, jump. It won’t kill you. It hasn't killed Charles Scicolone. Yet.

So, bona notte y’all; con calma e gesso.

written by and photos of wines lined up to be tasted by Alfonso Cevolalimited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

O-N-D Halftime Report: A Three-Tier Crusaders Gamebook

2009-11-15T14:44:00.007-06:00

Only 39 selling days till Christmas

There are all kinds of things to distract one in the wine business these days. Confluences abound, yet points of view are so diverse that to troll the top 100 wine blogs is to get a combination of blunt head trauma, whiplash and a serious case of confusion. The last week I have been going around in the car trying to sell cases of wine, and believe me it hasn’t been all that easy. And folks that I am talking to, they are saying the same.

So halfway through the precious holiday season of wine selling (and buying) we’re looking at a slow start. O-N-D, the October-November-December sales season is late harvest so far. There are a lot of unemployed and underemployed folks out there. My second trip to San Antonio in the last six weeks and what I saw on the streets near the bus station reminded me more of New Orleans, post-Katrina, than Alamo city. There are a lot of people on the edges, and not just folks we normally associate with in that category.

College grads, the class of 2009? The Millennials, who are supposed to help save and grow the country ibto a nation of wine drinkers? Reports have it that upwards of 80% of recent graduates are still without a job. And that would mean they are also without any kind of health care. Were trying to get folks to buy a bottle of Chianti for $7 and we have people who are trying to stay one step ahead of illness. Wine is a luxury to these folks. Cheese, bread, food has a higher priority right now. Really.

Austin was a little better. It is a contrarian kind of place and relatively affluent. One of the grads of 2009 (who is unemployed) tells me kids drive to Guadalupe (a main drag near the University) and get away from their car and beg for bucks. Tax free, but what a way to gather funds.

Houston this week, is looking like a town out of a Ridley Scott movie. The hotel we hooked for under $100 a night was four star and very bizarre. Sci-Fi hotel and folks looking for wines that we didn’t have. Meanwhile the wines we brought, folks weren’t buying so fast. Back to the drawing board.

And Dallas, what in the world is going on in this old home town over in flyover country? Well, Dallas is just plain weird. Last night we were invited a ball for a good cause. The dress was tropical. So our group read the memo and came to the party as requested. Meanwhile all of Dallas was decked out in black cocktail dresses and tuxedos. This is the story of my life in this town. I listen to the instructions and comply only to find a society mocking me with their conventions. It doesn’t just happen with Italian wines, it’s the whole gestalt. And online wine marketers think it is just rough for them because the laws and the system have been set up for the alpha-cats of the industry? Not from my perch. It just ain’t all the pretty in any area of the biz.

Speaking of, I headed over to Sausage Paul’s on Saturday to pick up my burrata. The place was jammed with shoppers. But I counted seven wine reps on the floor. About five too many. I got out as fast as I could, but not before a wine import rep accosted me and chastised me and Joey the Weasel for resetting the store. “Where’d you put all the shelf takers?’ He screeched. I explained that in order to clean the shelves which were dirty, we took all of the p.o.s. down. “You didn’t take yours down. Yours are all up.” He was a combination of pit-bull and rhesus monkey. I explained to him that yes I did put up shelf talkers, all new ones, many made by hand, on the spot. As if I had the exclusivity on hand-made shelf talkers. At this point I was starting to get irritated. Why? Because if I do something, it is for the client and the customers of the client. A retail wine store doesn’t exist for importers or distributors. It exists for the end-use customer. Period.

One more swipe, as if he were an out of work samurai from the Meiji Period. “I see you reset the store too.” At which point my coup de grace was simply, “Yes, and thankfully it was done by someone who knows what they are doing.”

I'd had it with this character, who once tried to tell me about DOCG, when I have made the study of DOCG’s and gotten closer than most in actually ferreting out their mysteries. In that same interchange he tried to convince me (or anyone around him that couldn’t escape the boom-varoom of his 300 HP voice) that a Barolo DOP (the new European classification) would also encompass anything made in the district, from Dolcetto to Barbera to Barbaresco. Huh? Barolo DOP now would be what we call Barbaresco? Is this guy nuts? And he is questioning whether or not Joey the Weasel and I know our way around the Italian wine set in a store? Maybe the three-tier system does need a little tweaking? Starting with bloviated reps that don’t do their homework and try to pass off B.S. to their peers and worse, to unsuspecting shoppers who are merely trying to find a nice white wine to go with their burrata.

And we are just halfway in the season. This could be a bloody Christmas.

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

Master Class in Gruner and Nero D'Avola at a local Bacaro

2009-11-14T17:23:00.005-06:00

A cicchetti feast for vegans and a panino-fest for porchetta-lovers

How often does one get the opportunity to travel around a state visiting great wine people with a master sommelier like Damon Ornowski? Last week, while my amigo was noshing it up in Nashville with Kermit, we were terroirizing the Texas countryside with a car full of Gruners and Nero D’Avolas. An unlikely pair of wines from the polar opposite ends of Italy (the Gruner was off the map from the Wachau).

Last week in Houston, our rolling wine show pulled up to the steps of a friend’s new place. Lynette Hawkins recently opened up Giacomo’s cibo e vino on 3215 Westheimer (near Kirby). The concept is bacaro with cicchetti, a casual wine bar with small plates. This is a delight for carnivore and vegan alike, as the counter is filled with any number of delicious offerings. Tha place has gotten great early press from my twitter buddy @alisoncook.

But our goal was to meet up with a group of sales reps and sommeliers for a quick meet-up and a light lunch. The draw was Damon with his wines from Cusumano in Sicily and a selection of Austrian wines from Kracher, Hirtzberger and Domane Wachau. Great stuff and right before the Thanksgiving holiday some liquid food for thought.

Damon is a lightning bug of info, and he moves as fast as one too (the guy took two runs in one day while we were in Austin!). After a long day in San Antonio, capped off by a dinner at Il Sogno, Andrew Weismann's new Italian spot in the Pearl Brewery, we headed out early for the ride to Houston. All through the trip I kept wondering about all the great BBQ places we were passing. Thankfully it was too early and we had to be in Houston at 11:00AM.

Damon handled the wine details and I got with Giacomo manager Emily, who is as turned on to the concept of cicchetti as the able proprietressa, Lynette. I looked at the line of food and asked her for a little taste of everything for our group.

Within minutes small plates poured onto the table, fighting for space with the Gruners and the Neros. But a battle in which everyone won.

I have to say, I roll with some interesting folks in the wine business (starting to sound like an umami blog, hey Dr.P?) and this was no different. @JonSomm (Jonathan Hoenefenger of Tony’s) and I got into this deep chat about DOCG’s. Jon keeps me on my toes, and we had some fun flaring our nostrils at each other, trying to stump one another over the most esoteric of wines from Italy. Later in the lunch he mentioned the Nero D’Avola Bianco that he pours as the house wine at his restaurant (Damon made a note and emailed the Cusumano's about it on the way to the next stop). Scott Barber from Tesar’s in the Woodlands took the drive in to hook up with us, along with a table of intense and attentive salespeople and their clients. Darn, we are lucky to be working and living in these times.

"Hey, I'm really paying attention -

I'm just writing my tasting notes down"

The Cicchetti we had were wonderful (If you aren't a carnivore you would be very happy here - see the pictures):
we also had
•cavolfiore in agro dolce roast cauliflower in caramelized onion vinaigrette
•ratatouille roast eggplant and zucchini with sweet peppers, onions, tomato, herbs, garlic and olive oil
•insalata di barbabietole roast beets with goat cheese, fennel, walnuts
•tacchino tonnato poached turkey breast marinated in tuna sauce
•frutti di mare salad of poached shrimp, calamari, fennel, herbs, lemon and olive oil
•polpettini d’agnello spicy lamb meatballs
•pollo ai peperoni chicken thighs braised with white wine, sweet peppers and onions

But the showstopper of the afternoon was Lynette’s panino di porchetta, a toasted sandwich of slow braised fennel and rosemary roasted Berkshire pork on ciabatta (with my full year's allocation of garlic). It was so good I didnt take the time to take a picture of it. It was so good I wasn’t even feeling bad about missing all that brisket and ribs we passed by on our way from San Antonio earlier.

And with wines like Cusumano Nero D’ Avola (rosato and rosso) and the Gruners from Domane Wachau, Hirtzberger and Kracher, it was hard to imagine how we would ever make the next three appointments (we did!).

Giacomo's cibo e vine? A great new destination in Houston for wine and food lovers, especially if you are looking for pure and simple unpretentious food and affordable wine. Lynette, grazie e bravo!

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

Klaatu Burrata Nikto

2009-11-11T01:14:00.009-06:00

Funny, some of the convergences in life. Just a few observations from the road. Maybe it’s all the high- sugar, high-acid wine I’ve been trying from Kracher. But when I got an email today from Sausage Paul that the burrata was in, and I’m not, I stared into the sky and asked, why me?

Yeah, no, life is rolling along pretty well. I’ve got with me a road warrior selling-machine as we waltz the show across the Texas; no guitars, only corkscrews, when needed. So far, so good. Let’s see, any other clichés I can cram in here?

Tasting high-sugar, high-acid wines from Austria has been an education. It helps to take along an expert, in this case my buddy and colleague, Damon Ornowski. Life ain't too bad.

These days, on the road, our conversation has taken us in and out of wine, Italian and otherwise. I feel like I’m taking a rolling master class with a man who is a class act. From Wachau to Etna and back.

Speaking of acts, what was Kermit Lynch thinking? We rolled into Austin on Monday to taste some of his wines at Vino Vino and for a CD release party, which turned out to be a “Listening Party.” Austin, the live music capital of Texas, and Kermit, and his buddy Ricky, sitting up there together and staring out at the crowd, smiling and waving, while the CD played? I gotta say, it had an unearthly feel, a slight-disconnect. The young ones in the crowd just looked at each other with that "so old-school" expression. Or maybe it was the Bourgogne Rouge on the table that was sulfuring in silence? Old man, I love many of your wines and your first book, and you seem to be a good egg, but I don’t know about these here musical meanderings of yours. You should have brought your guitar - after all this is Texas.

While on the subject of music, Jay-Z was playing in Austin last night. I saw the spectacle unfold from my hotel window. Lots of Lamborghinis lolling around the parking lots. Now we’re talking L.I.V.E. music.

After the show a group of us were sucking down some fruity Nebbiolo and noshing from the perch at Trio in the Four Seasons. As we poured out of the door to our chariots, a young rapper and his entourage rolled in.

When the young lion stood by his Lambo to take a private call, I observed him. Young, wealthy, famous, lots of stuff to play with.

He seemed so alone. The fame, yes, he had sought it and it stuck to him like the orange paint on the exotic Italian roadster that he cozied up to. But as he walked farther away into the darkness, chatting on his cell, I felt an other-worldy weight on his shoulders.

Or perhaps it was the sugar coursing through my veins from a long day on the wine road?

I pray he doesnt have a vineyard.

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

Italian Wines: This is Your Moment to Shine

2009-11-08T23:35:00.006-06:00

Bordeaux is in the tanks, Australian wines are on the decline. Elite California wines are having an identity crisis, and Spanish wines suffer from not having a large enough base. Argentina is emerging because of their affordable and drinkable wines. So Italy, where does that leave you?

I get a call from a restaurateur. He wants me to come to his restaurant to taste wines and meet a winemaker. For years he has wanted to show in his place the wines from his region, Emilia-Romagna. One time I worked for a company that brought in wines for him, from Predappio. Predappio was where Mussolini came from.

Well, Predappio was a sad little place that had some imposing Mussolini era architecture which had fallen on hard times. The wines were a work in progress. So I was expecting more of the same.

Happily, the winemaker is someone who is grounded. I could tell by the way he took a piece of focaccia and placed the tomato and mozzarella on top of it, making his own impromptu pizza Margherita. He wasn’t waiting for someone to bring it out, he was taking charge.

Did I mention that he was born in Friuli? We talk about wine as symbol and wine as sustenance. He pronounces Gravner correctly (Grǒwner). He knows how hard we all have tried to sell those wines, but he also knows that we also have to buy braces for our kid’s teeth. And he also knows we want to love the wines we sell.

The wines? Only three are tried, from Emilia-Romagna, all Sangiovese based. The basic wine, selling in Italy for about € 3.00 is our first glimpse into the heart of this young winemaker.

I was inclined to like this young winemaker. We have a mutual friend. And he isn’t wearing loafers (suede or shiny). He is a working guy, his hands are big; the kind one needs in a vineyard and around a winery. I can tell that we also are probably more aligned politically than the conversation at the table is going. Yeah, I like him alright.

As we move on to the second wine, a Superiore, a duo of pizzas arrive at the table. We have launched into eating at this point; the wine is supporting the food, not outshining it with its brilliance. So far, so good.

And then we arrive at the point when the next level red is opened, also a Superiore. Mostly Sangiovese, but interloper grapes are involved, Cabernet and Merlot vying for our attention. As if they didn’t get enough from Napa, from Bordeaux, from the Maremma. A plate of tagliata with arugula appears; let’s drive this wine around the dining room, shall we?

I go back to the first wine, the simple Sangiovese. And then to the second wine, the Superiore of solitary Sangiovese. And then back to the last wine. Back and forth, eating, talking, sitting in the middle of a little trattoria in flyover country, enjoying a simple meal, with a beacon of light from Italy, this messenger from Bacco. Magnificent in its simplicity; perfect wine for the time.

The winemaker is going back to the base wine, pouring himself another glass. “So tell me, Stefano, about this wine. It is simple. It stands up to the other two wines above it. It is inexpensive. And it is so well balanced.” (He had me, didn’t he?)

“Well, Alfonso, this is the wine we make in Emilia-Romagna. Even at this level the terroir comes through, as it should in any wine. I love to drink this wine. Everyday.”

Of course he does. Because this is really the mission of wine, isn’t it? To give pleasure in a simple and uncomplicated way. And this is something the Italians have done so well, for so many years. Before the bright lights of the scores and the designer clothes and cars got in the way of the mission of all the millennia leading to this present time.

Italy, take heed. The time is over for spoofulated, manipulated, overly oaked and alcoholic wine at high prices. Oh, you’ve heard this said too many times on these posts? Well, that is the word, once again, from the trenches. Get back to being real about what wine is in this world. It isn’t a Hollywood starlet with plastic surgery. It isn’t a 500 horsepower roadster that gets 10 miles to the gallon. And it isn’t a Sangiovese or a Merlot, or any other wine, at 15% alcohol in medium toast French barrique that is destined to be a wine of meditation, whatever that even could begin to be in this world today.

Get back to wines we can drink everyday, at lunch, and go back to work afterward. Wines that we can afford to drink everyday. Wines that are simple but wines that reflect their sense of place. Do that, and do it consistently, and then you can have all the designer clothes and watches and cars and plastic surgery your little heart desires.

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

"We'll get on it right away and 'get back' to you"

2009-11-05T07:15:00.002-06:00

From the " they keep lobbing softballs like this at me, I just had to hit it" department.

In my inbox I get these kinds of notes all the time. Seeing as I am not very busy this time of the year I wonder if I should pursue this inquiry. Read on, I do not make these things up.

Good morning Sir, Madam

We are an estate situated in _________________, Fattoria di ________ in _______.

We produce the following products:

_________________________ (white wine) docg: 5 months in french barriques, middle toast, fine-grained, first and second passage in wood.

_________________________ (white wine) riserva docg

_________________________ (red wine) docg: only stain steel, typical _______ with old cepages of the old disciplinary

Two kind of I.g.t.:

___________ ______________ (fantasy name red) i.g.t 100% Sangiovese, 8 months refining in tonneau of 5 hectolitres. Maceration of the skin for 20 days. Refining in bottles for 6/7 months.

______________ (fantasy name red) i.g.t 70% Cabernet,25% merlot,5% sangiovese.

The Cabernet was plant(ed) in the year 1960 from the grandfather. Now, they replant new vineyards with the old clone.

Separate vinification and added in french barriques for 18 months. Strong toasted, fine-grained, international taste, the wood does not dominate the power of the wine but exalt it. This kind of wine is consider: "MEDITATION WINE".

The perfect food matching is with aged cheeses, wildboar etc..

two kind of Doc ___________ ______________ (actually docg white)

I would like to know if could be interesting for you receive more information about the Estate, products.

Feel free to contact us.

Umm, let me meditate on this. I'll get cub reporter, Jimmy Olsen, on it right away and "get back" to you.

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

One Last Night Under the Moonlight

2009-11-04T00:34:00.004-06:00

Farewell, my little Mexican Pepperleaf

Under the full moon I walked outside to spend one last moment with her. All summer she spent with me, content to lounge around the pool and this little isola, swaying to the symphony of the sounds that flung about. Occasionally the flock of parrots would screech by, looking for anything that reminded them of their tropical home. She did, and they would fly low as they would try to comfort each other in this land of the Norteños. I tried to spend as much time with her as I could, but it wasn’t enough. Last night, under the full moon, we said farewell.

Earlier in the day, there was a reminder at the luncheon for the Italian chef. The salad course, right in front, she cavorted delicately with her dancing partner. Everyone at the table commented on how light on their feet they were and how well they complemented one another. I couldn’t be jealous, they were right. But I knew it was over for us, again.

This happens every year. She shows up at my back gate, nearly climbing the fence to get in. She re-arranges everything, but I don’t protest, she makes it look so easy. And calm. And she’s really no trouble at all. She asks for nothing but to be loved and shared. She is authentic and thrives without any kind of toxins. She is pure and simple, her perfume is delicate and spicy, sweet like a balsam. To all whom she comes into contact with, she improves them and is improved by them. She spends most of her time alone, but is best in the presence of company. She is unique and she is no trouble at all. And all she encompasses she does with proliferate ease.

But when the summer comes to an end, she yearns for warmer places, brighter things. Even though I have shown her another world, New York, San Francisco, all over Texas, she yearns for her home, where she has been revered all her life. What can one do? This is the way it is with my little Mexican mistress. She belongs to an ancient world, even as a bigger world calls for her.

I understand her wanting to be someplace where she fits in better. Only the parrots, who are slowly going insane with the onset of winter, could remind her of her dear home.

This morning I went out to see her before she left. It was a dewy morning, she was by the roses. So bright, so strong, so delicate, among the thorny creatures. They didn’t want to let her go, they held on to her as well.

The rabbit, silent and stoic, was frozen. It was as if we were all losing a piece of ourselves. I remember as I was helping her into the car to take her to her next stop, I started to cry. Dolce pianto, the Dottore reminded me, sweet tears.

All'afflitto è dolce il pianto
è la gioia che gli resta…

The reaper had reaped, it was blood he wanted and it was blood he got. There was nothing, save the shrieks of the parrots circling the sky above. The sun had risen, but it was a dark moment as she who had filled the world with darkness was now silent and gone.

The days are shorter and the nights are colder. She cannot suffer, though, because she has flown on to her new life. As I stand among the ruins of our time together, I can only hope someday she will return and fill the life of this little isola with her beauty and her calm joy and her music and her vigor, di nuovo.

Buen viaje mi querida, Hoja Santa

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

With thanks to Gaetano Donizetti for the midnight inspiration

On Any Given Sunday: A Three-Tier Crusaders Gamebook

2009-11-01T21:48:00.007-06:00

Oh yeah, it’s like, Sunday in the Fall. Meet the Press, Football, World Series, all kinds of diversions. What it is for us three-tier crusaders, though, is one down, two to go. The traditional O-N-D (October-November-December) holiday season is 1/3 over. And we’ve got miles to go before we sleep. All across the country, the wholesalers, retailers and their customers are gearing up for a season of festive cheer. To the three-tier machine, it’s just one big party, festooned with real pirates. Arghh!

I called my 95 year old mom tonight when I got home at 6PM. It was dark here, but in California she was looking at a sun setting over the golf course outside her home. “Oh, honey, are you working today? Did you put up your displays?” My mom has always been “into” whatever her kids were “into.” She used to sit there and listen to baseball games and we’d listen to Vince Scully and Jerry Doggett announce the Dodger games, back when Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale and Larry and Norm Sherry were on the team. Scully announced the Dodgers when they were in Brooklyn and is still on the job after 60 years. Now that is a crusader. Anyway, where were we? Can you tell I am dead tired?

Like I was saying, I met up with one of the old-timer salesmen, Joey the Weasel. We were heading over to Sausage Paul’s, to help clean up the shop after his year end sale and inventory. As I walked in, Paul was firing up a triple cream latte for me, and he had a big grin on his face. His brother Mike was already out the door, a couple of eggplants in his arms and what looked like a pair of tickets to Hawaii or Tahiti. Whatever. We still had work to do.

I polished off the latte and Joey the Weasel walked in with the biggest vacuum cleaner I had ever seen. He was going to get all the dust. Joey was still smarting from his Italian harvest “boy’s trip” to Tuscany. But if anyone is a third-tier warrior, the Weasel is a future Hall-of-Famer. So while he was sucking up dust, I amused myself with re organizing Piedmont, then the Veneto and then Puglia. Federico II, Garibaldi and Il Duce couldn’t touch me; I was burning through regions faster than Berlusconi in a Ferrari. Even Luca Zaia would have been amazed by my ability to regionalize Italian wine regions in such a fast and methodical manner. “No Pineapple, No Zaia”, that’s my motto.

I spied a Lacrima di Morro d’Alba squatting in the Piedmont section and proceeded to return it to Marche where it belonged. A day earlier I had corrected an over-confident wine salesman about the provenance of the wine, but I reckon he, or someone like him, scoffed at my expertise and placed it in the Piedmont section. He had also lectured me on the EU DOP (or PDO, which is more proper). “Now, there will be a Barolo DOP and all the DOC wines will be under it. So you will have Dolcetto and Barbera and Moscato and Gavi and all of those wines under the Barolo DOP.” Oh really? And we wonder why the regular folk think Italian wine is so hard to figure out? Well, I am here to tell anyone who wants to know, that just ain’t gonna happen. Jeesh.

So where were we? Yeah, we got the placed vacuumed, and searched out any wines that needed to be “red dotted” (50% off, and it’s out of the park!) so Sausage Paul could make room for the wines that will work in the new economic reality. And besides, he also needs room for Panettone and Burrata. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

After all that, we hastened to a local trattoria for some pizza and to get the order written. Over a bottle of Insolia (which was heading South, fast) and some calamari, Sausage Paul started handing Joey the Weasel sheets of paper with marking on them. Joey was typing furiously away, trying to get everything in before a 4PM cut-off. Meanwhile a pizza was being placed on the table, and we all had to stop what we were doing to eat the pizza in its perfect state- fresh and hot.

Mission accomplished – re: the pizza. But the cutoff deadline was looming. A hearty espresso kicked Sausage Paul and Joey the Weasel into high gear and they started tearing through the pages, ordering left and right. It was pure poetry to see how those boys worked so beautifully together. And those mean-spirited bloggers who knock the good old tried and true three-tier system, what do they know? They are all sitting on their keisters drinking God knows what (but we’ll hear about it on their blogs, I am so sure) sitting in front of a big screen TV watching football and if they are still sober (or awake) maybe a little of the World Series. The Boys of November, they are a so formidable faction.

Not to sound like I have hubris on this matter, but even in the back row of this kerfuffle, I know the team I am on has a deep bench. We have been called a conspiracy, and blah, blah, blah. Go turn on Fox News if you want to hear the talking points, they’re close enough. The world I live in is competitive and it is constant with change. Don’t like it? Don’t get into the ring. This isn’t a place for whiners and short-timers.

Oh, and for those who say it’s about choice and it’s about giving consumers wines that they couldn’t get in the stores or through the established (three-tier) channels, let me invite you to the store we just spent all Sunday in: there are two tables of Red-Dot close-out wines that consumers didn’t choose – and now those wines have to go away. No conspiracy, no lobbying, no dark passage, no envelope with unmarked $100 bills – just wine that didn’t make it in the real world of commerce. The wineries made their money, so did the importers. The mom and pop store? He's just trying to make room for something that will work.

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

Trick or Treat – The archetypal Italian wine press release

2009-10-31T14:32:00.004-05:00

From the "I couldn't make this up" department.

_______________ launches _______________!

___________is the name of the latest vinous creation from historic ________ wine producer, _____________, based in ________ , Italy. The wine was first launched in ______, is classed as a ______ and made as a fascinating blend of ________, ________ and ______.

Owner of the company, _________ ________ explains the name. “In _______ dialect,” he says _______ means “_______” or ‘_______ ________’, the bit on an estate that’s the most protected and most loved.” Or in other words, what the French would call “___”. In fact, the base grapes for this wine come from a ____hectare vineyard in ______, planted at a density of ______rootstocks per hectare and trained in the ______ manner.

The grapes selected for _____ are those that are really super ripe. The ________ and_________ grapes are given a slight appassimento after picking, while the ________ is soft-pressed immediately and temporarily kept at a low temperature to prevent fermentation. Once the ________ and __________grapes are pressed, the _______ first run musts are combined and run into stainless steel tanks for fermentation. The resulting wine is matured in small ______ oak casks until the late spring, and then bottled and given bottle age until the end of summer.

“The actual blend we use,” ______________ explains, “was arrived at in a very pragmatic manner. We experimented on the ideal composition for some time before arriving at something that we thought really interesting. The result is an important wine: powerful, structured, and something for connoisseurs. It has the characteristic mineral notes on the palate, truly reflecting the soil of _________, which is usually made up of a type of ________ soil.”

On the nose there are hints of style that could be described almost as similar to Montrachet in Burgundy but the final result, ____________ says, “is a faithful and unique expression of the local terroir, not the least but intended to be a copy of one of the world’s classic wines. It could almost be used as a wine to drink after a meal, a meditation wine, but it goes really well, amongst other things, with rich fish, chicken and pork dishes.”

Happy halloween ya’ll!

[photo by Arbus]

Paralyzed in Paradise

2009-10-30T06:08:00.000-05:00

El sueño del Día de los Muertos

“Italy is falling apart from within and they cannot even see it.” I dreamt that I awoke in my bed at 4:00 AM, as the parrots outside were screeching from the bitter wind and cold that was driving them insane. At 8:30 there would be a meeting I had to be at, and the month was finishing up disappointingly. “There is too much wine. It is too expensive. It has too much wood and Merlot and Syrah in it. And every time another email from Cinderella wine shows up in the inbox there’s another Super Tuscan for $20 that the wineries had been asking $80-90-100, a year ago.” I kept hearing these voices from the waking-working moments, from wine lovers, wine buyers, people who once cared. But the Italians had already turned their backs on their advocates in pursuit of an unsustainable life style. Newer cars, larger wrist watches, pointier shoes, and these incessant barriqued wines. They were killing their country.

Before I awoke I started by finding every last barrel salesman and sending them on a trip around the sun. Then I dug up the scientists and the agronomists and the consultants and took away their Porsche Cayennes and their GPS and put them all on a severe ego-restriction diet. And then I tracked down everyone that had had their winery designed by an architect from Spain or Japan or Norway and made them watch films by Ettore Scola and Buster Keaton and Orson Welles until their eyes bled.

Then I turned all of the power down in Italy in the winter, so that when it got cold they had to hold bonfires with the barriques until all the small, tightly grained monsters of their vinous vanity were gone from the face of Italy.

I then collared every P.R. firm who used the words “employing modern techniques with respect to tradition” and sequestered them all in the wineries that had been designed by those architects from Spain or Japan or Norway and made them sit there eating zibibbo raisins and yoghurt from Greece until the diet leeched out all the poison from the lies they had been telling all these years.

If Italy was redeemable perhaps they could have reclaimed their wines. As it was, we witnessed the curtains closing on a period when they let greatness slip from their grasp. The Italian culture was clouded with their sense of self importance, their self-possessed narcissism. And it killed the natural wine culture that had thrived in Italy for aeons.

Italy, you blew it up. The world no longer could endure your barrel-tormented dramas and your international wines stripped of their Italianita and sacrificed on the altar of short term commercial success. La commedia è finita.

And then the alarm rang out in the early morning fog of autumn.

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

The Dance of Deliverance

2009-10-28T00:30:00.007-05:00

For weeks it seems I have been slumbered over a computer, studying trends, making spread sheets, eating dust. Bound to this place by time of harvest and holiday. Setting the stage for the big show.

Around midnight, outside, a dog howls. He is new to the neighborhood and every little noise spooks him. Last night, a storm cracked the sky wide open and doused the land. A day later everything stunk with the smell of dirt and roots, perfect for the birth of a mushroom, but an olfactory Chernobyl.

In the dusk, bent over, harvesting the last of my crop, I thought about my escape. I am still hobbling from my last one, but the slumbering volcano calls. I need to go to Basilicata and dance.

From early days I remember listening to my grandmother hum soft rhythms in dialect, inherited from the Albanian diaspora that dotted the lands of our ancestors. Tribal dances that dyed our DNA with a dark mysticism, an allure, a danger behind the veil. And now I can neither resist nor ignore the dirge that has been driving the blood through my veins. Aglianico, my mistress, who is caressing you, who is neglecting you? Who will defend you against this molestation by modernity, couched with the mind numbing mantra of the shape shifters who chant “We aren’t hurting anything, we aren’t changing tradition. We are just making the wine better.”

Better? With yeasts developed in Torino, from factories provided by funds that grew from the wealth brigands stole from these very places? Has television and mobile phones done in a few short years what Hannibal and Caesar and Federico II and Napoleon weren’t able to accomplish in all the ages before? Why would you mingle the yeast for panettone with the grano duro of Barile?

Aglianico, don’t go with them. Aglianico, don’t let them carve you smooth and fatten you up. For thousands of years you have been the blood of the volcano, the dance of the harvest moon, the swoop in the cantine where so many marriages were made. How can you give it all up for the sake of a fancy new name and a small toasted barrel? You will sit in lonely places in faraway lands, with a high price tag, only to be forgotten, come una vecchia lampada in soffitta, when the fashion changes.

Look how they have mucked it up in Piemonte, In Toscana and in the Veneto. Fancy new styles, everybody getting a facelift; hiking their skirts up and letting the scores and the stars and the swollen shrimp determine your fate and their future. To be timeless is to take back the power the land bestowed upon you.

I’m coming to Basilicata, as fast as I can, to stop this false dance with i truffatori.

The essentials, in a life not limited by impulse, are bread, love, dance and wine. They are dearer when we answer the call from the Ancients. And cede not to ease or fear or whim or pain.

Padrona, vengo giύ subito.

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

Chronicle of a Three-Tier Crusader

2009-10-25T23:51:00.006-05:00

When I got out of college, our country was in the midst of a serious economic downturn. In addition, my nuclear family was being torn apart limb by limb. I couldn’t go home again, because there was no home to go to. For a time I was homeless. My sister rescued me from annihilation, until I got grounded. And then I proceeded to go to New York, in what was possibly one of the worst economic periods that city had ever experienced. My timing was impeccable.

As my East Coast education ran its course, I headed back to The West, where I could see sunsets and horizons, stars and mountains. My father had a little studio apartment, where I squatted for a few months.

It was shortly after that I started on the course that has led me along the wine trail. I started in the three-tier wine industry, in Hollywood, working in a restaurant across from Paramount studios.

When I moved to Dallas (which I recently heard it characterized as “provincially clueless”) I imagine I was the clueless one. Little did I know I would be embarking on a career in the three-tier industry that today is being demonized by some as "stupid”, “conspiratorial”, “corrupt” and “mafia”. The last one is particularly repulsive to me as I consider the use of the word mafia to be as racist as the pejoratives used to belittle African-Americans or Jews.

After I got my footing in little old Dallas, a "flat", "dumb" "flyover" "rail-stop" (other vituperatives I have recorded), I looked around and kind of liked the place. There wasn’t a lot of wine business, but what there was, the people in it were embracing of this tenderfoot and within a few years, I had a place, a career and a community.

Over the years, because of my ties via the three-tier industry, I have had access to some of the great wines and wine people in the world. One day when I was building a display of Glen Ellen Chardonnay, my boss called me and asked me to lunch at the Mansion on Turtle Creek. He wanted me to meet Jean-Pierre Moueix, the proprietor of Petrus.I went from sweating an end-cap of Proprietors Reserve Chardonnay to enjoying a glass of 1966 Trotanoy. I was on my way to willingly being corrupted.

I have met many of the great Italian winemakers living and dead. I have dined in their homes and they have dined in mine. You see, we are a world community, not a world conspiracy. Oh yes, we do plot to persuade people to drink better wine. Sometimes we even slink so low as to just get people to switch from iced tea to any kind of wine. We figure that once we get them hooked, they’ll never go back.

Those of us crusaders of the three-tier system aren’t put off by the one-sided arguments of folks who slam the system. Everyone has an agenda. And it is fashionable to find a bad guy, to demonize a standard or a status-quo. It plays into our 21st century drama of hoping people will share our viewpoint because we are victims. Often people look into the drama, not because they feel sorry, but because they crave the joy from the schadenfreude that the drama creates. Everybody loves a winner, especially if they aren’t witnessing it from the losing end. The argument that the three-tier system is bad will always backfire on the people that use the argument because it diminishes their power and it essentially emasculates them. Rather than cursing the darkness, there are those of us happy warriors who have made a life of building brands and bringing wine to the cities and the provinces, to the wealthy and the workers, day by day.

Competition has been steep. The industry has been consolidating since 1987. So those of us in the fray don’t fret over our enemies or our problems too much. It’s part of the landscape. If we lose a line to another distributor, we don’t cry that it is unconstitutional and bawl till crocodile tears flood us out of our accounts. Many of us just know that it isn’t a fair world and sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. All part of being a grown-up.

I have really enjoyed all of it; working until 2 or 3 AM, building displays that looked like the leaning tower of Pisa or the Eiffel Tower, out of corr-buff (corrugated cardboard). I have spent countless evenings doing wine dinners for restaurants, wine classes for universities, wine training for new colleagues and much, much more. I have been part of the army that has grown the American wine drinking population so that online retailers and bloggers could have a platform for their projects.The wine business is changing, as it has been ever since it has been a business. From the time when the Chaldean winemakers negotiated with the wine brokers of the Pharaohs, 4,500 years ago to now in the 21st century. Nothing is easy, and nobody is going to get a gimme every time. The vines struggle. Why do people think they don’t have to? That’s what I call “stupid.”

When I see how many people I touch, handing them a bottle of wine on the floor of my favorite Italian wine store on a Saturday, and then having them flash me the thumbs-up sign as they open it and enjoy it with a handmade sandwich, I know my crusade is a fulfilling one. And while my life hasn’t been filled with non-stop happiness, it has been a good life. And I know my work has been good work. And the naysayers cannot demonize my good work or my good intentions with their glass-half-empty rhetoric.

Some years ago, I got another call from a boss. Again, it was an invitation to come to lunch to meet a winemaker. The winemaker was heading back to his vineyard for harvest and was stopping in Dallas to meet with clients. His vineyard was in the Bekaa Valley, and a devastating civil war was waging at the time in Lebanon. I asked him how he did it, how was he able to pull the grapes and get them to the winery, while tanks rolled through the fields. He answered that some of us are called to make war and some of us are called to make wine. But all of us are called to be warriors in one way or another. And the grapes are growing and they must be harvested. Just as it was done, some 800 miles away and 4,500 years ago, in Chaldea.

The winemaker, Serge Hochar of Chateau Musar, and his world, became part of my world that day in the early 1980’s, along with so many of the happy warriors who do the work of their lives, knowing that their livelihood is right. And anyone who has experienced right livelihood, and the excitement and passion that accompanies it, knows that the wine trail isn’t for everyone. But for those crusaders who get on it and get with it, it is a life full of meaning and wondrous expectation.

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

What We Loved

2009-10-21T00:01:00.002-05:00

In what seemed a lifetime ago, I remember watching her as she waved through the window. It was one of many departures that would torment our life together. Business called; Puerto Rico and a meeting, or Cincinnati and a convention. The seconds away from each other were millions of sharp pins jabbing at the bubble of our affection.

As the years progressed, we spent more time with each other, but other things would conspire to separate us. A stumble in the clear daylight, a numbing of the legs, a blurring of the vision. Something was always trying to pry us apart.

In better days, there would be dinners outside under the portico that I had built for her. I remember her crying as I drove a nail through my arm when I was bulilding it, and she took me to the emergency room. Her affliction was usually to blame for a mishap, and now I was stealing thunder from the disease from which there was no cure.

I remember back when the doctor took us in a room and told us that he had good news and bad news. The bad news was that what she had was incurable. The good news was that it wouldn’t kill her. The good doctor was wrong about the good news.

I have been thinking about the wine we loved. One I remember so well was on a summer day in Rome. We were sitting in a little trattoria near the Vatican, drinking wine from a carafe. It was yellow. It was cool. And it was from the hills surrounding Rome. A sweet memory that wine and Italy played a minor part in.

When her eyesight would fail her, she would walk with me, holding me, with complete trust that I was taking her where she would find no harm. On a porch on Victoria Island we would dangle our legs together as we sipped on Chenin Blanc from the Loire. We were taking a break from the onslaught that was heading in our direction, aiming to level us, pulverize us and tear us away from each other, forever. In time it did, but for that evening one summer many moons ago, we sipped without care, gently lapping the sweetness up.

She loved to cook. Squash casserole, pork loin, red eye gravy, she didn’t consider herself a cook. But the simple things she did, I loved. And the wines we loved with them were from a time that was so much simpler than now. A lovely Verdicchio from Matelica. Or a Pinot Grigio from Friuli, before such a wine would be spoiled by its own success. And the aperitif from France, Lillet, that she loved so much.

When I met her, she was a martini gal. She loved her gin. The Italians loved her for it. At a hotel we were staying at in Rome, where the Italian President had a penthouse, the bar had every kind of spirit. They would make her a dry martini, with the proper proportion of vermouth. It made her very happy.

When she reached the autumn of her very young life, wine ceased to have the appeal for her that it did in our earlier years. She would have a glass with me, but I could tell that wine wasn’t going to cure what was taking her apart, day by day. So, what we loved we left in the wine closet as she and we made one last stab at fighting the Goliath that was blocking our light.

Our last wine together, a few weeks before she died, during Christmas, was a Dolcetto. I don’t remember how we came to decide upon that as our last wine to love together, but from a not so sweet several years of doing battle, this one last glass of red, raised to our lips, was so very sweet and moving.

To this day I remember all of the wines we loved in our life of love with great affection and melancholy.

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

"Cooking that could bring the Lord to His knees"

2009-10-20T00:00:00.000-05:00

It was October of 1999 and we were all worrying about Y2K. The newscasters were telling us that we would probably spend the first month of the new century in darkness. 1999 to 2000 wasn’t the transition to a new century, but somehow in the binary world of computers it was heralded as a defining moment for civilization. Or that’s how they were selling it, trying to make us stare in to the TV’s so they could sell us their Chevy’s and their Pepsi’s and their Tide.

Meanwhile my Aunt Amelia was in the hospital. She was born on November 11, 1911 at 11 in the morning. 11-11-11-11. She was the archetypical cook in the history of my family. And while both of my grandmothers could cook well and so could my mom, and my sister Tina was in the running for the title (in the future), my Aunt Amelia, or Aunt Mil as we called her, she had the magic.

What she could do with a little flour and butter and water and egg and olive oil was a big deal. But Aunt Mil made it look like breathing; simple, effortless. I swear she could fry up day old newspaper and make it taste good. Nothing frightened her in the kingdom of her kitchen.

Chicken? Let me count the ways. Fried? The Lord Jesus would prepare another sermon if He had ever tasted hers. Baked or pan sautéed, with bread crumbs and Pecorino? I still aspire to make mine as well as hers. Vegetables? She could make a little kid like spinach. Eggplant? To this day I cannot fathom her stuffed eggplant. Meat balls, the quintessential Italian American crossover dish? I still don’t know how she made them so bloody great. Yeah, I do.

And the peach cobbler and the fried pies? Jeesh, how many times did I want to drag one of the gang of five over there to show them how a real southwest cook did it?

I used to leave my son there when he was a little boy, between school and the end of work. She always had an extra plate, if it was late. And the food she put on it, to this day, I still look for it.

Tomatoes, what she did to a tomato, my God. Fresh, stuffed, you name it; she outdid Faust in whatever deal she made. But she even tricked the devil, ‘cause the only heat she is feeling is from a well tended stove.

Sometimes I’d just drop by in the middle of the day. There were a couple of Italian restaurants nearby where she lived in old East Dallas. I ask her if she wanted me to take her to lunch, and she’d just say, “Nah, baby, we ain’t gonna find any decent Eyetalian food in those places.” No, we’d play it safe and go get Tex-Mex. Or she’d go into her kitchen and within minutes, miraculously, lunch would appear.

She was my southern Italian trattoria, with the best wine list, 'cause I’d bring the wine.

Aunt Mil passed away 10 years ago on October 24, days short of her 88th birthday. She didn’t make it to see the new century or the new millennium or 9/11. I remember going to see her in the hospital. She wasn’t happy with the food. Here was a lady, who was like my second mother. I called her my Texas mom. She loved it when I'd bring over a bottle of Montepulciano or Chianti. She liked her some good earthy Italian wine.

Earlier, I wrote “I still don’t know how she made them so bloody great. Yeah, I do.” Let me tell you what she told me many times. We’d be sitting on her couch, the TV blaring, the screen door open, the world turning and attending to the many dramas unfolding outside her universe. “Baby, make it with love. Be patient. Take your time. Don’t get upset. If it don’t work out so well the first time, try it again. You know the egg breaks. What do you do? Heat up a pan and scramble them with some olive oil and grated cheese. They ain’t gonna taste so bad, baby, as long as you give it a pinch of love. And remember, call me, and I’ll walk you through it.”

She walked me through many a meal and a crisis of love. She was one of my best friends. And in my kitchen I have a little spatula that I filched from her kitchen after she was gone. And to this day, when I make scrambled eggs, I call on her, and her little spatula, to help make it taste heavenly.

Miss you, Aunt Mil. Love you...

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

Can Wild Be Faked?

2009-10-18T14:33:00.004-05:00

The funny thing about Italian wine, or wine, or life, is that once you think you get a handle on it, it changes. What was right twenty years ago is now out of favor. What was once thought to be old fashioned and hopelessly obsolete, is now all the rage. The notion of fashion is a fluid thing, but the idea of feral cannot be faked. Or can it?

Part of the problem is there is so much transparency in this age of the steroid-ification of information. Add to that the sheer volume of information the average soul is bombarded with, and it is easy to see why things get turned around.

Take the notion of what is natural. I have probably beaten this horse to death. But every time I talk to another person, I get from them their sense of how they perceive natural. At this point I am thoroughly confused. I talk to a baker and he tells me he uses 100% organically farmed wheat. But I discover the wheat has been genetically modified.

I talk to a winegrower and he tells me he is using 100% indigenous yeasts, but that they keep the “formula” in a safe deposit box in Switzerland.

Do you go out to eat? If you do, you have already been subjected to GMO crops at least once in your life.

When I get too much of this I go to my inner Calabria. In the hills above Cosenza there is a place I go to reconnect with what is wild and real to me. The wine isn’t always great, but it’s real. The place isn’t always easy to arrive at, but it is imprinted upon my soul. I’m not even sure it exists where I first found it,. But it is stored in the heart now and that is a place that cannot be violated unless memory fails.

In all of Italy, Calabria is my starting point. Yes I am crazy about Sicily and Piedmont and Tuscany. Those are now easy places for me. Calabria is a challenge, like going to Nepal or Africa. Because Calabria represents to me where the wild things are that haven’t been reduced to a formula or a brand.

“But, sir, you are over romanticizing Calabria. It is wild. And savage. And cruel. And unfair.” So goes the inner voice. And yes, I know. I know. But where, really, in the world is anything balanced? In Washington? In La Jolla? In New York? In Beaune? This is a little tiny planet streaming at breakneck speed in the pack of the Milky Way with our nearest galaxy heading at us at some unbelievable speed. We are ultimately heading towards transformation. There is no single point at which any of us can arrive and hope to stay. And likewise with wine. The nature of wine is this. Always moving towards the next transformative moment. Two bottles opened recently from the same box. Old Hermitage from 1985. Both bottles slightly different. Both arrived and slept together in the same room for almost 20 years. Same corks, same bottles, But both of them had their unique stamp. Not terribly different. But different nonetheless.

So when we search for the wild things or the real things or the things that we think will make our lives more happy or complete…to know that it is at best an exercise comparable to trying to catch light which is moving at 3 million meters per second while we hurdle towards Andromeda at about 568,000mph. Something to think about but really impossible to hold on to.

What can't be faked? Simple. Find your wine. Open it. Among friends or family. Savor it. Enjoy it. Soak it all in. Repeat as needed.

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

Gentlemen, Start Your Engines

2009-10-15T08:17:00.005-05:00

So now we hear DOC/G is dead. Long live the DOP (Denominazione d’Origine Protetta) or PDO (Protected Designation of Origin) if you are in the USA. Well, that’s not too confusing is it? This is part of the Single CMO (Common Market Organization) project to adopt nomenclature for all the countries in the EC (European Commission). Still with me?

In other words, now, in addition to tracking information about DOC and DOCG (and IGT) designations, we now will be following similar tracks via the EC model, DOP (or PDO) and also IGP (Indicazione Geografica Protetta) or PGI (Protected Geographical Indication) if you are in the USA, which parallel the IGT: Indicazione Geografica Tipica (Typical Geographical Indication).

Reminds of the days when the Euro replaced the Lira. For years, some Italians still had to convert Euros to Lire so they could tell what something was worth.

Maybe sake is not so confusing after all?

Luca, you got some ‘splainin to do.

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

The Scent of a Serpent

2009-10-15T00:00:00.001-05:00

Last night at a wine tasting/dinner I might have left a few of the people in the room behind when I got to talking about aroma and bouquet. I believe that a huge part of wine appreciation is all about the olfactory. My sense of what smell is based not on something I can pinpoint, but more towards a highly non-verbal part of my way of operating in the world.

Tonight one of the wines literally shocked me when I smelled it. It wasn’t bad, but what I was smelling, truffles, was not one I had associated with this wine (Maculan Torcolato) in the 26 years I have enjoyed this wine. Here was a sweet wine yearning for a savory cheese, and a funky one at that. I was reminded of some of the significant smells in my life.

The rattlesnake and the first love were two of my most haunting scents.

The rattlesnake grew from hiking in the desert as a young boy scout. I even once was bitten by a baby sidewinder. After that I felt I would be protected from further attacks by the serpents. I was in their tribe now, had been initiated into their clan. And their gift to me was my ability to smell when they were near.

It is an eerie aroma. It has sage and a little petrol and a pungency reminding me of burnt wires. I know what that smell means, and when I detect it, my senses alert me to my fellow clansmen of the desert, an unlikely brotherhood. One that is meant to possibly assure we do each other no harm. So far it has worked out quite well.

Probably the most haunting aroma is the one I would smell on my girlfriend when we were both 14. I have never, ever smelled that aroma since then, many years ago. My recollection was of cherry blossoms, but there must have been a chemical reaction with her youthful skin to create a whole new smell. I can reach out and touch it in my mind’s nose. It was delicate and piercing, sweet and savory, seductive and forbidding. Maybe it was our hormones that factored into the equation, first love, high emotions, have you ever been there? I will take that delicate perfume to my grave; will I ever smell it again?

Tar and roses. Tonight one of the wines, a Barbaresco from Pio Cesare, had the classic Nebbiolo marker of tar and roses. Not much more than that, for the wine was far from ripe. It was wound pretty tight, which for a wine from a classic (2004) vintage, should make for good aging. Often a wine from that area will also take on a musty component, a truffle dimension. The La Ca Nova ‘Bric Mentina’ Barbaresco is a good example, from my experience, of that combination. Truffles can soften the hardness of a great vintage. The Produttori wines also do that for me. But I do love tar and roses. Love those tar babies.

Another favorite of mine, from early California days, is the Naked Lady, the Belladonna Lily. The flowers bloom in August and are sweet and deep, rivaling the best rose aromas. White wines, one tonight, a Muller Thurgau and Traminer blend from Basilicata, had a little of the Naked Lady in the glass. Such a wonderful aroma in the bouquet palate.

I know I lost a couple of the people in the room this night, but from the ones who came up to me afterward to talk further, I know I wasn’t the only one in the room that knew the power of scent. If it can save a life or recall a first love, why would one not want to embrace the influence it has over our little lives that are so important to each and every one of us?

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

The Best Italian DOCG list? (now up to 47)

2009-10-11T09:47:00.001-05:00

Revised Oct 10, 2009
In my research, it has been all but impossible to pinpoint the complete list of Italian DOCG wines. Recently, I have been able to find six more, Moscato di Scanzo, Elba Aleatico Passito and Prosecco Superiore Conegliano Valdobbiadene, Prosecco Superiore Asolo And a two Marche DOCG's of Verdicchio of which there are designations for Verdicchio di Matelica and Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi Classico (and riserva) , bringing the list up to 47.

If anyone knows of any more DOCG wines, or if there is a list available that is more complete or accurate, please feel free to contact me. I have looked on the Italian Trade Commission site; they still list only 35 wines. Wikipedia lists 36 wines.Winecountry.it only lists 32 wines. Luca Zaia’s website has nothing on the DOCG, but he’s just the minister of agriculture, why would he need to have one? I guess having seven Facebook pages (one personal and six groups, sorry you have to be a member to follow the link) makes up for it. There’s nothing to be found about it on the Italian Wine Merchants site, but then again, they make no claims to be the best educational site for Italian wines, just this statement, “Since 1999, Italian Wine Merchants (IWM) has worked diligently to demystify Italian wine through its detailed website and weekly E-letter, Wine Clubs, educational tasting events and a carefully selected portfolio of current and vintage Italian bottlings.” But no demystifying by listing a current and complete DOCG list can be readily found on their site.

Update: Tomas E. of the Wikipedia Project wine also has this nifty document, where on pages 40-41 you can find the 41 DOCG wines listed.They also have yet to put up the Elba Aleatico Passito and the Moscato di Scanzo but by the time this gets posted, they might already have it updated. Thanks Tomas!)

The best site so far is in Italian, Agraria, which has 41. Please do not write me and tell me that they have 43 because that is what you counted. They have Moscato d'Asti listed separately, but it falls within the Asti DOCG, OK? Also at the end they list Vin Santo. At this time it is not DOCG. They also do not have the three new DOCG's (that I know of) listed on their site(as of March 22, 2009).

Update 2: Luca Zaia has brought in another DOCG for Prosecco. Read about his accomplishments and achievements here. Thanks to Laura De Pasquale for the info. And thank you, Dr. Zaia!

I fear I am missing something, but for the life of me, the byzantine workings of the Italian government and the folks who determine which wines will be awarded DOCG status eludes this most ardent researcher. I guess I haven’t learned the secret handshake. Until then, we are at either 46 wines or 48, as of October 10, 2009, which have been given DOCG status. Here is the list, after the jump.

Complete Listing of Italian DOCG Wines (as of October 2009) : 47

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

Campania (3)
Fiano di Avellino
Greco di Tufo
Taurasi

Emilia Romagna (1)
Albana di Romagna

Friuli-Venezia Giulia (2)
Colli Orientali del Friuli Picolit
Ramandolo

Lazio (1)
Cesanese del Piglio

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

Marche (4)
Conero
Vernaccia di Serrapetrona
Verdicchio di Matelica (new)
Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi Classico (new)

Piemonte (12)
Asti spumante - Moscato d'Asti
Barbaresco
Barbera d'Asti
Barbera del Monferrato Superiore
Barolo (Chinato, as well, falls under this DOCG)
Brachetto D'Acqui o Acqui
Dolcetto di Dogliani Superiore o Dogliani
Dolcetto di Ovada Superiore
Gattinara
Gavi o Cortese di Gavi
Ghemme
Roero (Rosso & Bianco)

Sardegna (1)
Vermentino di Gallura

Sicilia (1)
Cerasuolo di Vittoria

Toscana (8)
Brunello di Montalcino
Carmignano
Chianti
Chianti Classico
Elba Aleatico Passito (new)
Morellino di Scansano
Vernaccia di S.Gimignano
Vino Nobile di Montepulciano

Umbria (2)
Montefalco Sagrantino
Torgiano Rosso Riserva

Veneto (6)
Bardolino Superiore
Recioto di Gambellara
Recioto di Soave
Soave Superiore
Conegliano Valdobbiadene Prosecco Superiore (new)
Asolo Prosecco Superiore (new)

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

How many Verdicchio DOCG's are there?

2009-10-10T17:23:00.012-05:00

The latest news from the Marche is that Verdicchio has been awarded a DOCG. The wines that fall under this category are:

Verdicchio di Matelica Riserva (one DOCG)
Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi Riserva and Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi Classico Riserva. (One DOCG)

The question is: Does each Verdicchio wine have it's own DOCG or do they fall under a Verdicchio DOCG category? (There are two)

Prosecco has two DOCG's

Conegliano Valdobbiadene Prosecco Superiore

Asolo Prosecco Superiore

Tuscany has these two DOCG's for

Chianti and

Chianti Classico

So I am searching for the answer, because there obviously isn't a pattern in Italy about these things

Until we find out, the DOCG list is either 46 or 48. (47)

And for those curmudgeons who say : Why is this important?

my answer is this: because sommeliers studying for their tests want and need this information.

Anyway, it is kind of fun trying to figure a way through the labyrinth of Italian wines on that (or any) level.

But if anyone finds out about the Marche designation and how it is broken down, please comment. Inquiring minds want to know.

Grazie 1000!

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

Catching a Ride on a Smile

2009-10-08T00:15:00.005-05:00

From the “When you need a lift ” department

The wine trail this week has taken me to Austin and back home to Dallas. Holiday showcases, wine tastings, a visit with the iconic professor of Italian, an evening with a master sommelier and a fellow Angelino, and many many people, talking about wine and popping corks. It’s been a busy week, and we ain’t finished yet. But that's not what this post will be about.

There have been some real crazy things that have happened, but I also noticed a pattern that has developed, and one that I am happy to recognize. And that is of the ascendancy of more energized women in the wine business, and let me tell you: they are young and they have a whole new way of looking at these things that I think is gonna rock the wine business.

Scene 1: At a wine trade holiday tasting. I’m standing there listening to my colleague, Damon Ornowski, preaching the gospel of Kracher to both the willing and the uninitiated, and off in the corner of the room I see a group of lively young women, talking to themselves. They’re giddy. They’re excited. They’re newbies. But the energy and the excitement that is streaming off of them is infectious. I catch their smiles and watch them as they skip from table to table; every wine a new experience. A Pinot Noir here, a Rioja there, it’s like watching someone when they take their first step. Maybe it’s the party-like scene, maybe it’s that it doesn’t seem like work to them. I hope it isn’t just that. What energizes me is their unbounded jubilation at being in a business that they are really excited about. Remember that scene in “Catch me if you Can” with Leonardo di Caprio, where he is walking with his gaggle of new stewardesses? It looks something like that.

Scene 2: I’m talking to a young lady who works in the business. She is intense and very, very competitive. She also has amazing knowledge of wine and food, more like someone twenty years her senior who was into wine and food in a deep way. In this era which is shaped by the plate tectonics of an industry and economy in turbulence, as a relative newcomer, she as well has had to deal with those dynamics. And being relatively new to the scene, there are many layers above her, peopled with those mere mortals who also have their own fears, agendas and concerns. It’s a lot for anyone to deal with, but with one who is just startling their new life, in a new world, I can sympathize with her. Funny thing, it’s also a brave new world for this ‘ol silverback as well. Every day is a call to re-invent and energize oneself to find a new way to solve the old problems. My inspiration from her came from her willingness to ask questions and to listen to possible solutions and then to go forward. I caught her smiles. She won’t get stung by the bees. She’ll be the one up to her neck in tupelo honey.

Scene 3: At a wine bar in Dallas, showing some really nice Italian wines, a Kerner white and a trio of Tuscans, one Chianti and two Brunellos. At the bar, along with the wine bar manager and a fellow server were two young ladies. One was of Italian descent and the other was an exotic Asian-Indian lass. The wine bar manager was pulled away from our presentation by a client who wanted to talk his ear off about Walla-Walla. The other chap had to do double duty, tasting with us and watching the tables. The two young ladies were on board from the get go. Even while the Walla-Walla chap was flapping around, making our work a little hard with his distracting inanities about the joys of Walla Walla (I wanted to ask him where he worked so I could go to his place of work and pretend to be an expert in his line of work), the Asian-Indian lady looked me straight in the eyes and telepathed in a Shakti-like way that she was paying attention and to focus on her, not the buffoon at the end of the bar. The ancient soul emerged and soothed the silverback. Back to work.

One of the Brunellos was rustic and was showing a fair amount of volatile acidity. You know what? They loved the wine. They were not know-it-alls, they didn’t act bored with listening to a chap old enough to be their dad (or their professor). No, they bought the ticket for the ride and they rode all the way to the end. They were ready and smiling. Right on the money. Making my day. There is an old saying, “'E femmene ne sanno na cchiú d'o diavulo”. In the Neapolitan dialect it translates to “women know more tricks than the devil.” I’m not sure if the young women I encountered were tricking me and the world around them, but if they were, more power to them. And if they just happen to have the seed of passion for this business, there is a future waiting for them with tons of joy. This is my prayer. And you know what they say about prayer? No one is a firmer believer in the power of prayer than the devil.

You better watch out, you better not cry, better not pout...

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

Images from PSA Airways ( a once-upon-a-time California airline, similar to Southwest Air)

Tear Down This Wall

2009-10-04T15:26:00.006-05:00

Thinking my last post came from a frustration of seeing prices going up, not down, and listening to Italian winemakers telling me how much the crisis was over, I sought some retail therapy over the weekend. With an hour to kill while waiting for a plane to arrive I stopped in at a nearby shopping center and cruised the aisles: Neiman-Marcus, Saks, JC Penney’s and Burlington; roughly 4 levels of the retail channel.

Inside a nearly empty environment, I walked from store to store. Starting with the higher levels, I noticed sales. A shirt on sale for $150, a jacket with an Italian sounding name (made in China) for $300. A pair of Hugo Boss shoes (also made in China) for $250, a t shirt for $80. All of a sudden Super Tuscans for $200 weren’t sounding so strange. We could just market them to the same people that were in these stores. If there were any.

I asked a clerk if this was normal, so quiet for this time of the day. “Well, there is probably a football game on,” was her reply. Probably so. But most people seldom pass up the opportunity to buy a deconstructed Armani suit on sale for only $1250 in lieu of watching sports on TV, yes?

Chances are many people were still safely ensconced behind the wall of their gated community. Out here in the sparse plains of North Texas, north of the DFW airport, the sprawl from the urban center has led to giant themed communities, where people sit in their 5,000 square foot homes and drive their extended cab pickups and SUV’s and wield their platinum or titanium credit cards to find a life of meaning. Have some in our Italian wine community bought into this vision of America too?

A close friend told me that when his Italian visitors come to NY they want to go to Nike, Abercrombie and Fitch, Apple and other places that signify a level of status, of having arrived at the end of the trail of the dream their parents and grandparent started on. Large appetites aren’t only confined to Americans.

And while some of the Italians go back home and present their latest Super Tuscan to their friends onboard their newest 40 meter sailing ship in the hopes of getting some relevant feedback, have the decisions they have made been any better informed that ones made by people who lived behind the Berlin Wall or within the walls of a compound in Taliban held Afghanistan?

A multimillionaire tells their winemaker friend, “Your Merlot from Maremma is so wonderful. But it must be worth more than $50. It is at least twice more valuable than that.” I kid you not. True story. Really happened. Killed the wine dead. Will not resuscitate.

Informed decisions are not made on the deck of a yacht, working on one's tan as one is streaming into Porto Cervo for a well-deserved weekend of rest and relaxation. The world outside of the enclosure one situates one within is a different story. A shirt on sale for $150 just isn’t going to have a wide world market right now (or maybe not for a long time, when $150 will be more like $25.).

Gambero Rosso to the rescue
As alluded to in the earlier post, Gambero Rosso seems to be the mantra many Italian winemakers are chanting. Maybe it was the wonderful summer they had in Panarea or Lampedusa that gave them this clarity of thinking, but back in the world of the living, the reality is that Daniele Cernilli cannot save your brand, no matter how many red shrimp he throws at it. If you are making a Marche Rosso that will ultimately have to sell on a wine list in San Francisco for $100, think again. If this were a battle against Hizbollah or the Sendero Luminoso, would you wave a sheet of paper on it with three red glasses to achieve your aims? If so it better be on a large white flag.

On a lay-over between coasts, one of my Italian importer friends visited this weekend. His portfolio is young, but so far this year he has moved through 3+ containers (about 4,000 cases) in his primary market, metro NY. He's on target for moving about 8,000 cases his first year. Not bad for a one man show with a company that started up at the end of 2008, just as the economy was imploding. His secret? Keeping his relationships alive with one-on-one interaction and keeping the wine prices in check. Nothing over $30 wholesale. Falanghina selling for $9, A Maremma Rosso for $11, an Aglianico del Vulture for $9, a Valtellina Superiore for $14, a Langhe Nebbiolo for $14. Solid wines, made by small farmers, not large co-ops with fancy labels or marketing budgets. The work of the day. Mano a mano. Everyday. On terra firma, not terra incognita.

So while some of the winemakers talk of coming to America, which in reality is an extended grand tour of NY, Miami, Vegas and LA-SF, the ones who are gaining ground are doing these things:

1) Visiting other markets and keeping their relationships alive.
2) Turning away from expensive (and tiring) barrique aged wines
3) Listening, really listening, to their colleagues in the field who have been in this battle for 5-10-20 years and know what is going on.
4) Responding quickly and not doing it half-heartedly.
5) Putting their personal pleasure, entertainment, recreation aside while coming to these markets to really serve the needs of the consumers, the intermediary agents and ultimately to their family and business back home.

Today’s battle needs the correct response. When the machine gun was introduced into the theater of World War I it marked a turning point that the older way of fighting was over. Soldiers on horses were no match for a mechanized tank formation. And that is what things like Gambero Rosso, focus groups on yachts in Porto Cervo and out-of-touch within-the-compound mentalities are. The battle field has changed, as has the overall landscape. The Berlin Wall is down. It is time overdue for the Italian to come out from their gated cloisters of comfort and to rejoin with us to retake the hill we all have been battling over for so many years.

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

The Acid Test

2009-10-01T00:20:00.002-05:00

In the wine business, we have come upon the sacred time known as O-N-D. The 4th quarter (October-November- December) has traditionally been a period when wine sales head into high gear. But walking the halls recently, talking to salespeople at month end, I am hearing other stories. People are just not picking up the Kool-Aid like they used to.

CNN recently had a story about the glut of high priced wine. The following, lifted from that piece: “If I buy a bottle for $100 from Napa Valley -- and believe me, there are hundreds -- I'll mark it up to $225. But no one is buying those," says wine director Rajat Parr at RN74 in San Francisco. As a result, Parr is saying no to all Napa Cabernets until customers drink what's left.

Bordeaux vintages are backing up. Established importers are backing away from future commitments. There is a tsunami of classified growth wines hovering. Not quite the perfect storm, more like a scene from Cloverfield. It’s fixing to get ugly.

And our Italian winemakers, let’s take Tuscany: how are they responding to these climes?

Two publications recently have brought out their reviews for the Tuscan reds.

The Wine Spectator – here’s how some of their top rated wines flesh out – simply by rating, price (per bottle) and availability

Tuscany
98 points $100 -500 cases made
98 points $120 -450 cases imported
97 points $285 -6,250 cases made
96 points $319 -150 cases imported
95 points $70 -1,335 cases made
95 points $75 -200 cases imported
95 points $95 -1,250 cases imported
95 points $110 -2,515 cases made
95 points $118 -500 cases imported
95 points $125 -370 cases imported
94 points $89 -1,000 cases imported
94 points $102 -300 cases imported
94 points $215 -3,000 cases imported
94 points $240 -30 cases imported
93 points $95 -29,165 cases made
92 points $165 -50 cases imported

The Wine Advocate – some of their finds- just ratings and suggested retail (per bottle).
Tuscany
99 points $435
97 points $360
98 points $320
95 points $283-349
95 points $275
97 points $233-365
92+points $230
98 points $210
94 points $190
(94-96) pts $175
97 points $163
95 points $161-199
93 points $160
96 points $157-194

There are some good, even great, wines here. Which makes this all the more of a quandary. But the lowest priced wine in the group is $70, with many at $100-$200-$300. And there are back vintages of many of these wines still lingering in importers and wholesalers warehouses, retail shops and restaurant wine lists.

And here we find ourselves at a crossroad. At the busiest time of the year. Who is going to drink these wines and at what price?

Good news: Most of these are red wines from very good vintages that will age. Bad news: That's not good enough news.

I go back and look at the Bordeaux example - how they dig out of uncertain economic times. They’ve done it more often than any other region, made an art out of it. And at this time they are at one of the epicenters of the luxury wine meltdown, Napa and Champagne being vigorously tested as well. Many folks are watching, searching for a passage.

The Italians likely imagine their situation is different, particolare. The emails have been streaming in lately, especially since Gambero Rosso has released their latest tre bicchieri list of winners.

It was much pleasanter at home, when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits.
-Alice (in Wonderland)

It’s a tough situation. You don’t want to tell the winemaker that their baby is ugly. And it is less about beauty than perception. But it boils down to value. You want how much for a bottle? You only made 1,200 bottles? Surely there are 1,200 people we can find to pay $250 a bottle for your baby? People are still buying Ferraris and Pradas, yes?

And so if I talk them down to make their wine sell, not at $250, but at $125, what will it matter? So what are we to do?

I don’t know where I heard it recently, but someone was talking about the “recovery” and compared it to a saucer. Flat bottom. Slow rise. Short peaks. Long ride.

Sayonara, from the abyss, to the Long Tail effect, when it comes to small quantities of highly rated, hard to get wines at ultra-premium prices.

We’ve crossed over into black swan country facing a defining acid test.

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

Some Wine, Not Much Italy, But Lots of Trail

2009-09-27T23:40:00.003-05:00

This past week has taken me on another trail, lots of trail. For a week we have been out in West Texas to do some hiking in the Big Bend National Park and surrounding areas. This is Texas as the Italians love to romanticize Texas and The West, with huge vistas, wide rivers, lots of wild animals and plenty of big blue sky during the day and starry, starry skies at night. It was also very therapeutic this week, because out there the cell phones do not work. So lots of rest and respite from the civilized world.

During the last five or so years September has taken me to the wine trail in France, Portugal, Sicily, and Italy. But for some reason this year, I needed a break from Italy and wine. For one glorious week I didn’t think about whether a wine was natural enough or not (btw, the more natural the wine is the happier my headache prone skull is). I didn’t drive very much and when I did it was never over 45 mph and usually to a placer to hike for the day. I got sunburned and star burned even more, because out in the Big Bend the sky viewing is amazing. Oops, looks like I am full speed ahead into a mommy blog post. E' la nave va.

Dallas to Midland is a short one hour flight. In a car the drive to Big Bend is a lot like flying to Europe. Long. So the program was Midland via SW Air and then a rental car for the 3 hour trip to our first destination-Marfa.

Marfa is that little town in West Texas where a person like me can feel like this was a town made for people like me. Good food and wine abounds, interesting and friendly people, lots of art and the wide open sky of the romantic Texas Italians love to fantasize about.

In a little café in Marfa, Maiya’s we set about our first night to nosh. Maiya’s is Italian-centric so there are some nice food and wines to choose from. We settled on a Pio Cesare Gavi, a 2004, that was nutty and in perfect ready-to-drink shape. I did say 2004; there must be something about the dry West Texas conditions that keep a 5 year old Italian white in shape. But anyone who has ever had an older Gavi knows that a good one can take some age.

Marfa is an artistic community centered around, but not exclusive to, the efforts of Donald Judd and his Chinati Foundation. I will be heading back to Marfa soon to do a series of wine and food dinners, hopefully with some artistic element added to it. My university background was in art and architecture with photography, film and cultural forms studies making up the curricula that I focused on. Marfa is really a place out of my American West soul. And you can find a pretty good pizza there too, in this dog loving town.

I grew up in California in the western part of the Sonora Desert (sometimes called the "Colorado Desert"). Marfa and Big Bend are part of the Chihuahua desert. So not exactly the same, but enough similarities for me to be very happy. On long walks in the Chihuahua desert this past week, I could have sworn some of the trees were brujos and of course I thought I could smell the snakes (another post, but yes, snakes do emit a unique odor). At night looking out the window I felt the pull of the billions of the galaxies and stars. One night I even think there were things other than stars that were reaching out to me. Yeah, yeah, I know, active imagination. But the world we think we see isn’t “all there is”.

What something like Big Bend and other National Parks can do for the common man like myself is to find me a place and a time where I can go to restore my equilibrium from the pressures of civilization. It’s in the wilderness that I can find my lost self.

Monday morning I head back to work, but not before having had a glorious week like I haven’t had for years. I think it was probably back in 2005 in Portugal where I was able to re-up my energy. Not saying that the work or even the urban scene of Texas is all that stressful. It isn’t like living in NY or even LA. Because Texas, for me as well, is a romantic notion or freedom and unlimited horizons, as much as it might be for the Italians I often come into contact with in the wine biz.

These next few weeks Ken Burns is screening his National Park opus on PBS. Thankfully, I have had a week to immerse into one of my favorite National Parks in America. And while it might not be as obviously beautiful as my California love, Yosemite, Big Bend is a wonderful, peaceful, dangerous, beautiful, mystical place that for a desert dweller I have managed to save a large part of my heart for.

All through the day in the saddle I sway
Visions glow as I go trail dreamin'
I see a home on a blue mountain dome
Lovingly that I made, trail dreamin'
There's a rainbow trail that's lined with stars
That leads to a gate with moonbeam bars
And it's welcome, I feel, till my visions so real
Turn to dust 'cause I'm just trail dreamin'

-Sung by Marty Robbins, lyrics by Bob Nolan

More pics of Big Bend and west Texas here:

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

Cadillac Fever

2009-09-24T00:34:00.001-05:00

From the Archives ~ March 23, 2007

There they were, waiting for me as I landed in Dallas from La Guardia, the good ‘ol boys. I had just come back on a flight with a guy from Midland, born and raised in the dusty desolate town that's had its share of desperados.

This ‘ol boy, he luuuvvved Midland. But his lady friend lived in New York. So he had to haul his tail up there to get whatever he thought he needed from his gal in Gotham.

One thing he said, and he said a lot of things, ‘cause he was about two days too many away from Texas, he said, “There’s too much concrete and not enough sunsets.” I couldn’t disagree. Something about living in the West that just gets under your skin. To make matters worse, he pulled out the latest copy of Texas Farm and Ranch magazine, and he asked me if I wanted a look-see. Damn him.

They got me with that little Hill Country spread in Bandera County. Real nice.

Meanwhile, giant mosquitoes are attacking me in my bed and it's just March. I’ll never get out of here. Cadillac fever’ll get me.

At the Dallas airport, the old man was waiting by the car, lighting up another cigarette. He looked like he just came from a funeral.

It was 12:30, time for a late lunch. All that NY pizza and vegetarian food ‘like to mess up my regimen of steak and ribs. That was about to get rectified.

At the chop house, the usual table was waiting. Liquor was ordered, not wine. Time was slowing down, and something was about to fall from the sky, I felt an impending message coming on. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Better just 'buck up and face it, sooner than later.

“Son,” he said, “do you see what I’m holding in my hand?” I replied that it looked like whisky. “Damn right! And you want to know why we’re drinking it?” I figured he liked the stuff. Sometimes on airplanes, the whiskey was better than most wines offered. He clarified our position. “Son, this whiskey keeps the lights on. If these folks pull the plug, we can all go home. Now, if one of these here whiskey fellers brings us a wine to sell, don’t go into a big song and dance about how smart y'all wine folks are and how ignorant them spirits boys are, ya hiyrr me?”

Yes sir, don’t want the lights to go all blooey on us.

“And when you and your boy head out to Ittly next week, don’t be finding any more wine to fill up the warehouses with. We got enough, and tell them there Eyetalians so. Tell ‘em to make less and make it better and charge less for it. That’s what’ll work here in the lower midsection of America, down heeya in the crotch.”

And with that, juicy steaks arrived with baked potatoes and lots of farm fresh butter and chives and sour cream and fresh pepper. It wasn’t cold outside, and the landscape wasn’t littered with dirty grey-black snow. It was 68°F, and bright and clear.

Crystal clear.

Afterwards I set out to find Beatrice Russo. It seems some of my old wines had been depleted. I noticed a bottle of some ancient Barolo in the trash bin, along with a Champagne bottle or two, a Roederer and a Pol Roger. And a bottle of La Chapelle Hermitage 1985.

Oh yeah, and my bottle of Gran Gala that I had sitting there to take to the newspaper, so they could photograph it for an article; it was 2/3rds empty.

I better go find that young lady.

Images from PLAN59.COM

Perception is Reality

2009-09-20T00:34:00.000-05:00

From the Archives ~ October 10, 2007

The picture above is a favorite of mine. It hangs in my bedroom. Shot by James Evans, who lives out west in the Big Bend area of Texas. It is of a bull snake on a couch. I love it for the texture and the movement and the hint of danger.

But the bull snake isn’t lethal. It just looks that way.

Things are all mixed up these days. We seek local and pummel the word sustainable about, like a swordfish being cut up for the seafood counter. But what are we really looking for? Are we looking for the truth? Do we want to fear something that really isn’t worthy of such trepidation? How does that relate to this Italian wine thing?

Let’s look at these words: local, unique, safe, affordable.

Local- Unless you are in Italy, Italian wines aren’t going to be considered local. So one must consider the trade off. You can get a local wine in most places, and it should be good enough for your needs. You could also drive a car (If you are in the US, a Chevy, for instance) and it will get you where you want to go. One doesn’t need a Maserati anymore than one needs a Brunello. Oh, but, you say, you like the Maserati and the Brunello? Because it is unique. OK.

Unique – Just like Bar-B-Q is unique in Texas, or Ruby Red grapefruits from the Big Valley down there, things unique have a way of endearing themselves to folks. They are dear and often precious. Taste, texture, feeling, scent, many facets of the jewel that one is attracted to. Italian wines are unique and so because of that people are drawn to them for pleasure and enjoyment, stimulation, physical as well as intellectual. And because of this we can be reasonably assured that the product is good for us. It is safe.

Safe- very much buzzing about this lately. People are inventorying their possessions and jettisoning things made in China. Clothing made in Bangladesh or Costa Rica, are the conditions for the workers safe? Or would their lives be worse off if they didn’t have that job? Meat packers in the US, in the early 1900’s, children in factories in the late 1800’s, scenarios that played out for cheap goods but at the expense of the health and welfare of the humans, or other living creatures, involved in the production of these materials. Today not many of us make our own clothes, and fewer and fewer are making their own meals. Italian wines, while not all have been always safe, have a record as good or better than much of the world wine producing areas. And often affordable.

Affordable – Up until recently Italian (and European) wines and other goods have been a good deal for those using the US dollar. There is a pause, at this moment, because, we are seeing the erosion of the US currency. The Canadian dollar is climbing over it, the Euro has left it behind, the Yuan is a rising red sun. An Italian Chianti now sells for about US$12.00, on average. Yellow Tail Shiraz sells for US$8.00. Now there is a difference; the region, the grape, the experience. But the challenge in 2008 and 2009 will be large, and marketers and wine lovers will be challenged to make sure they don’t sacrifice unique and safe over affordable.

The snake is in the living room, settled and comfortable on the couch. It will take plenty of effort and courage to look it straight in the eyes and determine if it is dangerous or not. The challenge, of our perceived view of things, will be to generate a reality that will still honor the local producers (even if they are thousands of miles away) and encourage them to retain their unique qualities along with continuing to make them safe and wholesome and if possible, within our means.

Photographs: Top one by James Evans; all the rest from the Flickr Italy in Black & White photo group.