On the Wine Trail in Italy

Italy with her endless array of wines and wine styles is poised for a resurgence. The wine business is relatively healthy driven by the big movers, Chianti, Moscato, Pinot Grigio and Prosecco. And the fringe wines are picking up momentum, the col fondo, orange and barrique-free ones.

What does that mean to this crystal ball gazer on the Blackland Prairie? The buffalos have long disappeared, as have the anthropophagic bipeds that once roamed these lands. Replaced by Escalades driven by soccer moms, the envisagement within the murky sphere points to Italy. And this is what I see.

Lazio– fueled by Rome and the upwelling of a food and wine culture not about tourists, this region is starting to climb out of its little dungeon in Frascati and make other wines of interest to people who want a deeper experience. Red wine is the focus here, although there are intriguing whites arriving as well.

What red? My vote is Cesanese. There are DOC, DOCG and IGT wines now available. One of the most searched for wines from Lazio is the Damiano Ciolli Silene Cesanese di Olevano Romano. Available in the US from A.I. Selections, a small importer of handmade wines. Two wines are available, the Cirsium and the Silene. Look for the Silene in the US for around $20.

Not yet available in the US is the Principe Pallavicini, which makes several Cesanese wines, from the simple Cesanese IGT to the Rubillo (also an IGT) and the Amarasco, a wine made from grapes raisinated on the vine. US imported is VIAS. So far the importer only lists the Amarasco on their website.

My friend Hande Leimer in Rome also recommends a Cesanese from Azienda Agricola L’Olivella, Racemo Cesanese “>” which also is a red wine from grapes left to whither on their vines. Picked in November, and attaining a hearty 14.5% alcohol. I have not had this wine.

It appears the red wines without the dried grapes arrive to 12.5% in the wines I have seen. In what I have tasted, the wines have good fruit, nice crisp, acidic dryness. They make good wines for the varied food of Rome (and the world beyond) and they’re poised for more popularity, if even only among the ones who seek those kinds of wines. And that is usually who survey these pages.

Sicily– the last few years I have been spending time in and around my family area, Piana degli Albanese. Close to Palermo, which is a food lovers “must stop.” This past summer with Diego Cusumano, I tasted some of his wines from the Ficuzza vineyard in Piana, known by my family in the native tongue as “t’Hora.” I never realized how much wine production there was in this little pocket of Sicily.

The wine that nailed me was Cusumano’s“Angimbe,” a blend of 70% Insolia and 30% Chardonnay. I loved how the wine was crisp and full at the same time. There is no oak, so acid lovers won’t be put off too much. Not a “natural” wine in that the wine hasn't been left to its own devices. There is “winemaking” with this bottle, but it’s been well honed. I love the delicious crisp, fruity nature of the wine and think more people will find this wine and wines like this to their liking in 2015. There is plenty of white wine to tempt thirsty Palermitans. Cusumano’s “Angimbe” is one of several wines from Sicily, not from Etna, that wine lovers in the US should be coming to in 2015. I am entranced with wines from this part of Sicily and hope the crystal ball is perfectly clear on this vision. Cusumano is imported by Terlato in the US.

Tuscany - I’m continually reminded that there are other Chiantis than Classico. Two wines that I love hail from so-called “sub-zones,” Rufina and Montespertoli. Their proximity to another urban center, Florence, gives them a leg up on some of the other outlier zones. Their delicious flavor sends them over the top and lands them on this list.

From Rufina, one of my perennial favorites for over 30 years, is the Selvapiana. I cannot recall an expression of Sangiovese that more aptly fits the classic description of what a wine with that grape should be. As with Riesling, I can never keep Selvapiana wines in my closet for long. They disappear. Their attraction? I can drink a delicious wine, not think too much about it and not feel guilty for not having paid too much analytical attention to it because the wine does all the work. It makes me feel like a smarter drinker than I am. It’s the wine, not me. And more people “in the know” and just “coming into wine” should get some of this into their basket immediately. Imported by Dalla Terra.

My go-to Montespertoli Chianti is from Sonnino. Aspiring to be a little more modern, but again, the vines call the shots. The wines are overseen by the quirky and exasperatingly delightful couple, Baron Alessandro and Baroness Caterina de Renzis Sonnino. An evening (or a morning) with Alessandro and Caterina is an unforgettable experience. But seeing as they cannot apply their famous Tuscan hospitality to the world (nor do they aspire to that) you can take them into your arms and your heart by way of their wines. I recommend their Castello di Montespertoli Riserva Chianti. There is some oak, but the estate grown grapes have enough character to keep the wood at bay. Imagine an ascot rather than a tie and you get the idea. Loose but stylish, and always in the best of taste. Sonnino’s Castello di Montespertoli has several importers in the US.

Montespertoli and Rufina – Sangiovese is timeless. Finding their finer expressions is a lifelong quest. Not a trend, but definitely trending in 2015.

Alto Piemonte– A few years ago, I lamented on this blog over the lack of momentum in the Langhe for wines like Barolo and Barbaresco. Thanks to a few great vintages, the cost of oil (trading these days at around $50 a barrel) and the weak Euro, Nebbiolo is back and stronger than ever. So much that there will be shortages of 2010, 2011 and 2012 against the world demand. And that directs us to #4, the reds of Alto Piemonte.

Boca, Gattinara, Ghemme, Sizzano and Bramaterra along with Lessona and Carema, comprise this up-and-coming area on my map. Their closeness to a world-class city like Milan makes demands on products that offer new, different and value. These wines should have a hard time finding their way out of Italy. And often they do, but for the wrong reasons. Now, importers are looking back to the north and bringing these wines out of the hills.

Some of them have cult status, like Le Piane in Boca, Vallana in Maggiora, Monsecco in Sizzano and Ferrando in Ivrea. Any of these wines are worthy of their own category, but this is a time for rebuilding a region that once was great. I buy these wines, I put them in my cellar and I love these wines. I don’t turn my back on Barolo or Barbaresco. But these wines show so much promise, so much pleasure and are still very affordable. Importers like Neal Rosenthal, Vinity, A.I. Selections, Massanois and a handful of small, grassroots importers. Worth seeking out and definitely on my radar in 2015. Should be on yours as well.

Abruzzo - #5 was difficult, because I could as easily done a list of ten. My money is on Trebbiano. The time is right. Well, for me the time for Trebbiano has been right for the last 30 years, when I started drinking it regularly. I’m not talking Pepe and Valentini, although I do enjoy wines like them from time to time. But I need wines I can afford to drink, regularly. I have my Etna Bianco and Mosel Rieslings, true. But there is something to be said about a simple crisp, clear, clean, unencumbered white that I can open and pour freely to my friends and family.

Most people never even get to Abruzzo. Their loss. Our gain, for those of us who pilgrimage there more than the occasional wine junket. Great weather, fabulous food, reasonably priced, great beaches (which means great seafood) and therein provides the attraction for a crisp clean white like Trebbiano. And Abruzzo is the omphalos for this wine.

Having spent many summers on the beach at San Benedetto del Tronto (which is in the Marche on the Abruzzo border), Trebbiano soothed many a sunburn, assuaged many a plate of mezze manche with tiny clams and helped expedite the finishing off a plate of grilled langosto. Perhaps this nomination is more backwards looking than forward; I hope not. For under $10 your can still find an estate bottled Trebbiano from Abruzzo. That’s still right for the times, in my book. Look for Masciarelli, La Valentina and Cantine Frentana for dependable examples. Masciarelli wine company in the US imports Masciarelli, La Valentina is from Dalla Terra and Frentana is from Tricana.

2015 will most likely be many things to many people. For those of us on the wine trail in Italy, the path is endless and the joys are many. Look to add wine from these five spots to your “endless joy” list of 2015.

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

wine blog + Italian wine blog + Italy W

The heart of Europe is marching in Paris today in solidarity against the horrendous atrocities witnessed in the City of Lights this week. Italian politicians are waging their own smaller war – against Prosecco on tap.

And while this might seem minute in comparison to more important events unfolding in Europe, this is our smaller march on the wine trail in Italy today.

Holiday news bulletin from the Prosecco Consorzio

There has news lately coming from England about Prosecco being poured on tap. In fact, the laws governing the name of Prosecco are clear. If the wine is a DOP (DOC or DOCG). The official statement is this:

“Prosecco DOC wine can only be sold in the bottle, the art. 8 rules of the Prosecco DOC, recognized at the European level (Ministerial decree 17 July 2009), established that ‘DOC (registered designation of origin) <<Prosecco>> wine shall be marketed exclusively in traditional glass bottles.’ The wines on tap sold as ‘Prosecco’ are not Prosecco wine, but other generic sparkling wines names as ‘Prosecco’. This fact is misleading for the final consumers who think they are buying Prosecco.”

And while there are some translation issues with the above statement (for example, “the fact is misleading” should probably read, “the assertion is misleading”) I think it’s clear. Wine called Prosecco, legally, must be bottled. Period.

Now, let’s take it to the streets. This is somewhat similar to the confusion that arises out of sparkling wine made in the method they use in Champagne. Over the years (less so in recent years) all sparkling wine came to be regarded as Champagne. Champagne meant sparkling wine. But with laws and education, the world at large is beginning to understand that Champagne comes from one place in the world. Still there are producers in the world (Hello, California) who claim the term “Champagne” has been “grandfathered” in for them because they have been using it for so long. Fortunately with the arrival of French Champagne producers to California a generation or so ago, most of the serious producers now call their wine “sparkling.”

Italy’s Prosecco is having a moment of worldwide popularity. The sales of Prosecco in the world I track (15 states in the Midwest, what we call flyover country) showed a 50% increase in 2014 vs 2013. Healthy growth in any time. Along with the popularity come fly-by-night marketers who are trying to cash in on that momentum and make a quick buck.

Note to BBC - Prosecco is not ever rosé

Yesterday I received a call from a reporter at BBC and was asked to talk on a live news broadcast (linked here) at 7AM GMT (that would be 1AM my time). When the call came, along with myself was Marcus Hilton who owns the Priory Bar in Wakefield, England, a merchant who represents the sales of a wine that purportedly comes from Italy and is made from the Prosecco grape, which we now called Glera (see Jeremy Parzen's post here for a more thorough accounting of this). It was a quick, live piece, and the two of us and the reporter talked about the issue of Prosecco being poured on tap in English bars.

In my view there are a couple of factors at play here. The first is the fact that most people on earth are not wine aficionados. They are just looking to have a drink. The nuances between Prosecco, sparkling wine and Champagne are not terribly important to most of them. To the producers, the lawmakers and the infielders, this is more important to us. Yes, it’s a whole lot of inside baseball, but it is important. In Marcus Hilton’s defense, he stated “ …it’s an English perception problem in the UK. People don’t understand what the word frizzante means. We sell the same liquid in a bottle and in a keg. In the bottle we call it Prosecco. In a keg we have to call it frizzante.” So the issue is what the public-at-large means when they use the term Prosecco.

The reporter asked me if it would taste the same. In the short time allowed to answer I allowed the wines, to the average person would taste the same. In theory, the wine in Italy is in a large tank and then it is bottled. In a small keg, which is like a tank, the conditions could exist for a similar taste and texture. And at that level, which is fairly basic, I cannot imagine much difference, even to those whose lives revolves around wine. The matter revolves around the way the law is stated, and there is also a degree of pride (and protection) that the producers and the consortium are trying to protect.

I agree with the producers and the consortium on this, by the way. We need more education on what Prosecco is. And I believe that is an ongoing effort by many.

The other factor is with marketers who make fizzy wine in kegs. I’m all for keg wine. But let’s call it what it is. Like Marcus Hilton said, “people don’t understand what the word frizzante means.” They think that the words Champagne and Prosecco are synonymous with all sparking wines (although one is a region and a specific wine and the other one, once was the name of the grape and now also denotes a delimited area of production) and so language subverts their real meaning for one of convenience.

The evolution of marketing when the law is applied

Look, there will always be folks who want to make a quick buck (or quid) by taking shortcuts. The folks who produce the wine in Italy in kegs need to be monitored closely. Once it leaves Italy, though, it is pretty difficult to regulate the words people use to sell things. They can and have been clamping down on marketers who use the terms loosely, like the company Frizzenti, which market a sparkling tap wine. On their Facebook page they showed a tap originally with the words “Classico dal uve Prosecco.” Then they went to “Prosecco & Vino Frizzante” (according to the FB pix) and then to the more correct “Vino Frizzante” (on their website). And while this firm did lend to the confusion, it seems they have been brought in line with the EU laws to clarify what they are selling as frizzante wine – Inotherwords to call an ace an ace and a spade a spade. That doesn’t mean the folks who go into a pub in Wakefield are all going to magically start asking for a “draw of frizzante.” But it is progress, one grain of sand at a time.

Prosecco producers should see this as a teachable moment. Concentrate on making a good, healthy, safe, delicious product. And then go out to the streets and communicate your message, even if that message doesn’t hold the degree of importance as these other more urgent world issues Europe (and the world) is facing right now. Good luck to all, especially to our French brothers and sisters in this critical time and much more important concern.

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

wine blog + Italian wine blog + Italy W

This past week in New York, I sat down in front of a microphone with Levi Dalton. And talked. And talked. Not so easy for this born-again introvert. In particular, Levi asked me what changes I’ve seen in the Langhe over the last 30 years. That podcast is available here. And while my interview deals more with my Pollyanna version of history, it feels, on the ground in the Langhe, like an impending change is on the horizon.

A week or so before, he asked a similar question to Antonio Galloni (that podcast here), who has been going there since 1997. Antonio expressed concern that the wines and the social climate of Barolo (and Barbaresco) might be shifting towards the more exclusive and limited (and expensive) world of wine in which Burgundy finds itself. Not at all the least because both of these wine producing areas are rather small compared to Bordeaux or Napa Valley. But the tendency for wealthy collectors to gravitate towards the rare and unobtainable is something we probably won’t see going away, unless there is a worldwide pandemic. At which point, who will care about wine of any kind?

The two AC's: Alfredo Currado and Alfonso Cevola in Castiglione Falletto circa 1984

Over the holidays I was surveying my old Piedmont archives and ran across a telex transmission with Angelo Gaja in 1981. Looking back on those ex-cellar prices, I now wonder why we didn’t buy more. Mind you, they were higher than their neighbor’s, but still a bargain, by today’s reckoning.

Today, Gaja’s wines are approaching the DRC club. Only the wealthiest 1% of the 1%ers can savor these wines in their Lalique “100-point” or Zalto crystal wine chalices. Even a visit to Gaja today (see Gaja winery visit letter here) will set back the average Joe a €300 ‘donation’ (to one of several of the Gaja family selected charities). For such a donation (bank wire transfer, one month in advance and reconfirmed by email) one is granted a visit at Gaja that will “include a cellar tour and a wine tasting with wines selected by the Gaja family, which in total will last approximately two hours.”

Another winery has upped the exclusive nature of their wine and visits. In Galloni’s podcast (which is public and on the record) when pressed by Levi, he admits that some wineries have not been smitten with some of his reviews. One in particular, Bruno Giacosa, it was reported by Galloni himself, even went so far as to ban him from visiting.

“There are people who don’t want to let you taste their wines, which is, I think, a bit shortsighted, but it’s unfortunate. I mean there’s places definitely where I can’t go back and taste. We were talking before about Bruno Giacosa, that’s another one, I mean. They were just livid after I wrote what I wrote about their Riserva, their ’08 red label, and I can’t go back there and taste. That’s OK; I’ll just go buy the wines.

“Bruno Giacosa 2008’s, 2009’s are very disappointing vintages, relative to what has happened there since 1961…That’s one of the producers that I own the most of. I still have 1960’s Barolos and Barbarescos in my cellar of Giacosa, so I mean I know these wines really well, I’ve tasted them forever. But they had a really - I think coming out of it slowly - but they really had a rough patch there. I know ’08 and ’09, the wines were really disappointing and I wrote what I thought.”

Imagine someone as passionate and influential as Antonio Galloni, and indeed a nice guy, being shown the door by the Giacosa family? Limiting access to only those wealthy enough or anointed by a winery owner? This doesn’t bode well for people who love wine and have a brain, but maybe not so large of a bank account.

Compound that with the upsurge of interest in the coming vintages in the Langhe, and who knows what kind of a place it will be for wine lovers and wine tourism in 10 or 20 years?

Again, from the recent podcast with Levi Dalton, Antonio Galloni shared his concerns about the Burgundization of Barolo, and the Langhe at large:

“What worries me is that Barolo might become the next Burgundy. Producers might become inaccessible, it’s harder to go now, producers travel more.”

“But I don’t mean just in terms of the wine, I mean in terms of lack of access.”

“There are serious foreign groups - American, European, Asian, ex Italy - of course, looking to make investments in Italy, including the biggest luxury brand and mass market wines groups that you can think of. You name five of them, you’re going to get three right away, that are looking, right now, to buy vineyards in Piedmont. And that will change forever the economics of vineyard land in Piedmont. The local winemaking family can still afford to buy even top tier vineyards in Piedmont. You might have to get a loan, or securitize versus other assets that you have, but it’s still possible. But In five years, it won’t be possible. It’ll become like Burgundy where all the vineyards are slowly going to be owned by investors.”

Tuscany has its share of elite wines for the super-rich, but it is large enough for folks without a million bucks in their checking account to obtain good wines and open doors. You can still sit with a winegrower at a kitchen table.

Roberto Voerzio having a little fun at Vinitaly

But the Langhe is small. Big companies are eyeing this rich real estate. Who knows? What if, in five, ten years, a winery like Bruno Giacosa gets an offer they cannot refuse by a mega-luxury corporation? Or a Cavalotto or an Altare? This is some of what Antonio Galloni is alluding to. It is happening in Burgundy. It could happen, will most likely happen, in the Langhe as well. And those wines will become inaccessible to the people who have loved them and hoisted their banner for decades.

Yesterday, I dropped into my local Italian wine shop to pick up a deli platter. In the wine section, I asked a well-dressed lady if I could help her. She said she was picking up a (6-pack) case of Vietti for her party that night. It so happened to be the 2010 Vietti Barolo “Ravera.” Antonio Galloni raved about this wine, writing:

“The 2010 Barolo Ravera is one of the greatest wines I have ever tasted from Vietti. Stunning. It’s as simple as that. Freshly cut flowers, mint, spices, crushed rocks and pine jump from the glass in a vivid, crystalline wine endowed with captivating purity, clarity and finesse. The 2010 takes hold of the palate and never lets up, gaining body, breadth and volume over time. A breathtaking, perfumed finish rounds out the finish” 100/100 points.

Someday, before they turn the lights out, I'd like to try a wine from my birth-year

I asked the lady if they were going to drink all 6 bottles. “Should I not?” she asked. “If you can, try and hold a few bottles aside to let them have some time,” I answered, “Don’t tell your guests this is a 100-point wine until afterwards. If not, they will drink all 6 bottles and that will be a shame,” I advised.

I’m not sure I will ever live long enough to taste the 2010 Ravera when it will be perfectly ready. And I’m sure most of this wine will be drunk long before maturity sets in. The good news is, these wines are easier to drink when young than the wines being produced 50 years ago. The bad news is, fewer and fewer of us will be able to know these pleasures, if the current sea change that is appearing in the Langhe continues and the Burgundization of Barolo is no less than a fait accompli.

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

wine blog + Italian wine blog + Italy W

Just hours on the ground here in Italy. I’m spending what’s left of the weekend in Venice, which tonight is the most serene of republics. January is a time when the tourists go elsewhere, like Cuba or Thailand, when Venice is usually damp and cold. But there is a warm front and the weather, though misty, isn’t bone chilling.

Over a bottle of Grand Cru Champagne and some cicchetti (small plates) my host and I talked about everything under the sun. Bordeaux, Paris, the price of West Texas crude oil, the house of Saud, anything and everything. The subject of aged wine came up. My friend has a deep cellar and long experience with the great wines of France and Italy. “I think right now a Barolo or a 3rd growth Bordeaux, about 15 years old, would be just perfect to drink,” he said. The idea of drinking older wines vs. enjoying them younger, it's something that I have been going back and forth with lately.

Earlier this month, in New York, I came upon a lot of older wine. A sommelier friend handed me a sip of 1961 Franco Fiorina Barolo. “Here, try this,” she said as she scurried with a decanter to an important table. I took a small and a sip, the wine was light in color, still lively, but muted, not as bright as it might once have been?

So many of us in the wine business, we seek out the old and classic wines. When one is young, older wines seem to have this forbidden attraction. Imagine drinking a wine made before you were born; drinking it now, the people who handled the grapes, made the wine, even sold the wine, are all probably dead. Isn’t a bit of a vicarious thrill to touch something from the past, to be moved by someone’s labor, that person who no longer treads the earth? And all along, the remaining ones, we the living, are basking up the glory, because we are still standing. Still here. Still alive. But are those wines really still here? Still alive? Or is this just a little bit of eno-necrophilia we all are engaging in when we drink something so very, very old?

The story I tell about one of the epiphanies in wine I had drinking a 1964 Monfortino, still alleged to be a classic wine. When I drank that wine, though, it was only 17 years old. That would be like drinking a 1998 today. 1998, that’s not so very old, is it? So what was the big deal?

In my case, it was something I had never had, and in all likelihood, would not be having on a regular basis in my lifetime. And that is pretty well much how it has played out.

This circuitous route I am taking, all to express the thought that some of these old wines, when they were made, weren’t made as well as their modern day predecessors are being made. But by virtue of their being old, they get instant cult status among the young (Odd, that older people don’t get quite the same treatment as their vinous counterparts by some of the newer wine drinkers).

The interview I referenced in the last post, the one that Levi Dalton did with Antonio Galloni, Galloni had a few things to say, which I want to share with those of you who didn’t take the time to listen to the whole podcast, which you should.

"We did a 2008 Barolo dinner at Bar Boulud a couple of months back and I was talking about this with Mike Madrigal the other night how incredibly beautiful the wines were. Are they gonna be better in 10 years or 20 years? God, I hope so. Yes, I think that they will. But is it a crime to open 12 or 14 ’08 Barolos and taste them? Absolutely not. The wines are delicious today...They’re nowhere near as monstrously tannic as they were a generation ago.

So what’s changed is that the more traditional wines have become obviously, much more popular. But more than that, there’s really been a convergence of style in a big way because if you go look at Cascina Francia today, I can guarantee you that that vineyard is not being farmed the way Roberto Conterno’s father farmed it. There’s a lot of dropped fruit. The yields are really low. This is a modern vineyard. It’s a modern vineyard. You can say whatever you want. The only thing that’s traditional about this wine is that it’s got… It spends a lot of time in barrels, has long fermentation and it’s very basically, minimally handled, but this is not a traditional wine in the sense of the oxidated wines that my dad liked to drink 30 years ago.

So the massive convergence of style, the traditionalists have backed off, they’ve cleaned up the cellar and made more effort to have hygiene, and switched out old barrels, bought better destemming equipment. I think this is one of the big issues with Nebbiolos that Nebbiolo has a very fragile jack that doesn’t always separate from the skin. And if you don’t have full phenolic ripeness, you end up with jacks in your tanks.

So you can assume that in an era where… Let’s take about, look at what the ’70s… ’60s and ’70s, where you had cooler vintages, lower levels of ripeness, probably not the best equipment. Even if you destemmed, you’re probably getting some percentage of stems, or jacks or stuff in your tank, and that was in the wine. Today, people are more attentive. So, wines are cleaner. They’re more polished, and then of course, the weather has changed dramatically. It’s much drier, warmer, most of the time. So the weather has played a big role in how these wines have changed, but the wines of today are very different from the wines of 30 years ago. There’s nothing you can do about that. But basically, since I’ve been going there, there’s a big stylistic shift, a big stylistic conversion, which I think is generally good because the idea of modernist versus traditionalist was something that I never really found particularly exciting, where you see the big jump in quality which is great."

The takeaway is this: You can search for and fight over the older bottles of wine, Barolo, in this case, and Instagram them and post to labels to Delectable and have a good time showing off to your friends. We all love a good show. But in the rush to find the next bottle of 1955 Capellanno Barolo know this: you are only going back in time. And time has changed that wine, as it has changed you. Nothing is static; we live in a dynamic sluice of protons and matter. And if what Galloni is saying is true, and I believe it is, you might be doing yourself and the producers of Barolo (and Barbaresco) a disservice in your search for a Holy Grail wine experience by seeking out only the old wines. In the meantime, all these newer wines are available, and have had this quantum leap of quality in the last generation, and can be had (up to now) for relatively good prices. My money is on the new stuff. But isn’t that just like life? Young people want old wine and older people want younger wine. We all want what we can’t get. Except, we all get old. Even the younger ones out there who have been young all their life and no nothing else. My mom, who will turn 101 in four months, told me the other day, “When I was young, up until I was in my 30’s, I thought I was always going to be young. Because I had always been young. But now, looking back, I realize I have been older a hell of a lot longer in my life than I was young.”

Maintaining balance when choosing wines also applies to the age of the wines. I’m not saying to turn your back on old wines (or old people), but to keep an open mind to the experiences some of the young vintages can offer up. Just as the young generation of wine professionals coming up have a lot to offer in their fresh perspective, so do younger wines.

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

wine blog + Italian wine blog + Italy W

When talking with my friends in Italy, I realize how little down time I take. Somewhere in August of last year (or maybe it was the year before) I got into battle mode. After that, free time disappeared. Not because of any mandate from above. This was totally self-imposed, getting myself into the position where one is always working, always in uniform. For what? To make the world safer for Italian wine? We all know the world is far from safe, and a little more (or less) Italian wine isn’t going to move the needle so much. With that in mind, in the last few weeks I have been stealing time for myself.

An indulgence of mine is to wander, with a camera, and to exercise my rite of invisibility, something I learned many years ago. As a born-again introvert, it comes with the territory. I sometimes complain that I have become too invisible. But really I would rather have it that way than the other. I worked too hard to learn how to do it. In a recent documentary on Dorothea Lange, she talked at length about it. It’s real. And so, when time permits, I slip into that dimension.

Agnolo Bronzino, Ritratto di Lodovico Capponi, Frick Collection, New York

Earlier this month in New York, I had a couple of hours between appointments. On the walk from one to the next, I saw that the Frick Collection was in the middle. So I stopped in and spent the time looking at art. This was a private collection in a house where, originally, people lived in. So the atmosphere was homier than a museum. On the walls the depth of the art that had been collected was staggering. One piece which stood out was by Agnolo Bronzino, a portrait of Ludovico Capponi. The image casts the young and wealthy of Italian high caste. What a life they must have had. For what did they want? Food? Warmth? Company? Sex? I daresay, from the depiction of the young lion, he lacked nothing. He would have made a great Millennial. Or Boomer, for that matter. Great art? Perhaps not, but an insight into a closed world.

This weekend in Venice, with a few hours to spare, I see that my hotel is near Peggy Guggenheim’s once-upon-a-time home, now turned into a museum. Peggy was a collector. Her taste in art was prescient. Upon walking into the galleries, I realized: 1) I didn’t have enough time and 2) I was in way over my head.

Not to say I cannot tread water with art historians. While that is not my calling, I did my time in university art classes and some of it stuck. Enough that I am not easily intimidated.

What I was, however, was, inundated with emotion from a collection that was put together over time from a person who had what appeared to be living relationships with the artists on the walls. This is a most personal collection of art, from someone who had the sensitivity of the time and the means to interpret her vision to the world.

When we get ourselves going on the wine trail in Italy, sometimes it is hard to pull away from it. There’s wine and food and all the commensurate activity that goes along with it. It’s a flurry. And seeing as I have been knee deep in bustle (and hustle) for some time now, it was a necessary break to take the time and walk into these two different venues to simply appreciate art. How refreshing to see people of means, like the Frick and the Guggenheim families, using their wealth to share art with the rest of us, rather than solely buying another house, car or extravagant toy. Art like this, and the sharing of it, makes all of our lives richer, not just the 1%.

I say this, not to demean anything in the world of food and wine. We need to eat. And drink. But we need nourishment for our souls from other veins.

If you find yourself going to Friuli or Prosecco-Land and have time, by all means, make it a point to stop by and visit the Peggy Guggenheim Collection in Venice. It is a wonderful break from those things we all need to do, our earthly obligations. Take yourself out of the game for an afternoon; your world will still be there. It can live without you for an hour or two. And find yourself staring at the amazing and indelible works of some of the masters of 20th century art.

Hey, I may be invisible, but I’m not mute.

written and photographed in Venice by Alfonso Cevola(with the exception of the image from the Frick Collection) limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

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This past week I have been in the Veneto as a guest of the Valpolicella Consorzio. The occasion was Amarone Anteprima, an annual event showcasing the release of the latest vintage of Amarone, in this case the 2011. During the week I tasted hundreds of wines going back to 1998, and visited scores of estates, large and small. And while this has been a brief week of exploration into the wines of Valpolicella, of which Amarone is a main player, it has served to give me a deeper understanding and appreciation for this often misunderstood and misinterpreted wine.

The idea of a traditional style of Amarone was discussed at length in a tasting moderated by Luca Martini, who in 2013 won the Italian Sommelier Association “World’s Best Sommelier” event. Luca is mid-30, built like a fighter, and is an affable and very passionate fellow. He comes from Tuscany, where his family has run restaurants for over 100 years. I like Luca, he seems to be grounded and at the same time someone who looks over the fence, past the horizon of time. He lit a candle in the dark room shedding light on the question of just what is a traditional Amarone.

Like an earlier post, in which older Barolo wines were discussed, Amarone is saddled with the image that it has to age many years and that some of the older producers who brought Amarone onto the world stage set the standard for modern-day Amarone. My sense is in the last 25 years, Amarone was re-defined by a then younger generation of winemaker. And one generation later, it is being re-defined again. This time, though, there is no one type of standard formula for making great Amarone. I’m not even going to try to describe what I think a traditional Amarone is in this post. There is a larger group of protaganisti who have their own ideas about what Amarone should be. I am going to attempt to describe some of them.

The Large Family Business
This type is identified by a well-organized and wealthy family. And while it is large, it is run as a family business. Export is crucial, as the Veneto cannot support these numbers at the premium range. But the producers in Valpolicella have long been players in the export world. After all, the history of the Veneto has trade imbedded in its DNA. In the post-modern world of the 21st century, luxury and premium wine is the hallmark of wineries like these. Amarone is polished, clean, powerful. There has been a lot of work in the vineyards and in the cellars. Attention has been paid to appassimento, the drying stage. The ranges of wines, from the entry level to the Ripasso to the Amarone have all been considered for their contribution to the identity of the brand of the family winery. The Amarone wines are generally in the upper range, say in US $60-80, and the on-premise channel has been targeted. This is important, because one doesn’t just go out to the local wine store in search of an Amarone. But in the restaurants, the role of the sommelier on the floor can help to advance Amarone, especially with food. By and large, these wineries are successful and they are growing in the markets they work in. They set the standards for perception as to what Amarone is as their reach is long and deep and they represent the brand of Amarone to the outside world.

The Startups
In the last 15 years, there have been a lot of these. Usually a small family, maybe a sister and a brother, or a couple of cousins. The vineyard grew grapes for years and sold to the local co-op. And then, seeing a neighbor or two and the success they had “going out” from the co-operative, they went to the bank and collateralized their farm to expand into the winemaking business. The reason? Pride in their grapes, and the desire to steer their own ship, along with maybe just the smallest bit of jealousy that their neighbors were showing success with what was once considered a risky behavior. People in the Veneto are also entrepreneurial and there is a high degree of work ethic. The Veneto is one of the most productive regions in Italy; I call it the Japan of Italy. In any event someone goes to winemaking classes, works hard, and makes a wine that follows an evolutionary arc. I’ve seen this pattern a bunch of times. The labels are clean, often smart, not at all “traditional” looking ( e.g. stuffy) and the prices for the Amarone sell in the US for $50-80. There usually is a Valpolicella Superiore and maybe a Ripasso, to round out the line. The wines find their way into the market via small importers or via direct importation. These wines can be very good, get great ratings and usually be hit or miss in regards to regional penetration in America. But it’s a grass roots kind of mentality, and these wineries find their fans, whether it be the NY-CHI-SF-LA route or elsewhere, like Cleveland, Atlanta, Houston and Boston, that kind of tier.

The 2nd Careerists
I went into a winery in Amarone land last week and thought I had been transported to Napa Valley. Everything was perfect; everything was where it should be. I’d seen this before, I thought to myself. Someone, usually a man, makes a lot of money and is bored with what it was that helped him to make all that money. So he pours millions into a winery, which is essentially his hobby. He isn’t quite a wine-insider, like the large families or the startups that for generations sold to the Cantine Sociale. He is an outsider, and he makes decisions based on his perspective. Often the wines are made by an “enologue,” a consultant. These wines are exercises in attracting large scores, for many times their wines are massive, unctuous, fruit-bombs. It often seems like they have looked to the most successful, iconic wines from elsewhere, someone like a Gaja, and have patterned their wines (and often their labels) from those influences. These are smallish wineries, making less than 100,000 bottles and their Amarone sells in the US for $60-100, with a smattering of importers or maybe one luxury importer who needs an Amarone to round out their world portfolio. The wines are outside the world of wine, they are made by outsiders for outsiders. That is to say, the multi-millionaire lives in a different world. And he makes wines, whether he is conscious of it or not, for his kind.

The Counter Culturists
Whether they start out with the mission to be this or not, it’s not hard to know when one comes upon these kinds of wineries. Usually a small farm, not a showplace like the 2nd Careerists. No, this is a working farm, and it is in a constant state of change and evolution. The style of the wine can change as well, but the goal isn’t always to make the best Amarone as much as it is to make the best red wine on a par with Burgundy or Piedmont. I have found some of these wineries to produce lovely, delicious wines. There is often a charismatic person at the center of activity. They are small wineries, producing under 60,000 bottles and their Amarone can sell for anywhere in the US from $50-300. Often they are organic and in a few cases they are bio-dynamic. That isn’t to say these folks are flippant, trying to grasp whatever is the counter-trendy of the moment. These, like I said, are works in progress. But they provide an important element to the community of Amarone producers. They provide a perspective from the edge, as if to say, “Look where we are going. Who knows what we will find.” And that is very much part of the Veneto tradition. Remember Marco Polo?

The Hybridists
This is an operation that might have begun as a startup and transitioned to a Counter Culturist. Or maybe their business grew larger and they became more like the Family business type. In any event, they have a little more time in development, maybe having started out in the late 1980’s. There is a sense of maturity to their once entrepreneurial risky beginnings. Their wines are solid; they have established good world-wide reputations. They might have grown to as large as 300,000 bottles or stayed under 100,000. Their Amarone sells in the US in the $60-120 range. They are premium to ultra-premium and their success has allowed them to expand and buy other vineyards, which are very expensive real estate when they are available. The Valpolicella lands can resemble Burgundy in that the ownership is broken down into little plots, so negotiating a purchase with many member of a family can be excruciating and time consuming. The hybridists have seen a bit of the outside world, so they know what they have is good and their life is something they want to perpetuate for the generations to come.

There five categories are loosely organized by the way I look at things, but I think they offer a look at the diversity in which Amarone, and Valpolicella at large, finds itself. Along with this, though there is a challenge. Amarone is not one style or one price. Amarone doesn’t age like a Burgundy or a Barolo, or like Bordeaux. And we’re not that close in being able to identify just how well the newer style will age or if indeed, if they should be drunk so old. And there’s that thing about the sugar, the high degree of fruitiness, even though the wine is fermented out to dryness, that isn’t in style with massive amounts of people. The good news is that Amarone is still a relatively small production amount, so a world thirsty for big styles of luxury wines can probably absorb most of what is made in Valpolicella. But Amarone is at a crossroads in that it is looking back at where it has come and looking forward and trying to plot the future. These are expensive wines and they are particular. They aren’t for everyone and they aren’t for everyday. Well, neither is Barolo or Burgundy. But Amarone still is, in my opinion, not in that club, yet. They are still seeking their greater identity at home and with the world beyond.

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

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For this observer, Italy is a source of endless fascination. They take rugged, sun scorched stone and turn it into a timeless beauty. They take a land that has for years been revered by the people living on it, and turn it into a parody of modern day life. I love it. There are no barriers, no boundaries. Good taste lies down next to the tasteless. The sacred sleeps with the profane. Italy is humanity’s perfect mirror of our evolution, for better or worse. And now, in the land of Barolo, in the historic Cannubi vineyard area, again, the mirror is pressed to our face. Our existential selfie, once again, is revealing what we value, what kind of a people we are.

Growing up in Southern California, I spent many hours at Disneyland. Back in the days when all were vaccinated against common scourges, we freely spent out time walking among the theme park, wrapped up as we were in our childhood fantasylands. The house of the future showed us what life was going to be like in 1986, sponsored by none other than the Monsanto Corporation. We walked in single file, filtering through this house of the future, anticipating a time when our lives would be lived in that oh-so perfect world.

Two generations later, in the early 21st century, the Disney-fication of Barolo-land is underway. Entrepreneur Sandra Vezza, whose empire encompasses Gufram, a furniture manufacturer in Barolo, famous for a pop icon of the 1970’s, Studio 65’s “Bocca” sofa, and Italgelatine, a producer of industrial and pharmaceutical gelatin, has a new project. Vezza hired local architect Gianni Arnaudo to design a winery worthy of the Gufram “pop” legacy. Now the “queen of jelly”has a new dream come true: a pop winery in Barolo.

Parked on the side of a hill in Cannubi, the locals once again are shaking their heads. What are these boxes, one stacked on top of the other, doing in a Unesco world heritage site? God only knows; She was unavailable for comment.

Perhaps Barolo is going to surprise us all and not go the way of Burgundy, instead opting for the vision of Disney instead?

I noticed a preponderance of Disney stores, in Venice and Verona, on my last trip there. They were joyful places, little children looking happily at the dolls, the bright pastel colors and warm lighting during the bleak shortened days of winter served to remind the children (and their parents) that spring and summer would soon be here. The world according to Disney. And now it has come to the Langhe, and Cannubi, of all places.

Some people are disgusted. Some are resigned. No one knows what will be next. Will a Gufram outlet pop up next to the winery? Or a gelateria? On one of the most historic of all Barolo sites, which has weathered its share of controversies these last few years. Is this insult upon injury? Or merely progress?

The Langhe is not without its architectural experiments. The Ceretto family has the square cube on the hill of Castiglione, like a cubical ship from another planet that rammed into the earth. Now it is a beacon of sorts, a landmark. Will this new winery from Vezza become a new lighthouse in the night? Or simply another blemish, wrought by the uber-wealthy upon the land, as a mark of power, the terroir of the elite.

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

Bocca sofa images the from the book "Fotocopie" by Maurizio Berlincioni

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Avignon - 1985

When I was coming up in the wine business, there was this invisible wall between France and Italy, put there mainly by wine snobs who thought France was the epitome of all that wine was meant to be. In those days I would often hear things like “Oh, you are an Italian wine-lover. I never thought all those grapes and wine were worth much of a fuss.” and “Who needs to look any further than France, with the wines of Bordeaux, Burgundy, Champagne, the Rhone, the Loire and Alsace?” I would be made to feel like my love was a second-class affair, that I could never rise to understand and appreciate wine with my limited Italian prism like those with expertise in French wine.

And then I went to France. It was the summer of 1985 and we drove from Venice. Our first stop was Avignon and they were having a summer festival. I loved the trees in Avignon, the music, the lights and the people. Their French sounded more like Italian than I had thought it would. And the wines seemed more alike than opposed.

As we moved up through the Rhone and into Burgundy and then Champagne, I wondered what all the fuss was these wine snobs were making. France, to my eyes, didn't seem a whole lot different than the Italy I had just come from. Yes, the language was different. And the food wasn’t the same. And even the wines were not exact. But the farmers, the winemakers, the light that shone from behind their eyes was identical to what I had experienced in Italy. They were emissaries of Bacchus, wasn’t that good enough? To this observer, it was. And so it launched me on my little love tryst with French wines.

I keep a little spread sheet on my travels. It is important to get dates right, especially when referring to something in writing. Ten trips in so far to France, and surely more to come. And every time to I go France I ask myself why these fellows from the 1980’s made such a distinction between Italy and France.

Last month, in Venice, another aspect of the Franco-Italian connection presented itself to me. On the fourth floor of an old palazzo, overlooking the Grand Canal, my host opened up, alongside his wine, a bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild. A winemaker with lovely vineyards in Friuli, at first I thought it odd that he would do that. Here we are in Italy, why would we drink Bordeaux? Ah, reverse snobbism this time, my conscience whispered in my ear. After all, I do love Bordeaux. What’s wrong with drinking it a mere 800 miles away? We do it all the time in America.

My host has family connections with France. To many whom I have met, especially in Northern Italy and Tuscany, that isn’t so unusual. People living in Texas have relatives in California and New York. Big deal. But we have been conditioned to think these borders are real, that there is no porosity. This, in fact, is an illusion. Just like the illusion that French wines are better than Italian. They’re just different, like my relatives in California.

What really has been going on for many years between France and Italy has been more like an underground collaboration. After all, France and Italy account for 50% of the world’s wine production. And through many hundreds of years they have intermingled and become family. That they would be allied should seem more logical than being opposed to one another. Yes, there is competition for export markets. And yes, one will more easily find fine French wine in Italy than fine Italian wine in France. But those are minor issues. The heart of the matter is that the Italians have learned a lot about wine from the French, just like the French did from the Italians, going back to Roman times. There really is no “them” or “us” except in some obsolete corners of connoisseurship. Now, most of those fellows are gone, or will soon be.

Avignon - 1985

Meanwhile, take a look at the mingling on wine lists across America. Bubbles from France and Italy flow freely from them. Zachary Sussman writes in Punch"How Champagne Snuck onto New York’s Italian Wine Lists". Katherine Cole, writing in the Oregonian, cites a wine list from the Portland restaurant, Smallwares, which makes no distinction between countries (or red and white, for that matter). The lines of distinction, those all-important markers for the dead-tree connoisseurs of the 20th century, no longer matter.

And just like drinking Bordeaux in Venice, why would they matter? In shaking off our suits and ties and climbing into our well-worn jeans and Jack Purcells, why shouldn’t a wider appreciation of wine, wine without borders, follow?

Personally, I am relieved. I no longer have to skulk in a corner with my Gattinara, in fear that I am some kind of leper. I can freely pour Franciacorta in public, next to a grower Champagne, with no fear of ridicule. Hip sommeliers in New York post pictures of incredible Barolo on their Instagram feed next to prized Rhone and Burgundy wines. Are we not drawn onward to a new era?

That bottle of Lafite Rothschild my friend opened? When he poured me a glass I took a sniff. It smelled corked. Several folks around the table agreed. What did my friend do? There was no scorn for a French wine being corked. He went into the other room and brought back a bottle of another First Growth, a Mouton Rothschild. It complemented his Italian wine wonderfully. And we all proceeded with the night, admiring the evening and the lighted boats shimmering along the Grand Canal in the most serene of ways.

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

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To Kalon "I" Block

Coming home from a week at the 11th annual Symposium for Professional Wine Writers at Meadowood Napa Valley, I missed my plane and caught a later flight, and was wired, tired but also inspired. To wind down, I crashed on my ancient green couch and veged out on TV. PBS is running a series on Italian Americans, so I watched a segment.

It prompted me to think about the arc of my family, in that both my grandfathers came to America for different reasons. One, my mother’s dad, Attilio, was trying to escape the most abject of poverty. He was married and left his wife (a “white widow”) and young son. Eventually they joined him, and after four more children were born, they separated. He went on to other pastures.

My father’s dad, Alfonso, came here very young (15) and had a family back home with a thriving business. His mission was to expand the family leather business into the New World. He did. But he went back home to Sicily often. His wife, who was from a village near Palermo, was also in America. They married very young (17) and lived in Dallas. Every road for my family led to Dallas.

When nonno Alfonso saw an opportunity to move his young family to Los Angeles, he didn’t waste a moment. It was a very good time to be in LA, all options were open. It resembled his native Sicily in weather with unlimited access to sun, soil and water. They enjoyed local olives, artichokes, tomatoes and assembled a life similar to the one they had known as children. And of course, there were grapes.

Nonno Alfonso loved land. I’m told he had a plot in Cucamonga, which was the epicenter of a young California wine industry. By the time I arrived, those vines in Cucamonga were already old. Driving past them on our many trips between LA and Palm Springs, those vines, untrellised and head-pruned, spoke to me. I often wondered who they were. To a youngster with an imagination, they were more like people than vines. I was sure we were related somehow.

Now I know we were. The vines the Italians bought with them were as much family as their children.

In looking at the span of one’s life, especially from the perspective of a few more years, I now see it as having a marvelous symmetry. Probably, my grandfather, in his wildest imagination, never imagined I would be so hopelessly devoted to Italian wine. Italian wine is my family. My grandchildren are Barolo and Nerello. Some of them live in California. And some of them are back in Italy. I visit them often.

As a speaker in the PBS show said, “My grandfather made my life possible today.” For all of us American-Italians, this is true. The sweep of my family’s life extended from Italy to Texas to California. And then, for me, a return to Texas. I am in the middle, between the birthplace of my grandparents and my childhood homeland. I’m still very much a Californian in my heart, but my soul is all Italian. Thank you nonno, both of you, and nonna, both of you as well. For without my grandmothers I would have never known the reason why we have wine – something magical to drink with their wonderful cooking.

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

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The waking world is fraught with disappointment, large and small. From the land mine of the news cycle to something as simple as overexposure to tannins. And so it was, last week, bundled up in my warm little cabin on the side of a hill in California wine country, that I eagerly awaited a night away from the fears and the pains of everyday life.

A winemaker friend in Napa Valley, who considers Nebbiolo to be his true love, invited a group of winemakers, writers and industry pros for a “boys night out.” I had been anticipating this night for months.

Curiosities from the forgotten box

In preparation I found a special bottle from the 1971 vintage, in California, bought it and had it waiting for me when I got off the plane. Along with that, just for fun, I scavenged the forgotten box in my wine closet, where I had been keeping for a very long time some examples of Nebbiolo from the West Coast. But that was a sideline, not the main event.

The intent, as I saw it, was to look into the heart of Nebbiolo, going long and deep. All week I had been in the Napa Valley, surrounded by Cabernet, Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and a lone Petite Sirah. I was ready to recalibrate. Napa Valley wine is a lifestyle, and a wonderful one. Driving down the Silverado Trail, I occasionally get homesick for California and wish I could live there. I know it appears glitzy and glamorous, a 1%er kind of place. But turn up Old Howell Mountain Road from Silverado and there you are in an old grove of tall trees, singing a different song. The California I once knew, though hidden, still reveals to those who look for it. That is one of my many afflictions.

But this night California was a warm kitchen with homemade pasta, a spread of lovingly cured salumi, a bottle of bubbly and a table full of Nebbiolo.

There are friends in this room, some I have known for ages. There are folks whose names I don’t remember now, but hope to see again. There are old ones and young ones. And of course there is the pulse of humanity, young bipeds walking around the table like it’s a game of musical chairs, each one picking up a bottle of the precious liquid before the music goes out.

I brought the 1971 Barisone, which a month ago a sommelier friend from Austin, now in New York, poured me an ounce with a Coravin. A month ago the ’71 was slipping into Marsala-land. Trepidation filled the bilge of my mind. But I was hopeful.

Nebbiolo can age, but there is always the question if it was really better back then. How well was the vineyard farmed? What kind of yeast was in play, the ambient or some newly created one from the enology schools? Were the barrels in good shape? Had barrique made its appearance in the Langhe yet? What kind of vintage was it? How well was the wine stored? I look over these phrases and realize it’s like a human who takes inventory of their life’s actions in regards to health. Did I smoke? Did I exercise? Did my parents love me? Did I eat too much meat?

As I tasted through the 20+ wines on that table, there were those that were bright one minute and dull the next. There were some that came out like a baby, screaming and punching, but eventually tiring of crying and settling down, a little. There were examples of wines that had more fruit than acid, and ones that were leathery and tawny. No one defining expression of Nebbiolo, save for the fact that they were from the same family. Yes, that’s what it was, a family reunion, with uncles, aunts, babies, grandparents, mothers, brothers, cousins.

The ’65 – an odd vintage. I don’t ever recall having anything from that vintage, from anywhere in the world. I would have written it off, but I kept going back to it, like my Uncle Pete, who had the most unusual stories. He was old, his brother downplayed his importance. But he had tales to tell that the others didn’t.

The two main factions of the family, Barolo and Barbaresco, their members stood in great numbers.

The Barbaresco side – from 1974 to 2010, those who chose to come to this reunion were all still alive. The 1980, as I remember, was disappointing to many winemakers in the Langhe. One I know of committed suicide after it. One can hope that the poor soul had deeper concerns than one vintage, but a friend close to him told me that the 1980 harvest didn’t ameliorate his depression. The Barbaresco we had was strong and pleasantly healthy. Like the 1965, a vintage we don’t necessarily look to for the classics. But like humans, what they make of what they have to work with, sometimes a greater result than from those expected to be great.

The Produttori clan showed strong and well. What a great testimony to a group of growers blessed to be living and farming on those hills. I have long loved these wines, and frankly, they have compelled me to curb my impetuousness in my daily life actions from time to time. If I had only one winery that I could put in my wine closet, it would be these wines. I am serious about that.

Other family members? The Cappellano, by virtue of it being the oldest member, still standing, at the table, was a lovely visit back to the summer of 1958. I’ve been told this was a classic year for Langhe producers and this wine, even as God knows how many times this wine was sold, traded, and moved around the world, still had lovely elegance that a wine that starts out strong and healthy can retain even into the twilight of its years.

Spanna and Sizzano came to the party, older, wiser, a little tired, but softly they whispered their stories. I heard them; they are prized members of the family. I still love them, even if there are louder, bolder voices at the table. They have a revered place in my heart.

And what of the youngsters? The millennials at the table, let’s say from the 21st century?

One of our tribe of bipeds brought a magnum of the 2005 Brovia. I imagine if we had been around a few days later, that wine might have been ready. But as it was, we drank the wine too young. Not that it wasn’t enjoyable. Indeed, I will be drinking more wine like this in my future for the simple fact that they exist and I don’t have time to wait around and try them in 40 years. I still remember the backbone, the plunk this wine made on the strings of my heart. I will revisit this wine, hopefully, more times in the next ten years.

There were many more members at the table, but not enough time to take their profiles down in this short space. I must talk about the humans as well.

As we bipeds were circling the room, kissing and hugging our uncles and aunts on the table, I stepped back and took it all in. I remembered the time I drove up the Napa Valley in the summer of 1976, in my ’62 Falcon wagon with my budding family. My first real time in wine country as someone in the trade. I flashed to my trips to Italy, more than I can count at this time, and to places like Los Angeles, New York, New Orleans and Texas, where I settled for the second half of my life. Texas, where I spent so many years devoting myself to Bacchus and the wine from Italy. Where I’ve cried so many tears because some wine director didn’t “get” Italian wine like I “got” it. All the disappointment that a lifetime of being a missionary in an often hostile and disappointing landscape can offer. The scars on the heart, not to mention the knees, the back, the hairline. In one brief moment, though, as I looked upon these young winemakers and wine professionals, talking in low voices, virtually quivering as they stood before these foreign objects that had traveled so far, I had an epiphany. I remember telling the group, “This really fills my heart, after all the years of struggling to bring Italian wine to America and tell the story, to see people in my home state who get it, who love it, and who, I know, after I am gone, will carry the love for wines like these into the future. I can die a happy man now and thank you all for that.”

My family, my tribe, they took me in, they fed me and they brought me in from the cold. And they comforted me with Nebbiolo.

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

with much thanks to Dan Petroski and his pals for a great night

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Opportunities abound for learning about Italian wine and culture. All it takes is time. There is no fast-track. No amount of cramming, memorization, jumping the queue, none of it will make up for the one thing we all hate to give up – our time. There you have it, the little secret. Not that knowing it will all of a sudden land you on the steps of some amazing gate that changes your life. No, your life’s time will take care of that.

I say this because this time of the year there are all manner of hopefuls taking tests and preparing to enhance their career, their life even, with certifications, post-nominals and status. To those who have that constitution, I say, travel safe. Because you might find after you’ve sailed solo around the world in pursuit of your goal, you got want you wanted. But you didn’t find what you were looking for.

It happens all the time to ambitious people. I have a friend who is a successful entrepreneur. But as soon as he reaches his goal, he gets bored. He loves to climb up mountains, but tells me he really doesn’t relish the climb down.

With Italian wine, I am learning more and more everyday. I have my little corner of reference materials that I have been collecting for years. In the last ten years, though, the information stream from the internet has expanded my research center. I’m diving ever deeper into Italian wine and culture. And really, all it takes is time.

A learned Jesuit told me, more than once, that when one gains knowledge one cannot sit alone in a library with it. It is a privilege to have been bestowed with that understanding. And in return for that gift, the payback is to give back to the world. Becoming a master, at anything, isn’t the end. It’s the beginning.

It’s much easier to see this now from the perspective of time. I cannot say I had any idea that the real teacher was time back when I was younger. I don’t think it is in most young people. There is the energy of youth, the excitement of being alive and new. Of having the brain fire quickly and the body able to respond with it. I look the upcoming generation with their confidence and their unblinking desire to grab the brass ring of life and get all they can from it. It’s probably why we are walking on two legs now, not scrambling around on all fours. But.

Yeah. But. What it seems one wants and what it really is when one gets it, can often be two different things. Why?

Time. Yeah.

You can learn all the DOC’s and DOCG’s and IGT’s and the myriad of grape names and the top crus of Barolo and the greatest names in Brunello. Then what? Your head is crammed with all this stuff you have fed into it, when what it needs next is a little time to oxygenate. But you’re young and you want the world and you want it now. Yeah. I know.

The good news is you can take all the master classes you want. They won’t hurt. They can and will help. But the day you were born you were automatically enrolled in the greatest master class of all – life. And all it takes is paying a little attention and time. Yeah. Time.

You might be looking at this saying, “What the hell is he talking about? I’m young. I’ve got lots of time.” Yes. You do. For now.

What you do with it, though, how you cultivate your life in the time you have left, will be worth more than any degree or certification, any awards, accolades, money or anything else you can throw up against the wall to prove to yourself that your life is meaningful.

The beauty of time is the now-ness of it. Providing you are up for it, no matter how old you are, you are still in the moment. That’s what the centenarians in my world tell me. Yes, it’s a drag getting older. It’s no fun looking in the mirror and seeing some grey haired person staring back at you with bags under their eyes. But like the knowledge-filled soul in the library, walk away from the mirror, get up and go outside. Get on to what it is that makes life meaningful. The path, the wine trail, whatever it is that makes your heart beat faster. It’s that simple.

Come and get it. That’s mastery any of us can aim for.

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

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In the almost ten years that I have been writing this blog, there has been, more or less, a natural development of it. My blog voice, I’ve been told, has a tendency to be idealistic and often somewhere in the cloud between reality and “the way I really want it to be.” I realize some folks actually come here, from time to time, for solid information. So, let me share several pieces that might help those who are looking for those things.

Earlier in the winter Wine Meridien published an interview with me, in Italian and English, USA: è sulla strada che si fanno gli affari (English site: Learn to love the road). With Prowein and Vinitaly approaching, and with a more than inordinate amount of pitch email coming to my inbox lately, this is a good piece for folks looking to enter the USA wine market. It isn’t easy, hell, it isn’t often pretty. And sometimes it’s both at the same time, like Sunday, when I drove 4½ hours home after being away all week, unloaded the car, unpacked, did laundry, re-packed and 8 hours later at 6:30 AM got back into the car to drive 4½ hours in pounding rain (the whole time) to lead a seminar of rain soaked wine professionals about Italian wine. If I wasn’t tired from my Monday, the last sentence really wore me out. Anyway… read it and weep.

For Italian wine professionals or just folks who are hopeful to learn more about Italian wine and are just starting out, there is a piece on the Guild of Sommeliers site that I contributed, La Torre of Babel: Deciphering Italy. This was not an easy piece to write. For one, it is not an easy subject to distill in 1500 words (there are books written about the subject). But I also saw this as a writing exercise and wrote and wrote and rewrote and rewrote this piece many times. Actually I wrote three totally different pieces until getting to the one that worked. I’m proud of the final result and Geoff Kruth and his fine team at the Guild is spreading the word to their followers. Thanks Geoff (and Matt and Kassandra).

There you have it… Vinitaly is next week. Finally, if you’re going, please remember to read my groundbreaking piece on where to find the best bathrooms at Vinitaly. Believe me, you will thank me later. I should probably do one about Vinexpo, but I fear that is a lost cause. Nevermind. If you are going to Vinitaly, have fun. I’ll see you on there.

Links:

Wine Meridien interview: USA: è sulla strada che si fanno gli affair (English site: Learn to love the road)

The Guild of Sommeliers La Torre of Babel: Deciphering Italy

First-Timer's Guide to finding the best bathrooms at Vinitaly

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

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On a nippy winter night, while having a quiet meal in a dining room in Venice overlooking the Grand Canal, the subject of Dubai arose. A city of two million souls in the United Arab Emirates, Dubai is something of a fantasy, a miracle and a conundrum. Without a doubt, it has captured the imagination of many Italians I work with.

Around our table that evening, the Italians likened Dubai to another city that has, over many hundreds of years, also enchanted many a traveler. At our perch, in the still of a winter night, it taxed the imagination to draw parallels between Venice and Dubai. Perhaps it was the wine, or that we had all had a long day. But upon further conversation, the notion that Venice was the Dubai of the 13th Century was parsed, aided by further bottles of wine.

Having never been to Dubai, but aided by the facility of the internet, one can imagine many things happening in that mirage of a city. My interest in Venice, though, and for many of us who love Italy and her wines, had me thinking on my walk back to the hotel room in the light fog that had settled so very late at night.

This little jewel, with its maze of paths, many different ways to get to one place, how many times have the DNA in these bones trod upon them? Why does Venice compel one to think about things that haven’t been thought about, or maybe things long forgotten? How does this figure into a life of wine?

Put aside that we are in an urban area, albeit a restricted one, and actually one in which time has frozen it. For a moment, allow your imagination to see a place without the daylight hordes of tourists. Let’s just walk around in this little fog of imagination, this Venice, cleansed by the water that imprisons it.

For both places, trade is important. While there might not be a reason for one to go to Dubai, trade has made it a modern crossroads. Venice was not so isolated, although the difficulty of travel made getting around more challenging than in the modern day. But the water made it possible. From Venice, adventurers would launch their voyages and pursue their dreams, bringing them back to this little dew-drop of a city. Treasures found on the other side of the world would be traded all over the Italian peninsula. Trade was the satchel the visionaries put their dreams in.

For winemakers across and down the peninsula, Venice was an important trading post. How fitting, all these hundreds of years later, that next week thousands of us will reconvene in the Veneto, inland from Venice, to spend days in the act of trade, with wine is at the center of it all. And while Venice isn’t as large a part of the conversation as it once was, for some of us who look at things in the light of history, can she ever be that far away? In no small part, we owe a great debt to Venice for the foundation that was prepared for wine in these times. Deep inside the marrow of my bones, as I walk the many pavilions at Vinitaly, I cannot but help to think about the possibility that my forbearers lighten my step as they trod along with me, from booth to booth, seeking something fine from wine to share with the outside world. It’s thrilling to take this idea. I know I will lose the realists ( lost them long ago, I reckon), but those who are still with me, feeling the mist, the cool breeze from the Adriatic, the slippery cobblestones below. We walk the path with Corvina, with Glera, with all the hundreds of natives and newcomers in this brief assembly.

Yes, I imagine Dubai has superseded anyone’s imagination of a shining city of the future. And yes, Venice is now part of a history that no longer is as vital. Except those of us for whom those memories are real, flesh and bone and for whom telling the story of Italian wine is still very much alive and moving forward.

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

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When I recently took a week off, it was to take time from work so I could get caught up on a few writing projects. One that I am particularly proud of, Barolo's Greatest Vineyards Ranked, was just published on WineSearcher.com. During the process I came to terms with collecting Barolo and how to simply go about it. It’s now my working template for future Barolo acquisitions.

Read about it on WineSearcher.com

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

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Photo: European Space Agency

A well-dressed group from around the world milling around an open courtyard in the Langhe on this first day of spring. A motion to move inside to the winery for a presentation. Above, the moon, already moving, in a short coup against the sun. Winter, trying one last time to forestall the onslaught of growth of the new season. And so this was the augur of the new day.

We were all guests of Enrico Scavino and his family. Writers, sommeliers, merchants, neighbors, scientists, all of us in our own way trying to save our worlds from darkness. Inside the lights dimmed and the presentation began.

Photo: Scavino family archives

I was first in this room in 1984, when the revolution that Barolo was to become was in its infancy. Roads barely paved a mere 20 years before; we were in farmland, where a tractor was more prized than a Ferrari. In other parts of the world, in Bordeaux, in Burgundy, in Napa Valley, even in Tuscany, the ascent of wine had begun. But in the Langhe, the farmers were awaiting the end of their eclipse, easing the moon out from in front of the sun.

I remember observing my father as he got older and lost some of his fire. He mellowed, and along with it the sentimentality of his perspective on life swelled. When I was 30, I thought it a sign of weakening. As with so many things I thought when young, I was wrong. It was like the grapes on the vine, ripening and readying for the wine to come.

And so it was as well, I saw a grayer Enrico Scavino than the first time we met in his winery, when his daughters were tiny tots and the Langhe was beginning its long ascent.

All this seems easy to say now. But the hard truth of it is that many leaves have been pruned from the vines; more than one green harvest has left fruit on the ground.

The short little man in the green suit, with the bright eyes. How many people has he walked through the halls of his wine school, sending them back into the fields to find their greater destiny? The women, coming up in an age when the rising consciousness of their changing femininity would see them having a greater say in how this land would be tilled, how these grapes would be made and how the new wine would taste. In a flash, much like the moon outside as it struggled to keep the sun in check, the grandmothers, the mothers, and now the daughters, moving the ball forward. And Barolo has never tasted better. In this room one daughter's mother cannot be here today; one man's wife, long passed, can only be here in spirit. And under the screen, showing the slides of a lifetime, a family, and one man, in a white shirt with a blue tie, turns his back to the stage to wipe a tear from his eye.

I wish I could speak more about the many wines we had. And the food from some of the top chefs, all bestowed with heavenly stars from the realm of Michelin. The meal was celestial, with many souls working under the sun and moon in preparation for this event. And the wines, going back thirty years, pressed on by so many souls who could not be there in physical form. For like the leaves and the grapes from the green harvest, they have gone back in, tilled by time.

And that is the real lord in the room. Time. Which makes the wine mellow. Which makes men cry. And which makes all these moments dearer and dearer as the sun reaches closer to the horizon, in search of other lands, other vines and other wines to come.

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

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Dear Veronafiere,

We have been coming to Verona and Vinitaly since 1967. We have watched it expand over the years and have endured the labor pains of growth along with many other long persevering Italians, as well as people from around the world. But we are seriously considering not coming back to Vinitaly in Verona.

1) The first day of the fair, Sunday, has become a drunken party for people who have nothing to do with the wine industry. Booths in the Veneto, Trentino/Alto-Adige and Lombardia halls are impossible to navigate with the throngs of people looking to fill their glasses. No spitting, along with with sloppy drunks in abundance. It is impossible to get any business done in those areas on a Sunday.

2) The parking scene is still a joke. Tonight we collectively sat in our cars in the parking lot across the street from Veronafiere, with hundreds of vehicles trying to leave and with only one exit. Two hours later we finally got out. Late for our evening appointments, again. Really, how hard is it to get some light rail to go from Veronafiere to other areas around Verona to ease the congestion? Or open two more exits? We’ve only been talking about this for 20 years!

3) What is with all the people hanging around the outside of the halls, blocking the doors, and smoking? This is supposed to be a trade show, not a place to light up while waiting for a hooker. And the people who hang on the doors, and then get irritated because one wants to open them to go to another hall? Who is policing the area? No one, that’s who.

4) The bathrooms are still, in large part, a disaster. They stink, the floors are urine soaked, and women still don’t have enough stalls that they have to invade the men’s room. How degrading is that to women (and men) who just need to take a pee? This is disgusting.

5) You have still not managed to keep some of the halls properly ventilated. How hard is it to put in LED lighting that won’t heat the place up, along with opening windows and preventing the rooms from getting stifling hot?

6) Once again, communications within the halls via cell phone, text, messaging and internet, all the different ways we use to communicate in this connected era, these are not possible at Vinitaly. Texts arrive hours later; many of us miss critical communication in order to meet up or change meeting places. Phone calls endlessly are dropped. And trying to access the internet to check on information about a winery or access an app, this is still a huge challenge within the halls of Veronafiere. How can we move our business forward if we cannot use the tools that are essential in today’s world? This is an ongoing scandal and one in which the leadership at Veronafiere have failed, once again, to address.

7) Three wineries, friends of ours, had their booths vandalized and wine stolen? How many more that we don’t know about? Was that a coincidence? Or lack of security. #ThisMustStop.

Do you want more? We spend our hard-earned money trying to promote the wines of Italy. And Verona and Veronafiere has let us down. We are tired of fighting the selfie-obsessed drunken crowds, the foul toilets, the dank halls and what appears to be incompetence of the highest degree of the management of Veronafiere. We would welcome a change; whether to Milan or even to not come at all. At this point we’d rather spend my time (and money) and personally visit the wine suppliers in their well-lit, fresh air, clean water and crowd-free, smoke-free environments. The infrastructure of Veronafiere and Vinitaly appears to have finally crumbled. Really Veronafiere, someone needs to clean the house out of all the inept leadership or risk losing the attention of hundreds of thousands of folks who just want to make the world safer for Italian wine. Where is Luca Zaia when we need him?

We love Italy and we love the wine community of Italy. We have many friends of Italian wine business and for many years. We all want a solution more than we want to complain about it, we really do. But Veronafiere, and Vinitaly by association, you have not proven to be capable of finding sustainable solutions. We’re considering to #BoycottVinitaly2016, the 50th anniversary of a show that had good original intentions. But, it appears it doesn't have the will, the vision, and the leadership necessary, to take it to another 50 years.

Signed,

The Italian wine industry

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

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Running into Fabio Alessandria in the Piedmont Hall at Vinitaly, he called me by my name. How he remembered I cannot imagine. But in such a hectic place and day, it was a welcome salutation. We made plans to come by his family winery, Comm. G.B. Burlotto, in Verduno when we arrived back to the Langhe after the wine fair.

The drive from Verona to La Morra was punctuated by a steady rain and a GPS malfunction. We found ourselves barreling towards Parma, having missed the turnoff at Piacenza. We finally arrived 90 minutes longer than we had anticipated. It had been a lopsided few days, and as tired as we all were, Piedmont was steady, calm and quiet. A needed respite.

The day after Vinitaly everyone has a hangover. Not from drink, but from the frenetic pace and saturation of the senses.

Fabio met us at his gate at 9:30 AM. I’d been to taste before with him, in the little deconsecrated chapel on the edge of the property in Verduno. But I’d never stepped behind the curtain. There are so many people to get excited about visiting in Piedmont. Burlotto, for me, is way up there on my list.

I don’t know what it is. Yes I do. The wines are simple. They are truthful. They are accessible to folks other than multi-millionaires. And they are gorgeous.

Fabio can be self-deprecating. I think he feels his English isn’t good enough. It is. In fact, he uses the English language better than many native speakers. He understands the roots of the language. It might be his nature, to get to the essence of the subject he is dwelling on. Fabio could have been a monk, centuries earlier, toiling away in some dark cell with a candle and a quiver, working endlessly on illuminated manuscripts. Thankfully for all of us, his work, this time, is to make wine in an illuminated manner. His wines have that special kind of unfathomable allure one seeks out in wines from the Langhe, or anywhere, for that matter.

At first blush, one could look at the winery and see a mess of a place. Barrels that seem to be in a state of disrepair. Doors, painted from another time. Walls, stenciled in another era. The whole place looks like time passed it by. And indeed, some of the progress of time has. All the bling and glamour of more “important” wineries outshine this little cobweb of a winery in a forgotten town of Barolo. Verduno, looking like the back lot at Cinecitta where Sergio Leone filmed a gunfight scene for one of his many spaghetti westerns. Yeah, the place has character. It hasn’t been Disney-fied yet.

Do you really come to these pages for the list of wines and their scores? You will be disappointed if you do. But there are some wines we had that day, which moved me.

The 2013 Pelaverga – Pelaverga is a light red wine, a dark rosé color. A picnic wine, as Fabio likes to say. Or a wine with cheese, maybe with fish, or lighter food. With the warm weather heading our direction, the Burlotto Pelaverga is one of the wines that are a staple, not in the cellar, but in the fridge. Really lovely wine.

From the 2013 vintage we also tried his Dolcetto d’Alba, Barbera d’Alba “Aves”, Langhe Freisa and Langhe Nebbiolo. Fabio noted that he believes the Freisa to be maybe a parent or a grandparent of modern day Nebbiolo. Piedmont and the Langhe, for a winemaker, is a toy-box full of goodies. Mono-varietal wines, all a little different, for unique settings or times of the year. These wines pulse with identity formed from the penetrating magic of Burlotto.

And the larger-than-life mono-varietal – Barolo – at Burlotto one can taste wine like it was made when I first came to the Langhe. Fabio says his tastes and the tastes of his parents are similar, so the need to revise the style wasn’t necessary to his ego. And we all thank him for that.

We tasted four Barolo wines from 2011 – the classic Barolo, the Barolo “Acclivi”, the Barolo “Monvigliero” and the Barolo “Cannubi.”

The classic Barolo represents a style of Barolo that depends on blending from different vineyards. Now the style is to separate the crus, in fact the new laws in Barolo prohibit a producer from noting those different vineyards on the front label, to support a single cru system. But many of the old-timers still think this is the real identity of Barolo.

The “Acclivi” takes that philosophy to another level, in that Fabio and company are taking lots from vineyards in Verduno to promote an expression of Verduno Barolo. Really a hallmark of the winery, and one which after ten years exhibits all the best from Burlotto.

The “Monvigliero” is a special wine. You know it when you breathe in the aromas and then taste it. It has something special that marks it as a wine destined for greatness. Open tank fermenter, whole cluster, trod by foot (Fabio is a size 44), minimal intervention. One in our group bought a case. I’d love to see this wine in 20-30 years, although I’m not looking forward to being any older.

With all the talk about the 2010 vintage of Barolo, these 2011’s did not disappoint.

Finally, the “Cannubi.” Some think Cannubi symbolizes Barolo. It certainly has the history. Burlotto has a small .7 hectare vineyard on the hill. Producers today produce their Cannubi wine with price tags hovering at $100 and more. Burlotto’s is one for the rest of us who don’t have the budget for premium sports cars or wines. It’s a little harder in profile than the Monvigliero, but it’s a great example of what Cannubi can be, or maybe what it used to be.

In the chic urban areas of New York and San Francisco, among the somm-sett, Burlotto has something of a cult-status. I know this strikes Fabio as a bit odd, just like it strikes Bob Dylan to be considered a prophet of his generation. But both of these fellows, in the creative process of their life, have been fortunate to have that special magic in which to make our lives better because of their creations. And for that, we all should be grateful.

Note: a lovely interview/podcast with Fabio by Levi Dalton HERE - Recommended

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

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Sooner or later we encounter the mirror. As much as we try, with makeup, with dye, with dark glasses and soft focus, time ultimately wins the race. The young ones look upon the older ones as something that is in the way or will ultimately be neutralized and discarded. Invisibility is a step along the way to annihilation. What the young ones don’t know (or don’t want to realize) is that they are on the same path as the elders who are taking up space in the cellar. So it goes.

We all have our ideas of what a unicorn wine is. That is, a wine that is rare, maybe not the greatest of the great, but when one encounters such a creature, it is a special moment. I had such an meeting last month in the Langhe, in Barolo.

For years I have read about wines from my birth year, 1951. Not a great year, according to Michael Broadbent. Maybe a Port, if one could even find such a remaining bottle. There was mention that the 1951 Beaulieu Vineyard "Georges de Latour Private Reserve" Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon was one of the greats. I got close, very close, to that one. It was in Ft. Worth, Texas, in the cellar of a North Texas gentleman. But I never got the chance. The gentleman got religion, sold his collection and the wine scattered to God knows where on earth.

There has been talk that the 1951 vintage for Piedmont, and Barolo, was not bad. Not great, but still worth a search. I spy them from time to time in the cellars, but how does one go about asking the owners for a taste, for a glimpse back in time, to the time when we both were born?

I was born a few months before Barolo 1951, and thousands of miles away, in the foothills that ring Southern California above Los Angeles. Barolo, in those days, had few paved roads. Wine was a rustic matter, an agricultural product. Not like the luxury item it is these days, especially wines from Barolo and the Langhe.

And so, when Anna and Valentina Abbona surprised me one late night around a candle lit table, with a bottle of their family wine, the Marchesi di Barolo, a 1951, I was a bit dumbfounded. I had built up the wine to be some kind of a more-than-special moment. The wine, it didn’t disappoint.

Our group was trying all kinds of wines and the ’51 arrived before the dessert and the coffee. It was rather old, after all. Valentina handed me the bottle. “Here, you open it.” And there I was, confronted with the ghost in the mirror.

The cork was firm. Nature’s little miracle. As I extracted it, I realized it probably had been re-corked. This wine had never moved more than a mile, if that, from the place of its birth. A stark contrast from Mr. Million-Miler who was examining the cork. Here we were, the two of us in a dimly lit room, so much in common and so much difference between us. It was like encountering an unknown twin, shielded from my knowledge, protective parents wanting to spare both of us the harsh reality of our co-existence. As if we found out about one another something unimaginable could, would, happen.

But it wasn’t like that at all. It was rather a peaceful encounter. The cork came out, the wine was poured, not decanted, and it was wine. Good wine. Very good wine.

The color was light, as Nebbiolo should be. I remember the aroma was classic Nebbiolo. It was full of fruit. The tannins were softened by a lifetime of sleeping in the dark, in the cool.

How must it be to have one purpose, and that is to rest up for 63+ years, only to finally be opened in a party and enjoyed? That has to be a pretty meaningful life, at least in a hedonistic interpretation. But all those years lying in wait, dozing and dreaming, while the human counterpart ran across the planet seeking life and love and happiness, encountering all that plus grief, sadness, failure along with all the minor triumphs that make life bearable.

And which life appears to have more meaning? For the bottle of Barolo, I think its life was perfect. It was born, it rested, waited, matured, and in the end it gave all manner of joy and pleasure to those around the table, who didn’t realize they were attending its coming out party. It became part of all of us, and then is slipped into the Greater River.

As for its human counterpart? Well, the verdict is still out on that soul. Time will ultimately tell. But unlike the bottle of ’51, he’s still begging for a little more time.

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

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In no small way, we all need to thank the Perrin family (and Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie) for resuscitating the rosė wine category. Before the phenomenon of Miraval, rosė wines were in the crapper. More often than not, aged rosė wines sat in warehouses and on store shelves dying a slow death. No matter how many articles that came out, in blogs, in magazines, and in newspapers, the numbers didn’t look good.I know, because I was tracking them. And it wasn't pretty.

Then Perrin (and Brangelina) said “Let there be light.” And it was a game changer. Now wineries all up and down France and across to Italy, in Spain, in California and all over the world are chasing the ethereal, elusive onion skin color for their wines. And for good reason. Miraval is kicking ass in the sales department.

But. Wait.

There are some of us who still like the deeply colored rosė (or light red) wines. And Italy has such a wonderful group of wines, from Alto-Adige to Sicily, that are fuller, richer and really shouldn’t be scuttled to the dust bin of history because the fashion is for paler colored rosė wines. And while this is definitely a contrarian view and one very much out of fashion, in the last month I have tasted some lovely and table worthy rosė wines, let’s say ones with a bit more of a tan than their Provençal cousins. It feels like I have written this post before. Let’s dive in.

Lagrein Rosė– from Alto-Adige, often thought to be the land of rich, minerally-driven white wines. But red wine is made is healthy doses. This producer, Lageder, makes scores of different wines. But one of my favorites from their stable is the Lagrein rosė. The wine is deeply colored, can take a little more bottle age, and will develop like a red wine. Not too long, but if you see a 2011 on a wine list, grab it. Currently the 2013 is in release, while the 2014 takes a little more time to come around. There is no rush to grab the summer of 2105 rosė market, that elusive selling period in America between Memorial day (end of May) and Labor Day ( beginning of September). Fruit, acid, even a little but tannic, with spice and body and character. I’ve had this wine in the dead of winter with a rich stew. For white wine lovers, this is a great bridge to red without going “all the way.”

Pelaverga– technically not a rosė wine, but the color qualifies it for the light red tone of this post. And it works in the same situation That is, a wine with depth, with layers of flavor. Again a light red for folks who favor white wine. This wine finishes longer than the lighter rosė wines currently in fashion. Different target audience, for sure. But there might be a day when the light rosė drinker seeks to expand their drinking spectrum. Burlotto's Pelaverga, though made is rather small quantities, would be a nice stop on that expanded path.

Tuscany has a good tradition of rosato wine. And Sangiovese is no shrinking violet when it comes to that category. While the lighter Provençal inspired style is sweeping the Tuscan coastline, there are still some darker rosės to consider. Valentina Bolla recently expanded the repertoire of her family winery, Poggio Verrano, to include this new experimental rosė, Vale in Rose. A very small amount of this has been made in 2014, mainly for friends and family. It’s a lovely wine, rich and full of flavor. Can it compete with Miraval? Did Sophia Loren ever need to worry about Bridgette Bardot? Can the world not allow for two different types of beauty?

Cerasuolo d’Abruzzo– Abruzzo has long had a tradition of deeper colored rosės. The spicy arrabbiata pasta I once had in the Marche Abruzzo border town of San Benedetto del Tronto infused in me a love for Cerasuolo d’ Abruzzo. Made from the Montepulciano grape, this is a good fix for folks who love fruit-driven red wines that are spicy but who want to power down from the big red when the weather is warm. Again, not so fashionable in the world of marketing. But one would never know that on the Adriatic coastal towns, where Cerasuolo flies off the tables.

Sicily makes anything and everything. And most of what they make they do it right, by my reckoning. One of my great pleasures is to drink Sicilian rosė in the summer, make that the relentless summer heat of Texas. We don’t stop eating Tex-Mex or our beloved Texas BBQ, and while tequila and beer are more prevalent with those kinds of foods, there are those of us slaves to the wine god who want wine. At the Tasca estate they make their Le Rose di Regaleali from Nerello Mascalese grapes in stainless steel tanks under the influence of partially macerated Nero ’d’Avola skins. The color is lighter or darker from year to year, but the 2014 has a deeper tan.

Some folks might worry that this will affect the popularity of this wine vs. the more popular Provençal rosės. The reality is there is one leader, Miraval, which makes up so much of the sale of the lighter rosė wines, that no one will catch up. So let them go, let them introduce folks to the category. Like some of the White Zinfandel drinkers migrated to Pinot Noir, the hope is that we will catch the lighter rosė drinker when they, if they, choose to look deeper.

That is the key to this particular set of rosė wine. Is it a stop along the road, or is it a delving in to find other wines, perhaps ones more profound? Is profundity something a rosė drinker cares for? Well, there are more than a few of us who love the deeper color, the richer flavors, and who care to drink them all year round. After all, we drink white wine throughout the year. Why not rosė as well?

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

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Rudi Wiest will turn 79 this year. But as he likes to say, “I have a long ways to go to catch up with your mom. She’s going to be 101 this year, yes?” Older people have a different conception of time than younger ones. The younger ones have been young all their life, and they likely think they will be for the rest of their time on earth. “I used to think that too,” my almost 101 year old mom once told me. “And then I turned 40. And then 50. 60. 70. 80. And so on. And now I have been older for most of my life than young. That’s just the way it is.” And so it was this last week, I tooled around Texas in a very large SUV with two young guys and an even younger soon-to-be 79 year old

To say Rudi is a force of nature is to press an overused cliché upon us all. “I’m old,” I heard him say more than once. In fact, too often. In some form, you’re neither old nor young. You’re simply alive or dead. And Rudi is very much alive.

Is there anything he doesn’t know about jazz? If there is I wouldn’t be able to tell you. His knowledge of jazz is encyclopedic, only rivaled by his knowledge of the wines of Germany. I cannot tell you how it feels, at this stage of my life, to sit in front of someone for four days and be tutored by a master. It is humbling. And it is invigorating. To have been on the wine trail for as long as I have and to feel there is something totally undiscovered in the wine world which is deep, intense and engaging, well it’s as if I turned back the clock and started all over again, this time with German, not Italian wines. It’s unlikely I, or very many of us, will ever reach the level of mastery that Rudi Wiest has with German wines. If post-World War II signaled the start of the golden age for wine, as I believe it did, Rudi was there in the early days to witness the transformation that many of us, old and young alike, take for granted. The quantum leap in winemaking, quality and selection wasn’t something that just happened. It was a factor of time, a progression, a development, that led to where we are now. And spending an hour or a day with Rudi will give you that sense that something really big has happened in the world of German wine.

To those lucky (and humble) enough to have had the opportunity to be led in his seven flight, 20 wine tasting this week, in Austin, in Houston and in Dallas, what we saw and tasted literally put one’s perception of German wine on its head. Gone are the Blue Nuns and the Black towers, the Zeller Schwarze Katz, even the Piesporters. Hello to classic method sparkling wines to rival Champagne itself. Get to know dry white wines from single vineyards that will give Burgundy a run for their money. And while you’re at it, the same with Pinot Noir. “Look out Volnay,” Rudi likes to say. And if you really must insist on the “sweets”, as Rudi calls them, how about a 20 year old with acidity that will recharge your batteries better than a double espresso. We are talking about wine, by the way.

I’m a stranger in Paradise with these wines, and I’m loving it. And from the looks of things, there is a young crowd of wine directors and sommeliers who do too.

No, I’m not abandoning my beloved Langhe. I’m not turning my back on the Tuscan sun. Sicily needs not worry, nor does the Adriatic coast with the Marche and Abruzzo. I’m just doing my due diligence. Expanding my horizons. Blowing up my preconceptions. And having a great time along the way.

If you ever get the chance to spend any amount of time with Rudi Wiest, I urge you to do so. Don’t let formalities stop you. Barge right in; insist that you are given a place at a tasting, even if it is standing-room only. And if you are invited and you let the busy-ness of your day prevent you from making it in time, remind yourself never to let that happen again. Rudi might make it to 101, like my mom, but why gamble on it? It’s a big world, and there are lots of people tugging on him to sit with them, taste and learn about the history of German wines in the greatest era wine has ever known. Word.

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

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