Wine Jabber

Floor Drains

I love floor drains. I lovelovelovelove floor drains. I loooooove floor drains. If I ever build a house, I want to put floor drains in every room. (You begin to understand why I’m still single.) No-fuss cleaning: just hose everything down. How great would that be?

I nearly separate from my solids. Again.

Nearly separated from my own solids again today, when I mixed up a "delestage" and a "svinatura" - and Luciano walked in just before I ruined everything, everything, EVERYTHING and stopped me before I did any damage ... I was so beet red from embarrassment with burning ears he had to laugh and tell me "you know what almost happened, I know what almost happened, and no-one else has to know what almost happened ... Just learn from it." He's being really great with me - I think it's because when I make a mistake, it's an entirely new one. I've yet to make the same mistake twice with him ... I am wild crazy creative, dare I say Picasso-esque, new-mistakes-wise. Gotta respect talent like that!

Verona

My friends have mixed up their flight and are arriving Saturday instead of Friday, but so what? Verona is among my favorite cities in the world and a day to myself without worry or care sounds quite groovalicious. I leave Monforte Friday morning around 11, and am in Verona by 2, and enjoying a glass of spritz in the Piazza Erbe by 2.30. I have the day to visit the incredible Romanesque churches – Verona is a UNESCO World Heritage site on account of those churches. And the Roman ruins are fabulous – Verona has one of only three Roman amphitheaters still in use today. The old Roman theater is built into a hillside and still hosts a summer theater festival while the amphiteater has an opera season all summer, and rock concerts are regularly scheduled there as well. (A few years ago I missed seeing Lenny Kravitz here by a few days.)
Most of the old town is limited to pedestrians, and it is possible to amble across the entire old city in less than 25 minutes at its widest part. It is a beautiful town, built into a loop of the Adige river, where the water could form a defensive ring on three sides. The women (and men) are beautiful and know how to dress both provocatively and elegantly – Verona is a wealthy town and the streets are flanked by designer shops – which makes people-watching a favorite activity here.

The Asylum is in the Hands of the Inmates

The week passes quickly. I am now in a groove and need minimal supervision. Good thing, as Luciano and Barbara are leaving Tuesday for the Wine Experience in New York. Luciano is nervous and doesn’t want to leave as grapes are still coming in and vats are full of fermenting juice. I hear a lot of “porca miseria!” and “crispa!” on Monday and Tuesday. He is stressed, and so is Barbara. This is a busy time at the winery. And Luciano is the show here – there are no consulting oenologists or winemakers coming in to make the wine. This is a small winery, and the winemaker has his name on the label. They don’t want to go, but feel they must. (Footnote 1: I check with some friends in NYC who tell me that the Speculum gets quite mad at winemakers who don’t come when invited. If you don’t accept, don’t ever be expect to be invited back.) (Footnote 2: Why this event is scheduled during harvest time is beyond my comprehension. I mean, the Wine Spectator, organizer of this event, is ostensibly a “wine” magazine, right? So they should know that “wine” is produced from “grapes”? And that “grapes” are a “fruit” that is harvested when “ripe,” a condition that is contingent on factors such as sunshine, rainfall, soils and geography, among others? And that this “harvest season” can extend from August to December, depending on the place? So why in fuck’s name are they scheduling the event in the middle of October? Are they morons? Idiots? Stupid? Do they like making people’s lives difficult? Or maybe … just maybe … they are completely oblivious.)

(Shit. I know I’m going to get mail about this.)

Tuesday morning, they are both running around trying to finish last-minute items. 20 minutes before departure, Luciano goes home (literally 2 minutes toward town), changes his shirt and pants, and is back to check on things one last time. They leave for Milan around 10. Luca and the crew are picking in the vineyards. Andrea and I are left in charge of the cellars … truly, the inmates have been left with the keys to the asylum (cue maniacal laugh here).

La Coccinella

Wednesday night I go to La Coccinella in Serralunga Valle with the Altares (Elio, Lucia and Silvia) and Tes. It’s a half-hour drive over there and the room is rustic, homey and cozy beyond belief. The kind of place where you get a good feeling right when you walk in the door. The smells of porcini wafting from the kitchen are intoxicating.

I survive my first encounter with the Italian Health-Care system.

My knees are hurting so much from all the activity of winemaking – climbing ladders, running up and down stairs, jumping up and off of tractors – that I have begin walking with a noticeable limp. The pain is intense and I am popping Advil like candy corn. Usually, in the States, I see a chiropractor every week or so; I like having good posture and it helps me sleep a lot. Here, chiropractors are unheard of. I try not to complain but Andrea and Rosella, especially, notice that all is not well in Allieland. Unfortunately, they’ve never even heard of chiropractors.

Rosella and Mariuccia

Some days, I help out in the warehouse off the bottling room putting together orders for shipment. Rosella, Luca’s wife, is in charge of shipments, and we become fast friends putting together the orders. There’s always lots of joking and god-natured teasing, but with Rosella there’s a double dose. Andrea walks in one day and tells her that he’s never ever ever EVER seen her mad, unhappy or yelling in all his time at the winery; always happy, never irritated. She tells him to ask Luca if he’d agree with that statement! HA!

More Harvest

Barbera harvest is in full swing in Valmaggiore. The grapes are gorgeous. We walk through one farmer’s vineyards to get to Luciano’s plots. I am amazed by the sheer quantity of fruit in the neighboring vineyard: 10-14 bunches per vine. I pick a berry and taste it – yuck. All tart acid, no sweetness whatsoever. We cross over the dirt track into Luciano’s vineyards, where there are 4-6 bunches per plant, and the difference is startling. Even though Barbera is a high-acid grape, these berries have a balance of sweetness and acid that is extraordinary. Luca and Luciano talk, I listen to their Piedmontese chatter. They instruct me on the differences between Nebbiolo and Barbera, and shows how when a Barbera grape is pulled off the stem, a tiny drop of liquid pushes out of the stem-hole; clear with a faint hint of rose. When you see the rose tint, the grapes are ready. These are delicious, and I much on a bunch as we trudge back to the car.

A Day in the Life

Some of you have written to me wanting to read more about the routine of my life here.  All right.  My alarm goes off at 6.05, and the first thing I do is walk out on the porch – barefoot, but wearing pyjama bottoms and an old HFOZ t-shirt - and just smell the air.  It is still dark at that hour, but I can get a sense of the day from the quality of light of the yellowish streetlamps in the village below.  Usually mornings are foggy, misty and cold.  I have some fruit and yogurt or a few slices of braesola for breakfast. 

Feeling out-of-place.

Some days are easier than others. Thursday is a day to put my head down and just slog through. For the first time since arriving, I had insomnia Wednesday night, and Thursday I cannot seem to do anything right. Even Andrea seems taken aback with me and cannot joke about my abundant fuck-ups. I haven’t had a wi-fi signal to grab since Sunday and I am really feeling out of touch and, for the first time this trip, noticeably lonely. I am feeling worn down.