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!
We load cases and cases of Dolcetto, Barbera and Nebbiolo on to pallets. I get to be quite the whiz at figuring out the arrangement of boxes to best fit on a pallet … and then get blisters on my fingers while shrink-wrapping them later. Putting two or three six-packs on a pallet seems ludicrous to me, but hey, that’s how we do things here. I decide that any person or business that orders less that 18 cases (these are 6-packs all) should be taken out and maimed. I suggest that they do minimum orders. No. How about “suggested minimum?” No. How about increasing the shipping charges for small orders to encourage people to order more? No. How about somebody else doing this work? No, No, No. Why not just put your ”suggestion box” sign on the paper shredder? Huh? What is this you are saying?
Rosella is incredibly sweet and good-natured to me. She is from Canale, in the Roero. I find, as an outsider, a connection to her, who married into a family of strong-willed people. I think it is easy to get lost among the outsized personalities here. I get into the habit of saying, after every request she makes of me, “as you wish.” (I am, after all, just a farmboy here!). Finally she asks me: what is this as you wish? (Her English is pretty good). Come tu vuoi. Ah! She exclaims. Those are three words I need to hear much more often!! Keep repeating those, Emilio, and you will make any woman happy!
I make deliveries with Mariuccia one day. Mariuccia is short for “little Maria” – I’m sure that she’s been called this since she was a little girl, and it just stuck. She is the quiet, smiling, easygoing opposite to Luciano’s intensity. As we drive around to various restaurants and enoteca, delivering a van full of cases, she tells me all about Luciano and Barbara – both are incredibly strong-willed, intelligent, intense and stubborn people. Luciano is completely focused on the quality of his winery at every level and has a bit of a reputation as an intense, impatient and occasionally testy person. Obviously, this single-mindedness has contributed to Luciano’s success as a winemaker, but, che dolore, Santa Maria, che testa dura!! (What a hard head!!), and how difficult he can be to live with, sometimes. Barbara has also told me about this – and she also has, according to Mariuccia, a "testa dura" and argues a lot with him. Funny, because sometimes other winemakers describe him as being non-committal and wishy-washy ... strange. With me he has been nothing other than understanding, gentle and patient.
We arrive at a restaurant, Mariuccia finds the proprietor and I unload the boxes. In my blue work apron I look almost like any other unschooled laborer – most proprietors and managers address me in the informal “tu” – until Mariuccia introduces me as their “American writer” doing a stage with the winery. Then the attitude changes considerably, even veering deeply toward obsequiousness on occasion. (Everyone here knows “Romancing the Vine” and how that changed the fortunes of those mentioned in the book.) Really, it’s the shorts and Doc Martens boots that should give me away. It’s funny how class-conscious many Italians seem to be. When I’m here as a tourist, I am addressed completely differently than when I’m wearing the apron (I mean, in the case of being a stagiste, outside the winery – the Sandrones have told me that I’m now part of the family and treat me incredibly well). We deliver to a hotel and the manager won’t even look at me. He sits in the cellar smoking while I hump the cases of wine down the stairs; he grunts and points his finger to show where I should set the boxes. This doesn’t bother me one bit – instead, it offers an interesting look at the Italian soul. In any case, I like to work hard.
I had never met Mariuccia before this visit. Of all the people I have just met the first time this trip, she has made me feel the most incredibly welcome and at home right away - she has been gracious, generous and giving in a style that is all good and all her own. She is disarmingly unpretentious. The first day I met her, I addressed her as Signora Sandrone, and she laughed! Emilio! Stop that! Everyone calls me Mariuccia! Every day, she walks through the winery with the biggest smile - it just lights up the room. Lila, her little dog, follows her everywhere, except into the fermentation room. Lila can smell the CO2, which is heavier than air and collects close to the ground, and stays outside the door, barking: “Mariuccia, come out, dammit!!” Over the last two weeks, she's begun bringing me treats during the day - chocolates, a foccacia, a coffee - when she's bringing Luciano something to eat or his thermos of coffee. (I think the treats are making me gain weight ...). I begin to see her as the sugar that balances that tart intensity of the winery. (If that sounds like a description of a Mosel Riesling, you’re right on.) I am sure, however, in a crisis, she'd be the rock in the veritable tornado. She's just a lovely lady. I've really come to enjoy knowing her and spending time with her is always a pleasure. The days that I miss seeing her seem incomplete, somehow.
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