mondosapore

Alice's book party

The joint was packed.  A lot of copies of the book were sold.  I bought two AT FULL RETAIL, one of which will go to a friend in Italy.  Herself signed them!  The wine flowed and flowed in teeny weeny glasses.  I couldn't reach the food.  Too many people to knock down, some of them very big.  Like Joe Dressner.

Alice was radiant and a little overwhelmed, I think.  People were clamoring for books to be autographed. Sometimes love brings too much pressure.

I asked her when the book was released.  "On Monday. Didn't my publisher send you a copy?"  She was dismayed when I, with a mild profanity aimed at said publisher, replied no.  Instead of reviewing it pre-publication, I'll be reading it on the plane today. 

I did meet Neal, the Brooklyn guy who loves wine!  What a nice guy -- he even told me I was "ten times handsomer than the picture and look ten years younger."  Well, duh, of course I love him...but also partly because he suffered under the yoke of the NYC Dept. of Education.  Brother, I feel your pain.

Tomorrow, off to...guess where?  Ciaooooo.

Wine Friday, May 16

I had a pleasant breakfast this morning with Marco Oberto of Ciabot Berton, traditionalist wine producer from Piemonte.  We tasted a bottle of his 2003 "Vigna Capalot" Langhe Nebbiolo; his old-school, fermented-in-cement Barolo 2003 won't be ready to drink for at least a few more years.  Light in color, this real-deal Nebbiolo has lots of stuffing, clean-flavored yet full of woodland fruit, impressive structure and a relatively long finish.  The oak is under control; the wine spends about a year in Slovenian botti (medium-sized barrels).  Right now it seems just a tad hot and the tannins give a slightly bitter note to the sides of the tongue.  Where some might say, "Oh, just a baby Barolo", I'd say, "No, a serious wine in its own right." It has some more ageing to do, more growth to complete.   I'll write more extensively about Ciabot Berton and the wines rather soon. 

I asked Marco, "If you were sitting across from Franco Ziliani instead of me, would he be a friend or a foe?"

Marco smiled. "A friend."

Instant Barolo-traditionalist cred.

Tonight is the long-awaited book party for Alice Feiring.  Her The Battle for Wine and Love: or How I Saved the World from Parkerization is coming out any minute now. I've been hearing about this book for so long now, I'm champing at the bit to read it.  I shall report, albeit briefly, on the do for Alice tomorrow.

The style of the illustration and the type face still remind me of Eloise.

Another piece of wine-geek vineyard porn:

Favorite vineyard photo

The following is my favorite photo of many heart-lifting pictures taken in Italian vineyards lately.  It's my desktop background now.

What region is this vine in?

1) Campania

2) Veneto

3) Friuli

4) Puglia

Send me your guesses!

A rating system at last

Many's the time someone has said or written to me, "You need some kind of rating system."  Because ecstatic babblings and lots of exclamation points and CAPITALIZED words aren't precise enough.  OK, I succumb.  When I review or just write extensively about a wine, I will henceforth and forthwith tack on a rating at the end. 

The reasons for the delay are many.  The main one is that no system I've ever come across suits me as a person.  The way I taste, what I taste, what the wine tells me with its perfume -- for me it's very hard to quantify.  Quantifying these things seems pretty stupid, in fact.  I dislike and mistrust the false objectivity and ludicrous precision of 100 point systems.  I am no fan of the 20 point system traditionally favored by the British, although I admit it is useful in comparing vintages.

I sort of like the 3-5 glass/bottle/star systems used in, for example, the Italian wine guides.  They are the visual equivalent of the system used by, say, Fredric Koeppel, who uses regular English words to grade the wines he reviews:  FAIR, GOOD, VERY GOOD, EXCEPTIONAL, etc.  But what appropriate, instantly grasped symbols are left?   And how can I, mr. mondosapore, express my ardency when I find a wine exciting or my lukewarm acceptance of it if I think it's merely OK?  I am not the moderate man that Koeppel is (God knows, anyone who slogs through the mudstorms of my mind can attest to that). 

So what will be my way of rating wine?  How will I combine some sense of objective reality with the (to me) highly important affective results of drinking a wine?  Drinking as opposed to tasting, in most cases. 

Well, I have a name for it.  I call it the H.Q.  The Happiness Quotient.  For a description and explanation, read on, pilgrim.

This guy looks happy

Images of paradise at Ravello

Hemingway is alleged to have said, "The rich are different from you and me."  That may or may not be, but I can assure you they hang out differently. 

I managed to locate some photos of the Hotel Caruso in Ravello, to which I referred in a post that I published a few days ago.  As spectacular as the pictures are, I'm not sure they do justice to the beauty and majesty of the place.  The Caruso is the type of resort hotel where the surroundings often outclass the guests, if not the impeccable staff.

And to think I toured the Caruso in oil-spotted shorts and a baggy old Tommy Hilfiger polo shirt!  And, my God, it was striped!  I was mortified then, and I'm mortified now.

But this is not all about me.  It's about vicarious living through photography.  Enjoy.

Or, as we might more aptly phrase it, "Eat your heart out." 

The Exclusive Suite has its own everything, including a private lawn and garden.  For this degree of seclusion you pay almost 3000 euros a night.  Which is why pop music royalty like Alicia Keyes and Mariah Carey stay there.  Because they can.

Since I live in a 1-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, I mentally measure everything I see in New York terms.  The bathroom of the Exclusive Suite is approximately the size of a typical NYC entry hall, living room, dining nook and kitchen.  The separate all-marble shower room is the size of a generously proportioned maid's room in a Classic Six.

This one is nice too.  Deluxe Junior Suite.  Maybe Bruce Springsteen would let his roadies stay here.  He's a real man of the people, they tell me.

I avoid piano bars when the piano is actually playing.  But it was nice to have a late-afternoon drink with no one tickling the ivories.

A few more pix to prolong this masochistic pleasure...

Reale wine on the Amalfi coast

The winery of Luigi Reale was a real discovery.  It raised my expectations of wine made in a world-famous beauty spot, in this case the Amalfi Coast of Campania.  All of the essential components of interesting wine are present: good land, indigenous grapes of singular character and the informed intuition of the winemaker. 

Located in the village of Gete in the larger commune of Tramonti a few winding miles from the sea, Azienda Agricola Reale Andrea, is situated on a very steep 2.5 hectares on two small plots.  The elevation is roughly 450-500 meters, which makes the microclimate a good deal cooler (even snowy) than at the coast. 

The varieties grown are, for the most part, very local and correspondingly rare: Biancazita, Biancolella and Pepella for the white; Piedirosso and Tintore for the reds and the rosato.  Granted, Biancolella and Piedirosso aren't rare in Campania, but the others are.  Luigi is ardent in his affection for Tintore, which is a subvariety of Aglianico; its perfume and its flavor, with some time in bottle, are to me reminiscent of Burgundy -- reminiscent, that is, not a sort of faux-Burgundy.  Reale's wines aren't trying to be a version of anything else.  But the best can evoke associations with other wines that possess complexity and ageability.

A great deal of this has to do with the great age of the vines, as is shown in the picture above.  One vineyard is composed of century-old vines of Tintore.  A walk through this green-farmed plot (less than a hectare) takes you to a vineyard that looks and feels different from the orderly rows of younger vines trained in the Guyot style, which also exist on Luigi's larger, slightly lower and steeper plot.  The old-vine Borgo di Gete terreno looks like a vestige of a tradition, and under the watchful eye of Fortunato Sebastiano (the enologo and agronomo) there is a balance between tradition and contemporary practices of strict yield management and chemical-free vine management.

The proof of these good intentions is, of course, in the tasting.  We tasted, and later drank, each of Luigi's four wines.  Descriptions and impressions can be found in the continuation.

Another view of the Borgo di Gete vineyard

 

Part of the lower vineyard -- very
little room for expansion

Up there?  Maybe Reale vines one day

Thought experiment: Touring an English vineyard

I've tried to be good this week, I really have.  Sober-sided comments.  Touristic pictures of great Italian locales.  No foul-mouthed drunken rants.  Bonhomie and good will toward all.  No silly business. 

Christ, it's killing me.

Forget my consuming jealousy of bloggers who get invited to write in serious wine journals for money (imagine! it happens!).  Forget, like totally forget, writing a book about the nectar of Bacchus.  So, to quote the great American poet, "Let's go crazy / Let's go nuts!"

To set the scene: I was reading my favourite British wine writer -- no, my favourite wine writer, no qualifications -- and I read a few of her back posts about English wineries.  Well, also a couple of Welsh ones, but the Welsh lost their independence about eight centuries ago, so I'll classify them as English.

Since I've been tramping around a lot of Italian vineyards lately, I tried to imagine doing the same in England.  Not only did I wonder what the wines would taste like, I wondered how truly English the experience would be.  As an illustrative contrast, let us think back to all those golden days in Italy, where the tour of the vineyard, the cantina and the tasting were followed by a 9-course lunch with a different wine per course.  The good-natured chatting about everything under the sun, about history and family, about politics and culture, about life and its moments of ecstatic epiphany mixed with loss, regret and a desire for antidepressants (they must read Cevola too).  Think of the sunny afternoons spent on the terrace, refreshed by mountain zephyrs.  Like here:

At Osteria Reale,
Tramonti,
Costiera Amalfitana

Now think of a Sunday afternoon in Kent...

Gallery: Italy in spring

Italy is green, lush and flowering in April and early May.  Roadsides are red with poppies.  The hills seem to topple over with blooming trees of every kind. Mild days and cool nights bring an invigorating balance.  The air is fresh and bright.  It is the best of times.

More follow.  Click on images to enlarge.

Hospitality in Valpolicella

Alfonso Cevola was asking me last night if I knew of any other good places to stay in the Verona area -- besides the friendly Conca d'Oro B&B that I wrote about after Vinitaly (click here) and the beautiful Alla Colombara (click here).  I told him I did and he urged me to write about it.  I happily comply; I'm long overdue writing about Villa Monteleone.

If the name seems familiar, it will be because I have written about the classy wines of Lucia Raimondi before.  Her house is a large 19th century villa set among lush gardens and vineyards, and she makes three suites available for guests, each costing either 70 or 75 euros a night, with breakfast.  The most popular and largest is the San Vito with a hot tub and spacious private bath.  It has its own entrance, so coming and going is very convenient. 

April 28: Chestnuts were in bloom at Villa Moneteleone

San Vito suite.  All the suites are named after the house's wines.  San Vito is, I think, the best of the wines.  It is an extremely fine Ripasso.








View from terrace of Santa Lena suite. The terrace is bigger than most New York apartments. Much.














View from the terrace.  Masi is across the lane











If you are interested in staying at Villa Monteleone, consult the web site.  Mrs. Raimondi responds quickly and warmly to online requests/reservations.

www.villamonteleone.com
info@villamonteleone.com

Ravello on a Sunday afternoon

I mentioned on Sunday that I was in Ravello, wandering around and eating a very good meal on a spectacular terrace overlooking the sea, the vineyards and the lemon groves.  The restaurant is part of the Hotel Villa Amore.  The photos of the place and the food may tempt you to go there. 

From the terrace of the Villa Amore restaurant

Again from the Villa Amore terrace.  By the way, the hotel is not at all expensive.

On the following page are some pix of Ravello and its immediate surroundings. 

 Hotel Villa Amore mascot. Or future antipasto?

_________________________________________________________________________________________

By the way, thanks to Luigi Reale -- whose wines and osteria I'll write about more extensively soon --
we received a tour of the magnificent Hotel Caruso in Ravello.  I definitely had the feeling that I should be emptying waste baskets and sweeping marble steps.  Click here for a view of the infinity pool.  And please do feel unworthy.

Hotel Caruso guide and PR director, Janet D'Alesio

 

After hours: aged bloggers carouse

Quickly, about last night.

I got home about 6pm, unpacked, ate the ritual return dinner of a turkey club and potato salad, and after enduring a couple of TV shows that Ken had recorded ("CSI Miami" and, God help us, that thing with Sally Field), I fortified myself with iPod and Charlie Christian's elegant guitar work and sped downtown on the beauteous 6 train to Il Buco.

Sorry, that sentence was almost Italianate. 

Sorry, too, that this that is another of those dumb Twitter-like blog posts.  Oh, who cares.  It's not like someone's paying me to do this.  (HINT.)

Anyway, jetlagged as I was and am, I had to see Alfonso Cevola, Marco Romano and the ubiquitous Jeremy Parzen, grand blogging buds.  It was important to see the boys because we all weren't going to be in town long. 

After Jeremy and his posse left, the three old men of the group -- yours truly being the oldest, damn it -- headed out looking for some wine bar action.  We walked over to Avenue B.  Unaccountably, though it was only 12:30, most places had already closed.  We grabbed a taxi and went to the West Village.  Destination: Alice Feiring's favorite wine bar, I think, the Blue Ribbon Downing Street Bar.  Very small, very crowded.  We stayed till more or less last call at 2am, speaking of wine and time and the meaning of life.  Interesting and worthy wine list. Very nice Chenin Blanc there.  Most full-sized pours are about $12.  The tap water is on the house.

I felt young and like I could stay up all night.  Sometimes legal prescription drugs can really better your existence.  And they did give me a chance to catch up with AC, MR and JP.  Great re-entry to the Grande Mela.

Da Giggetto a Roma

Pretty good, I must admit. The roast lamb, a Roman specialty, is wonderful. The house wines are awful. A bottle of Gianpaolo Paglia's Guazza (Ansonica, Vermentino) was lovely and a bargain at 16€.

We are sitting here at the table, watching the crowd and listening to the celebrations of Israel Memorial Day. The kids are draped in Israeli flags and the band just ceased playing the Top 10 of world Zionism, I guess. A lot of energy and fun. I've seen the same 4 guys, I swear, walking up and down wearing yarmulkes.

Strong police presence. Overtime for talking on the cell phone. Tutto il mondo e' paese. "People are people."

This is mad nice.

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Twitter not lest thou be twittered

Tonight we go to that guidebook favorite Giggetto in the Roman Jewish Ghetto, currently a ghetto of wealth. Ken is very dependent on Zagat wherever we go. I tend to resist, feeling that if a place is too popular with our countrymen, it's probably not as good as hyped and more expensive than it has a right to be. We opened the West, true, but we have tended to stick to the main highways ever since.

I hope to get back to NYC in time to meet up with Cevola, Marco and Parzen tomorrow night. I shall need drugs to stay awake. If I do go, you can be sure I'll be wearing me shades and a jacket slung over me shoulders. I'll air kiss everybody and call everyone carissimo.

The real me at last.

Alll of this trivial stuff is an illustrative prelude to my true purpose, Amanda. This post is like Twitter, all that annoying Twitter clutter that pops up on your screen at odd times, and NEVER of anything important or even interesting.

I know many in blogdom have been singing the praises of Twitter, going so far as to hail it the next marvelous breakthrough in viral communication or something.

It's a virus all right. Consider me cured of it.

I hereby officially unTwitter myself. Be a reasonable, mature person and do likewise. Please.

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Perceptions of wine

Eric Asimov has continued his thread on the perceptions of wine's quality and value in his column in today's NY Times. This is a topic of enduring interest to wine drinkers as well as those who write wine off as an elitist beverage. The key part of the article, I think, is the condemnation of the pseudo-objective scoring system for its intentional stripping away of context from the drinking and enjoyment of wine--and the particular charms of this or that particular wine in a specific time, place and company. The emotional components of wine don't come from the producer, however expressive and poetic certain of them may be, but from the emotions of the drinker himself.

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My life sucks! Chapter 344

There is a light rain. I hate rain. Rain makes me feel sad.

Still, I am hearing the rain and the lively sounds of Naples on my covered terrace (4 times the size of a New York kitchen) at the Excelsior Hotel. Just below the top floor, so I have a good view of the Castello dell'Uovo, the yacht marina and the entire bay.

Today I went to several "new" wineries-- some new to me and some new, period, and/or both. I learned how distinct Coastal and Mountain Agloanicos are from each other...madly, deeply, truly so. Ditto Fiano.

I've tasted a bunch of "new" grapes, some new to dumb old me and some back-to-the-future new. Even if they don't thrill me, they're interesting and worthy from at least a historical POV. And usually more because they reveal new, fascinating flavors and perfumes.

We ate abundantly at our old favorite place on the Lungomare di Napoli. We drank a plain Sella and Mosca Vermentino to go with our seafood dishes. And a half bottle of limoncello and meloncello after.

I feel no pain and all is right with the world.

I am not the bitter broken wretch who began mondosapore. Italy, even Napoli, is my, like, apotheosis, maaaan.

Pix by EOW. QED and all that.

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Amalfi in August

...Couldn't be much more overcrowded and traffic-bound than it is now--could it? Within minutes I was heading up endless flights of steps, twisting and turning in wind-swept corridors till I got as far as I could go. I will post some typically gorgeous pix of the place when I get to NY. My refrain.

Now in Ravello where I've taken photos not only of the spectacular views from the restaurant where I've had a wonderful lunch of orata alla griglia...I've also taken them of the food. Jeremy Parzen has made me feel guilty.

The wine was a Ravello product, "Selva delle Monache" (Nuns' Wood). Nice but nothing great. The food definitely outclasses the wine here at Hotel Villa Amore.

I was just thinking about "the scandal of particularity". This is the idea that it is a "scandal" that Jesus came to save the world in that place, that time. You can extend the scamdalous idea to everything in the Old Testament, from Abram to Moses and the concept of Chosenness and onward.

Which is quite a leap to the scandal of the blessedness we feel in a place and at a moment where/when we feel content, complete, at one with the world around us. We feel that blessedness in precious few moments of life. When we fall in love. When we have an epiphany, such as "I belong in this world because you love me". And when we travel far and long and expensively to a place of stunning beauty and serenity. As if to say, "The quest is done. I have arrived at my golden destination.".

As all but the dullest of you will have guessed, this is the prevailing sea breeze now.

A blessed domeinica a tutti.

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Tom Friedman, us today, and the future

I've been thinking a lot about the thoughts churned up by my post "Reflections on the EU.". A great deal of what's been preocciupying me was well expressed today by Tom Friedman in the NYT. Of the many things that rang true was his statement (I paraphrase because it's very hard to toggle back and forth on a Blackberry) "we are no longer the country we think we are." The more you travel, the more you realize that our self-image is decades out of date. It doesn't accord with any current reality. We aren't as good, as strong, as rich or as free as many peoples in the developed world. Friedman's central thesis is that we need, and likely will not choose, a president who will tell us the truth, who will inspire us to make great efforts to great purposes. As the campaign drags on and on, like some sort of idiot reflex, the perceived truth-tellers, like McCain and Obama, are willing participants in the death of their promises.

I've thought a lot about what Tom Brokaw calls "the greatest generation." This generation was forged by depression and war; but it was formed and given its chance for greatness by an older generation that showed astonishing wisdom, grace and shrewdness in the creation of low-cost mortgage programs for young veterans and the GI Bill, which opened the horizons for a generation that had seen much and dreamed big dreams.

Oh yes, really great generation, the ones who legislated the GI Bill, etc., also gave the gift of the Marshall Plan. A gift to Europe and the world (not to mention ourselves--this was the quintessence of enlightened self-interest).

Who among our "leaders" would be capable of such vision, such taming of narrow self-interest today?

(Pause. Long pause.)

These are my ruminatipns on the seaside at Maiori on the Amalfi coast.

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Ah Biancazita!

Today I extended my personal acquaintance with some spicy, saucy characters named Biancazita, Pepella, Biancolella and Tintore. They sound like a vaudeville act or dancers in a burlesque house.

These are in fact grape varieties from the Amalfi coast, specifically from the azienda Reale Andrea in the little town of Tramonti 5 km from the coast above Maiori. Above being the key word; we're almost 500 metres above sea level here, and the strong afternoon sea breeze keeps the vines cool and chases mold and mildew away.

By the way, Tramonti is where Mario Cuomo's forebears came from. The name of the town can mean either"sunsets" or, as I think more likely in this case, "between the hills" (tra-i-monti). The town straggles its way by twisty roads up from the valley floor onto both of the 700 metre hillsides.

I'm currently at the Osteria Reale, the roomy, sunny agriturismo above Luigi Reale"s restaurant, where some big shots, led by the Berlusconi-baiting journalist Marco Vaglia (I hope I spelled his name right), descended on this madly picturesque place to eat abundantly and well. Luigi served his own wines; the restaurant is well-known and consumes much of his production.

I got a number of photos of the vineyards and stunning, green countryside. Full report on the wines along with pix when I get back to NYC.

Yes, another Irishly gloomy, miserable, depressed day in Paradise...

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Rain rain rain

No, it's another beautiful day. I remarked how green the countryside is now, a southern version of Ireland, here in Campania.

Fortunato explained that it has rained a great deal this spring -- a blessing because last summer was quite hot, with little rain after July. Before that, a warm dry winter.

"If we get some rain near the end of July," he just told me, "this could be a very good vintage."

On autostrada for the Amalfi coast. Swimming weather. Just the thing to dive into the chilly spring water after tasting wine all day. I know, my life is a sad one.

Well, you'd better grab it while you can, no?

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