Remember my plea from a couple of weeks ago? "Bring my wines home!" Alfonso Cevola dubbed them my "orphaned wines," a term of great pathos, which appealed to both my sense of irony and my underpinning of 19th century sentimentality. (Blame my education. And my grandmother's fondness for quoting Wordsworth in her Dublin brogue at the drop of a tea cosy.)
Well, it seems the orphans have found their saviors. A tearful reunion, a happy ending looms.
Brief editorial comment here.
Since I began this blog last October, I have met a number of extraordinarily nice people. People with passion and geniality and kindess. This has been, for me at least, the most educational aspect of having the blog. The shared passion for wine, and respect and affection for the cultures and the artists who make the wine, are no doubt a factor here. I also think I've lucked into meeting some unusually good-hearted men and women.
The Good Guys
Anyway, several people have been trying to find a cost-effective solution to my orphaned wines dilemma. Two of them have found it and are working to bring Daddy his delectable Tuscan babies at a shipping cost he can afford. These good guys are working together to make it happen.
One is our old friend on this blog, and the one who introduced us to Le Fonti: Tony Sasa (pictured left), who is also about to be a father for the first time. (Auguri to Tony and his wife Laura!)
The other is a new but valued friend, Gabrio Tosti, of De Vino. As I reported a couple of weeks ago, Gabrio's small, well-chosen stock of wines makes his shop a real find in that part of town. (When I say well-chosen, consider some of his October arrivals: Emidio Pepe, Winkl, Produttori del Barbaresco Pora Riserva and so on. Prices are very reasonable for the New York market.) 
Gabrio read my article and volunteered to find a solution. He has enlisted the help of an importer and is coordinating with Tony.
My heartfelt thanks to Tony and Gabrio and to all who have sought to help bring home the goodies.
Viva l'Italia!
Oh frabjous day!
Posted by: Fredric Koeppel | October 14, 2006 at 11:07 PM
Aye, 'tis brillig.
By the way, the sentimentality thing -- I actually read 'Clarissa.' And liked it.
Posted by: Terry Hughes | October 15, 2006 at 04:32 AM
Yer hopeless. Must have been the epistolary format.
Posted by: Fredric Koeppel | October 15, 2006 at 12:46 PM
Dear Fred'k,
Truly the epistolary novel doth beguile me, for 'tis the precedessor of the POSTMODERN style of multiple viewpoints & a chaos of Perspectives which anticipates the mad FUN of MONSIEUR Robbe-Grillet & of the Bard of ye East'n Shore of Maryland, Mr. John BARTH.
Well, 'tis time to step into my COFFIN, where the ravishments of Mr. Lovelace have plac'd me albeit with a Smile on my pious Countenance.
Your humble srvnt,
Clarissa HARLOWE
Posted by: Terry Hughes | October 15, 2006 at 05:29 PM