mondosapore

Memes bred deep

I tend to dismiss theocentric philosophies.  They seem to operate in a double-talking neverland.  But it occurred to me one day that theologies and mysticism do have profound effects on everyday life.  Two examples came to me -- one readily, the other weeks later.  No doubt there are plenty of others.

1. The mathematical concept of zero.  It was the creation of Indian mathematicians.  Could it have come into being without the underlying concept of Nirvana? 

2. Virtuality.  This was crucial in the development of computing.  Would it have been conceivable without the underlying argument of the there/not there, same/not same of the Holy Trinity?

     The ghost in your laptop

Not my finest moment, but when is it ever?

Me, unplugged.  Or plugged.  I'm not sure how literally to take that.  Well, anyway, this is almost as riveting as hearing Al Jolson speak in The Jazz Singer.  "Folks, you ain't heard nothin' yet."

This is only something I thought of doing three years ago but went, "Eh."

Download Mondosapore inaug

Yeah, I need an interlocutor.  Yeah, I need at least a script outline.  Yeah, etc.

Five simple rules for surviving Vinitaly

Love it or hate it, if you're somehow involved with Italian wine, you have to be at Vinitaly. 

If you've never been there, try to imagine a trade show at McCormick Place in Chicago, only blown up to about 10 McCormick Places.  Compared to Vinitaly, those colossal halls by Lake Michigan seem cozy and intimate.

So, Vinitaly is big.  It's spread out, way spread out.  It's packed, especially on the weekend, when the day-trippers and "civilians" looking to score free drinks pile into the place. (Avoid on Sunday if you can.)

I could give you a ton of tips.  But I'll give you just enough to be useful if you are going for the first time.

1. Get there as early as possible.

Granted, even to journalists and exhibitors, the gates don't open till (I seem to recall) 8:30.  If you have one of those badges, get there before 8:30 if possible and stand in an impatient knot of people.  Why?  Parking.  Parking.  And, oh yes, parking.  The closer you are to the entrance, the happier you'll be when it's time to leave when you're footsore, cranky and hungry.  Traffic is something of a Gowanus Expressway nightmare.

 

The sweet spot for parking.  Maybe I should sleep in the car all night?

2. Plan your visits.

I mean really plan them. Make specific appointments with as many of the people you need to see and stick to your schedule.  Do not tolerate a casual approach to your time. 

Needless to say, given the sheer size of the venue, you have to be smart about clustering appointments on a regional basis, e.g., given the number of current/future producers from Campania, I've scheduled all the first part of Friday ("Good Friday," I've called it) with those folks.  Tasting, talking, negotiating -- on a schedule.  If you run over, cut it short and pick it up again at dinner or, better, via phone and email when you've returned home.  A plus: a no-nonsense attitude can strengthen your bargaining position.  It's a buyer's market.

If you're traveling with colleagues, you must at least occasionally split up and proceed on whatever basis makes sense, for example, a regional basis if you're scouting new producers.  

 

"If this were Germany they'd have put in a monorail by now."

Feverish in Manhattan

So the past few days I've been enjoying my annual pre-Vinitaly bronchitis.  I've spent a lot of time on subways and buses, also of course staring at the laptop screen and going, "Huh?  What are they talking about?"

The great thing about feeling shitty and swimmy-headed is you got plenty of time.  You somehow find yourself fixing your limited conscious ability on profound and usually overlooked matters.

* Like, I wonder about the inner life of some of these Orthodox Jews.  Like, the ones listening to iPods.  What are they listening to?  A) Klezmermania!  B) The Talmud  C) Alice in Chains  D) Talmudic discussions of the righteousness of listening to Alice in Chains on Shabbat

* I'm seeing different people and different behavior on the subway.  In addition to the normal throngs of brown and black people in puffy black North Coast jackets there are more skinny, well-dressed UES matrons. No one chats or even eats much any more.  Not an access of good manners -- everyone's broke.  Depressed.

* Homeless people are re-colonizing areas that had been off limits to them for years.  It's like the mid-80's all over again -- they're camped out all over Penn Station and a number of long cleaned-up parks.  Unlike the homeless that I'd recently read about in the NYT and so on, these people are still mostly the mentally ill and/or really strung out.  I think they're being pushed out of fixed abodes, however humble and rat-infested, by the working poor.

Well, it's almost time for my codeine cough syrup.  Which is great, because I'll be nice and constipated for Vinitaly, which in turn will keep me from eating too much.  Yep, it's a win-win.    

Download Happy Days Are Here Again

 

Strappo speaks! On the radio

Go to Muddy Boots to hear Strappo speak about wine and work and love and guff.

http://www.muddybootsblog.com/2009/03/strappo-speaks-on-the-radio.html

The whore of self-promotion keeps puttin' it out there.

Read this: "I like them. What are they?"

Read "I like them. What are they?" on Muddy Boots.

While you're at it, tell me what this type of eatery should be called. 

A presto!

Trivella, baby, trivella

Trivella means drill.  As in drill for oil.  And it seems that one of the greenest, cleanest of the Italian regions, Abruzzo, is about to turn into "Saudi Abruzzo," by some accounts.

I got a comment the other day from Pierluigi Salvatore, a wine blogger and resident of a seaside town in Abruzzo. He alerted me to this threat to the environment of Abruzzo -- a threat that could have massive negative effects on the economically important wine production in that region.

His original is after the jump, just in case you want to verify the fidelity of my translation.  Here is Pierluigi's note in English:

Unfortunately, we citizens and winelovers in Abruzzo have been overwhelmed by a serious development that threatens [the quality of] our lives and wines.  To our misfortune they've found petroleum under our fields, and the oil companies are getting drilling rights to 51% of our territory.  The oil here is very low-quality, so they plan to build processing refineries right over the wells, the first of which would be among the vineyards of Ortona and Tollo, important centers of wine production. 

Rai [the state broadcasting company, laden with political appointees and sliced into party-specific segments] and the press are concerned with trivia, showing pretty scenes of vineyards with Mozart playing in the background. They are quite ignoring the fact that soon one of the most pristine environments in Italy could become infected with petroleum and its toxic emissions.  To this point, wine bloggers have completely ignored the topic.  Please help me.  We have to save our future.  On my blog I've already reported this story, which is becoming a nightmare of all of us.  Thanks -- Pierluigi.

Of course we all know what the likely outcome will be.  Money talks, and loudly.  Money always wins.  And most of us are left to clean up the shit.

Meanwhile, a couple of shots of Abruzzo as it still is.

 

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President apologizes to Gabrio Tosti

An anguished looking President Obama told the nation that Terence Hughes, publisher of the notorious wine blog mondosapore, was responsible for the public humiliation of beloved Gabrio Tosti, proprietor of the De Vino wine store on the Lower East Side, and that there would be heck to pay for Mr. Hughes's "humorous" trangression.

"We live in times that are serious for alotta folks," the President said, "and we don't want some failed 'humorist' of the blogosphere impugnin' the reputation of a well-regarded wine merchant -- an immigrant and American success story who was backed by family capital in Rome, so he isn't exactly one of those illegal freeloaders we hear so much about from the Republicans -- with his ill-considered 'witticisms' and 'quips' regardin' the temperature of Mr. Tosti's store."

Mr. Hughes had jokingly referred to Mr. Tosti's store as overheated on a previous occasion and alluded to that incident in his post of yesterday, March 19.

"Y'know, I even heard from Mr. Hughes's' life partner -- I don't support gay marriage but I respect the diversity that they represent -- who believes that the aforementioned Mr. Hughes should be 'horsewhipped' for his 'humorous' 'riff' on the ambient temperature of De Vino.  So I am here to tell you that the buck stops here.  No more disparagement of our finest entrepreneurs by allegedly humorous individuals like Mr. Hughes.

"On behalf of the American people, who have endured so much in the past 8 years, not to mention in the 4 months prior to my inauguration, I, as the First Citizen, do publicly and officially apologize to Mr. Gabrio Tosti of New York City.   I also declare Mr. Hughes to be, publicly and officially, a  'douchebag'."

I, Terence Hughes, stand before the American people, not to mention Gabrio Tosti and my Life Partner, suitably chastened.

Good night, America.

Cool to the touch

Yesterday turned out to be a sunny, warm day.  I got quite hot dragging the Winecruzer around.  So when I stopped in at De Vino, the store owned by my friend Gabrio Tosti, I took off my jacket, took off my seater and said, "Whew!  It's really warm!"

At that he went slightly off his nut.  "Now you're gonna say on your blog -  AGAIN - that this store is too hot!  Here, touch that bottle." 

I humored him and touched it.  "It's a little cool to the touch," I allowed.  "It's not exactly cellar temperature in here, but it's coolish." 


"You better not say my store is too warm again or I won't buy any more wine from you!"

"It depends how much you buy.  Buy ten cases today and I'll say it's like a freezer in here."

He bought four cases.  I said, "I'll say it was cool enough.  All right?"

"All right."

"Now," I said, putting on my jacket and gathering up my stuff.  "Do me a favor, buddy?"

"Sure, amico.  What?"

"Put my wines closer to the floor, please?"

Where was I?

By the way, can anyone tell where I took the picture on the left, under the About header? 

Hint: it was not in the EU.

A dopo.

Dreaded x-x-posting meme strikes!

I'm feeling mad Borgesian to-nite:  Go to the Muddy Boots blog for more on "old vines" wines that really are made from old vines.  Clickski!

What I think of St Patrick's Day

And this is a damn sight better than the things I'll be seeing round the oulde town today, dontcha know.

My people.  Jesus wept.

Porca vecchiaia

The title means (translating in a genteel fashion) "wretched old age." 

No matter what endeavor you follow, no matter what sort of vigor you exude, someone is sure to make you feel like a sorry-ass washed-up has-been.  I get it all the time.  The first time I got it, about 7-8 years ago, was a terrible shocker.  I got off a bus in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, and the driver piped up with, "Have a good day, Pops."  Pops.

Last week I stopped by to chat with Vincent Mosso, the sommelier at Gemma, and he said, "Good to see you, Pops."  Pops.  What really rankled is that Vincent closing in on 60 himself. 

So, OK, maybe he was being ironic and friendly. 

But still.  Pops!

Naturally the feeling is magnified when I walk into a place where everyone looks like they're under 30.  This look of astonishment when I drag in my Winecruzer, hand them my card and begin my spiel.  Sometimes I even wonder if the sale I made was a sort of pity fuck.  (Though a sale is a sale, innit.)

There are days when I feel la porca vecchiaia in my mind and in my aching bod.  For example, it was until now a little-known fact that arthritis causes me terrible pain in my hands, elbows and knees.  I refuse to take meds for it, yet more meds, and I resolutely refuse to limp.  That's just not what one does when one loves one's work.

Sempre avanti, ragazzi del vino! 

     

Strappo announces departure from mondosapore. "I have other fish to fry," declares he

It's been a while coming.  The dreadful day is here.  "Beware the Ides of March!"  Strappo is leaving me.

Like someone in a TV show, he showed up at my door when he could have just emailed or phoned.  He knocked imperiously on the door and woke me from a nice dream (something about my grandmother) as I napped on the couch. He bulled past me and spread himself over the couch as I struggled to wake up and take in what what going on.  He seemed to appreciate that I'd been warming the couch for him.

Strappo lost no time telling me what was up.  "I'm running Muddy Boots, Terence, not you.  I've taken it over.  I've posted the first article.  The one about Stefania Pepe.  My love letter to her and her wines."

"You stole my article, Strappo!  You claimed it as your own!  This is really unforgivable."

He leaned forward, eyes narrowed.  "Look you.  You've had your run.  Your day is done.  Mondosapore now is a relevant as...I don't know...Bill Murray.  Great in his day but now..." He shrugged, smirking, and looked away.

I'm old enough to have experienced this a few times.  Some younger (even if marginally) person looks at you like you're a joke, then leaps for your throat.  It immobilizes you because it's always hard to admit that 1) it's happening and 2) you're really that old.

Perhaps because I was still groggy I didn't tear into him with my usual volley of nonsensical, obscenity-laden Limbauvian talking points. I sighed and stared at my socks. "I need a drink."  I got up and shuffled the five feet to the kitchen.

"Celebrating, are we?" Strappo mocked. 

"Fuck off, you thief and ingrate."  I poured myself three thick fingers of rum.  I didn't offer him anything.  I'd given enough to Strappo.  Hell, if it weren't for me he'd still be teaching in the Bronx.  He'd still be dying by inches in Akron, Ohio.  He'd be -- I couldn't think of any other absurdities.  Oh, right: without me Strappo would not exist.  How's that for a conversation closer? 

I kept my mouth shut.  I didn't want to provoke him.  I wanted him to leave me in peace.

Strappo sprawled a little less over the couch.  "Well?"

I looked at him like what?

"You won't give me your blessing?  Your endorsement?"  He was reveling in his obnoxiousness.  He loved rubbing my face in the fact that I was no longer relevant and that mondosapore had lost one of its reasons for being.  Its main one, even. 

"Have you discussed this with the boys?"

"Who?"

"Jeff and Ken. Maybe they don't want Strappo so involved in their investment.  Maybe they think Strappo's like a loose cannon or something.  Maybe..." I halted myself.  I hadn't wished to provoke him.  I literally bit my tongue.

"Maybe what?" he asked, anxiety draining his ugly mug of color. 

I let the silence pile up like a miasma. 

"Maybe what?" he asked again and again, each time hoarser and more discomposed.

I knocked back a good deal of my rum.  I felt its warm sweetness flood my body like a reward from heaven. 

At long last I replied to him, a shrunken fearful wretch.  I laughed in his face -- with quiet contempt, mind you, not in that loony-bin way -- and I said,

 

Signore e signori, Muddy Boots is live!

The official Domenico Selections blog is now up and available for your delectation.

The first post is a love letter to Stefania Pepe.  Deal with it.

Click here for Muddy Boots!

These boots courtesy Emidio Pepe.

The revelation of the bloody obvious: Jack Welch's admission

From the Financial Times, notable chiefly for its resto critic, Nick Lander, and its wine critic, Mrs. Lander aka Jancis Robinson.  (Click here for full article.)

Financial Times
12-Mar-2009
By Francesco Guerrera in New York

Jack Welch, who is regarded as father of the "shareholder value" movement, has said the obsession with short-term profits and share price gains that has dominated the corporate world for over 20 years was "a dumb idea".

In an interview for the Financial Times' series on the future of capitalism, the former General Electric (NYSE: GE - News) chief said the emphasis by executives and investors on shareholder value since he spelt it out in a speech in 1981 was misplaced.

No shit, Sherlock.  That bit of ideology was your license to lie systemically and steal unashamedly.  He went on to say:

"On the face of it, shareholder value is the dumbest idea in the world," he said. "Shareholder value is a result, not a strategy...your main constituencies are your employees, your customers and your products."

I remember, way back when (like around '81 and in the aftermath of the Reagan Revolution -- ptui) the first time I heard that dreadful dictum:  "TURDCO's mission is to increase shareholder value."  Not, mind you, to provide better service or make a better product.  And I thought, "What's going on?  What are these robots talking about?"

And now the Emperor of Smoke & Mirrors is confessing.  At no material cost to himself. 

At least the Idol is now a Fallen one.  Not that we need to take up a collection for the prick.

 

I believe the preposition should be "off"

For that you don't even need a scumbag.

Subway de-lay blues

The E train stopped at 34th and slowly emptied as we unplugged our ear pieces and listened to the dismal announcements. Mad scramble under the tracks to an express A. Winecruzer made it both a cardio and muscle-building exercise. Thank you, MTA "we have deficit and will raise fares and cut service" fuckers. No one has EVER got an adequate accounting from this mess of patronage.

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So where was I? A couple of hours have passed and the brilliant apercus I had boiling round me excited brain have boiled away.

Funny thing. I have come to expect that the extreme joy Italians express when they hear an American speak reasonably good Italian is akin to the amazed delight we'd feel if a cat played the violin, that is, it's a freakish occurrence that will never be repeated in our paltry days on earth.

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Oh by the way, the Muddy Boots blog should be up this weekend. Truly, mine people, you will be the first to know.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Rhonization of everything

I was talking with someone today about the Bordeaux tasting that was the subject of the previous post. It then occurred to me that what I got from those Rive Droite wines was a Rhone taste profile. Rounder and "sunnier" than old-fashioned Bordeaux. Without, of course, the specific aromas of the maquis and the dark lusciousness of, say, Mourvedre or the completeness of Syrah.

How in the world did this happen? Did all of those Bordeaux producers rise up as one and declare that, from aujourd'hui, they were aligning themselves with their camarades of the Midi? Were aliens involved?

Oh what a perplexing mystery!

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Bordeaux International

Let me warn you ahead of time that there will be no original thoughts proffered in this post as I sit here at the copper bar of Gemma at the Bowery Hotel. (They have one of my wines on the list. Maybe more to come. One hand washes the other. Well I DID get an award for best shameless self-promotion.)

So I went to the Sopexa-sponsored Rive Droite tasting in Tribeca. I thought it would be nice to taste something French after total immersion in Italian wine for so long.

Cue the SFX: winds of time. Chirping birds to signal the dawn of youth.

In the early 70s I worked in wine retail. I learned my stuff from tasting all sorts of good wine, nearly all of it from France and much of that from Bordeaux. It wasn't expensive then by today's standards, but the wines knocked me out with their varied qualities and their family resemblance. Bordeauxs tasted like Bordeauxs whether Hegiras from Margaux or the Xanthippes of Plonkitaine (Cotes de Blaye etc). Terroir?? Yes if you mean climate, soil, grapes, and tradition.

Back to the present.

The wines in bottle were nice. Round, lots of fruit, easy to drink, etc.

Shockingly, so were the '08 en primeurs.

Yes, kids, you know where this is going. 'Tis an old old tale by now.

The wines could have been produced anywhere. Including many parts of Italy, tho' it pains me to say so.

Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?

Fondues, baby, fondues.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Italian views: March 2009

I'm not up to writing a long post -- never mind three or four -- about the recent wine search in Tuscany and Abruzzo.  I'll content myself with a few photos.  Hope you find them interesting and/or pleasing. 

A dopo.

Some of the terreno of Castello di Poppiano in the Colli Fiorentini (Florentine hills) sub-appellation of Chianti.

Typical of the soil in that area.  Clay & stone.