mondosapore

Obama & Prince Harry: Good for the helicopter industry

Since the Saviour of Capitalism as We've Known It and Prince Polo have hit town, I've heard and seen helicopters everywhere.  E'en now.  Streets were closed all over Midtown last night, although it was hard to know whether it was due to some unfortunate soul's leaping in front of the E train (uptown side at 34th) or the First Couple's Date Nite.  

Two thoughts:

1. Ka-ching, ka-ching, fellow citizens.

2. "Pollution, pollution..."  (pace Tom Lehrer).

I'm just sayin'.

Get through airport security FAST

This is a public service post not for you, my sophisticated world-jaunting readers, but for your usually home-bound aunts, uncles, parents, dippy girlfriends or clueless slacker brothers, etc., etc.

I don't know exactly what it is, but modern airport security -- annoying and intrusive as it is, not to mention a witlessly literal reaction to jihadis (take my belt off??  what kind of explosive device could be in there?) -- can be prepared for and got through with something like a contemptuous efficiency. You know, "Take that, Homeland Security fearmongers!  Take that, moron shoe-bombers!"

Yet I observe, on my frequent forays to airports everywhere, most people dither and fuck up and make the tedious process even more tedious than it is. And it keeps me from quality time in the Crown Room lounge.  So listen up, people, because you've been pissing me off.

Would Pilgrims like all this?  Probably not.  Unless you were an Indian.

When the ship comes in

Please check out this post on Muddy Boots: Click!

Something about the wines we have coming in this month and by the end of August.

Ciao for now.

Ethics: I am exculpated

In an exchange with the thoughtful, veteran journalist -- a real one, not some illegit blogger -- Fredric Koeppel wrote me the other day, "This whole ethics thing doesn't apply to you.  You're an importer now.  Of course you'll be wined and dined.  They want to sell you something!"  I allowed as that was true, but that we are talking about real money now, and no amount of wining and dining, or free hotel rooms or anything else, is going to influence me if the price and quality aren't right.

So, FK, all this may be true -- and yet -- and yet --   

It was so much fun mixing things up on the topic, exposing the hypocrisies and posturing and subterfuges, etc., etc.  Now you've fucking ruined it for me.  Ruined it!

Another mixer.  And, like me, a very clean old man*

* Who was this man?  And whose grandfather did he play?  

A winery we're bringing to New York

Please see the post and the linked article on Villa Monteleone, an excellent Valpolicella producer whose wines we will be carrying very soon:  Click!

Wine producers in Fantasyland

I was talking with the ubiquitous Giovanni Bertagnolli the other day about the prices Italian wine producers are demanding for their products.  Actually, we were laughing and jeering more than "talking."  The gist:  What's wrong with these people?  Don't they ever get out?  Do they not realize that the world is in a crisis?  And do they really believe China is going to pull them through this severe slump?

There are so many ways in which Italian wine producers are deluded and wrong-headed in their approach to pricing.  Some of them are structural: if you set a price ex-cantina, that's the price you charge a restaurant or wine store too -- someone led me to believe that such is law in Italy. If not law, it's a pervasive custom.  

A lot of it is personal, a pride thing.  Or a desperate desire to claw back some of the immense investments they've made in everything from new vineyards to atmospheric tasting rooms.  Or both.

Anyway, let's imagine a typical exchange with a producer who has her head in the clouds.  (I use a female example only because there are so many good, earnest, ambitious young women making wine these days.  This is not to imply that they're any more unrealistic than their male counterparts.)

*****

"So, Alessandra, this is a nice little red you have here.  Clean.  Good fruit.  Good acidity and balance.  Great with food.  Should be excellent for everyday drinking.  Quanto costa?"

"This is 14 euro."

"Scusa?  How much?"  I nearly drop my glass.

"Quattordici.  Fourteen."  She smiles prettily.  "I use the best Alliers oak barrel."

"I'm glad you don't overuse the barrel.  Otherwise it'd cost even more."

Alessandra's face darkens.  "Good barrels are expensive.  This wine is a good wine!  They pay fourteen in Norway!"

"It is a good wine.  But it's Sangiovese.  From Emilia-Romagna.  To sell in America, it cannot cost me 14 euros a bottle!"

Sulks.  "Why not?  It is biodynamic!"

"It would cost about 60 dollars retail!  Maybe more!  No one would ever buy this wine.  Not one bottle."

She scowls.  "You are making too much!"

I patiently explain exchange rates, shipping, taxes, warehousing, delivery and the wonders of the 3-tier system.  Oh, yes, and the need for markups.  

She ponders.  Calculates in her head.  Sighs tragically.  "I give a discount.  But no one must know!"

"OK.  I'm glad you're getting realistic.  So what's the figure?  Three-fifty?  I could live with four euros.  It is biodynamic."  I smile in an encouraging, you-can-do-it, avuncular way.  

Alessandra steps back from the table.  She folds her arms.  Her eyes glint at me in the semi-darkness of the tasting room.  "Ten.  Not one cent less.  Ten euro.  If you buy five pallet."

I step back from the table, too.  I sidle toward the door.  "Interesting proposition, Alessandra.  Thanks so much for your time.  Let me go back and discuss this with my partners.  I'll' get back to you in a couple of weeks."  Which is me saying, You're nuts, lady.  This is an end-cap wine.  It's really worth 2.50.  And lay off the damn wood!  

 

Driving in Italy

I forgot to append this to a previous post. It's something I need to tell you. Americans in particular are led to believe that driving in Italy is a brutal contact sport. 

Can I tell you something? It's not all that bad. Even Naples is no worse than Brooklyn in that respect, maybe not as bad. Brooklyn is far worse than Manhattan for both gridlock and transgressive behavior behind the wheel. 

In Manhattan, like Italy, people tend to follow the rules. Aggressive drivers? Yes. But not unreasonable.

One good behavior in Italy: people don't poke along in the high-speed lane. If a car is coming on fast, they get out of the way and let it pass. It's universally respected. That's something you do NOT see here all too often. 

People over there seldom pass on the right as a consequence, where here in the New York area, it's a real free-for-all, with cars passing on every side. 

Someone wrote a comment here some time ago relating scary stories of driving in Sicily. I can't speak to that. But as to the rest of Italy, driving is pretty civilized compared to New York or Boston, for instance. 

The real problem is the tiny tiny streets in those steep old hill towns. But you can get used to that too -- just rent a little car. And be prepared to park it in a lot outside the antique city walls. 

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Life during Recession

When I left for Italy 2 weeks ago the weather was still mostly gray and cool. I'm in a different city now, one where it's full summer and the restaurants and bars that have outdoor seating are jampacked at all hours. Not just the economy places either. I mean, no one would ever accuse Da Silvano and Bar Pitti in the West Village of being for the budget-minded.

Once again I note that tourists, especially from overseas, are keeping this place afloat. By this place I mean the Capital of the World, Manhattan. Unemployment hasn't taken such a bite out of incomes in the Netherlands, Sweden or even Germany as it has here. I'm judging by the accents of people holding maps who have asked me for directions today.

People are still drinking wine, thank Bacchus, and some of it isn't even cheap.

Well, I must soldier on, on foot. I have to tell you that the distances between, say, Tribeca and the West Village and the Bowery (for example) are more notional than substantial. With the early holiday weekend jam, walking makes more sense than a bus or a taxi.

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Something about Naples

I've written disparaging things about old Napoli, most harshly three years ago during my first visit.  I called it "a third world shithole" in one of several posts at that time. 

I'm not exactly reversing my opinion of the place, but I'm a lot less judgmental about it today.  Yes, there are always those who are trying to rip you off, but they're annoying more than threatening.  

The food is great just about everywhere you go, even if the wine lists are narrow and boring.  Still, you can drink the stuff.

The coffee is -- well, go to Naples and then tell me what you think of espresso up north or in Tuscany.  

Many of the people are charming and vivacious.  There may be that underlying current of trying to get as much out of you as they can, but that's true of all those ancient port cities where they've been separating a traveler from his money for centuries. It's ingrained in the culture.  If I can live with it in, for example, Rhodes, I should be able to take it in Naples.

And even though people outside Naples (especially in the north) speak darkly about the city's crime, for the vast majority it's about crimes of property, not violence against persons.  You could say that about the New York of today as well.  As in Naples, we have our "organized" crime, and it can be horrifically violent, but it touches few people directly.  It's something we hate, but we can do nothing to get rid of it -- at least as individual citizens.

While we were at the Castel dell'Ovo on Sunday afternoon, we met three American women who live in Naples.  They all are or were associated with the US Navy.  One married an Italian and has lived in the city for 16 years.  All of them said they very much liked living there.  They liked the climate, the food, the wine, the people and the way of life.  Crime is a hindrance sometimes, but they feel safe personally because, as the one married to the local guy said, "People here steal.  They aren't out to hurt you."

Would you ever go Stateside to live?

"Not really."

They cited the city's vitality; it's an interesting place to live.  Ken has said this many times too -- at least in Naples there's an energy in the air, something that's distinctly lacking in all but a couple of cities in Italy.  "It feels alive, not like a museum."  So there's that, too.

One of my earlier musings on the topic has me saying something like, "I love the inland areas, the hills around Avellino and so forth.  It's like a different world up there -- cleaner, greener, and the people are different too."  But that's like saying you love Concord and hate Boston; or love the Hamptons but hate the City.  One very much depends on the other.  

Naples has always been the capital of the Mezzogiorno.  It always will be.  

Garbage, vitality and all.

New York under Roman skies

In taxi to Manhattan. The weather is exactly what we left in Rome, not a cloud and over 80F. This eases rientry a bit.

There are a few more posts to be excavated from the Vitignoitalia file. It may well be the last Vitignoitalia we attend. I heard not a few producers say they weren't going back next year. If we'd been looking for a bunch of new producers, we probably would have found it a lot more compelling too. The main complaint of the producers was that trade attendance was down even though the general public seemed to jam the tasting halls.

Even so, I managed to taste some very interesting wines and met some producers who are worth following. More later.

(Don't hold your breath. On the plane I just edited the pix I took on our little vacation in the Loire valley. Last July.)

Maybe it's time for a nap. Among the things that haven't changed since May 9 are the traffic from JFK, the sinking dollar, endless posturing on health care and gun control and scare stories about swine flu.

Gee it's good to be back home.

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Riesling by mistake

I'll say it right here.  I'm not an admirer of Riesling.  I don't go swimmy-headed when people go on and on about some Trockenbeereauslese or some even longer compound noun.  The heavy scent of petrol (carburante in Italian) gives me a headache and doesn't do much for my digestive tract either.  

To many people, of course, this puts me on the side of the Evil One (no, not Dick Cheney -- the other Adversary).  I think of Lyle Fass, who is mad about all things Riesling.  I'm sorry, Lyle and all you others, I'm a sorry dolt and a dull clod or something.

So imagine my surprise when, instead of a tasting of "crus of the southern Appennines," I walked into a Riesling tasting conducted by an enthusiastic Dutchman in charmingly accented Italian.  I was about to turn right around, but I thought, "No, my boy, you mustn't be narrow.  Well, OK, you're narrow.  But don't compound your narrowness!  To maintain narrowness is a sign of old age."  That was how I vanquished myself.  I know what buttons to push all right.

There were eight wines in four categories:

* A Sekt (methode classique)

* Three Trocken (Dry)

* Three "con residuo di zucchero" (with varying amount of residual sugar)

* One Eiswein (so sweet you get diabetes sniffing it)

I confess to wilful ignorance when it comes to such wines.  No doubt there's the language problem, but, really, most of it is due to the character of the wines themselves.  Generally speaking, they just don't hit me the right way.

E'en so, colour me surpriz'd when I tasted a couple of them.  Herewith and thenceforth are my pawky few notes.  Achtung: No umlauts were used in transcribing the names of the wines, etc.

US Embassy promotes gay art!

Decadence, la dolce vita style

When I got to my hotel room this afternoon, I was shocked by what I saw across the street at the American Embassy.  

There, within the walled compound that looks so impressive and worthy of renditionable fright, I noticed (1) that it is in fact a giant parking lot and 

(2) that the main buildings of this "temple complex" are festooned not only with pagan art, they are desecrated with homoerotic (queer-loving) pagan art!

 

The man in the photo, no doubt a pagan "god," is either holding a weapon in his right hand or extremely glad to be in Rome    

If you click on this photo, you will clearly see that the male figure in the center is unclothed.  

As if that weren't disgraceful enough, consider this: his effeminate stance and pre-pubescent size of his genitalia reveal an obsessive paedophilia on the part of the "artist".

As an American and a taxpayer, I want to know: how and why was this so-called classical art purchased?  By whom?  

How I long for morning in America.  This would have never happened on Ronald Reagan's watch!

   

Una nuova realtà salernitana

A new development in the Salerno area

We first visited with Rino di Maggio and Tiziana a year and a half ago.  Lunarossa, the winery they run together about an hour south of Salerno, produces about 55,000 bottles a year of reds and whites on 7.2 hectares, or about 17 hilly acres.  While they have received favorable recognition since their foundation in 2000 from a slew of high-profile Italian publications (Bibenda, Veronelli, Gambero Rossi, etc.) the wines didn't especially appeal to us. The main problem was that Rino pushed really hard on the international varieties; in addition to the local Fiano, Aglianico and Falanghina, he made a lot of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon blends.  They may have won praise in some circles, but we thought they weren't distinctive enough to introduce into the US market.  I mean, really, we have plenty of such blends already on the shelves and wine lists of our suffering land.  We weren't going to load up on another one, or two, or three.

Above: Some dreadful Yank giving Rino an earful

9 Aglianici di Salerno

Most of the big guns in Aglianico are aziende whose vineyards are inland and upland -- especially in the rugged zone known as Irpinia, which encompasses most of Avellino province and parts Benevento.

The Province of Salerno isn't exactly a viticultural wasteland, either, and the critical and popular success -- "popular" as in ka-ching ka-ching -- of wineries like De Conciliis prove that Aglianico has a full and happy life outside the Taurasi hills, thank you very much.

I've written before that the coastal and inland typologies of Aglianico (and other Campanian varieties) are both distinct and valid.  The nine I tasted just a while ago are clearly of the coastal typology -- generally softer, less hard and tannic at the outset, and gorgeous with fresh red fruit scents and flavors.  Within today's selection, of course, there were wide variations, which is hardly surprising given the fact that this province covers fully the entire southern half of Campania.  It's a big and varied area.  

Before I share my meagre tasting notes with you, I must remark again how wonderful it is to see young people -- still in their 20s -- heading up the wineries.  Maybe Daddy or Mummy owns the joint, but young Chiara or Francesco runs the show.  Even though Italy seems to be lousy with oldsters leaning on canes as they hobble up steep declivities, a high proportion of young people are taking over wine.  Perhaps more down here in the Mezzogiorno because the old guard hasn't the same stranglehold as in more evolved regions to the North.  There are new things under the sun.

  

 

I can't bear these crowds: Aglianico tasting, ably led by a lonesome Maria Sarnataro, a newly minted sommelier.

There were more producers here than anyone.

The good, the very good and the bland.

Sorry for not editing.  You want it fast or you want it good, huh?

1. DE CONCILIIS DONNALUNGA 2007

 Strong black cherry perfume and taste, dark ruby color, a layer of oak that's not too intrusive.  Suave and modern.  Commercial but not a sell-out, know what I mean?

2. BARONE PIETRALENA 2008

Understandably still closed, this wine promises to be a knockout.  Lovely acidity, lots of brightness, a little luscious than the De Conciliis but it will, possibly, become easier to drink through a long meal.

3. CARMINE BOTTI 2004

A bit of the lusciousness of #1, very good structure, same DOC as Bruno De C's wine, as you can easily tell.  What a difference some age makes.  Very long and nuanced finish.  The young lady from the azienda joined Maria and spoke about the wine.  She was impressive as was the wine.

4. ANTONIA RIZZO FIIX 2007

Very peppery, "nervous."  Lovely bright red fruit tastes.  Also plum notes as the wine opened.  Most individual character so far.  Very long finish.  Barriques but second passage.  Wood comes on a bit after a while, although it's never excessive.  Good stuff.

At Vitignoitalia

Last year this annual event, dedicated to Italy's own grape varieties (or so the name would suggest), is being held in a different part of Naples. Where last year's edition was at the Overseas Exposition Center, a sprawling place that looks to be from Mussolini's time, this time we're at the lungomare, in and around the city's best hotels and the forbidding Castello dell'Ovo, an island fortress connected to the mainland by a bridge about 30 feet long.

This location is supremely convenient for out-of-towners. You roll out of bed and can taste and go to lectures, etc., right in the Excelsior Hotel. There are lots of nice eateries around. You can keep your car parked -- safely, in a garage.

I don't know if this location is so good for the fair as a whole. The sense of cohesion, of flow, is entirely missing in this chopped-up arrangement. The Castello's exhibit and tasting rooms are both rather small and, yes, dungeonlike.

Still, there are plenty of interesting wines around. I'll write about some of them here and on Muddy Boots over the next couple of days.

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I am offered a freebie at Ravello

And I grab the hell out of it.  

Thanks to the kind intercession of Luigi Reale, one of the grand Domenico Selections producers of Campania, the glamorous and radiant Janet D'--, PR Director of the Hotel Caruso in Ravello, got me a glorious afternoon by the pool.  (I'd link you to her Facebook page, but she wouldn't appreciate your slavering advances.)

She did ask me not to take pictures of the guests in case "someone wasn't with his wife."  I did my best.

Do I feel like a whore for accepting this delightful gift?  Do I feel unethical?  Do I feel played?

Grow up, kids.    

Because every once in a great while, kids, there really is was a free lunch.  

Looking from the pool zone to the main building

You see the same English couple in both these pictures.  They ate by the pool when I did.  The husband seemed a bit shocked by the bill.  Well, hell, rich Germans, Russians and Mariah Carey stay here!

The view more or less northward

The view more or less eastward. Directly below, Minori.  Maiori is at the top of the photo.  What you can't see here is a new concert hall, designed by someone famous whose name escapes me, which will do nothing to wreck the view once it's completed.  

I just like this one -- the house with the Roman roofline standing on its own. And the blue bus!

Ravello can induce vertigo, and not solely for the prices

Riflettendo

12:50 PM, 15 May

 Gete,

Tramonti (SA)

 I came here for a couple of days of relax, as they say here.  I rose very late.  I haven’t left the room and its terrace, not even for a coffee.  I have certain artists plugged into my head – Peter Tosh, Fats Waller, Clyde McPhatter, Bob Dylan, David Bowie, Coleman Hawkins – an endless playlist of nostalgia and hard-won wisdom.  These aid reflection. 

There isn’t much to look at here except the moody skies and descending mist, which is cloaking the green hills with another microlayer of protection against the coming summer.  The lower hills, rounded and terraced to the summits, are fertile today, remnants of an infernal vulcanism many ages ago.  The highest are too steep and rock-ribbed for anything but some clear-cutting where the soil is thickest and the trees are in the rain shadow.

These things aid reflection. 

Reflection should be the aim of rest, riposo, true relaxation.  Vacation, where you empty yourself of everything you need to rid yourself of.  If only for a brief respite.  Few of us elect to let go that much.  Mystics and spiritual directors, among others, tell you to let things go and block things out so as to let the soul speak to you in its hesitant whispers.  The trick is to listen without seeming to.  Try hard and it stays mute.

These hours have given me the unhurried measure to reflect on my various lives, le mie vite, but it’s strange that the most vivid and moving memory has nothing to do with me at all.  I didn’t even know the names of the people.  I’m not even sure of the date or season.  Sometime in the 90s.  I do remember that.  I was living in Akron, Ohio. 

There was some sort of adult education program at my church.  (I used to go to church.)  The guest speaker was a retired rabbi.  After his talk, he opened it up to questions.  A very small, neat lady in her 60s, who sat somewhat to the right of me, posed a question that almost broke my heart this morning. 

She asked the rabbi if he thought there really was a heaven.  Because, she said, missed her husband so terribly; they had always loved each other so. 

I have never heard so much love and loneliness expressed so directly, so urgently or with such raw sincerity.

I don’t remember what the rabbi said.  He seemed taken aback by the woman’s ache to know.  

I do remember that he answered her with tenderness and kindness. He offered hope.

Lizards

The lizards -- lucertole -- are like kittens. Cute, little, darting around. There's one here at Osteria Reale in Tramonti that rules a few meters of a concrete wall, subtly changing colors with the vegetation and the intensity of the sun. He has this pattern of little spots on his back. He has that raptor raptness, as much feline and serpentine, and I saw him gulp down a very large fly, lick his scaly little chops and sit all attention for the next chump.

There's nothing like dolce far niente to make you observant, I suppose. You're not in a rush, you've eaten well and drunk just enough to feel easy and relaxed. The day is warm and the view is spectacular.

Si e' molto contenti. Ma molto.

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More notes from Maiori

The seafront is all but deserted. Clouds and wind, a gratifying whiff of salt spray and foaming waves, sultry warmth. Lots of lonely old men stare out at the gray waters. One young couple, east by the sewerage plant, are stretched out on a long stone bench, petting with not quite enough abandon to excite police action.

The private beach clubs are getting themselves into repair for the summer season. I pass by the smells of varnish and paint. A standing committee of local men, mostly on the hard side of 60, has gathered to offer its critiques of the work of middle-aged men who were once the little kids they used to boss around.

Many men - many more than I'd have imagined - push baby strollers up and down the seafront. They play with their older children in the little play areas.

Kids of school age head for school on Saturdays. They get off early - but the high schoolers always get off very early, by about 1:30. The little kids stay all day; on Thursday a scuolabus was letting some 8-10 year olds off at close to 7 pm. They say primary education is generally good in Italy, and I suppose keeping the kids away from TV and video games for as long as possible works.

Most people here work on Saturdays, like they did in America when I was little. Half a shift at the least. Without the tourists, Saturday night and Sunday dinner are the only busy times for the restaurants.

When you stay in a quiet place just long enough to get a little bored, that's when to start to notice these details of everyday life, the things that are unnoticed by the local people. They're of mild enough interest to a foreigner, although they do reveal, in many small ways, how they really live. Looking for the next big travel sensation cheats you out of these little victories of observation. (Like the fact that a tiny tiny toddler's LaCoste shirt in the store right here costs €43.50. That's half what it costs for an older child's pique' shirt. -- an adlut size actually costs a bit less. Hello, Saks.)

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A note from Maiori

I was going to name this "My life sucks!" Then I thought the irony was just a tad heavy-handed.

I've had a splendid day of top-class freebies. Ethics alert. I'll tell you all about it when I can show as well as tell.

For some reason Typepad isn't allowing me to post comments so I'm forced to create entirely new posts (sorry, Fredric) even just to respond to people.

Thom, thanks for the offer. I'll remember it if you ever come over to The Other Team.

Katie, that beats mine. Poor Frank.

Michele, did I say Vernaccia? Was it Vermentino? I'm not sure. All this dolce vita has an effect.

There's been plenty of work interspersed with the relaxation. Which, by the bye, I needed badly since for a few weeks before leaving for Italy I could feel myself being pursued, ever closer so that he was about to sever my Achilles tendon, by the Black Dog. As Dylan Thomas called depression. And I take all those meds too.

A dopo, as they say.

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