Originally, I had hoped to post something sharing the experience of traveling in Italy. Larger forces have intervened, and I have indefinitely postponed my trip. It can be tempting to lament the inconvenience that restrictions and quarantines and “social distancing” place upon us. Every day, I remind myself that this is bigger than Wide Roots, and bigger than me. It is life or death, for some people.
The health of family and friends, of our sisters and brothers everywhere in the world…in the US, in Italy, in China, in Korea, and everywhere else…is of utmost priority and importance. We will get through this. The measures that are inconveniencing us now will slow the spread, and buy us time to learn more about COVID 19. We will learn more about actual death rates, develop treatments, and eventually develop vaccines. And if we are successful, we will minimize the overload on the health care system. At the moment, in Lombardia (Italy), the epicenter of the outbreak there, hospital beds are short, and it is difficult to give people the care they need. Doctors are making gut-wrenching choices. Hopefully we learn from this and we do not allow a similar strain on the system in the US.
I’ve been watching this situation in Italy for a month, and now in the US. I’ve been in contact with people on the ground, in Italy. I’ve heard the tone change over that time, from “this is only the flu” to “this is something very, very serious”.
With that, instead of posting fascinating travel stories, I will post something about framing perspective on Old World wines.
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Seven years ago, I learned that I had an “Old World” palate. I had just met Bernie Vogel, the man who would go on to be my mentor and my wine guru. Bernie opened up the world of European wine, also known as “Old World” wine, to me. (By contrast, “New World” would refer to wines produced in the US, Australia, New Zealand, Chile, Argentina, South Africa, and other locations outside the traditional European winemaking countries).
Prior to this, visiting a wine store was an adventure, and not always a fun one. I would stand in front of a wall of French wines, not knowing what I was looking at, trying to relate to grapes and “comfort”. Italy and Spain? Skipped altogether. In-store tastings? I would avoid these, for fear of saying the wrong thing, of not appreciating the wines that were poured like the other participants. Maybe even not fitting in. All I really wanted was to select something that was good.
Bernie helped me to decode the Old World. He did so with passion, enthusiasm, and patience. And he made it approachable the entire time.
In the US, what is the first “classification” one thinks of when considering wine? It is normally the grape from which the wine is produced. Chardonnay, Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Sauvignon Blanc, Zinfandel. The New World labels its wines this way, and many consumers purchase based on a grape they like.
Why is Old World wine less approachable? Because in the Old World, the selling point of the wine is not necessarily the grape. Instead, it is the location, and the wine’s authenticity of having been made in a particular location. In countries such as France, Italy, and Spain, a system of denominacions and appellations developed, in the interest of protecting this authenticity. This was a legal mechanism to deter imposters from producing “Bordeaux” or other regional wines that were not actually produced in that location. It is also in-line with terroir, that magical term that tells us there is something unique about the actual place where the grapes are grown and the wine is made, that imparts a tangible character to those wines.
What isn’t always evident is that due to historical and indigenous tradition, a denominacion or appellation normally specifies many rules for production, and a winery must abide by those rules in order to refer to it on its label. And grape type is a big part of this.
Back to the wine store. I’m looking for a Chardonnay. Sounds like a French grape. Yet I don’t see “Chardonnay” among the French wines. Help!
If I know that a white wine from Burgundy (Bourgogne) is pretty much always going to be a Chardonnay, then no problem.
But how do I know all of the locations and all of the corresponding grapes? Do I need some kind of decoder ring?
Some wine stores will do this work for the consumer, listing grape names in displays or even organizing by grape name.
However, what of a country like Italy? The grape names are not always familiar to consumers. Aglianico, Vermentino, Verdicchio, Negroamaro, Nero D’Avola, Primitivo, Nebbiolo, Rondinella…the list goes on, and on, and on.
Maybe the solution isn’t knowing every grape for every region. Maybe the solution is thinking differently about where the wine comes from.
Behind every bottle is a story, and a local culture. The people of Jesi, a medieval town in the Marche region of Italy, relentlessly love their Verdicchio. It is part of the fabric of their culture. It is the centerpiece of their gatherings, and a staple at meals. In the Catalonia region of Spain, an area with its own language and an independent streak, the red wines of Priorat (based on Garnacha, the Spanish name for the grape also known as Grenache) are a gem, and part of every day life.
This brings me back to Bernie. I met Bernie when he was teaching Wine 101. This was a 4 week class that had the best homework assignment—taste wine and report on it during the next class. Bernie gave the same guidance at the end of each session, and I can hear his voice when I think of these words…”Pull corks.” Take chances, explore, note what you like, or even don’t like.
I’ve pulled many, many corks since then. And a whole world opened up to me as a result. Many of those were chances I took, purchasing a bottle from a region of Italy or Spain or France at a ~$15 price point. Not all were good, or to my liking. But the vast majority were very good, and very interesting, and different from other wines I tried. Some became staples in my wine rack. Eventually the world of retail stores and restaurant wine lists opened up to me, because I knew what I was looking at and I knew what people might find interesting.
I simply like to think of the area from which the wine came. And the importance the wine has to that local culture, how it goes with their food, how it is the center of people being together and laughing and having good times. I imagine being there with the people of the region, enjoying myself right along with them.
It won’t bite. It’s there waiting for you. You don’t need the palate or knowledge of a sommelier to appreciate the wine. In Bernie’s words, “Pull corks.”