The Wide Roots Manifesto

I saw the word, and my initial reaction was irony. But only briefly.

“Aglianico.”

The important red grape from the Campania region of Italy, it would have made sense to see this word had I been in Naples, or the Amalfi Coast.

But instead, I was 5,878 miles away, at the airport in Austin, Texas. At a barbecue restaurant, with live musicians playing nearby (definitely the coolest airport I’ve ever seen). And the aglianico I saw was not an imported bottle from an estate in Campania, but instead the product of a local producer in Texas.

The initial irony would fade as I considered that aglianico is a warm climate grape, since Campania is in the south of Italy. Of course, Texas is a warm climate, and up-and-coming as a wine-producing state.

The irony faded further after I requested a sample, my curiosity getting the better of me. 

I tasted it and the trademark tannic grip of aglianico was present. The wine was not a fruit bomb, and was nicely harmonized. A great example.

I wanted immediately to have aglianico produced in Italy for comparison; I thought the Texas version would do just fine, and could hold its own against a native example.

In this moment, I had the epiphany of exactly what I was trying to articulate, about why the term “Wide Roots” captures what we are all about.

Wine can be frustrating, unapproachable, and intimidating. For someone new to wine, it can be difficult to stand in front of a wall of Italian or French or Spanish wines and be confident in making a good purchase decision. “Will I like it?” “Will my friends like it?” “Do I need to pay more for a good bottle?”

There is a lot of talk about wine that makes it unapproachable. Descriptions of flavors and characters that are difficult to detect if one is not a sommelier or experienced taster. Exacting food pairings (does it really need to be served with a braised rabbit cheek with a side of candied carrots?). As a new wine drinker, I often found it difficult to explore, and was worried about taking chances, because I thought I wouldn’t appreciate them fully or wouldn’t like them or would simply make a bad choice. As I learned more, I became more comfortable, especially with purchasing ~$15 retail price point bottles from Italy and Spain, that were unfamiliar to me…but the vast majority of the time would be interesting and good, even though I couldn’t articulate the flavor profile like a sommelier.

Jet away for a moment, from the retail shelf, to a village in a wine-making region in Europe. Wine is not a special, elite, mysterious beverage. It is a drink for everyone, for every occasion. The wines of the village are what are consumed, with the local cuisine. People do not worry about complex flavor profiles and “hints of cassis with a touch of cinnamon”. 

The wine is at the center of gatherings of families and friends…and laughter, and good feelings.

Much can be made about cultural differences, across countries and regions and even within, at times. But in my travels, what has consistently struck me most, and makes me feel most *human*, is that commonality of value for having good times with family and friends. We’re really not all that different. The vast majority of us are doing the best we can to simply make our way in the world, and at the end of the day, our time with family and friends is the reward.

Back to aglianico. And back to my seat at the barbecue place in Austin airport.

I imagined a gathering of people, in a village in Campania, under Mt. Vesuvius, enjoying Neapolitan pizza and company and aglianico. And nearly 6,000 miles away in Texas, 7 hours later to account for the time zone difference, another gathering of friends near a barbecue pit, enjoying the local aglianico of a Texas producer, and enjoying themselves as heartily and similarly as the gathering in Campania.

The metaphor of the flower with roots spreading into different lands seemed apt at the moment. A common flower, representing our common humanity. The roots, spreading wide into different lands, connecting us and minimizing our differences.

My hope is that in stressing this message of commonality and humanity across borders and continents, we can make wine a less intimidating and more approachable category. A consumer looking at the Italian wines on a store shelf can imagine the village where the winemaker resides, and the local cuisine, and the family gatherings…and purchasing that bottle provides a connection to that life and to that priority of good times with family and friends that is so core to all of us.

If you see a bottle of aglianico on the shelf for under $20, it could be an interesting purchase. For someone who does not like tannic wines, opening the bottle a few hours before serving, and even decanting, can tame those tannins and make the wine no less enjoyable.

And as you sip that glass, consider the roots that run wide throughout the earth and connect us into one humanity.