Friuli could lose one of its most iconic vineyards as local government repairs landslide damage.

Posted on by

vineyard friuli italyTwo persons perished and nearly 100 people were displaced from their homes when a landslide ravaged the village of Brazzano in Friuli in northeastern Italy last November. The catastrophe was brought on by torrential rains: a mudslide tore through the hamlet, which lies in the heart of Friuli’s Collio wine appellation.

Now, it seems that one of the region’s most iconic vineyards will also fall victim to the tragedy.

The Borgo del Tiglio winery’s famous Ronco della Chiesa (Church Hill) vineyard is currently slated to be razed in efforts to make the area safe for human habitation. That’s an image of the vineyard before the rains tore through the town. It was shared with me by Mattia Manferrari, son of legacy grape grower Nicola Manferrari whose family has managed the site for generations. Over the decades since World War II, this parcel has produced what are considered to be some of Italy’s best white wines, known for terroir-driven character and longevity in the cellar (I’ve drunk Borgo del Tiglio stretching back to the 1990s, stunning wines that reflect lifetimes of care and maniacal passion in the vineyard).

You can read about the “tragedy at Borgo del Tiglio” and see images of the devastation on Kevin Day’s blog Opening a Bottle. A number of high-profile wine writers wrote about the disaster late last year.

Today, the Manferrari family is facing nothing short of an existential threat to their identity as grape growers.

Nicola has mounted a letter-writing campaign to the president of the region of Friuli, Massimiliano Fedriga (he can be reached at presidente@regione.fvg.it). Friends of the estate have been asking wine writers and industry observers to urge the local government to find a solution that won’t require destruction of the historic growing site.

They have asked me to share their story here. Their hope is that visibility in one of Italy’s most important wine markets will help to illustrate the urgency of their request to local officials. If so inclined, please share and please write to president Fedriga. Thank you.

What was it like to live in New York City in the 1990s?

Posted on by

After I filed my dissertation at U.C.L.A. in 1997, there was no doubt in my mind that my next move was going to be to New York City.

In October of the same year when Comet Hale-Bopp passed by our planet and Hong Kong was given back to the People’s Republic of China, I rented a U-Haul truck and drove across country with all of my possessions and my cat, Bibiche.

I landed in Brooklyn where a family friend snagged me the last good deal on a Brownstone floor through in Park Slope (the landlord was offering it at $800 per month and my friend offered $1,000 to seal the deal; that’s how competitive it was, even before the Park Slope revival).

A headhunter had found me a job at an Italian rolling stock company in Midtown. Yes, rolling stock — trains. I was hired as a “marketing specialist” purely because I was bi-lingual.

Six months later, I had found my new calling as an editor at the newly launched English-language version of La Cucina Italiana, the historic gastronomy magazine.

It was the worst time and the best time. I’ll never forget the indignities of the morning schlepp into Manhattan every day. Freezing cold, sweltering hot — you walked every day to the D train with a million other schlubs trying to make their way, just like me. I was barely making enough to pay my rent. But I knew I had stumbled on to something good. My boss was such an asshole, an abusive manager who ended up being sued for sexual harassment. But I just kept my nose to the ground and made the most of it. That was the first year of my career as a food and wine writer.

By 1999 I was playing music in all the cool clubs on the Lower East Side and in Brooklyn. So many incredible bands got their start during that time. I believe a lot of folks would agree that it was the last great era of indy rock in lower Manhattan.

It was an incredible time to be in the city. Babbo opened in 1998 and the Italian food and wine renaissance was just beginning to take shape.

To be continued…

“We’re cooked.” A 12-year-old’s take on the world wars.

Posted on by

“At least we’re not invading North Korea.”

That’s what our 12-year-old daughter said wryly we watched the evening news yesterday. The president of the U.S. had just said that the U.S. plans to take control of Cuba.

“I think I can do anything I want with it,” said the leader of the (no longer) free world as we watched.

Either way, said our daughter, “we’re cooked.”

Tracie and I struggle with how to talk to our girls about the world wars that unfold nightly on television. We feel strongly that they need to be engaged with world events. They will be exposed to the news, our thinking goes, no matter what we do. But we can help them deal with their feelings by guiding them through nuanced issues they may not understand. Giving them the opportunity to articulate their emotions is the key to their better health, we believe.

But how do you talk to your 12- and 14-year-olds when you can’t contain your weeping at the sight of children dying every day?

Here in America, it can be easy to tune out the wars. In other parts of the world, from what we can see, that’s not the case.

I have an Italian friend, a woman roughly my age, who posts updates on the number of children killed in Iran and Gaza nearly every day. She has kids not much older than ours. As hard as it is to see each night, I try to check in with her feed regularly. We mustn’t ever forget, I say to myself over and over, that children are dying every day in imperial wars driven by petroleum and humans’ will to power.

“All things are subject to interpretation,” wrote Nietzsche. “Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.” The philosopher’s (in)famous aphorism seems more relevant than ever, especially in the age and rage of social media.

We teach our children to look beyond the projections of power, to seek truth, however ethereal it may be.

Our truth? We must stop these wars before more children die. G-d bless the children.

Image: “Boy seated in wreckage of building after a bombing raid of London during World War II, Library of Congress, 1945.

The Oscars won’t be the same without her.

Posted on by

Everyone who knows me well knows that I used to speak to my mother nearly every day.

Even when I was living in New York in the late 1990s, we always made time to catch up, if not every day, then every other day.

After she passed in October of last year, it’s been really hard to fill those 30 minutes we would spend on the phone.

This is the time of year that she would be telling me about the Oscars, one of her favorite events of the year.

She would watch nearly all the films in competition and handicap them with her friends. And then on Oscars night, she would cook dinner and host a watch party for a friend (usually Marie; I would provide the wine).

It was a sine qua non day in her calendar.

There’s a great line from the song Gram Parsons wrote for his mother, “Brass Buttons”: “And the sun gets up without her/doesn’t know she’s gone.”

That’s how I’m feeling today knowing that I can’t call Judy and ask her who her favorites-to-win are. And she won’t be drinking that bottle of Etna white that I left her in her fridge.

Tracie, the girls, and I will watch the red carpet tonight. It’s the first year of the Oscars without Judy. I miss her so much.

A need for joy as the world falls to pieces.

Posted on by

As a 19-year-old student of Italian, I was obsessed with Neorealist cinema.

That’s a shot from the closing scene of “Rome Open City,” Roberto Rossellini’s iconic 1945 film, one of the most famous works made during the war era.

Watching those movies — “Paison,” “Bitter Rice,” “Bicycle Thieves”… — as a young adult was a life-changing experience for me. Their characters were superhumans in my mind, capable of facing the worst that life could deal them: war, persecution, hunger, loss of liberty, death. It helped me to understand the hardship endured by my paternal great-grandparents, who were born into deep poverty in Russia (they fled the Cossacks in the first decade of the last century).

Yet those characters, often real people who had been recruited from the street, were also all too human. Italian filmmakers’ brilliant work brought their suffering to the screen in a (neo) real way that the world had never seen before.

I dreamed that I could be as strong when confronted by the life-and-death decisions that people in war are forced to make. I hoped that I could be as graceful were I ever to find myself in the bellic worst-case-scenario like those victims of imperialist war.

Today, Tracie, the girls, and I watch scenes on TV that seem plucked from a Neorealist film: the raids targeting brown people in our country, protesters being shot by federal agents, the concentration camps where brown people are treated like animals (see Pontecorvo’s “Kapò”), the imperial wars in Iran and Ukraine, the plight of Palestinian children…

Sometimes I wonder if we are just another bourgeois family in 1933 quietly pretending that the world isn’t falling apart. Actually, it’s more like 1939 at this point.

At our dinner table, we talk every night about the tragedies unfolding across our planet.

But like those Neorealist characters, we also try to find beauty and joy in the world around us, in the mundane as it were, in each other. If we didn’t, all would be lost. Maybe it was those characters’ fleeting joy, however ephemeral, that gave them the courage to withstand the unthinkable. I hope so.

Stop using the word “ghetto” unless you really know what it means!

Posted on by

Something that blew my mind: when my post about my support for Jasmine Crockett blew up (300+ comments and counting), people assailing me from both hard right and hard left used the word “ghetto” in their attacks.

Do they even know what the term means?

Many will be surprised to learn that the word ghetto is Italian in origin. And to be more exact, Venetian in origin.

The first ghetto in history was founded in Venice in the early 16th century, in the neighborhood where the city’s foundries were located. The word “gheto” in Venetian dialect denotes “foundry” (its Latin origins bring it back to iectare, “to throw,” gettare in Italian).

That was the first ghetto in history, created by the Venetians to concentrate the Jews.

The term spread through Europe as other cities mirrored the Venetians’ racist policy.

By the mid-19th century, ghetto came to denote a place where a racial or ethnic group was segregated from the greater community.

The Oxford English Dictionary gives this definition from 1855 forward: “Any area occupied predominantly by a particular social or ethnic group, esp. a densely populated urban area which is subject to social and economic pressures, tending to restrict its demographic profile; an enclave. Also in extended (and sometimes ironic) use.”

An example from Melville: “The belittered Ghetto, forward of the main-mast, wholly occupied by the blacks.”

By the late 19th century, a new meaning emerged: “Originally and chiefly in the United States: a socially and economically disadvantaged inner-city area predominantly populated by African American people” (Oxford English Dictionary).

We don’t use or teach our children to use the word in our house. It’s a historic term in our view, a word that has been used to disparage Black people in our country since before I was born.

If you didn’t vote for Jasmine Crockett because she’s Black and you think that other white people wouldn’t vote for her, well, I’ve got news for you. Your doubly racist. (I’m echoing the words of one of my favorite Houston-based political bloggers, Erika Harrison, @blackgirlswhobrunch; thank you Erika for your awesome writing on the campaign!)

And oh yeah, stop using the word ghetto unless you are going to use it correctly and respectfully!

Photo credit: “Venezia – Cartello di ingresso al Ghetto” by Luca Paolini, CC BY-ND 2.0.

American trolls: 200+ comments, many racist and nasty, from people I don’t know.

Posted on by

Since when is temperate civil discourse about politics considered intolerable in this country?

Oh yeah, I forgot, it became officially intolerable when in 2016 when Trump disparaged Ted Cruz’s wife and Rubio’s hands.

In case you had any doubts, in May 2024, Taylor Green insulted Jasmine Crockett about her eyelashes and we barely batted one. Crockett responded by commenting on Taylor Green’s “bleach-blonde, bad-built, butch body.”

When I posted my preference for Crockett in yesterday’s Texas primary race, I was expecting to get maybe 30-40 interactions.

Instead I got three times that much and more than 200 comments, many of the overtly racist and nasty, from people I don’t know.

The trolls on Facebook have been out to get me for a while (since I started posting about FIEL). But the oversized response to my simple expression of political joy and hope shows that people like me are targets.

I’ve lived in Texas now for nearly 20 years. Over those decades, I’ve observed the trollification of our state government and the Texasification of the federal government.

One of the best overviews of the Texan political panorama I’ve read is “Paxton Is a Texas-Size Troll. Is That What G.O.P. Voters Want?” by conservative political commentator Kevin Williamson, published today by the Times.

“Texas is more closely divided than you might think,” writes Williamson. “That is in part because Texas is no longer entirely the land of ‘wide open spaces’ but an increasingly urban state, home to six of the 25 largest cities in the country and two of the five largest metropolitan areas. Republicans do not typically fare well in urban areas — they haven’t won a mayoral election in Houston in more than 40 years.”

Williamson calls out Paxton for his corruption and trolling (see the title): “Paxton might be described, without exaggeration, as the most scandal-plagued politician in the country.”

He also calls out Jasmine Crockett for her own brand of trolling: “Ms. Crockett rode that pony a long way.”

I’m disappointed by Crockett’s loss but am giving my 1,000 percent support to Talarico. Let’s hope it’s Paxton v. Talarico, that’s a fight I’d like to see.

Vote Jasmine Crockett! Texas isn’t just a bunch of John Waynes (despite what the white people think)!

Posted on by

One of my favorite California-Texas put-downs was voiced by sister-in-law, my little brother’s wife.

“How can you live in Texas with all those awful people?” she chided me not long after I moved here to be with Tracie.

People outside our state love to put us down.

Back when she said that to me, I wanted to (but didn’t) tell her: what about all the Brown and Black people who live in my state? Are they awful, too? Or is it only the white people who look like you?

Guess what! There is more to Texas than John Wayne and the movies!

Anyone who’s ever spent time here knows the answer to that, unless they’ve only hung out in the Woodlands and at the Yacht Club.

According to the pundits, Texas has the largest number of eligible Black voters in the U.S.

And a lot of folks here are getting excited about Jasmine Crockett’s campaign for senate.

I like both James Talarico and Jasmine Crockett. But I am convinced that she is the stronger candidate for the moment.

I believe that she can mount a more compelling campaign against Cornyn or Paxton.

Can you imagine a race between Paxton, one of the most corrupt politicians in Texas history (and that’s saying a lot!), and Crockett? Even if she didn’t prevail, her ability to reveal GOP hypocrisy would further our cause.

G-d bless both Dems. But my vote is with Jasmine!

If you haven’t already, please vote, my fellow Texans! Either way, we need to show up on voting day if we want to change our country’s racist and imperial policies.

We’ll send all the awful people to San Diego to be with my brother and his wife. They deserve each other.

Italia mia, it’s not addio but arrivederci.

Posted on by

Over the last few weeks, a number of Italian wine folks have written asking me if I’m attending this or that tasting, if I’m available to meet with a visiting winemaker, when I’m coming back to Italy, if I’ll be at Slow Wine…

It’s incredible to think that I haven’t been back to Italy in nearly 12 months. There was a time when I traveled to my spiritual homeland six to nine times a year.

It’s next to unbelievable to think that I haven’t even left Texas since I attended my mother’s funeral in San Diego in November. I used to be on the road two weeks every month, leading seminars and events across the U.S.

I’m both happy and sorry to report that my work in Italian wine is coming to an end.

The number one reason for that is that Tracie’s career is going so well (poo, poo, poo!) that she needs me here to take care of the girls, the dogs, and the house, etc. I made a more than decent living in the wine business for 20+ years. Tracie was a stay-at-home mom for the first decade of the girls’ lives. But now she’s the bread winner and I’ve shifted to supporting her success.

I was fortunate to have such a rewarding arc in Italian wine: when I started out in 1999, the category was just taking off; by the time I left NYC in 2007, fine Italian wine had become a contender.

But wine and food were a detour for me: by working in Italian enogastronomy, I was able to support myself and then later my family. My greatest interest was in Italian culture and history. Wine and food were a means to keep me connected to the land of Petrarch, Pasolini, and Pontormo while bringing home the pancetta, as it were.

I won’t be returning to Europe until this summer when we visit as a family. But we will be tourists — no longer “authorized personnel.” Instead of dragging our daughters to wine country, I’ll be taking them to see the Vatican and the Uffizi (places of my youth!).

I’m not going to stop writing about Italy. But I’m also going to expand my focus to reflect my other interests, like Italian literature and our growing activism here in Texas.

Italia mia, thank you for all you’ve given me. This is no addio. It’s just an arrivederci.

ICE protests in Italy? “Round ups” resonate among Italians familiar with history.

Posted on by

The Italian word for “round up” (as in the raids conducted by ICE in the U.S.) is rastrellamento, literally, a raking up.

For Italians old enough to remember World War II, the term evokes memories of the “Black Shirts,” Mussolini’s paramilitary thugs who seized undesirables, enemies of the state, intellectuals, foreigners, homosexuals, Jews, etc.

For those familiar with history, the scenes broadcast from Minneapolis around the world reverberate with Italians who have studied what happened in their own country in the 1920s and 30s.

It’s no wonder that the Milanese took to the streets to protest the presence of ICE agents at this year’s Winter Olympics. (Yes, the U.S. sent ICE agents to the games; Google it.)

To illustrate what I’m talking about, please have a look at this iconic sequence from the neorealist classic film Rome: Open City.

The movie was made in 1945 using the war-torn streets of Rome as the backdrop and citizen actors as the “face” of the tragedy.

Look closely at the characters in the YouTube clip below and you’ll see the same terror and sorrow that I’ve seen as families are being torn apart by federal officers in our country.

Please join me — and the Italians — in standing up and speaking out against our government’s inhumane, racist policies.