Happy Mother’s Day, Tracie P! I love you, we love you…

When I landed in Frankfurt, Germany a week ago last Tuesday, I turned on my phone to discover that Georgia P, age 6, had fallen from a hammock at our family’s favorite park and broken her collar bone.

“Should I turn around and come back home?” I asked Tracie who was rubbing the sleep from her eyes when we spoke around midnight Texas time.

“No, no, no, she’ll be fine,” she said. “The doctor at the urgent care said to be sure to go to a orthopedic specialist but she’ll be fine.”

Later that day, they had already seen a pediatrician who said she wouldn’t have any trouble healing.

By Friday, Georgia was back at school and her kindergarten class welcomed her with a necklace and pendant. She was proud to show off the badges Tracie had ironed on to her sling.

Tracie P, happy Mother’s Day! I love you, we love you… Georgia and Lila Jane are so lucky to have you as a mother, so caring, loving, and attentive. And I am blessed to call you my wife.

We have built such a wonderful life for our girls and ourselves in our little corner of Houston. It never would have happened had we not fallen in love and decided to grow a family. I love you, we love you… Happy Mother’s Day!

An editio princeps of Gallesio’s Pomona! Enough to make me swoon…

Between libraries in the U.S., England, and Italy, there are roughly 10 extant copies of the first volume of Giorgio Gallesio’s Pomona italiana (Italian Pomology), published in Pisa in 1817. There are another couple of copies to be found in German libraries, at least according to WorldCat.org (a go-to online bibliographic resource). Of course, there are also an unknown number of exemplars in private collections.

The landmark work of 19th-century botany is more properly known as Pomona italiana ossia trattato degli alberi fruttiferi contenente la descrizione delle migliori varietà dei frutti coltivati in Italia (Italian Pomology or Survey of [Treatise on] Fruit Trees, including descriptions of the best varieties of fruit grown in Italy), its complete title. And while the entry devoted to the fig tree is arguably the most famous and the most widely reproduced (including numerous modern reproductions and transcriptions), the volume devoted to grapes — the first in the series — is extremely rare.

Earlier this week, thanks to my work with the Monferrato Growers Association, I had the immense pleasure of viewing a privately owned copy of the first volume at the Bersano winery museum in Nizza.

In other time in my life, I used to spend my days in dusty libraries in Italy, England, and New York, leafing through medieval manuscripts and early printed books. The Vatican, the Marciana (Venice), the Laurenziana (Florence), the Bishop’s Seminary in Padua, the Morgan (New York), the British Library (London, my favorite!), the Ahmanson-Murphy and the Getty (Los Angeles)… o man, those were some rich and happy days, when old old words, often hand-written, leapt off the page and spoke to me. I miss them.

Here are some shots from my all-too-short visit. Click images for high-resolution versions. Note the rare white Rossese, above!

Heartfelt thanks to the folks at the Monferrato consortium and at Bersano: sometimes a boy just gets lucky! I can’t wait to get back.

Brunellogate 10 years gone: Montalcino is stronger than ever

Above: Montalcino’s breathtaking beauty is rivaled only by its extraordinary confluence of culture, history, and tradition — and its enviable economic model.

When I translated this op-ed for Fattoria dei Barbi owner Stefano Cinelli Colombini this week (I manage and contribute to the estate’s blog), I couldn’t help but be blown away by the power of his observations (not to mention his wry humor).

“Wherever great wines are produced in Italy — Montalcino, Langhe, or Valpolicella — the same old litany of grievances [is] repeated again and again,” he observes.

“The show is over and all that’s left for us ‘locals’ to do is cry: Our villages aren’t what they used to be; a wine shop stands where you used to be able to buy underwear; everything is so expensive and you can’t even find a parking spot. We’ve sold our souls and our towns are filled with SUVs and the jerks who drive them.”

But he’d rather drive an extra mile or two for his underwear and zucchini, he writes:

    Our villages are wealthy and vibrant. And they offer many opportunities for our young people. Who are we to complain about not being able to find a good head of lettuce or a pair of underwear?
    A “real” community is a community that has developed its own social, economic, and cultural model for living… It’s a community that offers a sustainable future to its young people. And that’s what we are.

As he points out in the piece, rare are the communities where a natural disposition for fine wine growing is combined with robust culture, rich history, and deep-seated tradition. Montalcino, he notes, is one of those uncommon examples where a model for sustained prosperity has emerged thanks to a confluence of shared vision and viticultural inclination.

Such a community, he notes, “also needs to know how to preserve its identity and how to rise up again after a crisis. Because sooner or later, the other shoe will drop.”

As I read and translated that line, it occurred to me: 10 years have just passed since news of the “Brunello scandal” broke on the floor of Vinitaly, the annual Italian wine trade fair in Verona, in the spring of 2008.

Today, I can’t imagine an Italian wine industry observer who wouldn’t concur that Montalcino and perception of its wines among consumers and trade members are stronger than ever.

I recently launched a Brunello program at a restaurant where I consult in Los Angeles: after a string of highly rated vintages, it’s the only Italian wine “brand” that seems to sell itself. Our offering is arguably more esoteric than most of our competitors’ and few of our guests recognize the estates we carry. But that hasn’t hampered sales by any means. All it takes is the mention of “Brunello”… And in the three months since we debuted the selection, not one — not a single one — of the diners has mentioned the controversy.

“If I need to drive a couple of extra miles to buy some zucchini,” writes Stefano, “that’s fine with me. You can keep your radishes. I’ll take the Brunello instead.”

Sommelier, sommelier! I’ll have what he’s having!

Vitello tonnato: a photographic retrospective

The photo above (snapped the other night at Battaglino in Bra where I’m teaching this week and next) prompted a robust thread of comments by fellow vitello tonnato lovers on my Facebook.

My friend Logan Cooper from Austin, a food blogger I admire greatly, wrote the following:

    The first time I encountered this dish I was a young man visiting Milan. I was confused, put off, and generally disparaging that such a thing wasn’t a weird joke on tourists. I was wrong. In the years since, this dish has held delight, surprise, and mystery. So many flavors, so many variations, still slightly baffling. If cognitive dissonance had a Italian mascot, vitello tonnato would be near the front of the line.

I love his candor and exhilaration.

And I love vitello tonnato — roast or boiled veal, thinly sliced and topped with a sauce made from olive oil-cured tuna, salted anchovies, raw eggs, and brined capers — in part because of its deliciously satisfying character and in part because of its easy digestion. It’s a dish that “agrees” with me on every level.

The following are some interpretations I’ve enjoyed over the last few years. And here’s a translation of what is perhaps the earliest printed version of the recipe, Pellegrino Artusi’s. I rendered it into English a few years ago for Tenuta Carretta. Note the absence of egg.

Centro storico vinoteca.

Osteria More e Macine.

Poderi Colla.

Locanda in Cannubi.

Local Bra.

Battaglino (from last year).

Back on campus @UniSG and back in Barbera (debunking the “Louis Oudart” canard)

When professor Michele Fino, director of the master’s programs at the University of Gastronomic Sciences (the Slow Food university in Piedmont, above), asked me to deliver his department’s matricula lecture this term, I couldn’t have been more thrilled or honored.

This morning, I led the first of 12 three-hour seminars for the assembled group of master’s students: “Food writing from Maestro Martino to #MeToo: the arc of Marxist alienation in modern gastronomy.”

Needless to say, the first recipe we discussed was for pizza dough cinnamon rolls.

(Saturday marks the 200th anniversary of Marx’s birthday, btw.)

Teaching is always such a rewarding experience for me and we have an awesome group of genuinely motivated and thoroughly talented philomaths — a very international crowd this year. It’s a drag to be away from home but the students and our rich confabulations really make it worthwhile.

In other news…

My Name Is Barbera, a collaborative blog published by the Barbera d’Asti growers association, shared my most recent post for the group this morning: “When Barbera Saved the (Wine) World.”

The deeper I dig into my research into Barbera and its legacy, the more I realize that we would be (and should be) drinking Barbera today instead of Merlot… that is, had things played out differently. There’s no doubt in my mind: the grape variety was positioned to become the red grape of the world — par excellence.

I’ve discovered compelling evidence of its widespread popularity in the landmark Ampélographie universelle (1841) by Alexandre-Pierre Odart.

The French ampelographer (who existed) shouldn’t be confused with the canard Louis Oudart: despite the lack of any evidence whatsoever, many wine writers — Italian and American — continue to propagate the erroneous nugget that “Oudart” was summoned by Barolo grower Camillo Cavour (the noted Italian statesman and architect of Italy’s unification) because the latter hoped he would teach the Langhetti how to make proper wine.

Will the real Odart please stand up? He was much more interested in Barbera than in Nebbiolo.

Please check out my post: I think you’ll find my discoveries as fascinating as I do (and there’s a bottle of Barbera in it for anyone who can prove me wrong!).

In other other news…

I’m really loving Renaissance Woman: The Life of Vittoria Colonna (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, April 2018) by Ramie Targoff. I picked it up to read on the plane and haven’t been able to put it down.