Magazine sitings and writings

My friend Lawrence Osborne gave me a shout out in the current issue of Men’s Vogue (June/July 2008), in an article about a wine that means a lot to me: Lini Lambrusco. I can’t say that I mind being called “a wine connoisseur and Italian scholar extraordinaire” by the Accidental Connoisseur himself.

Alicia Lini and I first met in February of 2007 when I traveled to Italy in search of metodo classico or méthode champenoise Lambrusco (i.e., double-fermented in bottle). She and I became good friends and it’s great to see her (with her cover girl looks) and her wines get the attention they deserve.

I also made an appearance in the Spring issue of Gastronomica with a piece on the history of pasta, Risorgimento Italy, and pasta’s role in the Italian national identity.

Ed-in-chief Darra Goldstein had asked me to write a review of a CD devoted to pasta-inspired music and she generously let me turn the piece into short essay.

In case you can’t find a copy of the mag at your local newsstand, I made a PDF (downloadable here).

The mystery of the White Lady resolved

When Céline, the band, and I returned to La Dama Bianca on our way back to Venice to lunch with our friend Marco Fantinel, we were served these delicious paccheri (homemade ring-shaped pasta) with shrimp and squid.

My post the other day on La Dama Bianca in Duino (Italy Day 7) generated a tide of comments, including a number of messages from fellow fans/lovers of the the restaurant/hotel: it’s one of those truly magical places and once you’ve been, you count the days until you can return (Céline Dijon liked it so much that we decided to stop there for lunch on our way back from Slovenia).

Céline (left), the band, and I met Marco (right) on our way back to Venice. The weather was beautiful and the food… ah… the food at La Dama Bianca always puts you in a good mood.

Pierpaolo from Trieste wrote:

    The name “Dama bianca” came from a legend, inspired by a white rock that, seen from the sea, it seems a female figure wrapped in a long veil. The legend tells of the evil owner of the old castle of Duino (today only ruins) during the Middle Ages, who threw his wife from a precipice and God, moved to mercy by the shouts of the “pure” lady, transformed her into stone before touching the water.

Thanks, Pieropaolo, for resolving the mystery.

Simona author of Briciole also pointed me to this Wikipedia entry on Duino.

I’m not quite sure the origin of paccheri (see photo at top), although I know that some believe the pasta shape was created to smuggle garlic cloves. Maybe Simona can help us to resolve the paccheri mystery…

Italy Day 7: Words cannot describe the way I feel…

…about La Dama Bianca in Duino near Trieste.

Scallops on the shell were divine. Note how they chef left the scallop’s tasty “foot” attached.

On Monday, April 7, Céline (vox aka Verena Wiesendanger), Bonnie (vox, violin aka Emily Welsch), and Jean-Luc (vox, bass aka Dan Crane) arrived at the Venice airport and we headed north to Duino, a little lost-in-time village just south of Trieste along the Adriatic coast. We had a reservation for dinner and an over-night stay at what is simply one of the most delightful hotel/restaurants I have ever had the pleasure to experience.

La Dama Bianca (The White Lady) is a family-owned seafood restaurant with just five single rooms on the second floor: the father does the fishing, the mother does the cooking, and the son serves as sommelier (and his list is a wonderful romp through Carso, Collio, and Colli Orientali).

Lost in time: the Dama Bianca has remained seemingly unchanged since the 1960s, as has the village of Duino. The rooms, each with a sea-view terrace, were spartan but immaculately clean and after six days of traveling and wine fairs, the gentle rhythm of the tide against the breakwater lulled me to sleep like a baby.

One of the chef’s signatures was the combination of two types of seafood in every dish, like these sautéed shrimp served with baby sea scallops.

When I told Dario that we wanted to drink a Vodopivec Vitovska with our our main course — scorfano (scorpion fish) in cartoccio (en papillote or in parchment paper) — he produced no less than four vintages. On his recommendation, we drank the 2003, which was beautiful, oxidized, with fruit notes as golden as the color of the wine (below).

2003 Vodopivec Vitovska.

It was dusk when we arrived at the small breakwater and harbor. A gentleman was fishing and enjoying the “golden hour.”

An auto-timer of Jean-Luc, Bonnie, Céline, and me (Calvino di Maggio, detto Cal d’Hommage).

Albergo Dama Bianca
Frazione Duino, 61/C
34011 Duino Aurisina (TS)
040 208137

Stay tuned for Slovenia Day 1!

Sail On or Chips and Salsa

Editor’s note: The events and characters depicted in this photoplay are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons living or dead, or to actual events, is purely coincidental.

Above: 7:19 p.m. chips and salsa at Bahia Don Bravo taco shop in Bird Rock, La Jolla.

Sail on down the line
About half a mile or so
And I don’t really wanna know ah
Where you’re going

Maybe once or twice you see
Time after time I tried
Hold on to what we got
But now you’re going

And I don’t mind
About the things you’re gonna say
Lord, I gave all my money and my time
I know it’s a shame
But I’m giving you back your name
Guess I’ll be on my way
I won’t be back to stay
I guess I’ll move along
I’m looking for a good time

Sail on down the line
Ain’t it funny how the time can go
All my friends say they told me so
But it doesn’t matter
It was plain to see
That a small town boy like me
Just I wasn’t your cup of tea
I was wishful thinking

I gave you my heart
And I tried to make you happy
And you gave me nothing in return
You know it ain’t so hard to say
Would you please just go away

I’ve thrown away the blues
I’m tired of being used
I want everyone to know
I’m looking for a good time
Good time
Sail on honey
Good times never felt so good
Sail on honey
Good times never felt so good
Sail on sugar
Good times never felt so good
Sail on

— Commodores

Italy Days 5 and 6: South Tyrol

Above: no, those ain’t no matzoh balls… they’re canderli at Santlhof, a rustic tavern that shot immediately to the top of my all-time great restaurant experiences. Canederli or knödel are speck-filled bread dumplings served in broth, a classic South Tyrolean first course.

On Saturday April 5, five days in to my trip, I spent the morning and better part of the afternoon tasting at Vinitaly. The highlight that day was Il Poggione, a traditional-style producer of Brunello, who has emerged unscathed by the recent Brunello controversy. One of the most fascinating insights that winemaker Fabrizio Bindocci shared with me was his belief that mandatory dry farming is one of the appellation’s biggest problems. “If producers in the lower-lying [and consequently warmer] areas of the appellation were allowed to irrigate in 2003,” said Fabrizio, “they wouldn’t have had as many problems dealing with warm temperatures in summer.” If used judiciously, he explained, “irrigation could be a positive change for Brunello.” He also noted that many growers have vines that “are too young” and as a result, the roots can’t find the water table when the weather is excessively warm. While many have proposed that Brunello producers be allowed to use grape varieties other than Sangiovese (a change vehemently opposed by Fabrizio), irrigation, he said, could help to resolve some of the appellation’s current problems.

Above: Speck at Santlhof. Speck is a smoked prosciutto, a classic of German-speaking Italy. It’s spicier than its cousins in San Daniele in Friuli and Parma in Emilia and it pairs beautifully with the fresh white wines they make up there. (Look for an upcoming post on my visit to a San Daniele prosciutto producer.)

I had been invited to an industry party to be held Sunday night at the Hofstätter winery in Tramin (Termeno, in Italian). Late Saturday afternoon, I headed out of Verona toward the alps and checked into a hotel that I highly recommend — a little 3-star called Tirolerhof, where the rooms were beautiful, clean, and reasonably priced, and the Teutonic breakfast spread was worthy of a 5-star hotel in Vienna (the hotel also has a covered, heated pool).

Above: my main course at Santlhof was eggs, bacon, and potatoes accompanied by owner Georg Mayr’s estate-grown and vinified Schiava.

After a simple dinner and a much needed restful night, I awoke to a panorama “alive with the sound of music”: the stunning beauty of South Tyrol — a verdant, vine-covered Alpine valley — sings a soothing melody, a balm that helped to allay the humdrum din of Verona and the wine fair still ringing in my head.

On the recommendation of winemaker Martin Hofstätter, I headed to the nearby Santlhof, a rustic tavern and favorite Sunday biker stop where I enjoyed a leisurely, delicious, four-hour Sunday lunch, complete with wines that simpatico owner Georg Mayr grows and vinifies on his estate (which dates back to the 16th century). His white — a blend of Chardonnay, Kerner, and Traminer — was killer, totally natural in style, fresh and clean. I could definitely get used to the sound of this music.

Above: shredded cabbage salad side at Santlhof.

Above: simpatico owner Georg Mayr takes a load off after a slamming Sunday.

The above view is with my back to the tavern. You can see the flat vine-covered valley in the distance. The vines you see before you are Georg’s whites (the red lie behind the restaurant at a slightly higher altitude). His chickens forage among the rows.

More on ciuppin and South Tyrol on the way

Above: Santlhof in South Tyrol, where I had a fantastic four-hour Sunday lunch (I’ll do a post on it in the next day or so).

In case you’re wondering why no posts of late, it’s because I’ve been preoccupied with taking care of some business and getting my personal affairs into order. But stay tuned for “Italy Day 5: South Tyrol.”

In response to my post the other day, my new blogger friend, Signora Placida, posted a note on the origin of ciuppin and she points out that the word comes from the Ligurian suppin or zuppetta in Italian, a humble soup (zuppa is akin to the English sops, the same word that gives English its soup).

I was introduced to Signora Placida by Simona, whose excellent blog Briciole has become one of my daily reads.

Good Stuff I’ve Been Eating in San Diego

Have been back in San Diego for the Passover and a recharge following the epic trip to Italy and Slovenia (“Italy: Day 4” on deck for tomorrow). Heading back to NYC soon for some tastings but in the meantime, I’ve been indulging in some southern Californian classics as I rest up and get my tan on. Hey, you know, “Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose/Nothin’ don’t mean nothin’ hon’ if it ain’t free.”

Had a bowl of cioppino at my favorite local fish shack, El Pescador: most food historians agree that cioppino originated in San Francisco, a local catch-of-the-day tomato-based soup probably inspired by Ligurian ciuppin (I can’t find an etymology for ciuppin but my philological intuition points me to the Latin supo supare, meaning to toss or to throw, possibly “to toss everything into the pot”?).

Also had a smoked albacore salad. Man, that stuff is good.

And how could my La Jollan sojourn be complete without a guacamole-bacon omelet with homemade salsa from Harry’s Coffee Shop, the old-school lunch counter stand-by since 1960 (virtually unchanged).

In other news…

On Friday, I caught up with my friend Marco Barat, a super-talented wine professional and local youth soccer coach, who celebrated his namesake saint’s day at the somewhat-over-the-top So-Cal-glam restaurant Pasquale in downtown La Jolla. I really dug his Lion of Venice t-shirt (above). April 25 is also Italian Liberation Day.

The cover band at Pasquale’s did a pretty smokin’ Janis-inspired version of “Me and Bobby McGee.”

ME & BOBBY MCGEE

– words and music by Kris Kristofferson
– first popularized by Roger Miller in 1969 (#12 Country hit)
– lyrics as recorded by Janis Joplin on the 1971 album “Pearl”
(Columbia VCK-30322)

Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waitin’ for a train
And I’s feelin’ near as faded as my jeans
Bobby thumbed a diesel down just before it rained
It rode us all the way into New Orleans
I pulled my harpoon out of my dirty red bandana
I’s playin’ soft while Bobby sang the blues, yeah
Windshield wipers slappin’ time, I’s holdin’ Bobby’s hand in mine
We sang every song that driver knew, yeah

Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose
Nothin’ don’t mean nothin’ hon’ if it ain’t free, no no
And feelin’ good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues
You know, feelin’ good was good enough for me
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee

From the Kentucky coal mine to the California sun
There Bobby shared the secrets of my soul
Through all kinds of weather, through everything we done
Yeah, Bobby baby kept me from the cold
One day up near Salinas, Lord, I let him slip away
He’s lookin’ for that home and I hope he finds it
But I’d trade all o’ my tomorrows for one single yesterday
To be holdin’ Bobby’s body next to mine

Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose
Nothin’, that’s all that Bobby left me, yeah
But if feelin’ good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues
Hey, feelin’ good was good enough for me, mm-hmm
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee

La-da-da La-da-da-da La-da-da da-da da-da
La-da-da da-la-da la-da, Bobby McGee, yeah
La-da-la-da-la-da La-da-la-da-da
La-da-la-da-la-la, Bobby McGee, yeah
La-da-da La-da-da La da-da La da-da
La-da-da La da-da La da-da
Hey, my Bobby, Lord, my Bobby McGee, yeah
Lo-da-lo da-la-lo-da-la
Lo-da-la-lo da-la-lo la-la-lo la-la-lo la-la
Hey, my Bobby, Lord, my Bobby McGee, yeah

Italy Day 2 (dinner): felicitiously da Felicin

Above: Da Felicin in Monforte d’Alba is one of Langa’s classic old-school trattorie and it boasts one of the best cellars in the area. The current proprietor and chef, Nino Rocca (pictured below), grandson of Felice (hence the name), makes traditional Piedmontese fare. His colorful wit and spirited one-liners reminded me of the classic tavern-keepers you read about in nineteenth-century Italian novels.

After my meeting with Maria Teresa Mascarello in Barolo, I made a pilgrimage of sorts as I headed to Serralunga d’Alba to visit Fontanafredda, the oldest producer of Barolo: before her grandfather Giulio bought the now historic rows in the vineyards Cannubi, Rocche, San Lorenzo, and Ruè and began to make and bottle his own wine, he worked as a mediatore, a mediator or négociant of grapes for what was and remains the largest producer of Barolo, Fontanafredda.

Together with Ricasoli (Chianti Classico) and Cavour (Piedmont), Fontanafredda was one of the three Risorgimento-era winemakers who shaped the birth of a wine nation: Ricasoli established the primacy of Sangiovese in Tuscany, Cavour obtained nuanced bouquet and created world-class expressions of Nebbiolo in Grinzane, and King Vittorio Emanuele II produced Barolo on a large scale and converted his granaries into wine cellars, gathering together the first great Barolo “library” at his Fontanafredda estate.

The king essentially lost control of Fontanafredda during the Fascist era and the royal family was exiled from Italy after the second world war. But before the war began, Giulio Mascarello negotiated the purchase of fruit for Fontanafredda. According to Maria Teresa, this was one of the reasons he knew the growing sites so well and why he was able to chose so wisely when he decided to purchase select rows in some of Langa’s most coveted vineyards.

More on the “birth of a wine nation” in another post…

Felicin is a favorite gathering place for local and extra-communitarian Barolisti alike. Its cellar is replete with old bottlings of Nebbiolo (as well as a few unfortunate bottles of La Spinetta that Nino thankfully hides away in a corner of his cellar lest brazen thieves attempt to ferry them away in the middle of foggy night).

The asparagus with zabaglione were decadent, worthy of Louis XIV.

Tagliatelle generously dusted with grated black truffles and drizzled with extra-virgin olive oil.

In Langa, the cheese course is traditionally served with cognà (center), a jelly made from the must of Dolcetto grapes after pressing.

Saving my energy for the first day of Vinitaly (which began the next day in Verona), I treaded lightly with a bottle of 1996 Lazzarito by Fontanafredda to accompany the cheese course. The nearly twelve-year old wine showed nicely.

The wise-cracking and ever-gracious Nino reminded me of an “oste” that you might come across in a Manzoni novel. He speaks multiple languages. One cannot help but have a felicitous experience Da Felicin.

Wasabi-Horseradish, Gefilte Fish, and Petit Chablis

Now, that’s what I call fusion!!!

The Parzen family celebrated the Passover last night chez Judy in La Jolla, twelve people at our seder (which I led for the first time). A fun time was had by all and the evening ended with a medley of Beatles songs (check out nephew Abner giving me a hand with the guitar playing in the clip below).

I thought I had seen it all until I opened Judy’s fridge to find a jar of Yoda-green wasabi-horseradish sauce by Manishewitz. My sister-in-law Marguerite made some excellent gefilte fish and we paired with one of my favorite white wines, 2004 R&V Dauvissat Petit Chablis (Camus label). (I probably should have asked Lyle for a Reisling pairing, which would have been more appropriate — culturally and flavorwise — with the gefilte.) We also drank 2003 Rosso di Montalcino by Canalicchio di Sopra, which went great with my mom’s roast leg of lamb.

Japan meets Ashkenazi meets Burgundy in this wasabi-horseradish, gefilte fish, and Petit Chablis pairing.

Tomorrow’s post: Italy Day 2 bis, dinner at Felicin in Monforte d’Alba.

Italy Day 2: Bartolo’s Beret

Above: will Bartolo Mascarello’s real beret please stand up?

Although she was happy to learn that her father has achieved cult status in the über-hipster wine culture of lower Manhattan and she liked the allusion to Che Guevara, Maria Teresa Mascarello (Bartolo’s daughter) told me that the beret pictured in the Terroir wine bar t-shirt below is a photomontage. Maria Teresa didn’t know about the tee until someone printed out a copy of my post Is Mascarello the New Che Guevara? and brought it to her (she doesn’t use the internet). When I got back to NYC, I put in a call to Paul Grieco, owner of Terroir, who sells the tee. But he never called me back. I guess I’ll just have to go buy a t-shirt and send it to Maria Teresa myself.

Maria Teresa and her mother Franca (below, left) concluded that the Terroir t-shirt (below) is a photomontage.

Italy Day 2…

On April 2, I awoke in the guest room of the Castello di Zumelle, the fairy tale serenity of the Piave river valley broken only by the sound of a rooster’s cock-a-doodle-do in the distance. I bid the Dalpiva family farewell and headed south to the A4 autostrada and then west toward Piedmont and the Langhe hills where I had an appointment with Maria Teresa Mascarello of the famed Bartolo Mascarello winery, ardent defender of traditionally made, blended (as opposed to single-vineyard) Barolo.

When I showed Bartolo’s wife Franca and Maria Teresa an image of the Bartolo Mascarello t-shirt, they couldn’t get over the fact that Bartolo’s physiognomy has taken on such an aura in the U.S. They loved it. (In the photo above, they are viewing an image of the t-shirt on my laptop.) They also greatly appreciated the text written on the verso of the tee, “Bartolo Mascarello, my wine revolution…”

Before we went to tour the cellar and taste some wines together, Maria Teresa told me that her father only allowed her to install a phone in their home and adjoining winery in 1989, “after the Berlin wall fell.” He insisted that the phone be listed not under the winery’s name but rather in Maria Teresa’s name, as it remains today.

As we were tasting the 2004 Barolo, the cellar master came up to the tasting room and brought us a taste of the 2005: they had just finished blending the wine in that instant and we were literally the very first to taste it. What a thrill… (I’ll be posting a tasting note together with a profile of the Bartolo Mascarello winery next week on VinoWire.com.)

Above: a collection of old bottles in the Bartolo Mascarello cellar.

In other news…

Tonight is the first night of Passover and I’m very happy to report that I am spending the holiday with my family in La Jolla (something I haven’t done in too many years).

Last night I had dinner at my favorite San Diego restaurant, Jaynes, where I met owner Jayne Battle’s father Frank Battle (above, left with daughter Jayne).

Frank grew up in Liverpool and is the “same age as Paul McCartney.” He knew all the Beatles growing up and he also knew their long-time confidant, the true “fifth Beatle,” Neil Aspinall, who recently passed away. Frank told me that he also met Beatles’ impresario Brian Epstein when he went to buy records at his record shop. How cool is that?

Above: the fresh halibut served over pea tendrils and fingerling potatoes at Jaynes, paired with 2006 Robert Sinskey Pinot Noir. Yes, there are some California wines that I like.