Category Archives: de cibo

Going to Carolina in My Mind

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From left, Susannah Smith of A Southern Season (Chapel Hill, NC), Sophie Barrett (a Chapel Hill native) of Astor (NYC), and John McCarthy of The Country Vintner (Chapel Hill). One of the cool thing about blogging is getting to meet people you wouldn’t connect with otherwise. Also in attendance were Scott Luetgenau and Jay Murrie.

Yesterday I took the afternoon off to connect with my friend and wine professional Scott Luetgenau from Chapel Hill, NC, whom I met after he started commenting on my blog some time back. One of the coolest things about blogging is that you meet people from all over the world through the “virtual conversation” of the blogosphere. Scott wrote me last week saying he’d be in NYC for a trade tasting and would I like to join him and his friends for lunch at ‘inoteca.

Charcuterie and bruschette at ‘inoteca on the Lower East Side, owned by my friend and fellow native-Californian, Joe Denton — one of the coolest dudes I’ve met in the NYC restaurant scene.

I was really impressed with their wine knowledge and their interest in natural wine. John, who works for a major wine distributor based in Chapel Hill, told me: “I feel like it’s my responsibility to get out there and turn people on to natural wine. If I don’t, who will?” I dug every bottle he ordered from owner Joe Denton’s excellent list. Sophie has just moved up to NYC where she landed a job at Astor Wine and Spirits. Susannah and Jay work at A Southern Season, a food and wine shop in Chapel Hill that specializes in natural wines. They’ve got a pretty good thing going down there in North Carolina.

I really liked the 2006 Pavese Blanc de Morgex et de La Salle that John ordered. It was fresh and light in the mouth, with bright acidity and nice fruit.

It was raining yesterday in NYC and it’s still overcast today. So many good things have been happening for me and I have lots to be thankful for these days. But I’ve also been going through some pretty dark stuff lately. It sure doesn’t feel like the first day of spring up here in the big city. You must forgive me if I’m up and goin’ to Carolina in my mind.

*****

In my mind I’m goin’ to Carolina
Can’t you see the sunshine
Can’t you just feel the moonshine
Ain’t it just like a friend of mine
To hit me from behind
Yes I’m goin’ to Carolina in my mind

Karen she’s a silver sun
You best walk her way and watch it shinin’
Watch her watch the mornin’ come
A silver tear appearing now I’m cryin’
Ain’t I goin’ to Carolina in my mind

There ain’t no doubt in no one’s mind
That love’s the finest thing around
Whisper something soft and kind
And hey babe the sky’s on fire, I’m dyin’
Ain’t I goin’ to Carolina in my mind

In my mind I’m goin’ to Carolina
Can’t you see the sunshine
Can’t you just feel the moonshine
Ain’t it just like a friend of mine
To hit me from behind
Yes I’m goin’ to Carolina in my mind

Dark and silent late last night
I think I might have heard the highway calling
Geese in flight and dogs that bite
Signs that might be omens say I’m going, going
I’m goin’ to Carolina in my mind

With a holy host of others standing ’round me
Still I’m on the dark side of the moon
And it seems like it goes on like this forever
You must forgive me
If I’m up and goin’ to Carolina in my mind

In my mind I’m goin’ to Carolina
Can’t you see the sunshine
Can’t you just feel the moonshine
Ain’t it just like a friend of mine
To hit me from behind
Yes I’m goin’ to Carolina in my mind

Goin’ to Carolina in my mind
And I’m goin’ to Carolina in my mind
Goin’ to Carolina in my mind

— James Taylor

Is Mascarello the new Che Guevara?

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Above: waiter Lindsay Smith was wearing the Bartolo Mascarello t-shirt at Terroir Thursday.

During my junior year of college at the Università di Padova in 1987, dorm life (at Casa dello Studente Monte Cengio) required: 1) drinking sangria from a trash can; 2) knowing the words to Bob Marley’s “Stir It Up”; and owning at least one Che Guevara t-shirt (there were also certain skills that proved useful but we won’t go into those now).

I was blown away when I spotted a camouflage-green Bartolo Mascarello t-shirt reminiscent of the Che t’s we used to wear way back when (and still favored by college students across the world) at Terroir — a new, radical, and vehemently anti-Parkerization wine bar in the East Village (click through the website to read the owners’ manifesto).

One of Italy’s greatest winemakers, Bartolo Mascarello remained a steadfast defender of traditional winemaking and the concept of terroir as others in Barolo and Barbaresco moved toward a more modern style. He was a colorful character, beloved on both sides of the Atlantic, and he never shied from blending traditionalist winemaking, leftist ideology, and charged political views. One of his most famous labels read “No Berlusconi, no barrique” — an apt, poignant, and pungent analogy between the use of barrique aging (and those who favored it) and Italy’s richest man and then prime minister, Silvio Berlusconi (who once famously told journalist Enzo Biagi, “If I don’t enter politics, I will go to jail and become bankrupt.”). Check out Eric’s obituary of the great Bartolo.

My childhood friend and electronic performer extraordinaire Irwin (left) was in New York last week for a recording session and so we connected last Thursday at Terroir.

I asked chef and co-owner Marco Canora to talk to us about the restaurant’s concept and he launched into a zealous diatribe against Robert Parker balanced by a passionate elegiac on Mascarello. One thing that struck me about his harangue was that we, the lovers and defenders of terroir-driven and natural wines, are quick to rail against Parker, but we often neglect to champion and lionize our heroes.

The Che Guevara t-shirt phenomenon may be wrinkle free but it’s not free of irony: the ideals for which Guevara fought and died aren’t exactly embodied by the Andy Wahrolian reproduction of his likeness on t-shirts mass-marketed to naïve college students. But if a locally printed Mascarello t-shirt campaign can help to spread awareness of one of natural wine’s champions, then I’m all for it.

The wine list at neonate Terroir is short and young (Mark and waiter Lindsay Smith told me that it will soon be growing). I ordered the oldest bottle on the list, the 2001 Olek-Mery Chinon Cuvée Des Tireaux. It was fantastic: light in the mouth with earthly Chinon flavors. I also enjoyed a glass of Cicala’s 2005 Asprinio, a citrusy grape from Campania that you don’t see a lot in America.

Irwin and I were both really hungry and we ordered a bunch of stuff: the baccalà (above) had just the right amount of garlic in it and the meatballs were among the best I’ve ever had (Marco’s mother’s recipe) although its tomato coulis was too watery.

Now, if they could just get some older vintages of Mascarello on that list, I’d be sold.

Sustainable Gram Parsons at Back Forty

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Above: owner Peter Hoffman loves the Charlie Churchill oil painting that hangs on the backsplash of the bar at his East Village restaurant Back 40. The bird is a bittern.

I first met NYC chef and restaurateur Peter Hoffman in 2001 when I attended a Basque-themed dinner at his SoHo restaurant Savoy celebrating the publication of Mark Kurlansky’s book The Basque History of the World.

When I ran into him the other night at his relatively new East Village restaurant Back Forty, he explained to me that back 40 is a reference to the Homestead Act of 1862, whereby 40-acre parcels of land were allocated to settlers. The expression front 40 denoted the more prized parcels, while the back 40 were less desirable.

“We wanted to remind people where their food comes from,” said Peter. To the great extent possible, he explained, he sources all the ingredients from local farmers and farms, favoring sustainable foodstuffs over the commercial and industrial.

The prices were right at Back 40, the wine list solid, the beer well-draughted, the pork chop perfectly rare in the middle. But my favorite thing about my evening at Back 40 was the sustainable Gram Parsons: country music is the favorite genre there and they kept the Gram playing all night that night.

Fried whole shrimp with cilantro.

The best pork chop I’ve had in a long time.

Gram Parsons, one of my heroes.

Some nice Swedish guy, an intern at the U.N.

*****

And Lord knows that New York City’s got a lot to do with it…

— Gram Parsons

Big Mouth Blues

Oh, well, I was born in a little bitty tar hut
And they called me a man ’cause I couldn’t keep my big, big mouth shut
So what’s the sense of me sitting here leaving
When any ole day I might be even
And Lord knows that New York City’s got a lot to do with it
I wish someday I could find the way to get it out of my grain
This dirty old town’s gonna sink right down and I don’t want to go with it
Well I wish there was a way that
I knew to get even
A way to get a lick in
A-bobbin’ and a-weavin’
Any ole thing besides goin’ and a-leavin’
You can do on a train

Well, I once knew a man who sailed around the world twice
He would have made it three but he took a lot of bad advice
So you just tell me what’s the sense of mesittin’ here leavin’
When any ole day I might get even
And Lord knows New York City’s got a lot to do with it
I wish someday I could find a way to get it out of my brain
This dirty old town’s gonna sink right down and I don’t want to go with it
I wish there was a way that I knew to get even, way to get a lick in
A-bobbin’ and a-weavin’
Any ole thing besides goin’ and a-leavin’
You can do on a train
Oh, yes!

Well, I once knew a man who sailed around the world twice
But his motor cooled down and now he’s deliverin’ ice
Tell me what’s the sense of him sittin’ here leavin’
When any ole day he might get even
And Lord knows New York City’s got a lot to do with it
I wish someday he could find a way to get it out of his brain
This dirty old town’s gonna sink right down and I don’t want to go with it
I wish there was a way that I knew to get even
Way to get a lick in
A-bobbin’ and a-weavin’
Any ole thing besides goin’ and a-leavin’
You can do on a train
Oh, yeah

Wondrous Cabinets (or My Dinner With Darrell)

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“…as a smell while it passes and evaporates into air affects the sense of smell,” wrote Augustine of Hippo (354 – 430) in the tenth book of The Confessions, “whence it conveys into the memory an image of itself, which remembering, we renew, or as meat, which verily in the belly hath now no taste, and yet in the memory still in a manner tasteth; or as any thing which the body by touch perceiveth, and which when removed from us, the memory still conceives. For those things are not transmitted into the memory, but their images only are with an admirable swiftness caught up, and stored as it were in wondrous cabinets, and thence wonderfully by the act of remembering, brought forth.”

If there ever were an Augustine of the contemporary food and wine world, it is Darrell Corti. And there are no cabinets more wondrous than the shelves of his store Corti Brothers in Sacramento and the memories he generously imparted on a traveling amanuensis who happened to be passing through the California state capital last week.

The night I had dinner with Darrell at his home in Sacramento, he was reluctant to speak of his induction into the Vintners Hall of Fame by the Culinary Institute of America. The night before, he had been honored at a gala event in Napa as a “Highly respected and often controversial, wine and food expert… at the forefront of the development and growth of the California wine industry since joining his family’s grocery business, Corti Brothers in Sacramento, in 1964… a catalyst in the re-evaluation and Renaissance of Zinfandel…” and mentor “to a generation of seiminal food and wine professionals…”

It’s not every day that you drink 1972 Louis Martini Zinfandel with a man who was a “catalyst… in the renaissance of Zinfandel.” The wine was light and vibrant, with subtle fruit and gentle acidity, a gorgeous complement to the béchamel and ragù prepared for the lasagne.

“It’s the acidity and the lightness of style that make this wine age so well,” said Darrell. There was no need to mention Darrell’s widely known opposition to the current hegemony of highly concentrated, high-alcohol-content wines.

The night of our repast, Darrell wanted to sample a new breed of beef, “HighMont,” a cross of Scottish Highland and Piedmontese (razza bovina piemontese) cattle. The lasagne were followed by a bollito of beef and salsa verde, paired with a 1999 Stoneleigh Marlborough (New Zealand) Rapaura Series Pinot Noir.

The coda to our meal was a bolo de mel, a Portuguese honey cake, which Darrell was also sampling as a potential offering at Corti Brothers.

Of the many memories that Darrell shared that evening, he revealed that he was among the first (if not the first) to sell Sassicaia in this country. “In 1972, we sold the first vintage of Sassicaia — 1968 — for $6.89,” he said.

After dinner, we retired to the living room where we drank port and perused Darrell’s collection of incunables (I was keen to see his editio princeps of Andrea Bacci’s Historia Vinorum).

Earlier in the day, I met Darrell at his office in the store and we chatted about a stack of tomes he recently received from the Libreria Editrice Vaticana, the Vatican’s publisher (I was particularly fascinated by America Pontificia, a collection documents pertaining to the New World issued by the Holy See; “There’s bound to be something interesting in there,” Darrell said). His phone rang and I eavesdropped as he patiently extolled the virtues of bergamot marmalade to the customer on the line. Twenty minutes later, a half dozen jars had been purchased.

O, what wondrous cabinets this man keeps…

You’ve come a long way, baby.

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“Americans have had a long-standing love affair with the cuisine of Italy,” write Nina and Tim Zagat in the preface to Zagat’s America’s 1,000 Top Italian Restaurants. “Americans say that they prefer Italian food to any other type of food — even American food — in survey after survey.”

Leafing through the new guide, I was impressed by the radical transformation of Americans’ perceptions of Italian food and how they have changed over the last ten years. When I finished my doctorate in Italian in 1997 in Los Angeles and moved to NYC, people still thought of Italian cuisine as “northern” or “southern” (the former being preferable at the time) and few Americans could tell you the difference between gnocchi and cavatelli.

The appearance of the Zagat’s national Italian restaurant directory comes ten years after The New York Times published two articles that — in my opinion — marked the dawn of a new era in Americans’ perceptions of Italian cuisine.

One was Ruth Reichl’s 3-star review of Babbo, “A Radical Departure With Sure Footing” (August 26, 1998), where she anointed Mario Batali as the new prince of Italian cuisine in the U.S. (Just two months earlier, on June 26, she had written of Mario’s previous effort: “I should probably start by telling you that I am not a big fan of Po. So when I heard that Mario Batali, its chef and owner, had taken over the old Coach House on Waverly Place in Greenwich Village…, I was not particularly impressed.”) At the time, 3 stars from The Times for an Italian restaurant were practically inconceivable.

The other was Amanda Hesser’s “A Southern Italian Renaissance; After red sauce, America is discovering the real thing” (October 21, 1998). Albeit not the first but certainly one of the earliest fans of genuine southern Italian food, Amanda wrote convincingly that southern Italian cuisine deserved the epicure’s attention. Her interest in Salvatore Anzalone’s Sicilian restaurant, Caffè Bondi, and Nicola Marzovilla’s Apulian, I Trulli, showed readers that serious food writers (and restaurateurs) were taking southern Italy seriously. Regional Italian cuisine had arrived.

“In the past,” write Nina and Tim, “Italian restaurants in America described themselves as either Northern or Southern, but in recent years more and more Italian chefs have proudly emphasized their regional roots. Thus, Americans are coming to understand the distinct tastes of the many regions of Italy.” [There are 20 regions of Italy, btw.]

The Zagats were among the pioneers of “user-generated content” and the success of their guides is testament to their vision. The downside is that the user-generated reviews are not always reliable. The 2008 Zagat NYC restaurant guide named Babbo — surprise, surprise — the city’s top Italian restaurant. Number 2 was Il Mulino, one of the city’s worst tourist traps and most disappointing landmark restaurants: last year, I had what was possibly the worst and most expensive (adding insult to injury) meals of my life there.

America’s 1,000 Top Italian Restaurants wisely omits a top-5 listing and it includes a useful (however poorly translated) primer to Italian food and wine and regional Italian cuisine.

Whatever your favorite Italian restaurant or regional cuisine, one thing’s for certain: North America’s taste for Italian food has come a long way.

Have you ever been? A glass (or two) in the West Village.

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A friend and I met for a few glasses of wine the other night at The 8th St Wine Cellar, in the heart of the West Village, right down the street from Electric Lady Studio, conceived and created in 1970 by Jimi Hendrix (left), perhaps the first major recording artist to own a studio in the modern era of rock ‘n’ roll. Every time I walk down 8th st., I can’t help but think of the countless classic recordings that were made on this historic block, now lined with head shops and tattoo and piercing parlors (check out the clients page on the studio’s website).

Even after all these years, the West Village has retained its free spirit and the sense of openness that began to form here in the late 1950s and early 60s. The easy-going bartenders at The 8th St. Wine Cellar were friendly and generous with their pours and when I ordered a glass of Antichi Vigneti di Cantalupo 2006 Agamium, our waiter said he didn’t mind at all opening a new bottle for me.

Above: bacon-wrapped figs with mascarpone with a glass of Agamium.

Antichi Vigneti di Cantalupo (Ancient Vines of Cantalupo) is one of my favorite producers of Nebbiolo and it makes a fairly wide range of traditional-style wines, from their single-vineyard Collis Carellae and Collis Breclemae to the Agamium, their entry-level label. One of the things I love about Cantalupo is the winery’s interest in local ancient history, which expresses itself in the names of their wines: Agamium is the Latin name of Ghemme (a township in the province of Novara) where the grapes are grown and the wines are produced. Ghemme is one of the great, to borrow a Manhattan-centric phrase, “outer-borough” expressions of Nebbiolo (i.e., Nebbiolo grown outside the more noted Barolo and Barbaresco appellations; look for an upcoming post on the historical role of “outer-borough” Nebbiolo).

The 2006 Agamium was fresh and light in style and I believe that the winery limits maceration time in order to rein in the grape’s tannin, thus making it more approachable at such a young age. Check out the winery’s website. Although the English translations are sometimes awkward, the otherwise excellent site is easy to navigate and highly informative.

Above: 1480 – 1819 were the start and end dates of the Inquisition, one of the waiters told me. I inferred that his t-shirt’s message was meant to remind us that the Inquisition is indeed over. (For the record, I’m not really sure what information those dates are based on because it’s generally accepted that the official dates of the Spanish Inquisition were 1478 – 1834. A quick Google search revealed that the t-shirts was created by Humanitarians Not Heroes.)

I really liked the vibe at The 8th St. Wine Cellar and I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to find a handful of wines that I liked on their relatively small list, including a half bottle of NV Taittinger La Française and Teodobaldo Cappellano Barolo. Honestly, I didn’t expect to find a cool little wine bar on 8th St. between Gray’s Papaya and the bong and tattoo shops. I guess it’s time for me to “cast all my hang-ups over the seaside,” as Jimi once sang (in a song he recorded right down the street).

The 8th St Wine Cellar
28 W 8th St
(btwn 5th and 6th ave)
New York, NY 10011
(212) 260-9463

*****

Have you ever been (have you ever been) to Electric Ladyland?
The magic carpet waits for you so don’t you be late
Oh, (I wanna show you) the different emotions
(I wanna run to) the sounds and motions
Electric woman waits for you and me
So it’s time we take a ride, we can cast all of your hang-ups over
the seaside
While we fly right over the love filled sea
Look up ahead, I see the loveland, soon you’ll understand.

Make love, make love, make love, make love.

The angels will spread their wings, spread their wings
Good and evil lay side by side while electric love penetrates the sky
Lord, Lord I wanna show you
Hmm, hmmm, hmmm
Show you

— Jimi Hendrix

Alice B. Toklas, Wine Critic

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Tirelessly mordacious wine blogger Terry Hughes recently published a post in which he compared contemporary wine writing to New Criticism. His spirited, pungent observations reminded me of my graduate-school days when I used to wrustle with deconstructionists, structuralists and post-structuralists, formalists, and Lacanians (some of whom i actually liked).

According to the Encyclopedia Britannica, New Criticism was a “post-World War I school of Anglo-American literary critical theory that insisted on the intrinsic value of a work of art and focused attention on the individual work alone as an independent unit of meaning. It was opposed to the critical practice of bringing historical or biographical data to bear on the interpretation of a work.”

I found Terry’s analogy apt because the current trend of wine writing, with its emphasis on subjective tasting notes, seems entirely bent on disregarding historical, biographical, and – most regrettably – topological information. Like the New Critics who conjured up a new critical theory to deal with modernity, the “New Wine Writers” have concocted a language that disregards history, people, and place: ecce points-based, florid tasting notes.*

That’s not to say that I don’t like “modern” and “post-modern” literature. In fact, I am a lover of that Caesar of modernity, Gertrude Stein, who published The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas in 1933 (that’s Alice, above, left). In this work, Stein writes her own auto-biography by writing the “auto-biography” of Alice. In doing so, she reveals that the process of writing is by its nature subjective, intrinsically and inexorably. Consider the following notion: when a wine writer writes her/his impressions of a wine, she/he is really writing her/his autobiography. Voilà, Alice B. Toklas, wine critic. I’ll say no more…

In other news…

Although she did not write The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas, Alice B. Toklas did write a very famous cookbook, the aptly titled Alice B. Toklas Cookbook (1954), which included a now famous recipe for hashish fudge (the precursor to many of the now ubiquitous pot brownies recipes).

Does anybody remember Peter Sellers’ hilarious 1968 film I Love You Alice B. Toklas?

I bet Terry does.

The “Groovy Brownies” clip below is long and corny but worth it.

* I owe Peter Hellman this classic example of modern wine writing, where two famous wine writers review the same lot with almost diametrically opposed results:

Parker: “The 2003 Cornas La Louvee is a blockbuster. Glorious aromas of flowers, blackberries, roasted meats, espresso roast, and white chocolate flow from this full-bodied, concentrated, modern-styled, impressively-endowed, full-throttle Cornas. Drink it now and over the next 15+ years. 93pts”

Wine Spectator: “Tight and structured, with lots of iron and mineral notes framing the black cherry, plum, briar, tar and olive paste flavors. Long finish sports mouthwatering acidity. Very impressive for Cornas in 2003. Best from 2007 through 2015. 800 cases made. 92pts”

A visit to the “new” 2nd Ave.

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2nd Avenue Deli
162 E 33rd St
(btwn 3rd and Lex)
New York, NY 10016
(212) 689-9000

The bottom line: the “new” 2nd Avenue Deli (on 33rd st) is nearly identical to the original (it’s just not on 2nd Avenue anymore). If you liked it then, you’ll like it now. It’s the same schmaltzy trip down memory lane (photo by Winnie; check out her awesome photos here).

Some years ago, I included the 2nd Avenue Deli in a piece I wrote about culinary anamorphism for Gastronomica (as I defined it, culinary anamorphism is a refashioning of food to make it resemble something else; in this case, towers — in pre-9/11 New York and fifteenth-century Cremona). Here’s the relevant passage (for the full text, click here):

    One of the most unforgettable instances of culinary anamorphism in recent memory must be attributed to restaurateur Abe Lebewohl, the late owner of the celebrated Second Avenue Deli in Manhattan, who was famous for his chop liver sculptures (he was also known for his Mock Chop Liver, a faux version of the old-world classic that wasn’t even vegetarian because it included schmaltz, i.e., chicken fat; it was just faux for the sake of being so). According to the deli’s eponymous cook book:

    “In 1976, Abe donated 350 pounds of chopped liver—not for the bar mitzvah of an indigent thirteen-year-old, but to New York magazine designer Milton Glaser’s graphic-design studio, Pushpin. Working feverishly in their highly perishable medium (by its second day, the exhibit was deemed ‘ripe’ for destruction), nineteen of the studio’s artists put together a show at Manhattan’s Greengrass Media Art Gallery called ‘Man and Liver’… The winning entry was James Grashow’s monumental six-and-a-half-foot-high rendering of King Kong straddling the World Trade Center’s twin towers.” (p. 4)

    Food in the form of buildings has been popular since the Renaissance. One of the most noted examples in the Italian Renaissance involved Torrone, the famous nougat of Cremona. On the occasion of the wedding of Bianca Maria Visconti to Francesco Sforza, October 25, 1441, the bride and groom were presented with a nougat replica of the city’s church bell tower, the so-called Torrione (today known as the Torrazzo) from which the sweet derived its name. Towers were a sign of power and wealth in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, and it was not uncommon for gastronomic effigies to be erected in their likeness. The towers depicted by James Grashow were also a symbol of power, and like the tower of Cremona, they were a synecdoche for the city of New York. That the artist and restaurateur undertook such a labor-intensive rendering of the famous site from the New York skyline was testimony to the irresistible allure of culinary anamorphism.

I had fun the other night at the “new” 2nd Avenue Deli…

Ptcha is jellied calves’ feet. It was good with a little horse radish on rye. Mario Batali, eat your heart out.

Some prefer the matzoh ball fluffy and light, others firmer and denser. This one tended toward light, just like the old days when the 2nd Ave. Deli was on 2nd Ave.

One of my earliest memories is wondering why people in gray suits ate tongue at funerals. Tip or center? We had center.

The pastrami was well sliced but a little dry. Once I asked a Hungarian woman, a family friend and a wonderful lady, what she ate when her family landed on the Lower East Side in the early twentieth century. “Meat,” she said. “We ate meat.” She’s in her 90s and doing great.

Dim Lights Big Barolo Downstairs at Cru

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The first time I went to visit the Aldo Conterno winery in 2000 (to taste his 1996 crus), Aldo’s son Franco took me and Luigi Ballerini for an unforgettable lunch at Trattoria della Posta (Monforte d’Alba), where Franco paired a dish of poached eggs, Fontina fondue, and shaved white truffles with a 1990 Vietti Barolo Rocche.

“We’re not drinking Aldo Conterno for lunch?” I asked Franco. “No, I wanted to show you what I think is one of the best Barolos beyond Conterno,” he said.

Last night, the lights were dim and the Barolo was big in the subterranean dining room at Cru in the West Village. I was the guest of Jay McInerney and Vietti winemaker Luca Currado who had gathered friends, food writers, and assorted Nebbiolophiles to enjoy some older vintages from one of Jay’s (and one of my) favorite producers.

Among the many tales recounted on this chilly, rainy New York eve, Luca retold the story of his family’s Roero Arneis. According to the legend, Luca’s father Alfredo had decided to make a white wine (in a land where only red wine was made). He didn’t want to use an international grape variety but he knew that some farmers had plantings of white Arneis grapes (used as a decoy to protect the more coveted red grapes from birds according to some, used to brighten up Nebbiolo according to others). He asked the priest of his local parish to make an announcement at Sunday mass: “please bring your Arneis grapes to the town square tomorrow because Alfredo Currado wants to buy them,” the church-goers were told (or so the legend goes). The farmers appeared the next day in droves and history was made with the first Vietti vintage of Roero Arneis, 1967. Italy’s top wine writer Luigi Veronelli tasted it the following spring and his enthusiastic review quickly catapulted it to enological stardom. Today scores of Roero Arneis are produced but Alfredo Currado and Vietti were the first to release it on the market (Bruno Giacosa was once attributed erroneously, said Luca, as having been the first. But after reading her father in print, Bruna Giacosa quickly called over to the Currado residence to apologize for the misquote). The secret to the wonderful aromatics of Luca’s Roero Arneis? “We age the wines on its lees,” says Luca [lees are the dead yeast cells present in wine after fermentation].

Luca shared many other interesting anecdotes last night (including that of his family’s nineteenth-century single-vineyard planting of Barbera in the now famous Scarrone site, unthinkable in a time when the best sites were reserved for Nebbiolo; the same vines, some more than 100-years old, are still used to make the wine).

But the most fascinating and certainly the most noteworthy story was revealed when the subject of modern vs. traditional was put on the table, so to speak. 1980 was the first year they brought barrique into the cellar, said Luca, for the Barbera. And in 1988 they began to use barrique-aging for the Nebbiolo as well. But what Luca said next totally blew me away. “Yes, we use barrique for aging the wine. About 30%. But we air-dry the staves for several years before the barrels are assembled [exposure to air removes any green-tree or bark smells and flavors from the wood]. And then we steam our barriques before we use them so they don’t impart any of the vanilla, oaky notes to the wine. You should see the water that runs off after they’re steamed: it looks like Australian Chardonnay!”

In fact, Luca’s wines are made in a judiciously modern style. They show some of the fruit-forwardness that dominate in excessively modern expressions of Nebbiolo but they retain the classic earthly notes of terroir-driven Barolo.

“When you look at those vineyards,” said Luca at the end of the night, “you are wrong to make a wine that doesn’t express the terroir. The identity of those vineyards is so strong. To try to hide it would be wrong.”

Luca is one of the nicest and most well-spoken winemakers I’ve ever met (and he speaks perfect English). To speak and taste with him, you see that like his wines, he lives in perfect balance between tradition and modernity. As Jay pointed out, there are some who believe his wines are too modern in style. But Jay and I agreed: Vietti’s wines are fantastic and they taste like Barolo.

Notes:

2006 Roero Arneis: fresh, with beautiful acidity, drinking beautifully (100% Roero grapes are used for this wine, Luca pointed out).

2003 Barbera Scarrone: one of the first single-vineyard Barberas ever marketed and simply one of the best.

1971 Barbaresco: tired but interesting to taste nonetheless.

1982 Barolo: the “classico,” blended Barolo, off the charts good, with lively acidity and nuanced berry fruit that just kept getting better and better in the glass (note the Kermit Lynch strip label on the neck of the bottle, second photo from top; Luca said it was the first Barolo imported by Lynch, one of the earliest proponents of natural European wines).

2001 Barolo Villero Riserva: everyone agreed, this was drinking beautifully, seductive nose and balanced acidity and fruit in the glass; but these tannins could use some more time in bottle.

1995 Barolo Rocche: this wine is still evolving and it was lost on the crowd but I found it to be the most traditional in style, with earthy aromas and flavors that I look for in Barolo.

A quick confabulation with Aldo Vacca, winemaker and president, Produttori del Barbaresco

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Earlier this year, Produttori del Barbaresco’s president and winemaker Aldo Vacca (left) took time out from his importer’s grand portfolio tasting to talk to me about recent vintages and the cooperative’s approach to winemaking.

Produttori del Barbaresco has always stood apart for its steadfast traditionalist approach to winemaking. Where do you see Produttori in relation to the current trend of modern-style Nebbiolo?

You have to understand that the winemaking tradition in Langhe comes from an entirely agricultural mentality, a “farmer” culture. Early on, we were insecure, if you will. We didn’t have enough faith in our land. This insecurity led a number of winemakers to adopt a modern approach. There are also a lot of new producers who have only recently begun making wine in Langhe. Many of them don’t have the respect for our tradition of winemaking. This trend has developed over the last 20 years and has had a big impact. But I also see that many producers are returning to a more traditional approach.

Produttori del Barbaresco has never changed its style. From the beginning, Produttori has always made wine using traditional methods [extended maceration, natural fermentation, and aging in traditional botti, large oak casks]. The winery’s style is very distinct but the wines are always respectful of the terroir.

How are as-of-yet unreleased vintages showing?

Both 2007 and 2006 were very good vintages in Langhe. 2006 saw a warmer summer and it will be a more “fleshy”* wine, with softer tannins, while 2007 is comparable to long-lived vintages like 1996 and 2001.

The harvest came early in 2007, but this was not because of a hot summer. It was due to the fact that the mild, dry winter caused the growing cycle to begin early. As a result, we harvested early. 2007 has intense tannins and high acidity [good signs for long-lived Nebbiolo].

* Aldo and I conversed in Italian and it’s interesting to note that he used the English “fleshy” to describe his impression of the wine.

*****

Is it a sin? Many American Nebbiolophiles recoil in horror at the thought of opening vintages like 1996 or even 1999, arguing that they’re not nearly old enough. I’ve tasted Produttori back to the 1970s and when properly cellared, the wines reveal nuanced beauty and truly awesome power. But with a good decanter and some aeration (and some patience), even younger expressions of these wines will show beautifully. To be sure, the wine experience is enhanced by knowledge and respect for the wines themselves. But we must never lose sight of the fact that wine is part of the gastronomic experience and when it’s overly fetishized, we run the risk of negating the pleasure we may derive from them. Here are some bottles I’ve enjoyed recently.

My friend Greg (aka Harry Covert, forgive him for drinking Veuve Clicquot, Nous Non Plus’ drummer) recently surprised me with a bottle of 1996 Produttori del Barbaresco Pora. Some might remember my post entitled “The Day After”: Greg had inadvertently opened the last bottle of 96 Pora from my once (pre-mid-life crisis/disaster) modest collection, which I had been storing at his apartment.

He and I had opened the second-to-last bottle in December and to be honest, it seemed to have become even “tighter” in its evolution. But as it opened up, it revealed rich tar and seductive manure (yes, seductive manure) aromas that gave way to red berry fruit in the mouth. We paired with pepperoni pizza from one of our favorite pizzerias, a decadent but irresistible match.

My brother Tad grilled shell steaks for our family’s Super Bowl gathering in La Jolla. Grilled American beef and traditionally vinified Nebbiolo is a happy marriage of new and old worlds, with the rich tannin of the Nebbiolo drawing out the flavor of the grilled fat. This 1999 Asili will continue to evolve in bottle but it drank marvelously on Super Bowl Sunday. I didn’t have a decanter on hand so I opened the wine a few hours before we sat down to eat. Asili is arguably Produttori’s most prestigious cru (depending on your palate) and while 1999 was a very good vintage, it doesn’t have the power of the 96 or 01 (last year I drank 1979 Produttori Asili at a collectors dinner, one of the best bottles I’ve ever had in my life).

Someday, when my living situation returns to permanence, I’ll start my collection up again.

Produttori is so affordable (it makes you wonder why Nebbiolo is so expensive today): each of these bottles weighed in at less than $50. I can’t afford to drink them everyday, but they make for great special occasion wines. Greg, please feel free to surprise me anytime with 96 Pora!!!