Barolo, the “sexiest” wine? Eric Asimov mistranslated by Italian news wire

My inbox greeted me this morning with a message of alarm and disbelief from my friend, top Italian wine blogger, Franco Ziliani:

“The Italian press decided to give the following title to an article about Eric Asimov’s recent and excellent articles on Barolo in The New York Times: ‘According to Americans, Barolo is the sexiest of all wines: it makes you wait just like a beautiful woman [does].’”

In the article, published by one of Italy’s most respected dailies, La Stampa, journalist Roberto Fiori erroneously reports that Eric, writing for The New York Times, calls Barolo “the sexiest wine in the world.”

In Franco’s post on this rigmarole, he points out — among other things — that:

a) Eric never used the word “sexy” (he used the words “seductive” and “sensuous”);

and

b) Fiori also incorrectly translates Eric’s “Burgundy” as “Bordeaux” (yet another instance of sloppy journalism).

Here’s a link to Fiori’s article.

The article in question was just one of a slew of reports that appeared today in the Italian papers, all based on a news flash released by AGI (Agenzia Giornalistica Italiana or “Italian Journalistic Agency,” similar to AP or Reuters):

“The sexiest wine in the world? Barolo, according to The New York Times. Especially when one has the time, patience, and opportunity to age the wine for at least ten years, because only in this manner will it become ‘austere, mature, and sensual.’ These are the words of Eric Asimov, official wine critic for the American daily.”

Evidently, neither the AGI reporter nor Fiori took the time to verify what Eric had actually written.

Adding insult to injury, Fiori writes that his readers should take “satisfaction” in the fact that “The New York Times has acquired a taste for Barolo: just one week ago [The Times published] a long article that listed Italy’s many ills but cited the noble wine of the Langhe as one of its few positive things” (the article to which he is referring was actually published — another instance of sloppy journalism — more than a month ago: Ian Fisher’s “In a Funk, Italy Sings an Aria of Disappointment,” December 13, 2007). Good news, he says, “for the 10,000,000 bottles of the 2004 vintage, on the market since January 1.”

I’m only reporting the facts and will spare you my editorial. But I am reminded of what Alessandra Stanley wrote in The Times some years back a propos the Italian press corps and the then Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi: “the Italian press got the prime minister it deserves” (“A Virtuoso At Playing The Press In Italy,” August 21, 2003). Seems that things haven’t changed much since then…

Guanciale and Barolo in The Times

The Wednesday edition of the The New York Times and its Dining and Wine section is a weekly event for food and wine writers and culinary professionals (New Yorkers and the rest of them west of the Hudson river).

Today’s section caused many of us in the wine world to drool with envy: Eric Asimov published a great story about Barolo and a recent tasting he attended. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime affairs (unfortunately not yet in my life!). I really like how Eric puts Barolo — a wine so misunderstood by so many — into perspective. Check out his post on the tasting at his blog (essential reading for me). It will surely make your mouth water (and bring tears of envy to your eyes as it did to mine).

Florence Fabricant doesn’t have a blog but she did do a great piece on guanciale in today’s somewhat Italophile edition of the Dining and Wine section. She writes: “Guanciale, which means pillow, a description of its shape, has an especially rich, sweetly porky flavor and a buttery texture.” It’s true that guanciale means “pillow” but in another context — that of medieval and Renassiance-era armor — it denotes the cheek pieces that were often attached to helmets (see illustration above, upper left-hand corner). It’s derived from the Italian guancia, which means “cheek” (from the old German, wanga or wanka, akin to the old English wang).

The suffix -ale is very common in Italian (as in nazione, nazionale), hence, guanciale from guancia.

Guanciale — the cured pork — is made from cured pig jowl (the part that runs from the head to the shoulder). So, it’s more likely that guanciale, when used in a gastronomic context, is more akin to “cheek” than it is to “pillow.”

I was so green with envy after reading Eric’s blog that I just had to point that out…

In other news…

I was really glad to see that a Sex Workers Outreach Program linked to my post on Sugo alla puttanesca: “Prostitutes are not responsible for the naming of an Italian dish” (scroll down the page).

One more from the road: posoles…

I promise this is the last installment of my Mexican culinary adventures.

Above: a bowl of posoles, a traditional Mexican soup, made with pork and hominy, topped with shredded lettuce, sliced radish, and a small dollop of homemade salsa, and garnished with a crispy tortilla.

Monday evening was family dinner at Micah and Marguerite’s (my brother and sister-in-law’s place) where we enjoyed a piping-hot bowl of posoles prepared by their friend Lucia. I was stuffed after the first serving but couldn’t resist a second helping. From the Nahuatl pozolli meaning “stew” or maize-based drink, the term posole dates back to eighteenth-century Mexico.

In other news…

I’ve been following this interesting thread at Vinography.com on vigilantism in the e-commerce world of retail wine sales in the U.S. It seems that a certain online retailer has been reporting other smaller retailers for shipping wine over state lines. The minutiae might bore you but the original post provides background on the anachronistic legislation governing interstate wine commerce in the U.S.

I don’t know how long this link will be available (before you have to pay for it) but someone just forwarded me this article on interstate wine sales in The Los Angeles Times. I guess it had to come to a head sooner or later… The sad part is the consumer is the loser here…

In other other news…

I was pleased to find this reference to my blog on Veronelli.com (in Italian). Here’s the original post.

A New and Important Wine Blogger

One of voices I respect most in oenocyberspace, Eric Lecours, weighed in over the weekend with this comment and clarification on my recent post about La Chablisienne:

“Great choice…La Chablisienne produces excellent wines at great prices. The producer is actually a cooperative, considered by many to be the best in France. Despite escalating prices, I find Chablis itself is an excellent value in general. I recently ran across a Domaine (not négociant) Fevre ‘04 Grand Cru Preuses @ 35 euros in Beaune. That level of quality requires 2x+ the price in the Côte de Beaune.

(The best cooperative in the world however…Produttori del Barbaresco, of course).”

I couldn’t agree more with Eric that Produttori del Barbaresco is the “best cooperative in the world” (those of you who read my blog regularly know that it’s one of my all-time favorite producers).

It’s great to know that there are still some good values in Burgundy (especially in the light of the Euro’s rising value).

But the best news is that Eric has published a new blog called The Burgundy Journal. Eric is currently working with Étienne Grivot (of Jean Grivot) in Vosne-Romanée and his insights into the current state of Burgundian winemaking are riveting. His blog will quickly become required reading for a wide swath of Burgundy lovers and wine writers. Check it out…

A Night on the Town with Charles Scicolone

Above: Charles Scicolone, Italian wine maven* extraordinaire (right), with Stefano Campatelli, president of the Consorzio del Vino Brunello di Montalcino at I Trulli. Charles was the keynote speaker at this year’s Benvenuto Brunello vintage tasting, where I had the chance to taste bottlings going back to 1979. Charles had tasted them all before, of course!

Week before last, I was the guest of my good friend and Italian wine maven Charles Scicolone at a collector’s dinner at Gramercy Tavern. Charles is often to invited out by top wine connoisseurs: he is without a doubt one of the city’s most adored wine personalities and one of the country’s leading experts on Italian wine. The bottomline? He’s a lot of fun to be around and people want to know what he thinks of their wine.



Above: the dinner opened with a 1976 Château d’Yquem and foie gras. Not too shabby… “Sweet without being sweet, dry without being dry,” Charles remarked.

I first met Charles back in 1998 when I was writing about wine for The Magazine of La Cucina Italiana. At the time he was the wine director of I Trulli in Manhattan and most nights you would find him talking to guests about wine in the restaurant’s wine bar. My office was only a few blocks away and I soon found myself glued to my seat at the bar nearly every night after work, tasting through flights of Italian wines and trying to glean every tidbit of knowledge I could from his glib insights.

Above: the star of the night was this beautiful magnum of 1985 Échezeaux by Remoissenet Père e Fils.

Beyond Charles’ encyclopedic knowledge of Italian wine and his humorous and highly informative anecdotes, what intrigues me the most is his palate and his “memory” of Italian wines and vintages. Charles began collecting fine Italian wine in the 1970s when there were only a handful of Italian collectors in the U.S. He was part of an informal group of early Italian wine connoisseurs, an illustrious clique that included Lou Iacucci, who was among the first to import fine Italian wines to North America, and Shelley Wasserman, author of the landmark Italy’s Noble Red Wines, one of the first significant monographs on Italian wine published in this country (originally released in 1985; see Frank Prial’s review of the paperback edition).

A steadfast defender of traditional-style Italian wine and an outspoken critic of barrique aging and concentration, Charles has tasted wines and historic vintages of Italian wines that I can only dream of. More significantly, he has had the opportunity to revisit many of those bottlings on repeated occasions.

He began to taste and experience Italian wine long before barriqued, extracted, highly alcoholic, fruit-forward wine became the prevalent style in Italy. Where homogeneity now reigns, Charles remembers a glorious mosaic — from the Aglianico of Campania to the Petit Rouge of the Val d’Aosta (two of his favorites). Simply put, Charles has insights into Italian wines that few of us will ever have because he began drinking and enjoying Italian wines before the veil of modernization was draped over Italy.

È sempre un piacere
, as you like to say, Charles, it’s always a pleasure to taste wine with you.

Check out Peter Hellman’s profile of Charles in The New York Sun.

In recent weeks, Charles has been contributing to IADP. Check out his articles.

* maven, from the “Yiddish meyvn (plural mevinim) expert, connoisseur,” from the “Hebrew mēbîn person with understanding, teacher, participle of hēbîn understand, attend to, teach” (OED, online edition).

“The Best Champagne Tasting”

Wednesday of this week, I had the good fortune to be invited to the Wine Media Guild of New York “Prestige Cuvée Champagnes” tasting, presented by Ed McCarthy, one of North America’s leading bubbly experts.

Some of New York’s top wine writers came out for this dégustation of twenty-three Champagnes, nearly all of them “prestige cuvées.”* Everyone agreed — and sports and wine writer Paul Zimmerman loudly pronounced — that this event was “probably the best Champagne tasting” any of us had ever attended.



Above: they-don’t-make-em-like-that-anymore Ed McCarthy.

Highlights (for me) were 1999 Perrier-Jouët “Fleur de Champagne” Blanc de Blancs (beautifully balanced and nuanced), 1997 Nicolas Feuillatte “Palmes d’Or” Brut (a difficult vintage in Champagne… a surprising stand-alone wine, with intensely seductive aromas), 1999 Bollinger Grande Année Brut (always my favorite, always distinctive), 1998 Deutz “Cuvée William Deutz” Brut (a house I had never tasted… good balance of yeast and fruit flavors), and N[on]V[intage] Krug “Grande Cuvée” Brut (so good… who doesn’t like this wine?).

When it’s good (and there’s a lot of mediocre over-priced wine out there), Champagne can be so alluring, complex and structured yet light and bright. Getting to taste with Ed McCarthy and hear him speak was a thrill for me: Ed, with his white locks and friendly manner, is an American original, a character out of a Studs Terkel story, a wine authority and one of the country’s most adored wine writers (check out this profile of Ed).



Above: it’s always fun to taste with the jovial John Foy (standing, center), who writes for
The Star Ledger. Needless to say, the mood was mirthful at this extraordinary tasting.

Here are some of my notes from Ed’s talk:

“Chardonnay is the world’s most maligned grape variety. In Champagne it is at its best” (referring to blanc de blancs, i.e., Champagne made from 100% Chardonnay).

“Prestige cuvées need time, 10-15 years.”

“The wider the glass, the better for tasting prestige cuvées.”

“’88, ’96, and possibly ’02 are the best vintages for Champagne. Drink 2000 now because it is a precocious vintage” (using the term precocious in the true sense of the word, advanced or mature in development).

He also noted that Americans tend to favor “vintage-dated” Champagne, while the French have a greater appreciation of non-vintage Champagne (i.e., wine blended using top cuvées from different vintages). Don’t underestimate non-vintage Champagne, he said.

“1996 Krug is mind-boggling. If you must have only one Champagne before you die, make it ’96 Krug.”



Above: the main course for lunch was a whole, roasted salmon.

Needles to say, the mood was mirthful at this extraordinary tasting and whenever this many vintage, white-haired tasters get together, you are sure to hear epic tales of great wines and unforgettable meals. The best anecdote came from that great defender of traditional-style Italian wine, Charles Scicolone, a board-member of the guild and master of ceremonies (look for my post, “A Night on the Town with Charles Scicolone,” next week). A few years ago, he recounted, he and his wife Michele spent New Year’s eve with Ed and his wife Mary Mulligan in the home of a prominent wine importer. Ed brought a six-liter bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal that had been given to him by the winery. Not knowing where to chill the large bottle, their host filled the toilette with ice and placed the bottle in the bowl. Just before the clock struck midnight, the guests were dispatched to the bathroom to retrieve the wine and discovered that this prestigious bottle had “ended up in the toilette.” Despite this odd juxtaposition, said Charles, the wine tasted great.



Above: the beautiful color of the salmon paled in comparison to the hue of the 2000 Taittinger “Comtes de Champagne” Brut Rosé poured at my table (that’s 1999 Perrier-Jouët “Fleur de Champagne” Blanc de Blancs in my glass to the left).

* The term cuvée denotes “The contents of a vat of wine; a particular blend or batch of wine” (OED, online edition). In Champagne, a cuvée is a superior “blend or batch.”

The Reification and Hierarchization of Wine

With his customary stinging wit, Franco Ziliani — the top Italian wine blogger in my book — posted this insightful and hilarious post on The Wine Spectator “Top 100 Wine Countdown” in which he aptly compared the marketing ploy to a striptease.

I greatly appreciated the analogy because it captures the absurdity inherent in the hyper-commercialization of wine in our country. After all, at the end of the day (literally), wine is something that we put into our bodies. Beyond its inebriating effects (which many of us enjoy), it is a source of nourishment that complements the food we eat (at least for those of us who drink food-friendly wines, i.e., wines with reasonable alcohol content and healthy levels of acidity that stimulate our digestion).

Just as the striptease represents a reification (read dehumanization) of the female body, so The Wine Spectator “top 100” list and “countdown to the wine of the year” represent a hierarchization of wine. This hierocracy reifies wine by telling us that there is one wine superior to all others and by implying that the so-called superior wine is the one that all other wines should aspire to. Such static quantification opposes the very nature of wine: the quality of wine lies in the foods with which we pair it, the ways in which and places where we consume it, and — most importantly — the people who make it and the people with whom we share it. Wine is a dynamic “living” substance. It evolves with time (and changes radically from the very moment a cork is pulled and the liquid begins to oxygenate). The intrinsic value of wine exists not in an abstract hierarchy but rather in the moment that we drink it — whether an under-$15 bottle of young Chinon or a 1990 Bruno Giacosa Red Label Barolo.

Time for me to stop pontificating? Yes and thanks for reading.

In other news, I gave a talk on Italian Renaissance cuisine Monday night at a Beard Foundation event.

Above: a scene from the Beard House. I will always think fondly of James Beard. I never met the man but my mother (an excellent cook) loved his cookbooks and crafted many of her best dishes from his recipes. Her “James Beard” meatloaf is always great. We won’t be eating meatloaf at Thanksgiving this year — my first time back for the holiday in more than six years! But maybe I can talk her into making it on another night while I’m in Southern California next week.

*****

“Will you take me as I am?”

Sitting in a park in Paris, France
Reading the news and it sure looks bad
They won’t give peace a chance
That was just a dream some of us had
Still a lot of lands to see
But I wouldn’t want to stay here
It’s too old and cold and settled in its ways here
Oh, but California
California I’m coming home
I’m going to see the folks I dig
I’ll even kiss a Sunset pig
California I’m coming home

I met a redneck on a Grecian isle
Who did the goat dance very well
He gave me back my smile
But he kept my camera to sell
Oh the rogue, the red red rogue
He cooked good omelettes and stews
And I might have stayed on with him there
But my heart cried out for you, California
Oh California I’m coming home
Oh make me feel good rock’n roll band
I’m your biggest fan
California, I’m coming home

CHORUS:

Oh it gets so lonely
When you’re walking
And the streets are full of strangers
All the news of home you read
Just gives you the blues
Just gives you the blues

So I bought me a ticket
I caught a plane to Spain
Went to a party down a red dirt road
There were lots of pretty people there
Reading Rolling Stone, reading Vogue
They said, “How long can you hang around?”
I said “a week, maybe two,
Just until my skin turns brown
Then I’m going home to California”
California I’m coming home
Oh will you take me as I am
Strung out on another man
California I’m coming home

CHORUS:

Oh it gets so lonely
When you’re walking
And the streets are full of strangers
All the news of home you read
More about the war
And the bloody changes
Oh will you take me as l am?
Will you take me as l am?
Will you?

— “California,” Joni Mitchell

My Dinner with Piero

Above: “Orietta Incisa Hunyady with Ribot, after his second victory in the Arc de Triomphe, 1956.” (Sassicaia, the Original Super Tuscan, Firenze, Centro Di, 2000, p. 32)

Piero Incisa della Rocchetta is at once everything you would and would not expect him to be. On the one hand, he is the scion of one of Italy’s most historically significant families, an Italian noble, the face of one of Italy’s most important wines, and one of his country’s leading “cultural ambassadors,” as it were. On the other, he is a thirty-something Italian, extremely hard-working yet very easy-going and personable, self-deprecating and sensitive to the people around him, keenly aware of his station in life yet down-to-earth, funny, and fun to be around. When we sat down for dinner the other night at Babbo, I wasn’t sure if he’d be interested in talking to someone like me — especially in the light of the fact that his family’s wine is the most famous barriqued wine in Italy and that I am an outspoken (however unimportant) critic of the use of new oak in Italy.

I believe we were both surprised by the other: he, to meet an Italophone American who knew so much about other aspects of his family’s history beyond the famous wine; I, to discover a winemaker acutely conscious of the role his family’s wine has played in Italian wine history but also a wine lover who despises the overblown, overly concentrated, and extracted style of some of his would-be peers.

“My grandfather [Mario] planted Cabernet,” Piero told me, “because he grew up drinking wines from Bordeaux and he wanted a wine to pair with the rich French and Piedmontese food he was accustomed to eating.” People always think of his family as being Tuscan, and, of course it is in part, he explained, but the male line comes from Rocchetta Tanaro in Piedmont (historically, Piedmont, once ruled by the house of Savoy, has always been Francophone and Francophile). So it was only natural his grandfather would plant Cabernet and experiment with making a Bordeaux-style wine (Mario Incisa della Rocchetta began to manage the now legendary estate in Tuscany after he married Florentine Clarice della Gherardesca, whose family once ruled the Tuscan coastline).

When we touched upon the thorny issue of new oak, he flatly told me that he can’t stand the jammy, concentrated, highly alcoholic style of most Super Tuscans and he pointed out that only in 2003 did Sassicaia’s alcohol content creep above 13.5%. The figure, he told me, represented the warm vintage and not anything they had done differently in the cellar. We agreed that many of the overblown Super Tuscans are impossible to drink with food and he remarked that Sassicaia was conceived as a wine to be consumed at the table.

Sassicaia is a misunderstood wine, he said, especially in the United States. “Most Americans consider 1985 and 1997 [in which warm temperatures prevailed] to be among of the greatest vintages for Sassicaia,” he told me. “But years like ’88 and ’98 really brought out the delicate bouquet in the wine.” In fact, he revealed, his grandfather hoped to achieve superior bouquet and not the forward fruit that other Super Tuscans have become so famous for.

Piero’s eyes lit up when I asked him about Ribot, his family’s legendary race horse, trained on their estates in Piedmont and Tuscany, arguably the most famous race horse in history. “Most people don’t realize,” he said, “that winemaking is just one small part of what my family does.” During the 1950s, when a still war-torn Italy was trying to put itself back together (literally and figuratively), Ribot and his triumphs were a point of pride that all Italians could share.

Piero divulged that trainer Federico Tesio never thought that Ribot would be a winner. “He didn’t believe that Ribot was handsome enough,” he said. It was his grandmother, Clarice, who knew that the stallion would be a champion.

Just as Ribot bolstered Italian pride at a very delicate moment in the country’s history, Sassicaia laid the groundwork for the current Italian wine renaissance by showing the international community that Italy could produce world-class wines. In 1968, when it was first released commercially, Americans thought of Italy as a land of straw-flask and fizzy quaffing wines. Today, Italian wines have nearly eclipsed French dominance in the American market. I can’t say that I am big fan of Sassicaia (those of you who read my blog know I prefer the indigenous grapes of Italy and that I don’t like barriqued wine). But my little brush with history that evening revealed that the people who make it care deeply about their wine… and their country.

Petrini’s Repentance (or “Carlin is growing on me”)

A little behind on my blog reading, I finally got a chance to digest Franco Ziliani’s post on Carlo Petrini’s recent bombshell (October 27) at the Salone del Vino, entitled “Wine Guides Are Obsolete! Thus Spoke Carlin Petrini” (Franco Ziliani’s blog, Vino al Vino, is probably the best Italian wine blog out there and I have always respected his frankness, his elegant and erudite writing style, his balance and honesty).

The Salone del Vino (literally “Wine Fair”) is an important consumer and trade event, held each year in Turin.

Evidently, Carlo Petrini (the president of Slow Food) made the following statement and stunned the crowd of Italian publishing luminaries gathered to hear his address:

“Our guide,* like the one published by Gambero Rosso,** uses an approach obsolete in its profound essence…

There shouldn’t be guides for A-series wines and guides for B-series wines. The time is right to begin reasoning in a new manner — a way that doesn’t include merit rankings but is based on the quality of those who have a correct approach to wine…”

Winemakers, he said, should listen to their “conscience”: “When your products are released into the market, take care that your wines are not influenced by trends of the moment. Your wines should be an expression of your identity as winemakers.”***

Ziliani has rightly dubbed this bombshell “petriniano pentimento” or “Petrinian repentance.”

As France is mired in the Parker and Parkerization morass, Italy seems to have found its own stick in the mud (check out Alice’ post on Agostini and Nossiter).

Carlin is beginning to grow on me…

Notes:

* Slow Food’s Guida al Vino Quotidiano or “Guide to Everyday Wines.”

** Gambero Rosso’s Guida ai Vini d’Italia or “Guide to the Wines of Italy.”

*** I have translated from Ziliani’s account.

Italian Lessons

Above: the upstairs bar at Accademia di [sic] Vino. “Talk to my agent before you take another one,” snapped the bartender after I snapped this pic. “Don’t quit your day job,” I thought to myself.

It is my steadfast conviction that food and wine professionals have a responsibility to divulge and disseminate correct information. Just as practitioners of medicine take the Hippocratic oath, practitioners of the culinary arts enter into a social contract with restaurant-goers, a Gastereic vow, if you will, whereby they swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth (to borrow from Brillat-Savarin’s tenth muse, Gasterea).*

And while none of us are perfect and we all make mistakes (myself included), egregious transgressions of this unspoken pact are committed freely on a nearly daily basis by insouciant restaurant owners, chefs, sommeliers, maîtres d’hotel, and waiters.

The Accademia di [sic] Vino in Manhattan seems to bill itself as a would-be “Italian Wine Academy” (at least that’s what I’ve read in The New York Times. I can’t seem to find the academy’s website). Evidently, they offer wine classes and seminars there and the space itself is dressed as a classroom: the walls of this beautiful restaurant are adorned with wine-related images and their Italian translations and there are chalkboards in the bar and the dining rooms with explanations of the Italian appellation laws etc.

There’s only one problem (two, actually): the name of the restaurant. In Italian you don’t write/say “accademia di vino.” You correctly write/say “accademia del vino.”

And it gets worse. Last night, when I sat down for a glass of wine with a colleague in the downstairs bar, I was handed a wine list that read: “vini a bicchiere.” I hate to be a stickler but… in Italian you correctly write/say “vini al bicchiere” (“wines by the glass”).**

It reminds me of a joke from the 1999 parodic mafia movie, Mickey Blue Eyes, where Hugh Grant’s character points out to his fiancée that her father’s restaurant is called “The La Trattoria,” or “The the trattoria.”

Although our hosts were exceedingly gracious (and the overwhelmingly gorgeous space was jam-packed with patrons), I’m sorry to report that the diced prosciutto on our grilled, “seasonal” pumpkin pizza was so hard I thought I was biting into stone.

The wines-by-the-glass list offered a wide range of price points and I had a glass of Inzolia by Valle dell’Acate and my friend a glass of Pinot Bianco by Hofstätter and the pours were generous, I must say.

The Accademia had been on my list of new places to try for a while. But when I got off the 6 train at Hunter College and walked down to 3rd Ave. and 64th St., I just couldn’t believe my eyes when my gaze fell upon the restaurant’s marquee: ACCADEMIA DI VINO.

Ask me “what’s in a name?” and I will tell you that a “Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.”***

But “Accademia di Vino”? Give me a break.

Notes:

* Brillat-Savarin’s “tenth muse,” Gasterea, first appeared in 1825 with the publication of his Physiologie du Goût, ou Méditations de Gastronomie Transcendante (The Physiology of Taste; Meditations on Transcendental Gastronomy):

“Gasterea is the Tenth Muse; the delights of taste are her domain.

The whole world would be hers if she wishes to claim it; for the world is nothing without life, and all that lives takes nourishment.

Her chief delight is to linger on hillsides where the vine grows, or the fragrant orange-tree in groves where the truffle comes to perfection, and in regions abounding in game and fruit.

When she deigns to show herself, she appears in the guise of a young girl; round her waist is a flame-coloured girdle; her hair is black, her eyes sky-blue, and her figure full of grace; as beautiful as Venus, she is also extremely pretty.

She rarely shows herself to mortals.”

Brillat-Savarin, Jean-Anthelme, The Physiology of Taste, translated by Anne Drayton, Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England, Penguin, 1994 (1970), p. 287.

** del and al are articulated prepositions, di + il and a + il, respectively. The usage of articulated prepositions is always tough for students of Italian (I remember well from my days teaching Italian language at UCLA). In many cases, usage is idiomatic. In the instances cited above, however, the definite article is necessary because the terms vino and bicchiere refer to wine and stemware as general concepts.

*** Gertrude Stein, Sacred Emily, 1913.