Since when is Texas a Muslim country? Sans pain, sans vin, l’amour n’est rien #TexSom

I filed my report on the Texas Sommelier Conference today over at the Houston Press.

Click through to the post and see why Master of Wine and Master Sommelier Doug Frost was asking: since when is Texas a Muslim country?

Everyone was looking sharp at the opening session of the conference yesterday, including D’Lynn Proctor (left) and Devon Broglie, one of the two new Master Sommeliers in Texas.

The other new Texas Master Sommelier Craig Collins (right) posed with winemaker legend Serge Hochar at the panelists dinner party the night before.

Should wine bloggers write about wines they don’t like? (And Tracie P is looking great!)

Above: Tracie P and I couldn’t resist taking a dip in the salt water pool at the Four Seasons Las Colinas Resort in Irving, Texas, where I spoke at the seventh annual Texas Sommelier Conference on Saturday. Baby P is doing great and so is Mamma P!

During our Saturday seminar on wine blogging at the Texas Sommelier Conference, San Antonio participant Mark Fusco (author of 1337 Wine), asked Alfonso and me whether we felt there was a place in the enoblogosphere to write about wines we don’t like. Mark was referring to what we called “the golden rules of wine blogging,” including avoid negativity and write about things that you do like.

Print media wine writer Rebecca Murphy responded fervently, noting that “there are so many good wines out there, we can always find wines we like to write about” and avoid negative reviews.

After I posted the golden rules here yesterday, two of my European wine blogging colleagues — top print and virtual media writers Franco Ziliani from Italy and Wojciech Bońkowski from Poland — commented that “we must write also about things we don’t like [because] a critical approach to wine world of today is essential” (Franco) and that “it’s important to review bad wines, too, [because] from a reader’s point of view it adds balance to your praise, and makes you more trustworthy.”

Above: Alfonso snapped this photo of me with Mamma P on Saturday night at the conference speakers dinner party. I think anyone who saw her would agree. Tracie P is simply aglow right now. Me? I’m just happy to be sitting next to such a beautiful lady!

Others, including Alfonso, have weighed in: here’s the comment thread.

As Kim Pierce syllogistically pointed out during Saturday’s print media panel, many [print media food and wine] journalists are bloggers but not all bloggers are journalists.

As the lines of print and virtual media continue to be blurred and as many professional writers are increasingly prompted to contribute to commercial and institutional blogs, the question of where journalism ends and blogging begins becomes more and more fuzzy.

In my view, the main difference between traditional media and blogging is that the former is ostensibly objective while the latter is proudly subjective. By these terms, I do not mean one is better than the other. I am applying these terms as a semiotician would: they reflect the authors’s points of view. Personal pronouns — the lice of literature, as Gadda once said — are omitted in print media. They are embraced in social media.

As a child of historical Deconstruction and post-Modern critical theory, I am a firm believer that these terms are essentially irrelevant. (Not enough time and space to address this now and here.)

But I do believe that professional writers like Franco and Wojciech (and myself for that matter) are able to address thorny issues (like bad wines) in a judicious manner: they have institutional experience (and often training) that guides them. And as a result, they can be critical without agression or violence.

In social media, because so many of the writers lack these qualifications, unfounded controversy and imbalanced critical evaluation often takes the place of sound writing.

This is why I believe we wine bloggers should avoid negativity but not critical thinking. This is especially applicable for those of us coming to the table for the first time (like many of the participants in Saturday’s seminar).

I do think that Franco and Wojciech are 100% correct (and I am thrilled that they have weighed in here because I admire both of them immensely): we mustn’t abandon critical thinking. But can we maintain honesty without aggression and violence?

What do you think? Please share your thoughts in a comment!

Golden rules of wine blogging

Alfonso and I had a blast at yesterday’s wine blog seminar at TexSom 2001.

In prepping for our talks, it was a great experience to reflect on the nature of wine blogging and how and why we do it. You’ll find a lot of our notes and posts by seminar participants at the ad hoc blog we created for the session: Wine Bloggers Unite.

One of the posts that seemed to resonate with participants was the golden rules to blog by:

1) remember that all blogs — wine and otherwise — are vanity blogs.
2) tell the truth and write “what you feel.”
3) avoid negativity and write about things that you do like.
4) engage in collegiality, solidarity, and camaraderie.
5) follow your palate and listen to your heart.

As one participant Tweeted during the talk, “it’s all about love, community, and finding our humanity.”

No hat[e]orade here! :)

Another series of posts that seemed to resonate with participants was our classification of wine blog types:

1) institutional wine blogs
2) commercial wine blogs
3) professional wine blogs
4) pure wine blogs

Heartfelt thanks to Master Sommeliers Drew Hendricks, James Tidwell, Craig Collins, and Devon Broglie for making us part of the wonderful and amazing experience of TexSom!

Doritos and Joly, inspiration for a post

I have to confess that I’ve been enjoying my contribution to the Houston Press food blog, Eating Our Words.

And although I’ve been trying to focus on under-$25 wines from all over the world (not just Italy), my wonderful editor Cathy Matusow has been very generous in giving me license to reflect on wine and how we apply it in our everyday lives.

Today’s post was inspired by a whimsical pairing of Doritos and 2000 Coulée de Serrant by Joly. Blasphemous but surprisingly meaningful in ways I wouldn’t have expected.

    What is the moral of this story? However much we need to respect the wines we drink and the winemakers who make them, I believe that wine should be folded into the rhythms of our lives without prejudice or pretension. Did I commit an act of blasphemy with my pairing? In the eyes of many, I most certainly did. But I am convinced that wine is a living and breathing being, just like us. In my view, its application should be based on an honesty of desire and not an affected and complacent reliance on bourgeois convention. Yes, there are the great pairings of Western Civilization: Muscadet from the Loire and raw oysters; Sancerre and veined cheese; Tuscan Sangiovese and porterhouse alla fiorentina; red Burgundy and duck civet; Sauternes and foie gras Fritos.

    When it comes to pairing, follow your palate and be true to your heart.

Check out the post here and thanks for reading!

In other news…

Tracie P and I are on our way to Dallas where Alfonso and I will be leading a seminar on Wine Blogging at the Texas Sommelier Conference tomorrow.

I created a blog to document the seminar and to allow participants to network. Check it out here if you would like to follow along.

It’s an epic cast this year at the conference and I’ll looking forward to catching up with friends and colleagues from New York and California.

Thanks for reading. Stay tuned and buon weekend yall!

The lost art of the aperitivo

When my good friend and one of the top wine professionals in the state Fabien Jacob poured me a sweet white vermouth as an aperitivo the other night at Dough Pizzeria (one of my favs) in San Antonio, I was transported back to my university days in Italy in the 90s when no meal started without an aperitivo…

Today, I wrote and posted a fun piece about vermouth and its role in Americana cocktails over at the Houston Press.

Buona lettura e buon appetito!

Dream flight: 98 B. Mascarello, 98 Quintarelli Amarone, 90 Quintarelli Bandito (white)

From the department of “dreams do come true”…

When we sat down for dinner last week, Tony Vallone looked across the table at me and matter-of-factly said, “I have some special wines picked out for you tonight. I know you’re going to like them.” He wasn’t kidding.

I’ve been curating his blog since October 2010 and our weekly meeting has evolved into a familial kibitz where we talk about everything under the sun, alternating between English and Italian. (Long before Tracie P and I announced that we were pregnant, Tony had intuited that we were with child. “I can read it on your face,” he told me. And, all along, Tony said it was going to be a girl. He was right.)

The occasion for our dinner was an interview with one of the top wine writers in the country and Tony had asked me to join them.

After an aperitif of light, bright Colle Massari Montecucco Vermentino, the first wine in the flight was 1998 Barolo by Bartolo Mascarello (above).

I’ve tasted this wine on a number of occasions and it’s extremely tight right now, favoring its tannin and jealously guarding its fruit.

But when the server arrived with a porcini risotto topped with Umbrian truffles shaved tableside, the wine started to open up and its delicate menthol note began to give way to wild berry fruit tempered by mushrooms and earth. The acidity in this wine was singing and I couldn’t help but be reminded of Angelo Gaja’s antithetical comparison of Cabernet Sauvignon and Nebbiolo. Cabernet Sauvignon is like John Wayne, I once heard Gaja say: he who stands in the center of the room and cannot help but be noticed. Nebbiolo is like Marcello Mastroianni: he enters the room and stands quietly in the corner, waiting for you to approach him. (There’s a punchline that cannot be repeated in polite company.)

The acidity in the 98 Amarone della Valpolicella Classico was equally vibrant and its melody played a counterpoint against the delicately marbled fat of a Kobi fillet. While I’m sure that the 98 Quintarelli has many, many years ahead of it, this wine is in a moment of grace. Generous fruit set against rich structure and mouthfeel. Here, I couldn’t help be reminded of Cassiodorus’s description of Acinaticum: “On the palate, it swells up in such a way that you say it was a meaty liquid, a beverage to be eaten rather than drunk.” In this wine, meaty ripe and overripe red fruit alternated with savory flavors. An unforgettable wine in one of the most remarkable moments of its life.

And dulcis in fundo, Tony had selected a wine that he had seen me covet. A few months ago, a collector and frequent guest of Tony’s poured me a taste of the rare 1990 Quintarelli Bandito (I wrote about it here). Knowing that I longed to “drink” this wine in the context of a meal, he surprised us at the end with a 375ml bottle. This wine — last bottled by Quintarelli for the 1990 vintage — is one of the greatest expressions of Garganega I’ve ever tasted: rocks and fruit, minerality and stone and white stone fruit, dancing around a “nervy backbone of acidity” as the Italian say.

This was paired with some housemade zeppole and a dose of playful nostalgia.

Carissimo Tony, ti ringrazio di cuore per questi vini straordinari!

Soave and summer farro salad make a bleak world seem brighter

Tracie P really outdid herself yesterday night for our dinner, making a gorgeous summer farro salad with fresh and lightly blanched vegetables and fruits and hard-boiled egg. It’s a good thing she did because by the time dinner rolled around at our house, I was depressed.

After reading the dismal news about Italy, the economy, the fall of Western Civilization, and the riots and looting in London (one of my favorite cities on earth), I couldn’t help but think about the last market crash in 2008 and the days that followed the tragedy of the Twin Towers in 2001. Those were tough times for the wine (and restaurant) industry and I hope they are not returning in the wake of the current crisis.

But as Tracie P reminded me, no matter what happens, we’ll have each other and we’ll have Baby P when she arrives later this year. And for the first time in my life, as bleak as the world seems right now, my anxiety about the future is assuaged by Tracie P’s wonderful smile and her warm embrace — and a little girl growing inside her.

And as bad as things may look, we all found joy and solace in some of the simplest pleasure in life: a bright summer dish and a bright, fresh bottling of Garganega by Suavia.

We were also joined last night by Alfonso, who was in Austin on business. And it was great to be together, just the three four of us…

After dinner, we settled into the living room and watched Pasolini’s Decameron on Netflix streaming. And I think all of us thanked our lucky stars for the small pleasures that life delivers…

Here’s one of the most beautiful sequences from the film… Buona visione

BBQ Capital of Texas THE WORLD: Lockhart

To call Lockhart, Texas the bbq capital of the world is simply insufficient in describing its role in the gastronomic state of world bbq affairs.

Lockhart is a true Mecca — by antonomasia — the ultimate and supreme destination for bbq, where the German-Texan tradition of dry rub smoked meats has not only been institutionalized but has become a true religion.

And Kreuz Market is the bbq religion’s pontiff and its most pure expression: no forks, no napkins… just butcher paper, paper towels on the tables, and plastic knives to cut through the tender bounty and plastic spoons for the sides. And most importantly: no sauce… Housemade hot sauce (in the style of Tabasco, to give you the idea) is sufficient to add the desired kick to this perfectly seasoned meat.

That’s cousin Ben in the photo above. He, cousin Marc, Marc’s children cousins Jessica and Jacob, Cousin Marty and I headed down to Lockhart early yesterday morning for a ‘cue crawl.

We did also make it to Black’s, where cousin Jessica took this excellent photo of the signature beef rib using my camera.

There are three destinations for bbq in Lockhart — Black’s, Kreuz, and Smitty’s. They are highly competitive, steeped in familial rivalry and intrigue, and each with its own particular and peculiar nuances and idiosyncratic signatures.

One man’s poison is another man’s meat. However much the families of Lockhart feud and vie with one another to claim the title of best in a village of champions, our family was surrounded by other happy families who come together everyday united by a common cause — great food…

Buona domenica, yall!

NC-17 ruminations on Berlusconi & other Euro pols

WARNING: CONTAINS PROFANITY AND HUMOR.

When I saw Italian prime minister Berlusconi’s photo on the (virtual) cover of The New York Times this morning (above), I couldn’t help myself from inserting my own caption: “Ma… La Merkel mi sta facendo un culo così!” Translation: “Merkel is really tearing me a new one!” (Note the gesture whereby Berlusconi illustrates the size of the new ass[hole] that Merkel is tearing for him.)

Surely I am not the only Italophone who fell victim to this overwhelming urge.

As we Americans awake from the stupor of our congressional budgetary crisis only to find that the debt crisis is about to topple Western Civilization as we know it (first Greece, now Italy, etc.), there is no small dose of irony in the fact that German prime minister Angela Merkel and her husband are enjoying their Alpine vacation in German speaking Italy, in the village of Solda to be precise.

Yesterday, in any event, it came as no surprise to me when my blogging colleague J.C. brought to my attention (on the Twitter) the news that Berlusca “took advantage of a government press conference last night to push his own shares. He said if he had savings he’d fill his boots with Mediaset, which was now ‘utterly undervalued'” (via The Guardian).

For the best blog coverage of Italy’s emerging and expanding debt crisis, I’ll be following Avvinare, who use to work as a financial reporter in Milan.

I’ve never met Berlusconi, although I did breath the same air as he when I was working as an interpreter at the United Nations and was called into a meeting between him and Kofi Anan.

In all fairness to Berlusconi (evviva la par condicio [the Italian fairness doctrine]!), he did get a bad rap in a recent New Yorker profile (although I did love the photo from the piece). As well intentioned as the young author, Ariel Levy, may have been, she probably should have brushed up on her Italian before filing her article (where are the cocaine-snorting fact checkers when you need them, Jay?).

She erroneously found irony in the fact that the Italian press refers to Berlusconi as il presidente. In fact, while we call him the prime minister, he is the president of the council (presidente del consiglio) that governs the two houses of the Italian parliament.

She also erroneously found hyperbole in the fact that the Italian press calls him il cavaliere (the knight). In fact, Berlusconi is a knight in the Italian Order of Merit for Labour. And because he is Italy’s richest man, he is — by antonomasia — the knight, i.e., the leading knight in the order.

Otherwise, I agree 100% with everything Ms. Levy said in her piece (and recommend it to you).

My band Nous Non Plus has recorded a song I wrote about Berlusconi. It’s called “Bunga Bunga” and will appear on our forthcoming album Freudian Slip.

I can’t play it for you yet but I can preview a line:

All over the world, on fait le Bunga Bunga.

Post script: check out this excellent article in the Atlantic about the origins of the expression Bunga Bunga. Philology at its best (and its funniest)!

A first-kiss wine…

From the department of “somehow, some way, I just keep on getting to drink funky-assed wines like every single day”…

The incipit of last night’s flight — the overture, the prologue — was a deceivingly humble bottle of 1997 Bourgogne blanc by Leroy. Friend and collector Michael Byington (environmental consultant by day) was in Austin on business and we met up at the happy hour at Trio (half-priced by the glass, appetizer menu, and free valet parking!). While I had brought a bottle to share as well, ubi major, minor cessat: his flight was so impressive that I tucked mine in my wine bag and just stuck around and enjoyed the incredible ride.

Not only did the Leroy reward us with nuanced dried fruit and chalky minerality, vibrant acidity and a slight unctuous mouthefeel that made it pair brilliantly with the steak tartare (ingeniously served with kren by chef Todd Duplechan)…

It also brought to mind a special moment in my love affair with Tracie P: nearly three years ago, when we were still in a long-distance romance, I brought a bottle of 1997 Leroy in my checked baggage to Austin. Then, the glow of our new love was wrapped around us tightly (and still is as Tracie P carries la piccola Parzen, as at least one friend on the Facebook called her), and every wine we tasted together was a new adventure. The 97 Leroy was perhaps the first “intellectual” bottle we shared and an unforgettable moment when our palates came together like lovers floating in a painting by Chagall. As soon as the wine touched my lips, I was transported to that moment and could see Tracie P before me, her blue eyes twinkling, her golden hair shining, and her lips inviting me to taste… Aroma and flavor have such remarkably potent mnemonic power… And this wine was a window onto one of the happiest and most thrilling moments of my life.

Michael had generously reached deep into his cellar before traveling down to Austin… Next, we opened a bottle of 1998 La Bernardine by Chapoutier. Crunchy red earth, chewy flavors of game and underbrush, ripe red fruit…

The 1990 Château Pavie was in fantastic shape… I couldn’t help but think of what Houston wine writer Dale Robertson had said to me the night before: to drink a wine too old can be a felony, but to drink too young is only a misdemeanor.

Bright, red and berry fruit, ethereal sand and pebbles, a powerful lightness and delicate muscularity. (Does anyone recognize the Petrarchan themes in this post?)

We made it an early night because I wanted to get home to Tracie P. Michael insisted that I take the last glass of the Leroy home. We tasted it together once I arrived… and we floated like lovers in a painting by Chagall…