Above: 1971 Prunotto at the wine bar at I Trulli.

Do you remember 1971? I turned four-years-old that year. Who knew then what life had in store?

I did me some thinking about 1971 the other night when my friend Frank Butler treated me and another friend to a bottle of 1971 Prunotto Barolo at I Trulli.

The above wine was one of the finest I’ve ever had: very much alive with earthy flavors and aromas, gorgeous fruit in the mouth and a finish that I’ll never forget. It was a superb example of traditional winemaking and the longevity of Nebbiolo when vinified and aged in botti (large oak barrels).

The 1971 vintage in Piedmont is considered by many to be one of the greatest of the twentieth century.

That same year marked a major crossroads in the history of Italian wine: in 1971, the Antinori winery bottled the first vintage of the now famous Tignanello, creating what would become the second — after Sassicaia — ground-breaking “Super Tuscan.” Conceived in 1970, Tignanello — a modern-style, “declassified” Chianti — proved to be one of the greatest marketing coups in the wine industry. Unlike the limited-production Sassicaia, Tignanello flowed into the market and changed the way the world (and Americans in particular) viewed Italian wine. I remember well drinking 1985 Tignanello in the late 1980s, when it had already become a highly coveted wine in the U.S. I don’t care for Tignanello, nor the Super Tuscan style, but there’s no denying these early vini da tavola (table wines) paved the way for the Italian wine renaissance we are experiencing today.

Few outside the wine industry know that in 1987 Antinori purchased Prunotto and in the mid-1990s, the Antinoris introduced barrique aging and began to change the style of the house’s wines. Danilo Drocco, now winemaker at Fontanafredda, worked at Prunotto during this period of conversion and he remarked to me (the other day at the Fontanafredda vertical tasting in NYC) how he watched the wine go from a traditional- to modern-style wine.

Today, Prunotto makes a concentrated wine, with forward fruit flavors, a wine that can be drunk at an earlier age but a wine that I doubt will age as gracefully as that ’71.

If we had the chance to do it all again, tell me, would we? could we?

Click here to read about what was going on in the world in 1971.

In 1971, just before I turned four-years-old, my family moved from Chicago, IL to La Jolla, CA.

Can it be that it was all so simple then?
Or has time re-written every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me, would we? could we?

— Alan and Marilyn Bergman

Above: a billboard from the Mobitel campaign that features a song by my band Nous Non Plus. The pic was taken by my old friend Steve Muench while on vacation with his family in Slovenia (click on the image to view the video and all the comments by Slovenian kids).

This photo was sent to me by Steve Muench, one of my oldest and best friends. He was my roommate during my first year at the Università di Padova. He lives in Padua (Padova) today with his wife Sita and their children. Steve is one of the brightest and funniest persons I’ve ever known — and a great friend.

Although working as a food and wine writer in NYC is not always as glamorous as it may seem from the outside, there are certain perks that come along with this otherwise hazardous occupation.

Yesterday, one such occasion presented itself with an invitation to taste a “vertical” of Fontanafredda Barolo stretching back to 1967, my birth year. Some of NYC’s top wine writers and sommeliers were in attendance and all were thrilled to take part in such an illustrious tasting.

Some believe Fontanafredda to be the oldest producer of Barolo and its estate was once the hunting ground of King Victor Emmanuel II of Savoy (Italy’s first king, hence, the overly cited chiasmus “Barolo the wine of kings, the king of wines”). It is one of the the appellation’s largest producers and is currently refashioning its image: for many years, winemaker Danilo Drocco explained, the winery focused on the production of commercial sparkling wine. Although the winery consistenly produced and released Barolo (except for in particularly bad vintages), vinification of Barolo was not its “priority,” as Danilo put it.

Chronologically, the flight we tasted was divided into four subsets (my designations, not Danilo’s):

– the current era of the winery’s evolution, 2001, 2000, and 1999 (Danilo began making wine there in 1999)

– the “sparkling wine” era, 1998, 1997, 1996

– the “post-DOCG” era, 1990, 1982

– the “post DOC” era, 1974, 1967

Each of the wines we tasted were made from Fontanafredda’s cru, La Rosa, except for the 1967, which was a “classic” Barolo, blended from multiple vineyards.

In 1933, the Italian government (then Fascist) passed legislation defining the zone for Barolo production in the following townships (roughly the same as today): Barolo, Castiglione Falletto, Serralunga d’Alba, Monforte d’Alba, Novello, La Morra, Verduno, Grinzane Cavour, Diano d’Alba, Cherasco, e Roddi (the five most important, where the most famous and long-lived wines are produced: Barolo, Castiglione Falletto, Serralunga d’Alba, Monforte d’Alba, and La Morra). The Denominazione d’Origine Controllata (Controlled Origin Appellation) for Barolo was created in 1966 (and it became DOCG, i.e., Garantita or Guaranteed, in 1980).

Danilo noted that Fontanafredda began making a single-vineyard (cru) wine in 1967 (there are too few bottles of 67 La Rosa left, he said, and thus we would be tasting the classic, blended Barolo for that vintage).

Highlights:

The 67 and the 74 were fantastic. These traditionally made wines showed the power of large-cask aging and — I would imagine — extended submerged cap maceration (in the old days, they used a grill to keep the cap of grape skins submerged during maceration; today modern winemaking calls for punching down, where the cap is submerged repeatedly, thus accelerating and intensifying the process). Captivating complexity, aromas, and acidity that was very much alive. Beautifully mellowed tannins. Among the best wine I’ve ever had.

The 1982 was excellent and showed the characteristic tobacco flavors that this “dry” vintage produced.

The 90 was very good and is ready to drink, all agreed, and had aged nicely in the magnums from which it was poured (Danilo remarked that magnum aging helped this warm vintage, noting that he had recently tasted it in 750ml).

The 96-98 wines, made during the years of “neglect,” if you will, were actually not so bad, if like me, you appreciate “rustic” style Barolo. The pronounced tannins in the 96 were great and many of us agreed that the fantastic vintage, when vinified in a straightforward however unrefined style, showed beautifully. The 97 was out of balance (too tannic and no fruit), the 98 flaccid.

Of the current-era wines, the 1999 — which is done in a judiciously modern style — showed beautifully and was appreciated even by Charles Scicolone — the venerated NYC Italian wine maven, who campaigns vigorously against modern winemaking and in particular the use of new wood.

Danilo later remarked to me that he uses new oak for gentle oxygenation (about 30% of the wine is aged in barrique he said) so that the tannins mellow. But he is careful, he said, to make sure that no wood flavors are imparted. The wine was elegant and well-balanced (reminiscent, to my palate, of Aldo Conterno’s wines).

Above: when he learned that ’67 was my birth year, Fontanafredda’s winemaker Danilo Drocco, right, poured me a glass as we chatted before the tasting.

The year 2007 C.E., my fortieth on the planet, may have been the year of my mid-life crisis, but I was glad to find out firsthand (I had never tasted ’67) that I was born in a good year for Nebbiolo. As I enter into the new phase of my life, I hope I’ll “show” as well.

In other news: look for my article on Roman holiday cooking in the December issue of Wine & Spirits Magazine (hits newsstands soon).

Above: me, pretending to work.

During dinner out with a friend last night, my phone rang. It was my roommate Greg (who has been SO cool to let me crash at his pad after this summer’s catastrophe). He asked if he could open a bottle of wine and I said, “sure, open one of the bottles of ‘classic’ Barbaresco 2001 by Produttori del Barbaresco.” Something got lost in translation and he inadvertently opened the last bottle of 1996 Pora, one of the winery’s famous crus. It’s totally fine by me: as I sit here and work on a translation, I am sipping a leftover glass. Greg opened the bottle, drank about a half of it, and then simply re-corked it. And frankly, the wine is drinking beautifully at this moment: nice fruit, even acidity, mellowed tannin, and all those earthy flavors you get in traditionally made Nebbiolo. The vintage for this wine is so powerful and the vinification method so honest and real, I wouldn’t be surprised if this wine will still be alive tomorrow.

One reader writes in: “oh sh*&. he opened up a 1996? ouch”.

Above: the sky was beautiful over the Hudson yesterday early eve, the lights and headlights of Chelsea menacing, as I headed over to the storage space where my books, CDs, and a computer had been deposited.

My living situation has been so crazy since this summer when I had to scramble to find a place to stay. I haven’t had access to all my stuff but recently was able to retrieve these photos that I took when I visited the cellars at Il Poggione in Sant’Angelo in Colle (Montalcino) back in May, 2005. Click here to read my post about that experience.

Above: the oldest bottles are conserved in sand. The glass used decades ago was not as sturdy as it is today. The sand helps to support them gently and to absorb liquid if they break.

Above: the night of our dinner, Fabrizio (below), grabbed a bottle of 1978 Rosso di Montalcino from this stash and we crossed the tiny town’s main square to the Trattoria Il Pozzo (so-named because it stands behind a well, pozzo in Italian).

Above: Fabrizio Bindocci’s family has been making wine for the Il Poggione estate for generations. His son Alessandro has already completed his degree in enology and currently represents the estate abroad. They are among the nicest people I’ve met in the business and they are steadfast defenders of traditional-style Brunello di Montalcino. Note the large barrels behind him, used for aging Brunello.

Above: a two-hundred-year-old olive tree on Il Poggione’s estate. Fabrizio is a firm believer in “promiscuous” farming; olive groves lie side-by-side with vineyards and he allows game to forage there; these elements, he explained, are fundamental to the terroir-expression of his wines.