Dino Paolini, truffle “pusher,” stopped by the famous Forno Roscioli while I was there for a late lunch yesterday in Rome.
Although an ancient Roman instituion, Roscioli is part of a new and growing trend of “salumi bars” in major Italian cities, where a wine bar experience is enhanced by a focus on extreme cheese and charcuterie selections.
The cheese and salumi sampler featured pecorino from Etna infused with saffron and mortadella studded with black truffles. See what I mean by extreme? (More on the Roman love affair with mortadella later today if I have time.)
The prices were extreme, too, and the attitude precious.
I was happy to get to drink at least one locally produced wine on its by-the-glass list (the only one), Cesanese del Piglio by Casale della Ioria, one of my favorite producers. In the hour or so that I was there, I heard retail customers ask for “heavily barriqued Merlot” (a Friulian man), “Ca’ Marcanda” (German tourists), and “Hofstätter” (a Venetian or otherwise Veneta lady, couldn’t quite place the exact cadence).
In other news…
Please indulge me by checking out this photo, of which I am extremely proud, snapped yesterday at the amazing E.U.R. of Rome.
I thoroughly enjoyed my walking tour of the neighborhood (my first time there). James Taylor takes the prize for best pun, Sounds like EUR having a good time…
Thanks for reading, everyone, and for all the great comments… Please stay tuned… The next leg of the trip is going to be a whopper…
As much as I love what I do and as fortunate as I feel to work in wine and get to travel to Europe for work, a career in the wine business is not as glamorous as it may seem. When I go to Verona for the annual trade fairs, I get up very early and taste wine all day, running from one “stand” to another, trying to keep with appointments, hoping to see all the people I need to see. It’s exhausting and and by no means as fun as “getting to taste wine all day” may sound.
Above: There wasn’t enough sausage to go around at the dinner I attended on Sunday night in Breganze, near Vicenza in the Veneto. When it was served, they piled the other meats on top of it and all of the juices mingled to make a rich “tocio” (TOH-choh) or jus, as they say in the Veneto dialect. The grilled polenta sopped in the tocio was as good as it gets.
And the worst part is that I was a stone’s throw (an hour or so drive) from so many of my very best friends, like Steve and Sita and Gabriele (aka Elvis) in Padua, Stefano and Anna in Milan, and Corradino and Puddu in Bologna. But when I attend the fairs, I am bound to use my time there to taste as much wine as possible (taking notes on new vintages and learning about new labels) and talking and schmoozing with as many “suppliers” as possible.
Above: Roast guinea hens.
Another thing that really sucks is the food. There I was in Italy, one of the world’s greatest food destinations, and imprisoned in the trade fair grounds in Verona where the only chance for something good to eat is stopping by Alicia Lini’s stand for a snack of erbazzone and mortadella.
Most of the dinners you attend are held in cafeteria-style restaurants where you sit at long tables with sales reps and suppliers. For the most part, the conversation is boring, everyone is tired of tasting and running around, and all you want to do is to go back to your hotel room and crash.
Above: I sat with Chris and Cynde Gangi, a delightful couple who own and run Josephine’s in Frisco (Dallas), Texas.
The one good meal I had during the fair was a dinner I attended with Italian Wine Guy in Breganze near Vicenza. The Veneto is the Italian region to which I feel the greatest bond since I went to university there (Padua) and I spent three summers playing music there (Belluno). The menu that night included some of my favorite dishes, Veneto comfort food: baccalà mantecato (creamed salt cod, a classic Venetian dish); radicchio di Castelfranco (a type of red-spotted white leafy chicory, dressed with olive oil, salt, and a drop of traditional balsamic vinegar; Castelfranco is a town not far from where we were); homemade tagliatelle tossed with radicchio trevigiano sautéed with bits of prosciutto (radicchio trevigiano is a type of long-leaf, red chicory from Treviso, also not far from where we were); Bassano white aspargus risotto (it was white asparagus season in Bassano, also not far); grilled sausages and chicken thighs (bone-in), and roast guinea hens; and the best Veneto comfort food of all, grilled polenta.
It reminded me of a song that I love and used to sing many moons ago:
Se il mare fosse de tocio
e i monti de polenta
oh mamma che tociade,
polenta e baccalà.
Perché non m’ami più?
If the sea were made of gravy
and the mountains of polenta
oh mama, what sops!
polenta and baccalà.
Why don’t you love me anymore?
— from “La Mula de Parenzo,” traditional folksong of the Veneto and Friuli
Do Bianchi 