“Have you ever been to ‘osteria senza oste’ in Valdobbiadene?” my friend Paolo asked me by email last month. I didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Not a clue. And I proceeded to forget about it, like we do for so many things that pass by our way. But when I arrived in the Valdobbiadene area (The land of Prosecco) Paulo planned an afternoon. “I am taking you to see people and places the tourists don’t know about.”

Paolo is young, happy, a former winemaker and now working half in Italy and half in the United States representing several wineries. One of them, dei Zago, we met the young winemaker Christian Zanatta at Vinitaly last year. I promised the next time I was in the Valdobbiadene area that I’d be glad to stop by.

Under threatening skies, after several days of heavy rain, we first went to Cá dei Zago. The young winemaker has been fortunate in that his vision of Prosecco and Valdobbiadene corresponds more to how his grandfather saw the land. When I mentioned his name to an enologist at the Conegliano school of enology, he looked at me, startled but pleased, “Ah yes, Christian,” inferring with his words and body language that the young man has tapped into the source of greatness in this area.

Later in the day, after many bottles of the Cá dei Zago Prosecco col fondo, Paulo took me to the osteria senza oste. On a hill in the Cartizze area, a little shack if filled with provisions; Prosecco, local cheese, bread, salumi and a guitar with five strings. In better weather there might have been more people there. This evening we had it all to ourselves.

Osteria senza oste is an osteria on the honor system. There is no one to take your money and you pay what you want. It works in this galaxy, a throwback to the hippie days of free love, but substituted with free Prosecco. The view is stunning, but the energy is inside this little hut. The Veneto is so much more than Venice and Verona.

Once we finished one more bottle of Prosecco Paulo wanted to show me another osteria. “Have you heard of Gallina?” he asked. I’d probably driven past it a time or two, but there was nothing in the memory that recalled the place.

There is no sign. We step inside and a man, Luigi Gallina, greats us in a loud, happy voice. He seemed to have been partaking in merriment for some time. In fact, there was a party that was taking the large room for the night. “Do you have any fresh asparagus?” Paolo asks.

Luigi booms back, “No!” and walks into the kitchen. Upon returning he brings us three short glasses and pours us some of his Prosecco, rustic and refreshing. Luigi is ruddy faced, short and has the clearest blood-shot eyes I have ever seen. Many of the winemaker’s kids grew up at the tables in this place, their parent’s friends with the Gallina family. Paolo and his partner Francesco tell me stories of the place as Luigi, now in whirling dervish mode, runs from room to room. This is really a scene, something one would see in Italy 40 years ago, but could only hope to see in present time.

Luigi is sending platters of asparagus wrapped around a delicate pastry to the party in the next room. “He approaches us, “Take, take, they won’t know. Go, take.” So we slide one or two off the large platter. Simple food, but food that has been bathed with the spirit of many generations of trial and success. No errors here. Another shot of Prosecco spills in our glasses, the noise level rises. We are now part of the party. And that is how an osteria has been for hundreds of years in Italy. This one, the oldest in the area, started in the 19th century. Forget everything you think you know about Italian food. Forget Michelin. Breathe in all of this, I say to myself, this is the essence of Italy I try and tell people back home about. Those who have an open heart and a willing spirit. Luigi is living patrimony in the land of Prosecco, a priceless gift to the world.

I have stumbled into an alternate universe, one in which people are wise when they are young, happy when they are old. Everyone eats well, and they drink white fizzy wine. How many times I have stood behind a table pouring wine to people who come up to me and say, “I only drink red wine, don’t pour me the white.” In this land, those emotions would be misplaced. How can a Cabernet go with a delicate pastry wrapped around the freshest of asparagus? This light fizzy juice is Romeo to the Juliet that is in season and fresh. No effete red wine snobs need apply.

Back to the earlier part of the day, at Cá dei Zago. Christian’s mom, Mariagiustina Zago, runs a little bed and breakfast on the property and she was running around that day. Christian finally released the basic wine and she was gathering bottles for the folks who were staying there. “I have to take the wine out of the tanks before this, now it is easier in the bottle.” She is very animated and lively, in fact she almost ran us over as she drove in the little circle around the property to leave it. It was wet, we are crouched on the side of a hill, and the rain is making the soil loose. Christian is worried about the vines.

Out in the vineyards, Christian is showing us some of the vines his grandfather planted when he was Christian’s age. What must it feel like to have his living plant that your grandfather planted 60-70 years ago, now in your care? To old-soul Christian, this is a simple solution. You take care of it and keep the tradition alive. All around him, the popularization of Prosecco has people planting in flat fields where grain once grew. Over to his neighbor’s they still spray on their plants to alleviate fungus, to promote growth, to discourage pests. As we walk by one of those vineyards, Christian asks me if I can smell the difference. It’s hard for me, but I can smell the chemicals. It reminds me of a hospital, where people go to die.

In the cellar as well, one of these original ones, Christian shows his old barrels. We see signs of when his grandfather and uncle where here. A picture of the room in those days, hangs above the exit. A room within a room, like an Escher painting. The circle of life and within it a life very much devoted to making sure Prosecco is made in the way of his grandfather.

Now if you want to find this wine, in America, you have to search. In New York, Jenny & François Selections stock the wine when they have it. There is an importer as well in Seattle, maybe another one or two dotted around the country. Seek this wine out.

Christian also makes a Zero Dosaggio vintage dated Metodo Classico. Lovely wine, but not why I came to this hill, or to the osteria senza oste or Osteria Da Gallina. I came here to meet the grandfathers, young and old and taste the food and wine from their time. We cannot travel back in time, but we can still hitchhike through a galaxy of wonderful things here in Valdobbiadene and the land of Prosecco. And that is what brings me back through this magical portal, again and again.

“Have you ever been to ‘osteria senza oste’ in Valdobbiadene?” my friend Paolo asked me by email last month. I didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Not a clue. And I proceeded to forget about it, like we do for so many things that pass by our way. But when I arrived in the Valdobbiadene area (The land of Prosecco) Paulo planned an afternoon. “I am taking you to see people and places the tourists don’t know about.”

Paolo is young, happy, a former winemaker and now working half in Italy and half in the United States representing several wineries. One of them, dei Zago, we met the young winemaker Christian Zanatta at Vinitaly last year. I promised the next time I was in the Valdobbiadene area that I’d be glad to stop by.

Under threatening skies, after several days of heavy rain, we first went to Cá dei Zago. The young winemaker has been fortunate in that his vision of Prosecco and Valdobbiadene corresponds more to how his grandfather saw the land. When I mentioned his name to an enologist at the Conegliano school of enology, he looked at me, startled but pleased, “Ah yes, Christian,” inferring with his words and body language that the young man has tapped into the source of greatness in this area.

Later in the day, after many bottles of the Cá dei Zago Prosecco col fondo, Paulo took me to the osteria senza oste. On a hill in the Cartizze area, a little shack if filled with provisions; Prosecco, local cheese, bread, salumi and a guitar with five strings. In better weather there might have been more people there. This evening we had it all to ourselves.

Osteria senza oste is an osteria on the honor system. There is no one to take your money and you pay what you want. It works in this galaxy, a throwback to the hippie days of free love, but substituted with free Prosecco. The view is stunning, but the energy is inside this little hut. The Veneto is so much more than Venice and Verona.

Once we finished one more bottle of Prosecco Paulo wanted to show me another osteria. “Have you heard of Gallina?” he asked. I’d probably driven past it a time or two, but there was nothing in the memory that recalled the place.

There is no sign. We step inside and a man, Luigi Gallina, greats us in a loud, happy voice. He seemed to have been partaking in merriment for some time. In fact, there was a party that was taking the large room for the night. “Do you have any fresh asparagus?” Paolo asks.

Luigi booms back, “No!” and walks into the kitchen. Upon returning he brings us three short glasses and pours us some of his Prosecco, rustic and refreshing. Luigi is ruddy faced, short and has the clearest blood-shot eyes I have ever seen. Many of the winemaker’s kids grew up at the tables in this place, their parent’s friends with the Gallina family. Paolo and his partner Francesco tell me stories of the place as Luigi, now in whirling dervish mode, runs from room to room. This is really a scene, something one would see in Italy 40 years ago, but could only hope to see in present time.

Luigi is sending platters of asparagus wrapped around a delicate pastry to the party in the next room. “He approaches us, “Take, take, they won’t know. Go, take.” So we slide one or two off the large platter. Simple food, but food that has been bathed with the spirit of many generations of trial and success. No errors here. Another shot of Prosecco spills in our glasses, the noise level rises. We are now part of the party. And that is how an osteria has been for hundreds of years in Italy. This one, the oldest in the area, started in the 19th century. Forget everything you think you know about Italian food. Forget Michelin. Breathe in all of this, I say to myself, this is the essence of Italy I try and tell people back home about. Those who have an open heart and a willing spirit. Luigi is living patrimony in the land of Prosecco, a priceless gift to the world.

I have stumbled into an alternate universe, one in which people are wise when they are young, happy when they are old. Everyone eats well, and they drink white fizzy wine. How many times I have stood behind a table pouring wine to people who come up to me and say, “I only drink red wine, don’t pour me the white.” In this land, those emotions would be misplaced. How can a Cabernet go with a delicate pastry wrapped around the freshest of asparagus? This light fizzy juice is Romeo to the Juliet that is in season and fresh. No effete red wine snobs need apply.

Back to the earlier part of the day, at Cá dei Zago. Christian’s mom, Mariagiustina Zago, runs a little bed and breakfast on the property and she was running around that day. Christian finally released the basic wine and she was gathering bottles for the folks who were staying there. “I have to take the wine out of the tanks before this, now it is easier in the bottle.” She is very animated and lively, in fact she almost ran us over as she drove in the little circle around the property to leave it. It was wet, we are crouched on the side of a hill, and the rain is making the soil loose. Christian is worried about the vines.

Out in the vineyards, Christian is showing us some of the vines his grandfather planted when he was Christian’s age. What must it feel like to have his living plant that your grandfather planted 60-70 years ago, now in your care? To old-soul Christian, this is a simple solution. You take care of it and keep the tradition alive. All around him, the popularization of Prosecco has people planting in flat fields where grain once grew. Over to his neighbor’s they still spray on their plants to alleviate fungus, to promote growth, to discourage pests. As we walk by one of those vineyards, Christian asks me if I can smell the difference. It’s hard for me, but I can smell the chemicals. It reminds me of a hospital, where people go to die.

In the cellar as well, one of these original ones, Christian shows his old barrels. We see signs of when his grandfather and uncle where here. A picture of the room in those days, hangs above the exit. A room within a room, like an Escher painting. The circle of life and within it a life very much devoted to making sure Prosecco is made in the way of his grandfather.

Now if you want to find this wine, in America, you have to search. In New York, Jenny & François Selections stock the wine when they have it. There is an importer as well in Seattle, maybe another one or two dotted around the country. Seek this wine out.

Christian also makes a Zero Dosaggio vintage dated Metodo Classico. Lovely wine, but not why I came to this hill, or to the osteria senza oste or Osteria Da Gallina. I came here to meet the grandfathers, young and old and taste the food and wine from their time. We cannot travel back in time, but we can still hitchhike through a galaxy of wonderful things here in Valdobbiadene and the land of Prosecco. And that is what brings me back through this magical portal, again and again.

“Have you ever been to ‘osteria senza oste’ in Valdobbiadene?” my friend Paolo asked me by email last month. I didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Not a clue. And I proceeded to forget about it, like we do for so many things that pass by our way. But when I arrived in the Valdobbiadene area (The land of Prosecco) Paulo planned an afternoon. “I am taking you to see people and places the tourists don’t know about.”

Paolo is young, happy, a former winemaker and now working half in Italy and half in the United States representing several wineries. One of them, dei Zago, we met the young winemaker Christian Zanatta at Vinitaly last year. I promised the next time I was in the Valdobbiadene area that I’d be glad to stop by.

Under threatening skies, after several days of heavy rain, we first went to Cá dei Zago. The young winemaker has been fortunate in that his vision of Prosecco and Valdobbiadene corresponds more to how his grandfather saw the land. When I mentioned his name to an enologist at the Conegliano school of enology, he looked at me, startled but pleased, “Ah yes, Christian,” inferring with his words and body language that the young man has tapped into the source of greatness in this area.

Later in the day, after many bottles of the Cá dei Zago Prosecco col fondo, Paulo took me to the osteria senza oste. On a hill in the Cartizze area, a little shack if filled with provisions; Prosecco, local cheese, bread, salumi and a guitar with five strings. In better weather there might have been more people there. This evening we had it all to ourselves.

Osteria senza oste is an osteria on the honor system. There is no one to take your money and you pay what you want. It works in this galaxy, a throwback to the hippie days of free love, but substituted with free Prosecco. The view is stunning, but the energy is inside this little hut. The Veneto is so much more than Venice and Verona.

Once we finished one more bottle of Prosecco Paulo wanted to show me another osteria. “Have you heard of Gallina?” he asked. I’d probably driven past it a time or two, but there was nothing in the memory that recalled the place.

There is no sign. We step inside and a man, Luigi Gallina, greats us in a loud, happy voice. He seemed to have been partaking in merriment for some time. In fact, there was a party that was taking the large room for the night. “Do you have any fresh asparagus?” Paolo asks.

Luigi booms back, “No!” and walks into the kitchen. Upon returning he brings us three short glasses and pours us some of his Prosecco, rustic and refreshing. Luigi is ruddy faced, short and has the clearest blood-shot eyes I have ever seen. Many of the winemaker’s kids grew up at the tables in this place, their parent’s friends with the Gallina family. Paolo and his partner Francesco tell me stories of the place as Luigi, now in whirling dervish mode, runs from room to room. This is really a scene, something one would see in Italy 40 years ago, but could only hope to see in present time.

Luigi is sending platters of asparagus wrapped around a delicate pastry to the party in the next room. “He approaches us, “Take, take, they won’t know. Go, take.” So we slide one or two off the large platter. Simple food, but food that has been bathed with the spirit of many generations of trial and success. No errors here. Another shot of Prosecco spills in our glasses, the noise level rises. We are now part of the party. And that is how an osteria has been for hundreds of years in Italy. This one, the oldest in the area, started in the 19th century. Forget everything you think you know about Italian food. Forget Michelin. Breathe in all of this, I say to myself, this is the essence of Italy I try and tell people back home about. Those who have an open heart and a willing spirit. Luigi is living patrimony in the land of Prosecco, a priceless gift to the world.

I have stumbled into an alternate universe, one in which people are wise when they are young, happy when they are old. Everyone eats well, and they drink white fizzy wine. How many times I have stood behind a table pouring wine to people who come up to me and say, “I only drink red wine, don’t pour me the white.” In this land, those emotions would be misplaced. How can a Cabernet go with a delicate pastry wrapped around the freshest of asparagus? This light fizzy juice is Romeo to the Juliet that is in season and fresh. No effete red wine snobs need apply.

Back to the earlier part of the day, at Cá dei Zago. Christian’s mom, Mariagiustina Zago, runs a little bed and breakfast on the property and she was running around that day. Christian finally released the basic wine and she was gathering bottles for the folks who were staying there. “I have to take the wine out of the tanks before this, now it is easier in the bottle.” She is very animated and lively, in fact she almost ran us over as she drove in the little circle around the property to leave it. It was wet, we are crouched on the side of a hill, and the rain is making the soil loose. Christian is worried about the vines.

Out in the vineyards, Christian is showing us some of the vines his grandfather planted when he was Christian’s age. What must it feel like to have his living plant that your grandfather planted 60-70 years ago, now in your care? To old-soul Christian, this is a simple solution. You take care of it and keep the tradition alive. All around him, the popularization of Prosecco has people planting in flat fields where grain once grew. Over to his neighbor’s they still spray on their plants to alleviate fungus, to promote growth, to discourage pests. As we walk by one of those vineyards, Christian asks me if I can smell the difference. It’s hard for me, but I can smell the chemicals. It reminds me of a hospital, where people go to die.

In the cellar as well, one of these original ones, Christian shows his old barrels. We see signs of when his grandfather and uncle where here. A picture of the room in those days, hangs above the exit. A room within a room, like an Escher painting. The circle of life and within it a life very much devoted to making sure Prosecco is made in the way of his grandfather.

Now if you want to find this wine, in America, you have to search. In New York, Jenny & François Selections stock the wine when they have it. There is an importer as well in Seattle, maybe another one or two dotted around the country. Seek this wine out.

Christian also makes a Zero Dosaggio vintage dated Metodo Classico. Lovely wine, but not why I came to this hill, or to the osteria senza oste or Osteria Da Gallina. I came here to meet the grandfathers, young and old and taste the food and wine from their time. We cannot travel back in time, but we can still hitchhike through a galaxy of wonderful things here in Valdobbiadene and the land of Prosecco. And that is what brings me back through this magical portal, again and again.

“Have you ever been to ‘osteria senza oste’ in Valdobbiadene?” my friend Paolo asked me by email last month. I didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Not a clue. And I proceeded to forget about it, like we do for so many things that pass by our way. But when I arrived in the Valdobbiadene area (The land of Prosecco) Paulo planned an afternoon. “I am taking you to see people and places the tourists don’t know about.”

Paolo is young, happy, a former winemaker and now working half in Italy and half in the United States representing several wineries. One of them, dei Zago, we met the young winemaker Christian Zanatta at Vinitaly last year. I promised the next time I was in the Valdobbiadene area that I’d be glad to stop by.

Under threatening skies, after several days of heavy rain, we first went to Cá dei Zago. The young winemaker has been fortunate in that his vision of Prosecco and Valdobbiadene corresponds more to how his grandfather saw the land. When I mentioned his name to an enologist at the Conegliano school of enology, he looked at me, startled but pleased, “Ah yes, Christian,” inferring with his words and body language that the young man has tapped into the source of greatness in this area.

Later in the day, after many bottles of the Cá dei Zago Prosecco col fondo, Paulo took me to the osteria senza oste. On a hill in the Cartizze area, a little shack if filled with provisions; Prosecco, local cheese, bread, salumi and a guitar with five strings. In better weather there might have been more people there. This evening we had it all to ourselves.

Osteria senza oste is an osteria on the honor system. There is no one to take your money and you pay what you want. It works in this galaxy, a throwback to the hippie days of free love, but substituted with free Prosecco. The view is stunning, but the energy is inside this little hut. The Veneto is so much more than Venice and Verona.

Once we finished one more bottle of Prosecco Paulo wanted to show me another osteria. “Have you heard of Gallina?” he asked. I’d probably driven past it a time or two, but there was nothing in the memory that recalled the place.

There is no sign. We step inside and a man, Luigi Gallina, greats us in a loud, happy voice. He seemed to have been partaking in merriment for some time. In fact, there was a party that was taking the large room for the night. “Do you have any fresh asparagus?” Paolo asks.

Luigi booms back, “No!” and walks into the kitchen. Upon returning he brings us three short glasses and pours us some of his Prosecco, rustic and refreshing. Luigi is ruddy faced, short and has the clearest blood-shot eyes I have ever seen. Many of the winemaker’s kids grew up at the tables in this place, their parent’s friends with the Gallina family. Paolo and his partner Francesco tell me stories of the place as Luigi, now in whirling dervish mode, runs from room to room. This is really a scene, something one would see in Italy 40 years ago, but could only hope to see in present time.

Luigi is sending platters of asparagus wrapped around a delicate pastry to the party in the next room. “He approaches us, “Take, take, they won’t know. Go, take.” So we slide one or two off the large platter. Simple food, but food that has been bathed with the spirit of many generations of trial and success. No errors here. Another shot of Prosecco spills in our glasses, the noise level rises. We are now part of the party. And that is how an osteria has been for hundreds of years in Italy. This one, the oldest in the area, started in the 19th century. Forget everything you think you know about Italian food. Forget Michelin. Breathe in all of this, I say to myself, this is the essence of Italy I try and tell people back home about. Those who have an open heart and a willing spirit. Luigi is living patrimony in the land of Prosecco, a priceless gift to the world.

I have stumbled into an alternate universe, one in which people are wise when they are young, happy when they are old. Everyone eats well, and they drink white fizzy wine. How many times I have stood behind a table pouring wine to people who come up to me and say, “I only drink red wine, don’t pour me the white.” In this land, those emotions would be misplaced. How can a Cabernet go with a delicate pastry wrapped around the freshest of asparagus? This light fizzy juice is Romeo to the Juliet that is in season and fresh. No effete red wine snobs need apply.

Back to the earlier part of the day, at Cá dei Zago. Christian’s mom, Mariagiustina Zago, runs a little bed and breakfast on the property and she was running around that day. Christian finally released the basic wine and she was gathering bottles for the folks who were staying there. “I have to take the wine out of the tanks before this, now it is easier in the bottle.” She is very animated and lively, in fact she almost ran us over as she drove in the little circle around the property to leave it. It was wet, we are crouched on the side of a hill, and the rain is making the soil loose. Christian is worried about the vines.

Out in the vineyards, Christian is showing us some of the vines his grandfather planted when he was Christian’s age. What must it feel like to have his living plant that your grandfather planted 60-70 years ago, now in your care? To old-soul Christian, this is a simple solution. You take care of it and keep the tradition alive. All around him, the popularization of Prosecco has people planting in flat fields where grain once grew. Over to his neighbor’s they still spray on their plants to alleviate fungus, to promote growth, to discourage pests. As we walk by one of those vineyards, Christian asks me if I can smell the difference. It’s hard for me, but I can smell the chemicals. It reminds me of a hospital, where people go to die.

In the cellar as well, one of these original ones, Christian shows his old barrels. We see signs of when his grandfather and uncle where here. A picture of the room in those days, hangs above the exit. A room within a room, like an Escher painting. The circle of life and within it a life very much devoted to making sure Prosecco is made in the way of his grandfather.

Now if you want to find this wine, in America, you have to search. In New York, Jenny & François Selections stock the wine when they have it. There is an importer as well in Seattle, maybe another one or two dotted around the country. Seek this wine out.

Christian also makes a Zero Dosaggio vintage dated Metodo Classico. Lovely wine, but not why I came to this hill, or to the osteria senza oste or Osteria Da Gallina. I came here to meet the grandfathers, young and old and taste the food and wine from their time. We cannot travel back in time, but we can still hitchhike through a galaxy of wonderful things here in Valdobbiadene and the land of Prosecco. And that is what brings me back through this magical portal, again and again.

Ever since we touched down, this recent trip on the wine trail in Italy has been non-stop tasting and traveling. From three days in Piedmont and the Langhe to a day of travel in which we spent a quick day in the Veneto and Valpolicella, to our current base near Udine, we have been hitting it pretty hard.

Tasting everything from Moscato to Arneis, Pelaverga to Barbaresco, Barolo to Amarone and now in Friuli Pinot Grigio to Tocai. Today is the last day in Friuli before heading back to the Veneto and Valdobbiadene for the Vino in Villa event. It’s a bit of a blur, and the beat goes on.

Not a death march, but some extensive tastings. And here’s where the romance fades pretty quickly. While we are tasting some odd and unusual wines, we are also chasing after some of the hot categories, wines that fill up the containers that go on the ships that feed the thirst of the everyday wine drinker. Wines like Moscato, Pinot Grigio and Prosecco.

In Piedmont we tasted scores and scores of Moscato d ’Asti’s. Categories that I thought would have a pretty common thread running through them, it turns out there are some noticeable quality level differences. Is it terroir, is it technique? Here’s where one can find the real dividing line between wine made from the heart and wine made for the masses. Much more difficult to distinguish oneself and one’s wine than in the vaulted appellations like Barolo, Barbaresco and Amarone. Not that there aren’t huge differences there.

One diversion. After a long, long day of going through the paces with the Moscato tasting, we rewarded ourselves and took a quick trip to Verduno, to taste with Fabio Burlotto. One in our group, Alfred “Fredo” Laudato, had been salivating to taste the wines. I had not heard too much about these wines, but Verduno was a place I had no recollection of ever going to.

What a wonderful find. The winery tasting room is set in a small deconsecrated church, meticulously restored and maintained. Blind Saint Lucy hovering above us while we tasted through the wines, not blindly.

Burlotto is worthy of a separate post. The Barolo made a deep impression, as if I had been shown something that had always been there but not so visible to just anyone. Silly, because the place isn’t hidden out on some mountain road. No, the wines intrigued. Especially interesting was the Pelaverga.

After leaving the Langhe, in Marano di Valpolicella, tasting with a small producer, I asked him about any unusual landmarks remaining from the fascist era. On our way from the vineyard we stopped and took a look at a building which looked like it had been defaced by graffiti. In reality the building had been a billboard for Mussolini. His head was plastered all over the façade of the building, three maybe four times. Now all that remains is a palimpsest-like reminder of an era and a leader who almost destroyed Italy. “Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”

Staying at a winery agritourismo near Udine, yesterday we tasted almost 50 Pinot Grigio wines, from the Veneto, Friuli and Alto Adige. Why, one might ask? Where are those famous vertical tastings of great Baroli? Those would be easier found back in America. Italy is still open for business and we must feed the hungry masses. Time after work to reward ourselves with a little diversion back into history if one is not lucky enough to have fallen into the right place, sitting on the edge of the banquette, tasting greatness, the ninth player, not invited, but not cast off either.

I don’t know where it was, but I was with someone, who told me “I don’t like the wine business.” I think it was my friend Roberto Paris. Odd, because Roberto is in the thick of it. But I believe his detachment comes from his Buddhist leanings. “Attach yourself to no thing.”

Meanwhile the business of selecting even the most mundane of wines can be an occasion to learn something, making the great experiences even more meaningful. Yesterday when tasting through the 50 or so Pinot Grigio wines, I was a little surprised to realize that my favorite ones were the inexpensive offerings. The Delle Venezie wines, often declassified Collio, showed style and brevity. I don’t want a Pinot Grigio to taste like a Gavi, a Tocai or a Verdicchio. I’m looking for a non-distracted reflection of simplicity. With 50 or so offerings, they were all there. We found what we were looking for.

Today is a massive Prosecco tasting, in just a few minutes. Last day in Friuli. Friuli? Prosecco? Huh?

Yes, Friuli and Prosecco. Before I head tomorrow to Valdobbiadene, we are going through some of the offerings here in the extended Prosecco DOC appellation. I’m interested in seeing how the Friuli producers show their style for another hugely popular wine. This isn’t an orange wine tour, but again, this is how Italy spreads their influence out to the world, and it might be even more important that they get it right than in the extreme corners of Italian winemaking. Gravner and I Clivi have nothing to worry about. They are the eno-paleo-philosophers. We need them for the vision stuff. We need the other folks to keep the lights on.

I hit 900 words and lost the scanners by now. I have a tasting to attend. The doors have just opened. Back with more in a day or so.

We were walking around Neive, looking for a bite to eat. One of our colleagues, Michele, started talking to this forlorn looking fellow. As it turned out this young man, Fabrizio Sobrero, had recently separated from his wife. To make matters worse, that morning he took a walk by the house he had once shared with his wife and on the patio was another man smoking a cigarette. Fabrizio said to Michele, “I cannot even go into the vineyards; my back is bent over with the pain of loss.” Fabrizio works at the historic Levi distillery in town, and Michele asked him if we could see it. “Why not,” Fabrizio answered, “it would be much better to show you the place than stand here in the street being sad.” So, on a Sunday, Mother’s Day, Fabrizio opened up the distillery made famous by Romano Levi.

How many times have I driven past this place, on my way to Bruno Giacosa, across the street, and never even saw it? Many years ago I trekked to another historic distillery in Monferrato, where I met Susanna Gualco while she was still alive and working. I made a note to someday visit Romano Levi as well. It never happened.

I don’t take easily to any grappa. Most are too harsh, no soul, just jet fuel piled into a full stomach. Lethal for all but the most iron-clad of stomachs. Gualco exposed me to the finesse of grappa.

Around that time I met a distiller in Ft. Worth, Texas, and we brewed up some batches from my Texas wine. It was a learning experience, but I am not a knight of the flame. That is calling for a special kind of person. Romano Levi had the calling. The world came to him for his magical potions. But Levi has been gone for several years now. Fabrizio is one of a small handful of employees who tend the fire, keeping the flame for Levi.

I read recently that the distillery wasn’t the same since Levi died. That new owners took it over and it was a shadow of its former self. Not sure if that was true, I relished a visit, a private tour with sad Fabrizio. The distillery was silent, waiting for the 69th match to strike up the place in the fall.

One could tell he was suffering. His eyes showed the early pain of loss. I told him to countdown two years; pretend it was a long flight to the moon and back. In April of 2015 he would finally be clear of the suffering. He would laugh about it, looking back. His sad eyes wanted to believe me, but he was in the thick of it. He was burning up. But he diverted for a few moments to show us the shrine.

The place is just as Levi left it. Like he walked out for a quart of milk and forgot to return. One of the conditions for the new owners was that they change nothing, leave it like it is. It’s old, but it’s not broken. It’s odd, but oddly, it works. It’s quirky, like the bottles and the labels and the method, but it all fits. In this way the distillery fires on as a living memorial to the man. But make no mistake about it, he left with a succession plan. Young Fabrizio is kind of a monk; I wish you could have been there with us to see him. He eventually forgot about his situation and gave us an hour, unprecedented, on a Sunday. We saw things that few people get to see. I was like a Japanese tourist with my two cameras, shooting every last detail.

Life is a series of coincidences. Were we meant to see the distillery? Or were we meant to divert Fabrizio from his momentary moroseness?

Did Romano Levi summon us to sheer up his young acolyte?

The product is sound, and that comes from a skeptic of grappa. Lovely, lovely distillation. What else? How about some pictures? I could say more, and should, or maybe distill this down to the essence. Let’s just go with this so far and some selected visuals. Again, the wine (and grappa) gods shine on us.

Several hours later as we were driving through Barbaresco, Fabrizio was sitting as a table with five friends. He was laughing, had a nice bottle of wine to share. We called out to him as we drove by; stopped to see him. His eyes weren’t as sad. The Nebbiolo helped. Not being alone did even more. Fabrizio was counting down the days. 709 days to go.

 written and photographed by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

One of the takeaways from this week in New York was the admission by a surprising number of industry and journalists I met with who said they just don’t read wine blogs like they used to. This comes on the heels of the breaking news in California from none other than the Hosemaster himself, Ron Washam, who commented on The Connoisseur’s Wine Blog, “I spent a day in a tasting room where I work occasionally asking everyone who entered if they read any wine blogs. Of the 200 or so ordinary folks I asked, not a single one, NOT A SINGLE ONE, had read one. An outcome I expected, but was still humbled to learn.”

My research this week has been confined to industry folks, so excuse me if I offend anyone with a little of my “inside baseball” analysis. The wind-up is many folks just aren’t finding relevant information on wine blogs these days.

Common complaints are:

• Lousy tasting notes that tell one nothing about the wine or where to get it.

• Endless laments over what natural wine is with ensuing arguments, often resulting in acrimonious displays of anger and bias. Like one friend said, “It’s just wine. folks.” But for that soul, it was a turn-off, and they turned it off.

• One person I spent a little time with me gave me a list of words they noted are suffering from Heavily Overused Syndrome – heavily charged words to get hits or to just spark controversy – “words like awesome, the best, psyched,over-the-top, unbelievable and super. And seeing way too many people use the word curate.” 

• Information that really doesn’t have anything to do with wine. Over and over, people told me blogs they used to read for wine information/inspiration have transitioned into diaries about what they ate, who they ate it with, who they ran into at the Oyster Bar @ Grand Central Station, what an awesome life they are living. And the list goes on.

I am recently (and often) guilty of straying off the wine trail, so it was a wake-up call to me.

The one thread that many folks told me that kept them looking at one or two wine blogs is their search for the story. People of all ages still love a good story. Don’t we all?

Has wine blogging become the Pilates of the world of words? Are we navel gazing so far into our little world that we can barely see the sun setting in the near distance?

New York is often at the spearhead of a trend. We shall see, shan’t we?

Good reference as I head back into wine country tomorrow, with stops in Piemonte, Friuli and the Veneto. I hope to send back some interesting stories from the front lines on the wine trail in Italy.

What are your thoughts? Are you feeling the same Wine Blog Fatigue as my New York friends? Are you over it? Is it time to transition to the next phase, whatever that is? Or has the train already left the station?

Excuse me for this diversion- I’ve been in New York all week for meetings and importer tastings. This seems to be wine week in NYC. I’ve seen everyone; New York has turned into a little wine town of friends and colleagues. But my mind is thousands of miles away, in the desert. Someone who influenced my life, not necessarily in wine, but in life, passed away. And I’ve been thinking about the impact his life and work had on my life and our planet.

Paolo Soleri was born in Torino in 1919. When I first encountered him in the desert of Arizona he was younger than I am now. I was also younger than I am now. The world was new and bright and shiny to me. He was in his bell studio and I was buying one of them. It was a brief encounter, but we had a common friend, a mentor of mine who had worked with Frank Lloyd Wright, as Soleri had. I was interested in architecture, and having grown up in the desert, this seemingly misplaced urban Italian in the desert of Arizona created a compelling counterpoint.

Sometime later I drove out to his project with my young family. Further out in the desert, called Arcosanti, it was a utopian project with ambitious long-range plans for the future. The idea was to build a city organically, along with a new level of society to catch the wave of the next stage of human consciousness. Pretty heady stuff. The French Jesuit paleontologist, Tielhard de Chardin, had published the manual for this human experiment, called The Phenomenon of Man. Arcosanti, as I understood it, was designed to apply a living , moving, dynamic reference to the revolutionary concepts as outlined in the book.

Our mutual friend had prepared me for this in a way. In the classroom, he constantly drilled into his students about the future that was coming. And he nailed it. I’d still be in future shock if it hadn’t been for those years of preparation. What Soleri was doing was physical, concrete steps towards realizing those concepts. I was captivated.

When we went out to the project, it was in the very early days, as the accompanying photographs will illustrate. The energy was high, and the expectations were even higher. I had recently been living in New York and coming back to the West was a relief to me. Horizons, silence, lack of congestion, all the things I grew up with as a child, and Arcosanti was an ideal, an aspiration for the future. I was in Heaven. A very hot Heaven, but Heaven nonetheless.

Tielhard de Chardin, very briefly, posited an evolutionary future where there is a layer of shared consciousness that covers the planet, called the noosphere. I know I am simplifying this almost to the point of being insulting the lifetime of work of these men. There are places to go if you want to read more about that. All I will say is the idea struck a chord within me. Carl Jung’s Memories, Dreams, Reflections paved the way. The Phenomenon of Man took it to the next level.

What eventually came out of all this, for me, was to understand what was coming and not to be shocked or put off by it. Today folks wander the streets of New York, banging into other folks, all with their heads in their IPhones, messaging other parts of the organism, this layer that now coats the physical world; I’m a bit disappointed that the evolutionary flow lately is not so elegant. But it is an evolution. And sometimes that can be a little messy. Looking deeper, there are those for whom a smart phone is not necessary. And they walk the streets on New York and the deserts of Arizona. And while we have the modern distractions of the internet age, there is more coming. Paolo Soleri saw that and he dreamed dreams as big as the universe.

How does it relate to the wine trail in Italy? I couldn’t tell you. Once in the 1990’s I was in Campania visiting Mastroberardino and I happened upon Vietri. I noticed a building in the town that struck me in a good way. I was drawn to it. It happened that Soleri had designed it. Life isn’t just about wine. Wine is a part of it, water in the river, not the whole ocean. But the parts, as unrelated as they may seem on the surface, somehow work, wordlessly inside this soul. And because of visionary souls like Soleri, our culture, our civilization, our planet and our universe is a much richer and more colorful place.

Thank you signor. Buon anima and happy trails.

written (with accompanying vintage photographs) by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

Maybe it was the way he raised the glass when he toasted the group at our gathering. Perhaps it was the conversation we had about my next trip to Italy and where I was going. Or maybe he had grown used to it, after all these years. He was one of the most powerful men in Italy and he had chosen, when building his empire, to put his beloved Franciacorta on the map. He had accomplished a lot in his life on this earth, but Franciacorta wasn’t quite yet a household name.

Franciacorta, ah Franciacorta. If you were to ask most Americans they wouldn’t be able to tell you what it was, let alone where it came from. Perhaps in Denmark or Singapore the educated masses there know better how to distinguish this sparkling wine in a bottle, but most of the world is still painfully ignorant.

There are reasons, for sure.

Franciacorta is like the tall gangly middle child, nestled between her older sibling Champagne and the cute youngest child, Prosecco. While the eldest has had more experience and is wiser to the ways of the world, and the baby is cute and cuddly, Franciacorta’s beauty often goes unnoticed.

Champagne. Anyone who delves into the world of wine must eventually bow before a cup of Champagne. This accidental wine is now the centerpiece of celebrations and victories, parties, engagements, break-ups, trysts; too many occasions have elevated Champagne to an almost unworldly place on the mantle.

Oh yes, the wine is peculiar to the region, like no other place on earth. And the land is so fecund, millions and millions of bottles rise out of the land and the cellars yearly, like so many prophets ascending to Heaven. Meanwhile thousands of growers whittle away at their earthly plots, scraping and kneeling, pruning ever so carefully, making sure every drop makes it to the goblet. Yes, Champagne is having a very good ride, and marketers push the products as well as a gun lobby pushes firearm sales under the cover of personal rights. It’s all very well-orchestrated. And more often than not, the result is joy, pure, joy. Who doesn’t love a glass of wine that is filled with life?

Then there’s the new kid, Prosecco. Arising from nowhere and nothing, in less than a generation. Millions and more millions of bottles of the sparkle juice emits from the Veneto and surrounding points. Unknown to most people 25 years ago, in this time many people think it is Champagne, because it sparkles ever so slightly like the older, wiser sibling. But Prosecco, even with its mercurial rise, is still in development, now going through an awkward juvenile stage. Is it sweet? Is it dry? Is it trying to be rose’? How can that be? Is it trying to be method champenoise? Again, how? Why? And then there are the super Cru’s from Cartizze, the col fondo’s from tiny little producers, the special bottling’s. Meanwhile, marketers are churning out legends that never existed, telling the tales of a wine that all wines aspire to be, but few seldom achieve. And all in so few years. Prosecco, the cross between a debutante and Lindsey Lohan. Still cute, possibly someday very pretty, but now just a little troubled.

To throw a stick between the spokes, we also now have Moscato. Not Asti, not anymore. But fizzy, sweet low alcohol wine. The post-financial-meltdown trade-down to sooth the shrunken wallet syndrome and still offer something people want – alcohol and sweetness. This noisy cousin is running its course, just waiting for the next scandal to tamp down the momentum of sales that have seen Moscato now being produced worldwide. A mania. But not a sparkling wine. A gatecrasher for folks who don’t want to go “all the way.”

That leaves us with the quiet little wine from the pretty little region in Lombardia. Often a drive-by for folks making their way to and from Milan and Venice. But for those who live there, an oasis, a part of Italy that is hidden to most tourists, and many Italians. The Beverly Hills of Italy.

And the wines? Years ago, I worked for a wine company. We tried hard to sell Cá del Bosco. Maurizio Zanella was good with the press. He made the cover of the Wine Spectator in the 1980’s. He had a heliport. He flashed a great smile – the cameras loved him. And his wines?

His wines were not understood as much then as they are now. Which is not to say a whole hell of a lot more now. But for some reason, the company pressed on. Sold to the Santa Margherita group. With effective marketing and momentum from the ubiquitous Pinot Grigio, the wine found its way through the market. One way or another. But often it was a Mudville solution – very little joy in the way the final product found its way to the end user. Part of the confusion of the category, compounded with a zig-zag marketing approach back then.

And the other powerful man, the one who was toasting our group? His story was that when he was in the beginning of his career, which would be construction, and which made him wealthy beyond words, he started making Franciacorta for himself and his friends on top of the hill he lived on. The hill is called Bellavista, as it has an envious view of Lake Iseo and the surrounding area. As he made the wine, his circle of friends grew, and before long, he had to take the hobby more seriously. Not that this man isn’t serious about everything he does. He’s one of the most serious men in Italy. I wish we had politicians in Italy with his level of gravitas. But this man, he isn’t interested in policymaking. He has his empire. And for him Franciacorta has become a huge part of his life and the life of those around him. When his wife asked him to buy an abandoned brick kiln in the neighborhood, a place near where she grew up and had fond memories of, he did so. And he started another winery, Contadi Castaldi. Now the two wines, Bellavista and Contadi Castaldi make up nearly half of the Franciacorta produced in the appellation. The success of wineries like Bellavista and Cá del Bosco has encouraged others to follow, large and small alike. Now one can find any number of hand crafted wines from Franciacorta. There are conferences and seminars and trade trips and buzz – big buzz. But Franciacorta still cannot make a bigger mark on the world of sparkling wine. They just can’t seem to break out of the bubble. And with all the success, I know that nags on my friend a little bit. Not enough for him to lose any sleep over it. If anything, this man is a problem solver. No, what’s working against him, like all of us, is time. This might just be a multi-generational project. After all, the Antinori family didn’t make it all in their first generation. And after 25 or so under their belt, even they have their modern day problems. So that is life. And this is what we have before us.

As the evening was breaking up, the gentleman asked me to come to the winery soon. He wants to open a series of large bottles over many years. “I’d like to invite you to come to Franciacorta so you can have this experience.” I stumbled in my oh-so broken Italian and muttered something like “I would be honored, thank you so very much.”

He knew I was going to be near, at a conference for the Prosecco, one I have been invited to by the Consorzio. He quizzed me again, if I would have time, but I knew my itinerary would be packed this time. But nothing unkind came out of his mouth, he merely nodded and noted that the wines would be waiting, resting for the time when we would enjoy them. “But don’t take too long to get back,” he advised, “neither of us has the time these bottles do.”

Indeed. That might just be the answer to the riddle of this middle child. They wait and they age and they get better and better with time, in anticipation of some perceptive and wise souls to stumble upon them and help them break out of their bubble to a larger world ahead.

Friends of mine in Austin have a restaurant, called Trento. They asked me to set some of their friends up in the Italian town of Trento for a three day wine visit. That is the impetus for this post. I thought it would also be fun to share my thoughts on visiting wine country in the Trentino-Alto-Adige with the rest of the world. This area doesn’t get visited as much as other areas in Italy but it’s a great place to explore wine and scenery.

Three days – five wineries (there are many more, but this isn’t a death march) -based out of Trento the town.Trento – from Milan, Venice or Verona fairly easily accessed by car. Historical town, very clean and quiet. Some of the most expensive real estate in Italy (New York City-like prices). Lots of wealth. It makes a good base to get to wineries and come back to for relaxing and dining/drinking wine.

I’ve stayed at a few hotels, but the one I like is the Grand Hotel Trento. Rooms are nice, parking is easy. The hotel is situated close to the ancient walled in medieval part of the town. The Duomo of Trento is famous for the 18 year long council of Trent. University town, lots of young people on the streets, in the café’s.

If you want to stay out in the country near the vineyards, I recommend the Hotel Tenz. set up like a chalet, very comfortable and large rooms, a great American style breakfast spread and very reasonable prices

Trattoria “Vecchia Sorni”

Some restaurants I like 

Near the Duomo is a bar/restaurant called Scrigno del Duomo. I like to go there for a nightcap. It’s laid back, lots of interesting people, not a lot of tourists. The staff is cool, from all over the world; the Wine selection is daunting as are the grappa and amari’s served. I had an epiphany there one night listening to Gabor Szabo’s rendition of “The beat goes on.” I love the place.

Ristorante il Libertino – a little walk across town, good for the digestion, this restaurant is owned by Vias founder and owner Fabrizio Pedrolli, who loves a good drink and good plate of food. Wines here are showcased with hearty trattoria food. Very much off the touristic trail. Reserve ahead.

Outside of town, a little drive, is a small place, Trattoria “Vecchia Sorni”. This is the real deal, and in June, eating outside, wow, it just doesn’t get any better than that.

Other restaurants worth looking into that my friend and colleague, Alberto Lusini, sent to me. Alberto lives in Trento and he has always taken me to great places (like Vecchia Sorni).

• Al Forte Alto (Nago on Lake Garda)
• Castel Toblino (Toblino Lake)
• Castel Pergine (Pergine)
• Osteria Il Cappello (Trento)
• La Cacciatore (Mezzocorona)
• Da Silvio (San Michele)
• Maso Finisterre (Trento)

I also like to wander when am in a town I don’t know so well. In April, when I was there, taking a walk near my hotel, I stumbled across a small, modest place, called Ristorante Pizzeria Bouganville. At the time white asparagus was in season and I had a wonderful risotto and a glass of Muller Thurgau. Perfect for those times when you don’t want to fill yourself up every time you sit down to eat.

Wineries

Winemaker Lucio Matricardi

• Mezzacorona/Rotari – this is a large winery devoted to making wine from the 1,600+ members of the local growing group organized around this concern. Make no mistake about it, this place is big, but the winemaking is pristine and Swiss clockwork precise. The wines that come out of here service a lot of tables and they provide a consistent, dependable, honest wine. The wine facility looks like something out of a Ridley Scott movie (think Bladerunner). Definitely worth a visit and very close to Trento.

• Alois Lageder – a little further up the road is this iconic winery. I was just there for Summa, an alternate wine show to Vinitaly. Very laid back town, nice castle, great wines. Alois is a legend in the area and his wines are iconic – they are futuristic and old fashioned at the same time. Huge devotion to the organic movement with Biodynamic playing a large part in the process. Not to be missed.

♫ The hills are alive ♫

• Tiefenbrunner – Way up the road, where German really is the first language, Tiefenbrunner is perched. If you are lucky you might get an invite to the vineyard called Feldmarschall von Fenner, at 1000 meters. I’ve been once; saw Julie Andrews and the Von Trapp family coming across the meadow singing their hearts out. I’m sure it was because they wanted some more of that delicious Muller Thurgau.

• Maso Poli – not as far up there but situated as well in a beautiful location is this winery. The family, Togn, have several winery labels, the Maso Poli being their most important one. One of their other projects, Lechthaler is very interesting. A must try is their Teroldego Rotaliano. The label is quite innovative. These folks are pretty hip, the winery is beautiful, and the wines reflect the place and the sensibility of the people. It’s the kind of wine I can drink every day – very reliable – not dumbed down, tasty, reasonably priced – wine to go with life – if you get my drift.

• Tenuta San Leonardo – Lastly, this winery is a piece of history, the wines are legendary, the owner is a wonderful person and the layout of the estate is breath taking. Tenuta San Leonardo winery, for me, is one of the great wine estates of Italy. Period. Hard to get in for a visit (appointments only, as most of these are) but a visit one will never forget

That said; when you plan your visits, plan them during the week. As I have said countless times, Italians see the weekend as family time, which is sacred in Italy. Fortunately, for the folks whom I am planning this trip, they are going during the week.

Another note: I am not a travel agent. I set up trips for some of my clients and their guests as part of the courtesy of the business I am in, and I do it willingly and with joy. But I do not have time to do it for everyone who reads these posts and wants me to set them up. I have too many experiences setting up trips for people I have never met who never show up. So, that phase of my life is over. That said, if you are really intent and ardent and willing to be patient and let me know with lots of lead time, I am glad to see what I can do. But do not email me on a Friday, telling me you will be in Florence on Saturday and want to visit a winery in Tuscany the next day. That email won’t get a reply.

If you do go to Trento, try to remember that Venice and Florence and Rome will always be there waiting to take your money and cram you into a small hotel room and give you the tourist treatment. Trentino-Alto Adige is a break from that inevitable pilgrimage. You might even get to relax and enjoy Italy the way the local folks do. I love this area, the wine, the food, the scenery and the precise way the Italians live in this region. It’s different and it’s a place you shroud put on your bucket list.