March 1st and March 13, 2010...those are the dates when I will write, perform and orally discuss wine with a panel of Italian Sommeliers, who will judge whether or not I get to enter their club. They will decide if I am worthy of that shiny bling..the tastevin on a chain. Though I am an Italian citizen, I am greatly disadvantaged in comparison to my classmates as they have lived here all their lives and have been weened on Italian wine and food. I, on the other hand, having lived in Canada for over 40 years, where I thought I was Italian , realized only upon moving here, that I was not quite as Italian as I thought. Now, I have to try to convince a panel of Italian sommeliers, using my foreigner's Italian, that I am worthy to serve, talk about, judge Italian wine, and perform the most difficult task of all, pair it with Italian dishes and specialties. I'm not sure that you realize the grandiose task that I have set for myself here: first of all, this will not only demand a level of Italian that will require me to describe the wine beyond "bianco" and "rosso", but also a knowledge of the geography and the terrain of Italy, a knowledge of the hundreds of different grapes used and where they belong on that map of Italy, but the most daunting for me, is the knowledge of Italian specialty foods, what their made of and where, once again, they belong in that Italian geography. Because if you have ever travelled to Italy, and have had a conversation with any Italian about food, they can tell you what the local specialties are, how they're made, where you can buy them and where you shouldn't buy them, because to them, one is real, and one is not, even if they're both made the same way with the only exception being that one is made outside of the zone. Then, I'm afraid it's not to be trusted. No matter how hard I may try to make a particular dish authentic-tasting, it will never happen; it never can, because, well, I guess, I'm just not authentic. There seems to be more to it than following the recipe.
Yes...I've taken this task on, and I am trying to make sense of it all...making charts, making notes, memorizing, tasting, and I have finally come to the conclusion that I need a tutor. But who could I find who will be understanding enough to know what I need to know. Who would care enough to help a foreigner learn about his sacred trade. Who would be strict enough with me to make me seem polished, and help me shine come exam time. I think I found that and more in Angelo Di Costanzo, Sommelier and winner of the Sommelier awards for the Campania region and co-owner, with his wife Lilli of L'Arcante Enoteca in Pozzuoli. I had heard about Angelo for the past year from an American friend of mine who settles for nothing but the best in wine and food. Angelo has a healthy clientelle of Italians and foreigners in his store and in his work as sommelier, so he was not put off by working with a foreigner.
Angelo knew just where to start...the presentation and the opening of the bottle with finesse and confidence. The bottle is presented to the left of the diner, while the sommelier denotes the name, the winery and the year. Then the bottle is brought back to the sommelier's table where the show begins: the removal of the capsule which is placed in a plate, then the careful removal of the cork without making a "pop" sound and without of course placing the bottle between your knees! The sommelier smells the cork, removes it from the opener with a white cloth , smells it for the mouldy corked smell, then places it on a separate plate to bring to the diner's table later on. If it is an older bottle of wine that needs to be decanted, the sommelier pours a small amount into his glass and smells it to make sure once again that it is not corked. He then pours that small bit of wine in the decanter to season it and get it ready to receive the wine. However, during today's lesson, there was no decanting. The sommelier first tastes the wine, then approaches the table this time on the diner's right. With a definitive hold on the bottom of the bottle in your right hand, and your left hand holding a napkin held behind your back, a small amount is poured; quick turn of the spout, napkin from left hand is ready to catch the drip before removing the bottle. Then step back to allow the diner to taste the wine. If all is good, then the ladies are served eldest first, and then the men, and finally, the person who ordered the wine.
It was like watching a ballet, and this is why I want to be a sommelier. Not only do I find it gratifying to be able to share my knowledge which is something that I have always done as a teacher, but I get to perform this show which must be done with confidence, finesse and humility.
My next test with Angelo was a blind taste test of two wines which he brought to the table covered in foil. The first wine was a deep red pomegranate-coloured wine, with legs that suggest a wine with body. The nose immediately offered ripe, red berries "sotto spirito", though initally I said jammy fruit, it later revealed a liquoricy note and finally a little damp earth smell. It was dry, and beautifully smooth, and warm. It was more spicy than acidic though it remained fresh and young.
The second wine was not as young looking in the glass--it was that same pomegranate colour, but with some orange tones. It revealed itself to be more complex in the glass, richer, and more austere. It offered up a bouquet of spice, fruit, nuts, toast. The spicyness followed through to the taste, with the tannins, the mineral, acidity taking a slight precedence over the smoothness of the wine, but not enough to be overpowering.
The bottles were undressed of their wrapping and while I thought they were so very different they turned out to both be made from Sangiovese grapes and both were from Toscana, another deft lesson from Angelo. The first wine was a Morellino di Scansano 2006, Fattoria Le Puppelle 70% Sangiovese with Alicante and Malvasia Nera, and the second was a 100% Sangiovese Chianti Classico, unlike other Chianti's I have tasted, this one was refined and elegant. Both wines were 2006.
I like to think of my wine education as my "vinification" the process of making me knowledgeable about wine. But now under the tutelage of Angelo Di Costanzo, I hope to pull off the the refining stage of my three-year preparation to becoming a sommelier...this is the aging in oak, the final touches that season me to be able to dance like a sommelier.
Here is a link to Angelo's blog and a facebook link for any of you who speak Italian:
http://larcante.wordpress.com/larcante-enoteca/
http://www.facebook.com/pages/LArcante-Enoteca/48143043595
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
My First Plane Ride or How I Got Over my Fear of Public Toilets
Wine Review: Paglione, Bianco DOC - Gioa del Colle, Puglia, Italy, Tenuta Viglione
My dreams of travel began in July of 1968, in Sudbury, Ontario when long-lost relatives from California had come to visit us. The encounter had been orchestrated by my aunt. My aunt Clara and her daughter, Vicky, 19, were to accompany the American cousins back to California as ambassadors for the Canadian Branch of the family.
The California cousins proved to be a friendly lot with some strange names like Jo (female), Babes, and Tony, Tony-Lee and Jessie. Those weren’t Canadian names. They weren’t much interested in our names I noticed, always calling me, “Honey”.
As my cousin Vicky neared her departure date, much psychedelic clothing was being purchased. There was much hairspray, and eye makeup being bought. I watched in awe as suddenly, almost overnight, Vicky morphed into one of the Supremes…I couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she was, and how I was sure she would be discovered in Hollywood, and if not, a movie star would be sure to want to marry her. I begged my parents to buy me a ticket to let me go with them. They relented and my aunt agreed to take me along too.
The much anticipated departure date finally arrived. Vicky had on her new hot pink, “hot pants” outfit with the black trim. I was no match for Vicky for my mother bought my clothes and I was wearing lime green shorts and a matching striped lime green and white sleeveless top. But the piece de resistance was the chain-linked purse she bought me. That made up for the lack of hot pants.
Because my ticket had been purchased after everyone else’s, I was not sitting with anyone I knew. Disappointment struck as I realized I would have to sit for 6 hours with strangers. They asked questions and I answered to be polite. The man in the brown suit had bad breath, and I began to feel sad at the thought that I wouldn’t be able to talk to Vicky for 6 hours…I was seat belted in beside the brown-suited man with the bad breath on my right, and the lady wearing the sweet perfume on my left. I’m sure my eyes belied how uncomfortable I felt. Fortunately, my kind aunt recognized my pain, and asked if I wanted to trade places with her…she wanted to sleep and it didn’t matter where she sat she said.
“Yes…oh yes…oh yes!” Now I was sitting beside Vicky…the most beautiful, radiant beauty on the plane, and surely some of that would rub off on me.
Vicky and I talked and laughed, and pointed at things out the window. When she read, I tried to read Nancy Drew, but I was too excited to concentrate. We did crosswords together, talked about which stewardess was the prettiest, and we wondered and wondered about how hot it must be in California. I must have been the luckiest 9-year old in the world. I couldn’t imagine being any happier.
The tension began after I was downing my first Coke. I realized I had to use the bathroom. I had a problem using public bathrooms as it was. They were scary, and I was a bit of a germ-a-phobe at that age. I would never use the bathrooms at school. Instead, I would make sure I went before I left for school in the morning, and I would run all the way home at break neck speed at lunch time, kick off my shoes and run straight to the bathroom, doing the pee dance all the way. Now this was something that I hadn’t thought of. I never thought about how people go to the bathroom on a plane at 20,000 feet in the air. I never thought that I would have to go. I asked Vicky, and she said she would go and try it out and tell me about it. She came back with a smile on her face and a look in her eye, and I knew I wasn’t going to like what she had to say.
Where’s the light I asked? Does it make a loud noise when you flush? Where does the pee go? The long-lost California cousin, who always referred to people as “Dude”, overheard our conversation and decided he needed to have a little bit of fun instilling fear in the 9-year old. The pee, he said, goes into a big tank, just below our feet. “And you better be careful not to stay seated on the toilet when you flush. A little thing like you could get sucked right in.” That’s all I needed to hear. I don’t need to explain to you the visual I had when he said this to me. I decided right then and there that I wasn’t going to go.
“I don’t have to go that badly”, I said to Vicky. By now, Vicky was feeling a bit sorry for me, and maybe a bit protective and she said, “It’s not that bad, Cathy…I’ll wait for you outside the door.” I couldn’t risk it. It was just too scary for me. What if the light wouldn’t come on when I closed the door? What if I did get sucked in…I can’t even swim that well. Which stroke would be best to keep my head afloat in a tank full of pee and…poop? How would they ever get me out? Had such a thing ever happened before? Yes these really were the thoughts going through my head at the time. I could hold it. I know I could. I just wouldn’t drink anymore.
“How many more hours until we get there?”
“Four hours Cathy”, Vicky replied. “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”
“No…I’m Okay.”
I was OK for the next three hours, that is, of course, until I fell asleep. My poor tired mental self tried to find a way to relieve my poor tired physical discomfort, and tricked me into dreaming that I was seated on a nice comfortable warm toilet seat.
Vicky woke me up to tell me that we would be landing soon. That’s when I realized that I no longer had to go to the bathroom, and that I was a little cold …and damp.
“Vicky”…I said. “I think I sat on a wet chair.” It was the best line I could come up with at the time.
“You didn’t” she said. “Don’t tell me you peed in that chair”.
“Oh, please, don’t tell anybody” I begged her. I’m way too old to do this I thought to myself. “They’ll think I’m like one of those kids who do this all the time or something.” Sophisticated girls with chain link purses don’t pee their pants. “Please don’t tell them!”
Vicky promised she wouldn’t, all the time laughing and repeating that she couldn’t believe what I had done. I told her that I had a raincoat in my bag, and that the first thing I would do would be to tell the others that I’m a bit cold, and I’ll put my raincoat on. That might have worked if it wasn’t for the fact that it was 99 degrees F when we landed and that dogs wanted to follow me everywhere I went.
Of course Vicky told everyone we knew, probably everyone we met there, and I have never lived this story down. It has made me get over my fear of public washrooms. The trip was 40 years ago and instilled in me the desire to see the world. I realized I would have to get over my fear of public washrooms, because I just couldn’t make it home everyday for lunch. My cousin Vickie is visiting me here in Italy from her home in Toronto. She is now 60 and I am 51. We recalled this story over a bottle of Italian wine while munching on hot, fresh taralli(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taralli). I can now proudly say that I have peed in washrooms from holes in the ground to warm toasty heated toilet seats. Toilets with pull-strings, toilets with push buttons, toilets with kick flushes. I have peed in toilets from Sudbury to Shanghai, Timmins to Tokyo. I hereby declare myself public toilet phobia free.
Here's a lovely wine for you to try before summer's over. I hope you can find it where you are.
Wine: Paglione
Origin: Puglia, Italy
Bianco DOC – Gioia del Colle
Producer: Tenuta Viglione
Grapes: 50% Trebbiano, 40% Malvasia Bianco, 10% Falanghina
2008
ABV 12%
This wine was chilled to the perfect temperature (16C)on a hot summer’s eve. It was crystalline in the glass, and dawned a straw yellow colour. It had a fairly good consistency for a new wine. The nose was an immediate scent of floral, followed by honey--I think this comes from the addition of the Malvasia. In the mouth it was nice and smooth. It was in perfect balance, I thought--nice acidity and mineral notes in contrast with the smoothness of the wine, made it the perfect accompaniment to the taralli—warm and a little spicy. For a young wine it had a fairly intense bouquet, with a little spice note. This wine had a taste of honey, or perhaps the smell was so persistent that I felt like I tasted it…because the wine was dry. The mineral taste at the end made the wine fairly persistent in length. On the rating scale from the Associazione Italiana di Sommelier, it scores an 82. We thoroughly enjoyed the wine and our evening.
Wine Review: Paglione, Bianco DOC - Gioa del Colle, Puglia, Italy, Tenuta Viglione
My dreams of travel began in July of 1968, in Sudbury, Ontario when long-lost relatives from California had come to visit us. The encounter had been orchestrated by my aunt. My aunt Clara and her daughter, Vicky, 19, were to accompany the American cousins back to California as ambassadors for the Canadian Branch of the family.
The California cousins proved to be a friendly lot with some strange names like Jo (female), Babes, and Tony, Tony-Lee and Jessie. Those weren’t Canadian names. They weren’t much interested in our names I noticed, always calling me, “Honey”.
As my cousin Vicky neared her departure date, much psychedelic clothing was being purchased. There was much hairspray, and eye makeup being bought. I watched in awe as suddenly, almost overnight, Vicky morphed into one of the Supremes…I couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she was, and how I was sure she would be discovered in Hollywood, and if not, a movie star would be sure to want to marry her. I begged my parents to buy me a ticket to let me go with them. They relented and my aunt agreed to take me along too.
The much anticipated departure date finally arrived. Vicky had on her new hot pink, “hot pants” outfit with the black trim. I was no match for Vicky for my mother bought my clothes and I was wearing lime green shorts and a matching striped lime green and white sleeveless top. But the piece de resistance was the chain-linked purse she bought me. That made up for the lack of hot pants.
Because my ticket had been purchased after everyone else’s, I was not sitting with anyone I knew. Disappointment struck as I realized I would have to sit for 6 hours with strangers. They asked questions and I answered to be polite. The man in the brown suit had bad breath, and I began to feel sad at the thought that I wouldn’t be able to talk to Vicky for 6 hours…I was seat belted in beside the brown-suited man with the bad breath on my right, and the lady wearing the sweet perfume on my left. I’m sure my eyes belied how uncomfortable I felt. Fortunately, my kind aunt recognized my pain, and asked if I wanted to trade places with her…she wanted to sleep and it didn’t matter where she sat she said.
“Yes…oh yes…oh yes!” Now I was sitting beside Vicky…the most beautiful, radiant beauty on the plane, and surely some of that would rub off on me.
Vicky and I talked and laughed, and pointed at things out the window. When she read, I tried to read Nancy Drew, but I was too excited to concentrate. We did crosswords together, talked about which stewardess was the prettiest, and we wondered and wondered about how hot it must be in California. I must have been the luckiest 9-year old in the world. I couldn’t imagine being any happier.
The tension began after I was downing my first Coke. I realized I had to use the bathroom. I had a problem using public bathrooms as it was. They were scary, and I was a bit of a germ-a-phobe at that age. I would never use the bathrooms at school. Instead, I would make sure I went before I left for school in the morning, and I would run all the way home at break neck speed at lunch time, kick off my shoes and run straight to the bathroom, doing the pee dance all the way. Now this was something that I hadn’t thought of. I never thought about how people go to the bathroom on a plane at 20,000 feet in the air. I never thought that I would have to go. I asked Vicky, and she said she would go and try it out and tell me about it. She came back with a smile on her face and a look in her eye, and I knew I wasn’t going to like what she had to say.
Where’s the light I asked? Does it make a loud noise when you flush? Where does the pee go? The long-lost California cousin, who always referred to people as “Dude”, overheard our conversation and decided he needed to have a little bit of fun instilling fear in the 9-year old. The pee, he said, goes into a big tank, just below our feet. “And you better be careful not to stay seated on the toilet when you flush. A little thing like you could get sucked right in.” That’s all I needed to hear. I don’t need to explain to you the visual I had when he said this to me. I decided right then and there that I wasn’t going to go.
“I don’t have to go that badly”, I said to Vicky. By now, Vicky was feeling a bit sorry for me, and maybe a bit protective and she said, “It’s not that bad, Cathy…I’ll wait for you outside the door.” I couldn’t risk it. It was just too scary for me. What if the light wouldn’t come on when I closed the door? What if I did get sucked in…I can’t even swim that well. Which stroke would be best to keep my head afloat in a tank full of pee and…poop? How would they ever get me out? Had such a thing ever happened before? Yes these really were the thoughts going through my head at the time. I could hold it. I know I could. I just wouldn’t drink anymore.
“How many more hours until we get there?”
“Four hours Cathy”, Vicky replied. “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”
“No…I’m Okay.”
I was OK for the next three hours, that is, of course, until I fell asleep. My poor tired mental self tried to find a way to relieve my poor tired physical discomfort, and tricked me into dreaming that I was seated on a nice comfortable warm toilet seat.
Vicky woke me up to tell me that we would be landing soon. That’s when I realized that I no longer had to go to the bathroom, and that I was a little cold …and damp.
“Vicky”…I said. “I think I sat on a wet chair.” It was the best line I could come up with at the time.
“You didn’t” she said. “Don’t tell me you peed in that chair”.
“Oh, please, don’t tell anybody” I begged her. I’m way too old to do this I thought to myself. “They’ll think I’m like one of those kids who do this all the time or something.” Sophisticated girls with chain link purses don’t pee their pants. “Please don’t tell them!”
Vicky promised she wouldn’t, all the time laughing and repeating that she couldn’t believe what I had done. I told her that I had a raincoat in my bag, and that the first thing I would do would be to tell the others that I’m a bit cold, and I’ll put my raincoat on. That might have worked if it wasn’t for the fact that it was 99 degrees F when we landed and that dogs wanted to follow me everywhere I went.
Of course Vicky told everyone we knew, probably everyone we met there, and I have never lived this story down. It has made me get over my fear of public washrooms. The trip was 40 years ago and instilled in me the desire to see the world. I realized I would have to get over my fear of public washrooms, because I just couldn’t make it home everyday for lunch. My cousin Vickie is visiting me here in Italy from her home in Toronto. She is now 60 and I am 51. We recalled this story over a bottle of Italian wine while munching on hot, fresh taralli(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taralli). I can now proudly say that I have peed in washrooms from holes in the ground to warm toasty heated toilet seats. Toilets with pull-strings, toilets with push buttons, toilets with kick flushes. I have peed in toilets from Sudbury to Shanghai, Timmins to Tokyo. I hereby declare myself public toilet phobia free.
Here's a lovely wine for you to try before summer's over. I hope you can find it where you are.
Wine: Paglione
Origin: Puglia, Italy
Bianco DOC – Gioia del Colle
Producer: Tenuta Viglione
Grapes: 50% Trebbiano, 40% Malvasia Bianco, 10% Falanghina
2008
ABV 12%
This wine was chilled to the perfect temperature (16C)on a hot summer’s eve. It was crystalline in the glass, and dawned a straw yellow colour. It had a fairly good consistency for a new wine. The nose was an immediate scent of floral, followed by honey--I think this comes from the addition of the Malvasia. In the mouth it was nice and smooth. It was in perfect balance, I thought--nice acidity and mineral notes in contrast with the smoothness of the wine, made it the perfect accompaniment to the taralli—warm and a little spicy. For a young wine it had a fairly intense bouquet, with a little spice note. This wine had a taste of honey, or perhaps the smell was so persistent that I felt like I tasted it…because the wine was dry. The mineral taste at the end made the wine fairly persistent in length. On the rating scale from the Associazione Italiana di Sommelier, it scores an 82. We thoroughly enjoyed the wine and our evening.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Swirling Turkish Wine to the Rhythms of the Whirling Dervish in Istanbul
As the wine swirls and hugs the rim of the glass, they, begin to swirl, arms crossed, heads tilted, hands cradled around their shoulders, in a self-embrace. Their eyes are closed, and their far-away expression is one of longing. I'm in Turkey where the spectacle of the 700-year-old dance of the whirling Dervish is taking place. I am also using this opportunity to write about the 2007 Turkish wine I am sampling.
The thrill of being before real whirling Dervish makes it difficult to concentrate on my wine. The Turkish word for wine is şarap (pronounced sha-rap). It's difficult to make out the label on the bottle because it is written in Turkish. The winery, I've establish, is called Vinkara. What I think is the name of the wine is "Kirmizi Sek şarap 2007". I later learn that this means Dry Red Wine. I never did get its name and the waiter was not able to tell me the grapes from which it was made. I commit to looking this information up later.
It is a deep cherry color, with some purple tones, very intense. I'm expecting ripe, red fruit with the first exotic whiff. The first scent is as expected of cherries, sotto-spirito, and ripe, red jammy black berries, with a tang of pomegranate. There is the slight barnyard smell, that I really like in my red wines. It's not off-putting, it just smells of the earth. My first sip offers a disappointment, as I realize that the wine has been kept at room temperature, and that would be Istanbul room temperature...probably somewhere between 25 and 30 degrees C. It has soft tannins, is medium-bodied with a slight bitter-almond finish, and a medium length.
The Dervish belong to a Sufi sect and their dance and prayer meetings are banned in the Turkish Republic. They are however, allowed to perform them for cultural purposes. As I watch them prepare, I wonder how they can block out the audience of foreigners that surrounds them, and the clicking pens of the waiters, and the hustle and clanging from the kitchen behind them. They are solemn and intense. They remove their black cloaks and 3 men kneel on sheepskin rugs before 4 musicians with traditional instruments. The flutist, playing a traditional Turkish flute called a Ney, begins the haunting call to prayer. One of the men kneeling responds with a lone chant, soon accompanied by the other two men on the carpets. The stringed instruments join in and a climax of chanting seems to have been reached; the dancers rise, move onto the floor and begin a slow twirling dance. Gradually the pace becomes mesmerizing to all those watching and it is clear they've found their grooove. They are wearing tall white hats (shriner style but taller with slightly rounded tops). Their heads tilt and a peaceful, much less intense look takes over their expression. It is said that if they weren't in perfect communion with Allah throughout this prayer-dance, they would become dizzy and fall. As the pace increases, the flaring of their robes widens, like opening umbrellas, but instead of being rigid, they flow like capes, emphasizing the beauty of the dance. Under their white tunic and white skirt, they are wearing white, slim long pants tucked into black, soft-leather boots. Suddenly they are in a trance: their arms open and unfurl towards the heavens and the whirling and twirling is in full tilt.
Unlike the arms of the Dervish, my wine does not open and unfurl. It is not spoiled but neither does it have any more surprises for me. I wonder what it might have been like if served and stored at the proper temperature.
Throughout the evening, I can't help imagine what an evening of entertainment would have been like at the Sultan's court in the nearby Topkapı Palace. 
Would they have been served some of the same foods? Would there have been wine? The meal that we are served turns out to be enough to feed an entire harem. I especially enjoy the appetizers: flat, warm, savory bread for dipping into various purees, sauces and preserves: aubergine and tomato salsa, spicy tomato sauce, tzaziki, humus and a green pepper preserve. It did feel somewhat sacriligious eating and drinking in front of the Dervish who were in serious meditative prayer. I wished they had waited to bring the food. The Dervish however, continued to dance seemingly oblivious to those around them, with their eyes closed.
Would they have been served some of the same foods? Would there have been wine? The meal that we are served turns out to be enough to feed an entire harem. I especially enjoy the appetizers: flat, warm, savory bread for dipping into various purees, sauces and preserves: aubergine and tomato salsa, spicy tomato sauce, tzaziki, humus and a green pepper preserve. It did feel somewhat sacriligious eating and drinking in front of the Dervish who were in serious meditative prayer. I wished they had waited to bring the food. The Dervish however, continued to dance seemingly oblivious to those around them, with their eyes closed.Eventually all 3 dancers returned to their kneeling positions. They gathered their mats, and humbly and quietly left the stage. The audience seemed unsure whether they should clap at the end of this solemn event.
In complete contrast, the entertainment continued with a raucous group of belly-dance musicians, who invited the crowd up to do some belly dancing to their tunes. They seemed to know who to approach, because the audience members who were invited, knew how to belly dance.
The contrasts in Turkey continued to face-off throughout our 5-day stay. East continually meeting West, spiritual and sensual, sweet and spicy, St. Paul and Mohammed. Old and new seem to be as interwoven as a Turkish rug in the fabric of modern-day Turkey. I
ts monuments and ruins are testaments to the fact that it is a land much trespassed, an intersection where the world's peoples met and passed each other. I was happy to be but one of the many trespassers throughout history...a prilgrim of sorts in the steps of St. Paul from Istanbul to Ephesus.
ts monuments and ruins are testaments to the fact that it is a land much trespassed, an intersection where the world's peoples met and passed each other. I was happy to be but one of the many trespassers throughout history...a prilgrim of sorts in the steps of St. Paul from Istanbul to Ephesus.I'm afraid I can't tell you much more about the wine. All the websites I came across except for one were in Turkish. I did read however that Vinkara winery makes an Alicante, Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon blend, which I think may have been the wine I tasted. They also make one that is made from an indigenous red grape called Kalecik Karasi. If any of you can tell me more about this winery, I would much appreciate any blanks you can fill or information you can provide.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Old World and New: Italy, Falanghina Campi Flegrei DOC, Nova Scotia, L'Acadie vineyards 2006 Alchemy.
In light of my recent post on "Straddling two Continents", I decided to have a little taste of both.
I'll start with the white, from the DOC zone where I live in Italy: Campi Flegrei.
Campania, Italy
Falanghina
Producer: Grotta del Sole
Grapes: Falanghina DOC, must contain a min. of 90% falanghina grapes according to DOC standards. This bottle does not mention whether or not it is 100%
2008
13% ABV
This area is known as the "Terra del Fuoco" for all the volcanic activity in the zone. Falanghina is the characteristic wine and grape of the area. Some of the vines are over 100 years old, and many are on their original rootstocks.
The wine is crystal clear, straw-transparent yellow, with greenish hues. It swirls fairly heavily in the glass, and leaves little traces of bubbles on the sides of the glass. There are particles in wine, but none that would fault its clarity.
Everything in the glass is reminiscent of Spring. It is Spring outside as I write this, and this wine evokes a fairly complex bouquet of the sweet smells of the orange trees in blossom, some jasmine, some citrus, fresh grass, and lastly some mineral notes. Based on the olfactory sensations, the wine would seem to be of good quality.
To the taste it is dry, medium-warm and smooth. It has high acidity, but the length brings out the minerality of this volcanic wine. And what length! It is very persistent lasting over 10 seconds. It is beautifully balanced, intense especially in the mineral finish, very good quality wine. It is medium-bodied, ready to drink, and harmonious.
This area of Italy produces fresh fish dishes, and with them is often the suggestion of the local Falanghina.
A taste of bread, a drink of water, and I'm ready for my New World wine.
Nova Scotia, Canada
Alchemy
Producer: L'Acadie Vineyards
Grapes: 40% Leon Millot, 30% Luci Kuhlmann, 30% Foch, produced in an Amarone style
2006
15.5% ABV
The colour is deep, rich and opaque. It is almost black-cherry red in colour with an orangey hue towards the rim. It is so thick when I swirl it in the glass that I get a clear impression of the term "chewey" as it describes wine, though I'm only going by sight at this point. This is clearly a viscous wine, with some body to it. Slow, long legs form down the sides of my glass.
The nose...oh la, la! This is not what I expected from a Nova Scotia wine. This wine is not one of those "foxy" wines that bely the Concord grape that is better off left in jams. Oh no! I would never guess, in a blind test that this is a Canadian wine, made from all Canadian, Nova Scotia grape. The bouquet is intense and complex, suggesting this vintner has some experience making wine. I smell, "terra bagnata" or wet, rich earth, ripe red fruit, a sweetness of caramel or is maple syrup, and finally a faint suggestion of acidity. I can't at this point smell the chocolate or coffee that is suggested on the back of the bottle, but that may come out as the wine breathes.
I taste the chocolate! Another lovely surprise. The wine is dry and leaves some warmth from the alcohol as I swallow it. It does have a high acidity that I could smell through the more powerful scents in the glass, which is always good in a wine. It suggests that it has a lot more time to age well. It is also fairly tannic, and if I could fault it at all, it would be that it is only slightly minerally....maybe even barely minerally or spicy. The acidity and the oaky caramel-maple syrup-chocolate flavors pervade. I'm looking for the smell of black pepper, but it's not there.
The wine is however well-balanced, intense, persistent and of good quality. It is full-bodied and fairly harmonious.
This is not as robust as an Italian Amarone, but it is an interesting promising wine. I would pair it with grilled or barbequed steak, and hope that the pepper on my steak would make up for the lack of spiciness in the wine. There were some lovely surprises in this wine. Here is the website where you can read about the description of this wine:
http://www.lacadievineyards.ca/index_files/Page392.htm
I'll start with the white, from the DOC zone where I live in Italy: Campi Flegrei.
Campania, Italy
Falanghina
Producer: Grotta del Sole
Grapes: Falanghina DOC, must contain a min. of 90% falanghina grapes according to DOC standards. This bottle does not mention whether or not it is 100%
2008
13% ABV
This area is known as the "Terra del Fuoco" for all the volcanic activity in the zone. Falanghina is the characteristic wine and grape of the area. Some of the vines are over 100 years old, and many are on their original rootstocks.
The wine is crystal clear, straw-transparent yellow, with greenish hues. It swirls fairly heavily in the glass, and leaves little traces of bubbles on the sides of the glass. There are particles in wine, but none that would fault its clarity.
Everything in the glass is reminiscent of Spring. It is Spring outside as I write this, and this wine evokes a fairly complex bouquet of the sweet smells of the orange trees in blossom, some jasmine, some citrus, fresh grass, and lastly some mineral notes. Based on the olfactory sensations, the wine would seem to be of good quality.
To the taste it is dry, medium-warm and smooth. It has high acidity, but the length brings out the minerality of this volcanic wine. And what length! It is very persistent lasting over 10 seconds. It is beautifully balanced, intense especially in the mineral finish, very good quality wine. It is medium-bodied, ready to drink, and harmonious.
This area of Italy produces fresh fish dishes, and with them is often the suggestion of the local Falanghina.
A taste of bread, a drink of water, and I'm ready for my New World wine.
Nova Scotia, Canada
Alchemy
Producer: L'Acadie Vineyards
Grapes: 40% Leon Millot, 30% Luci Kuhlmann, 30% Foch, produced in an Amarone style
2006
15.5% ABV
The colour is deep, rich and opaque. It is almost black-cherry red in colour with an orangey hue towards the rim. It is so thick when I swirl it in the glass that I get a clear impression of the term "chewey" as it describes wine, though I'm only going by sight at this point. This is clearly a viscous wine, with some body to it. Slow, long legs form down the sides of my glass.
The nose...oh la, la! This is not what I expected from a Nova Scotia wine. This wine is not one of those "foxy" wines that bely the Concord grape that is better off left in jams. Oh no! I would never guess, in a blind test that this is a Canadian wine, made from all Canadian, Nova Scotia grape. The bouquet is intense and complex, suggesting this vintner has some experience making wine. I smell, "terra bagnata" or wet, rich earth, ripe red fruit, a sweetness of caramel or is maple syrup, and finally a faint suggestion of acidity. I can't at this point smell the chocolate or coffee that is suggested on the back of the bottle, but that may come out as the wine breathes.
I taste the chocolate! Another lovely surprise. The wine is dry and leaves some warmth from the alcohol as I swallow it. It does have a high acidity that I could smell through the more powerful scents in the glass, which is always good in a wine. It suggests that it has a lot more time to age well. It is also fairly tannic, and if I could fault it at all, it would be that it is only slightly minerally....maybe even barely minerally or spicy. The acidity and the oaky caramel-maple syrup-chocolate flavors pervade. I'm looking for the smell of black pepper, but it's not there.
The wine is however well-balanced, intense, persistent and of good quality. It is full-bodied and fairly harmonious.
This is not as robust as an Italian Amarone, but it is an interesting promising wine. I would pair it with grilled or barbequed steak, and hope that the pepper on my steak would make up for the lack of spiciness in the wine. There were some lovely surprises in this wine. Here is the website where you can read about the description of this wine:
http://www.lacadievineyards.ca/index_files/Page392.htm
Straddling two continents.
Right now my husband is in Nova Scotia for a week, and I am home here in Italy by myself. Home is the subject of this meander. Where shall it be?
We will soon be heading into our retirement years, and it will be time to decide where we are to live. God willing, we hope to see those years through on our own vineyard, and maybe working in our own winery. My husband is spending a week on a vineyard in Nova Scotia, something that would have been impossible to find 20 years ago. There has been a growing momentum in the wine industry in Nova Scotia over the last 10 years and we are excited that we can entertain the idea of fulfilling our passions in so familiar a place. Nova Scotia was home to us and our 3 sons for over 10 years. But will it still be home in ten years time, or will Italy feel like home? That is our dilemma. We want to get started on the vineyard idea, but we don't know where to buy. All my adult life I have wanted, dreamed and schemed of living in Italy. Now, here I am. In fact, I am even a card carrying Italian citizen. Italian vineyards are the stuff of romance, and that I am doubtful about wanting to own one seems absurd, even to my family members back home.
It's as though we are straddling two continents right now, a sort of Colossus of Rhodes, but instead of straddling the harbor, we straddle the vast Atlantic ocean. That's a difficult pose for anyone to hold for any length of time. We will have to choose. The straddling metaphor is one that suits our lives right now as we strive to build a bridge from our youth to our retirement years: just as we get used to living our lives as a couple again, we are reminded that we are still parents when our kids are home from university; we are both Canadians but have a deep connection to our European roots; we are neither young nor old, we live here, but wonder whether we should be thinking of living there.
I think there are two plaguing thoughts that confuse us and assault us every time we think we are ready to make a commitment. The crux of our dilemma is the idea of growing old away from our extended family and the other is where will our children want and best be able to visit us. Will choosing one continent over the other have any bearing on their visits to us? Will it be the familiarity of where they grew up that they will want to have? Will my extended family be drawn by the lure of the warm southern Italian winters, or will they see it as being too far and costly? Do I really want to live through 6 months of Canadian winter when I am elderly? When I ask my family these questions, they of course can't give me an answer. The answers are nowhere to be found, but in the future that is left to be played out.
We realize the seriousness of our investment. It could mean that if we had to pick up and sell for whatever reason, a vineyard and winery may not be an easy sell either here or there. We have to be sure. Will we play it safe and move back to Canada? Will we move into riskier territory, and buy that Italian country property, that I see in my dreams?
In one week's time, my husband will be home with our youngest son. We will have learned a little more about what it means to own a vineyard and be a vintner in Canada. We will go back to being parents again for the next four months, and so we will probably put our decision on hold until the fall, when once again, alone as a couple with the itch to get started on a dream and straddling two continents become a difficult pose to hold.
Monday, April 20, 2009
The Wedding.
I was waiting for it and it finally happened: my first European, Italian, Neapolitan wedding. After two years of waiting and anticipating, this one did not disappoint. The invitation arrived hand-delivered by a friend. The directions were vague, but we had an idea that it was not too far from our home. One half hour before the wedding we plugged the address into the GPS, which brought us to a completely different town. After doing a bit of back-tracking, and finally finding the church tucked under a busy road, down what looked to be someone's driveway, whose owners told us to continue on down the road that was under construction, and after snaking around the building in the middle of it all, we finally arrived at the well-hidden Chiesetta di San Filippo. We had missed the mass but were just in time to meet the bride and groom as they exited the Church as newlyweds. So, unfortunately, I can't tell you about how beautiful the ceremony was, but the rest of the day was indeed magical.
My friends, Maria Elena and Francesco are former colleagues from the school where I taught last year. Maria Elena teaches social studies to middle school students and Francesco is the music teacher to the elementary, junior high and high school students. They are both young and vibrant and passionate teachers, dancers and musicians..
Maria Elena comes from an unconventional Neapolitan family and has lived around the world. She speaks Arabic, English and Italian. She is a belly-dancer and an Italian folk-dancer, and gives lessons as just one of her part-time jobs. Her mane of thick, long, and very curly hair is what you first notice, until that is, her gaze fixes on you and you wonder who this Italian beauty could be, with her deep brown eyes, set against her olive skin. This is when you begin to realize that Neapolitan history has left its mark on the people of this town. Maria Elena could be Arab, Spanish and she could also be mistaken for Greek. All of these cultures have made their presence known here: they're in the ruins of the city, they're in the foods, in the language and they're part of the people.
Francesco comes from Pozzuoli, the home of Sofia Loren. He puts his heart and soul into his music-making and his teaching. He is the pied-piper of the school, as he is often followed by groups of kids who just enjoy his enthusiasm and company. He and Maria Elena have taught music and dancing to the kids in the Quartiere Spagnolo in Napoli, the Harlem of Napoli, a program they initiated. I can imagine that Francesco would not be afraid of these kids; he would be accepted as one of them.
Francesco had at some time in his past befriended a band of gypsy Romanian street minstrels, and they were the featured musicians at the wedding. These troubadours were playing the accordion and the violin as we arrived at the church.
After the requisite photos outside the church, the bride and groom, followed by the musicians led the procession to the reception on foot. This tradition I had only seen in movies, and I was not sure it still existed. You can't imagine how delightful it was to be part of such a euphoric, happy event. Traffic was stopped, and though Neapolitans are not known for their patience when their travel plans are interrupted by such things as stop lights, or pedestrians, this time it was clear that the honking of horns was in celebration of the wedding. The procession crossed a busy street, and climbed up a set of steel stairs that crossed over the railway tracks to finally arrive at a most enchanted stage for the reception. This was the scene for the rest of the celebration: an outdoor restaurant on the beach. There were soft off-white curtains blowing in the breeze and the chairs were covered in matching cloth each tied with bows, under white umbrellas. The white tablecloths had violet gauze accents, and formal waiters dressed in black and white delivered the food, served buffet style. The backdrop was the Mediterranean. Though the day was overcast, it did not detract from the scene. Beside the eating area there was a pool and beachfront. Parents made futile attempts at trying to keep their children from wandering there and getting their formal clothes dirty. It was to no avail. Eventually, I was overcome by the same temptation and the sheer joy and abandon of the day, and took off my own stockings to walk barefoot in the warm sand. Looking back at the scene from the beach o
nly added to the dreamlike, surreal, wonderful feeling that my husband and I experienced that day. It was a feeling of levity, and almost of relief to discover that the weddings I had only seen in movies truly existed. They are joyous community celebrations, and this one in particular was free of any pretense. I have played this movie over and over in my mind, and each time I smile.After the meal, the band played and the bride and groom and parents danced a waltz or two. The rest of the afternoon took on a carnival-like atmosphere of folk dance after folk dance. The highlight was watching Maria Elena dance a seductive belly dance before Francesco who played the clarinet for her. The dance seemed to tell the story of a beautiful young woman seducing and finally conquering her man. Her shawl became the instrument she used to capture him, first using it coyly as cover, then using it to incorporate a game of peek-a-boo into the dance and finally as a lasso to capture him as she tied it around his waist. She told this story with her hands, her hips, her eyes, her entire body.
As we left the reception we were given our gift of bomboniere (a container holding traditional Italian candies called confetti, given out as a thank you to guests). True to style, Maria Elena and Francesco did not want any gifts. If they received money, they would use it to cover expenses and the rest they would donate to GMA Napoli, an NGO in Ethiopia. The bombonieri themselves were made as a make-work project for mothers in Shashamene, Ethiopia.
On the way home, I was reminded of the significance of the confetti candies in the bombonieri: they are almonds covered in a sweet white icing, the almond representing the bitter, and the icing representing the sweetness that accompanies marriage. Even in a marriage celebration, Italians are a practical people. They take the good with the bad, hope for best, but are realistic about the trials ahead. In a sense, they want to experience it all...it is pura vita.
Maria Elena and Francesco, thank you for your friendship, for your example, for your invite, and for a day that will live on in our memories. We walked away feeling a little lighter on our feet than when we arrived.
Gatij Brachetto D'Acqui, Marchese di Barolo
Piemonte, Italy
Gatij Brachetto D’Acqui
Producer: Marchese di Barolo
Grapes: 100% Brachetto
No vintage date on bottle
DOCG
6% ABV
This was the dessert wine served at the wedding. It is brilliantly clear and cherry red. It is effervescent with medium-sized bubbles. This sparkling wine is not pronounced in its perlage. The bubbles don’t ascend in the tight chains that characterize champagne. It is more frizzante than champagne-like.
The first aroma that rises from the glass is the sweetness of prunes, and then ripe red cherries. It is delicate in its intensity and would seem to be a wine that is of good quality. The is a fine scent of damp forest at the end.
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To the taste it is sweet and light. You immediately feel the fizziness on your tongue. I taste prunes, but it is balanced by a nice acidity, not making it cloyingly sweet. The acidity gives it a medium length, and the final note is of prunes. It is well-balanced and fairly intense on the palate persisting for a medium length of time.
It is a good quality, light, harmonious wine. It was paired with two desserts: the Delizie di Sorrento that I have previously described, and the chocolate, nutty caprese cake. The Brachetto was a good accompaniement to them both. The chocolate is a nice combination with the cherriness of the wine and the Delizie mixture of sweet chantilly cream and lemon scents were also in perfect agreement with this wine.
Here is the producers description of the wine and how it is made:
http://www.marchesibarolo.com/pagine/eng/dettaglio_vini.lasso?cod=024
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