Let’s not think about alcoholics, that’s another subject, but I have known fathers that would only sit down if there was a bottle of wine on the table. They had control of it and would pour it for themselves then a drop for the kids too. It was ages ago, today they would be ‘degenerates’, to report to social services, but not those. The ones I knew were affectionate, cheerful, maybe sometimes just a little bit touchy. As the lunch would continue, the bottle would begin to empty, the mothers would object, I’d wink to my brothers or cousins. A great atmosphere would evolve, I can remember it like yesterday. The fathers that drank wine wanted to know everything. From about how school was going to what our friends were up to and then the day to day issues and state of health of friends and relations. Some of the older fathers would tell the same usual tales, that I still loved to hear over and over, maybe the same adventure and I knew how it ended, yet still I hoped the finale would take a different turn.
I have no idea how the fathers that didn’t drink wine were, but these others I knew profoundly: including one that one evening, not quite sober, when he undid his trousers to go to bed, fell on the floor and the whole house vibrated, we laughed about it with him for years to come. I have to say they seemed happy fathers. Some are no longer with us, some are, but they have all lived long lives. I have to confess, I am a father that drinks to remember.
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The transparency of wines has been a fundamental element for aesthetically judging this nectar. Gradually, colours were beginning to reacquire their differences, whereas 20 years ago white wines were practically all the same colour, except for some particular ones such as passiti and certainly reds were less concentrated in colour, until the tones of the grapes returned. The appreciation of the individuality of the different grape varieties was discovered by consumers and consequently by the wine-makers, that realised how each wine had its own shade of colour. Aesthetic judgment was added to that of simply a wine’s taste, looking for the colour of any particular grape in the glass itself: a character within a character. Now some wines, biodynamic and not filtered, sometimes hardly racked even, have brought back that turbid look, almost as if wanting to become a licence of the wine’s ‘purity’. Of course a niche of production that does indicate a trend.... I love though, really, the transparency of a wine that reflects the light and that though the glass, manages to distort images, enabling me to see the World as a better place. Great is the memory of a dear friend, which like all recollections, seems so real and yet so exaggerated. Even though he worked with wines professionally, he told of just two times that he ever really got drunk, in 60 whole years.
The first time was as an adolescent football player, when he'd play in makeshift suburban pitches, without a referee or a time limit, but just the pity of the opposing team and a mother calling him in for tea. On his way back home to his gran's, ripped boots, dust in every imaginable corner of his body and a thirst as dry as if he had crossed the Sahara, he saw a crystalline, clear bottle waiting for him there in the fridge, that instead of holding fresh, cool water from the well, was full of delicious Sambuca. As soon as his lips touched the neck of the ice-cold bottle and the dense, wonderfully refreshing nectar slid down his throat, he did all but separate from it. On the contrary, he suckled as if it were his mother's breast and then, as a newly sprouted man, started to fly.. Many years later, by now a fully fledged adult, in front of a blue sea and with play mates and women companions, he told stories, his eyes twinkling, of an evening in which the moons had become four and the waves of that same sea, took him straight to his bed, where an angel with silky skin and a warm mouth pulled him back down to Earth. These memories, of an old friend, that for a whole lifetime had frequented vineyards and cellars, made me realize how important it is to not get drunk. So as to savour this momentary derailing, and even more so, to remember those excellent moments of being a human. Sharing his art It was absolutely tipping it down, like the Niagara Falls, relentless, fierce water. To see these old people get off the bus, coming from so far away, with eyes twinkling like school boys on an outing, really touched me. They wanted to know everything, from the vineyards to the barrels, persistent rain and wet photographs. Without missing a single word that I was saying, they gave me the illusion that it was one of the most interesting places on Earth. Then after, safely undercover, tasting the wines and narrating lives, whilst I did my best to look like a true pro, I was happy, the whole way through. I felt important to them, that had departed from the suburbs of London to look for a vineyard, a cellar and a glass to bring me their exhilaration. Beautiful people, people with heart. Every cook that deserves his name knows how important it is to use excellent wines in the kitchen, never using a wine that he wouldn't also put on the table!
To simmer and reduce a dish with a good wine means to rediscover those frangrances and aromas on the nose and palate while you eat it. This makes me think of how good a pale meat is enriched with a good glass of Frascati left to evaporate whilst it is being seared. But marinating meat in a great red wine for 48 hours, completely immersed with all the seasoning of rosemary, sage, laurel, celery, carrot and onion along with spices, peppers both white and black, juniper berries, salt, invades the kitchen with a delicious perfume that announces a great recipe of Italian cuisine. The meat is dried then seared and simmered in the same wine it was marinated in, garnished finally with the chopped vegetables used for seasoning, pan fried separately, what a fabulous dish! Braised, but in Barolo! Then another bottle of the same to accompany the meal, a real feast that's fit for a King. Today no wine producer deserving to be called such, counts only on the sugar content of his grapes, the famous technological maturation sees many other aspects taken into consideration to establish the right moment to harvest. So, I want to launch an alarm, let us not underestimate the importance of sunshine in the ripening of grapes, both for a question of warmth and also for its luminosity that irradiates the bunches and transforms the berries. Latitude has always been important in this aspect, which is why sugars that are used as normal practice in France and Germany, are prohibited in Italy! Here in Italy the sun and the climate generally give us the possibility to obtain important levels of alcohol content, more often than not, naturally. This makes me say that I love solar wines, not because they are more alcoholic but because they express themselves in the glass with that warmth and luminosity, that don't make your teeth go on edge, that round off the 'green' notes of some varieties; they have a soft, velvety, mature fruit and sweet tannins that recall the true essence of the Mediterranean. Under a pergola or sheltered in a cool cellar, the pleasure of the warm Italian summer expresses its origins. Because we are the wine leaders of the World. We don't have 3 or 4 territories cultivated with a handful of varieties like some other wine producing contras, 545 different grape varieties will be on show at the Milan EXPO 2015 as from May. A biodiversity unique to Italy, that Helios has helped us to select for the past 3000 years and that when we are no longer around, will continue to delight those that love the good in life. Every grape has an appointment. One day, or sometimes just an hour, in which to rush it to the cellar as fast as lightening! Every single minute more, a small fraction of taste or perfume gets lost forever. No! not after all those months of taking special care so that they reach their best condition! Sugar? OK. Acidity? OK. Ph? OK…in the laboratory they help us decide, as they always have, which is the best moment to start this ancient ritual that is wine-making. But then some of us, in a very scientific manner, wander down the rows of vines, in the coolest hours. Clean mouth, the palate warned and ready. WE pick off some grapes and we chew them. The sweetness, the freshness, the tannic taste of the skins, the intense aromas, the way in which the pulp comes away from the pip, how the pips seem to us; whether they are crunchy, caffeine-like, the taste they leave behind in our mouth, the thousands of different hints. The Grape Tasters, looking for promise and premise. Quick now! Don't miss this moment, this unrepeatable moment. No two years are ever the same. Moments that leave their mark on our lives. Sometimes after years, I have tasted in a bottle precisely that grape from that particular morning. I recognized him and we greeted each other like two old friends. I didn't imagine it. It really was him, a drop of wine. Once upon a time, many years ago, wines were transported on splendid carts pulled by horses, that went and did the rounds to deliver to restaurants and Osterie from the Castelli to Rome. This un-interrupted coming and going happened along the ancient consular roads; Appia, Tuscolana, Anagnina, Casilina or Prenestina, along which agents awaited to take payment for duties leaving a receipt to show that tax had been duly paid. The Wine merchants soon discovered that it was the wine that travelled along the Tuscolana, the normal route from Frascati, that got the best reception from restauranteurs and inn keepers. Thus wines coming through the Tuscolana tax gate had the reputation for being the best quality wine! Wine merchants of other wines from other areas in the Castelli soon cottoned on, so, even if it meant getting their carts to go a long way round down into Rome, it was worth their while to make it look as though the wine had come from Frascati!! A hedonistic value had been invented, a plus: I Drink Frascati Therefore I Am… This is one of the reasons that the first ever Consortium of Guarantee was born…nearly a hundred years ago. Before cars, tractors or even harrows, our vines were cultivated using oxen. We had such narrow planted vineyards that only one could go through and it pulled a plough guided by the farmer. Then in Spring the earth would be turned over manually, men would refresh the earth by flipping every clod. They needed to be strong but also able, some managed to make every blade of grass disappear even without digging into the ground properly. The foreman would have to make sure every job was done as it should be, and they dug for 6 hours. Every worker was entitled to half a litre of wine and there was a break for breakfast. Tradition wanted that oil-preserved herrings were put at the end of the rows of vines every so many, so when pairs of workers reached them they'd dip their bread in them. Of course the first ones were the best tasting! A poor world, filled with strong tastes, perfumes and flavors that have long since disappeared. Nothing to do with frozen pastas and breads of today. It is in their honour that me and the guys eat loaves with our porchetta, coppiette and olives and wash them down with Frascati. The Prince of the Enchanted Valley.
My darling, let's go and kiss, away from household monotony, let's play at being kids again. A kiss and a cuddle and then back home. Right up past Piazza Re di Roma and on towards the Castelli, we'll find somewhere secluded, a bush, a lonely lane, somewhere in the open, to give my girl some passionate kisses. Slums, carcasses, endless suburbs. It would have been enough to just reach the Quarto Miglio, to end up at Sor Capanna's then turn around and go back home. But you did insist, so my love, to make you happy, I go round and round, backwards and forwards. Then suddenly on a bend I come across a bit of real Campagna Romana with oaks, acacias, wild asparagus and an endless tree-lined canyon. We kiss passionately, nature to nature, when we see an old guy come up the lane, quick on his feet and as fit as a teenager. Well dressed with a hippy rucksack, 'Good morning my dears, how you doing?' , 'Well indeed, can't you see we're hugging and kissing?'. 'Well done, carry on', he returns, 'Don't waste a minute, and when you wish, be my guests, it's my pleasure'. 'Your guests, what do you mean?'. 'Of course.. I'm the prince of all that's seen, while I'm still around nothing will be changed, all will stay as it has been. No rubbish shall be dumped, no building done, so just carry on, having fun.' I tilted my hat and bowed to the wise old Prince, then fumbled another few kisses, went back to Rome, but still haven't returned since. |
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