Another epiphany in Italy
From the chapter: Culinary matters
In Italy, it is said, you learn that simple things can be the best. Volumes of books have been written about that ethic, so this is no big revelation.
When I made my third trip to Italy in 1996 I had already been a full-time sommelier for 10 years and in multi-unit restaurant management for another 8. Yet in retrospect, I still had lots to learn. In the mid-1990s most American consumers still preferred soft, “buttery” Chardonnay or unabashedly fruity White Zinfandel. I compensated—or rather, compromised—for that by stocking my wine lists with either alternative whites that express a slightly different fruitiness (Pinot Gris or Pinot Blanc, Falanghina, Cassis, Albariño, Riesling halbtrocken, etc.), or Chardonnays that are crisp, at least a little minerally, lighter in oak and not excessive in alcohol.
I also pushed soft, fruit-forward, food-versatile reds (Pinot Noir, Sangiovese, Lemberger, dry Lambrusco, “Gang of Five” Beaujolais, and so forth). Red wines, in other words, that think they are “white.”
For all the smarts I thought I had, though, I was still insecure when it came to wines that express less fruitiness than, say, an acid-driven minerality, or are couched in seemingly lightweight, austere structures. Oh, I had tried my guests on long established classics such as Savennières, Picpoul de Pinet, and Greco di Tufo. I’d even thrown Biancolella from Ischia and Vermentino based whites from Provence, Corsica and Sardinia at them. But in the face of lackluster sales, my usual response was to beat a hasty retreat—back to the comfort zone of Pinots, Riesling and Chardonnay.
Part of the issue, looking back, was the fear that I was shopping for wines more by "type" rather than actual fit. For our Asian influenced Island cuisine, of course, sensory type was everything. Still, the question had to be asked: Was I trying out unusual wines on guests just for the sake of trying them, or for an actual purpose?
What allayed these self-doubts was a visit to Colle Picchioni on the advice of renowned Italian winemaker Riccardo Cotarella, who had agreed to start producing house wines for our restaurant group. Cotarella had also just begun consulting with this tiny estate located in Marino, outside Rome along the ancient Appian Way. There I met Paola di Maura, who purchased the property in 1976 and began making wine from its unusual (for Italy, at the time) menagerie of grapes, which included Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, Merlot, Sauvignon blanc, Sémillon, as well as Trebbiano and Malvasia di Lazio.
When I dropped by Picchioni in the late morning, Paola was in the kitchen. The smell of rosemary and olive oil cooking in a pot permeated the house. Her son Armando, who had just taken over management of the wine side of the family business, poured me a 2-year old Colle Picchioni Marino Bianco Donna Paola. It was a soft, dry, fluid blend of Malvasia, Trebbiano and Sémillon, light and oily textured on the palate. What it wasn't was something big, thick, oaky, fruity or “awesome”—but in fact, somewhat old fashioned in its small, somewhat plain character. Heck, it didn’t even have much of an acidity level—a prerequisite, supposedly, for food-friendly whites.
While we sipped and talked, Paola brought over a soup made with fava-like white beans she had readied; over which Armando drizzled olive oil and dried chile flakes, and then stirred in a tiny dollop of red paste made from tomatoes, bell peppers and olive oil. The taste was smooth, soothing, yet tingly and robust. And suddenly the Donna Paola seemed to pop—each sensation in the dish magnified by the round, easy, mildly oily texture of the wine that I initially thought too simple to mean anything. An unexpected “wow!” All of a sudden I was craving more of the wine.
Then Paola finished what she was cooking on the stove; bringing over a ceramic pot containing what Armando called "Roman lamb"—bony morsels of chicken livers and odd ends of lamb with rosemary, dried anchovy, white vinegar, pepper, and generous amounts of olive oil. “Now we will show you why in Rome we drink white wine with everything," Armando told me—"even lamb." I could not believe how the oil and herbs in the stew pulled together the soft, oozing quality of the white wine, and vice versa. "The dish is not a difficult one," added Paola, "but neither is the wine. Great wine and food is not always complicated."
That reminded me of a conversation I had with Cotarella just two nights before, at his home in Umbria. "Drinking wine is a pleasure,” he had told me, “and so you should always judge a wine by how much pleasure you feel when you drink it."
My takeaway, which has stuck with me ever since, is to never underestimate a wine, especially when going through the usual, often perfunctory, tasting process. Not every wine has to be about fruit intensity, complexity, endless layers or bottomless depth. A wine of "place," in fact, is often just that⏤sometimes a plain Jane but tasting exactly like what it should be, which is where it comes from, often with its own long and overlooked history, rather than what you think a wine should be.
Sensory standards such as acidity, in fact, may very well be overrated—some of our most interesting wines can be on the soft side, but put them in the right culinary context, then “wow!”
Nor should you ever underestimate your guests’ or staff’s capacity to appreciate an unfamiliar wine of subtle or elusive authenticity, which describes many of the world’s finest wines. If you have the capacity to learn something new, they can, too. This is truer today⏤with every passing, and increasingly smarter, generation⏤than it ever was before. Just give it a chance, exactly the way you do for yourself whenever you taste with an open mind rather than prejudgement.
Demonstrate wines, rather than showcasing or overhyping them, by putting them in the right context⏤meaning, the right foods rather than anything extraneous to their intrinsic qualities⏤while never expecting everyone to automatically "get it." So what if they don't? In the long run, picking the right wines only increases your chances of ending up with that feeling⏤that sensory "wow!"⏤which makes it all worthwhile.