I’m a people person.
It’s probably that empathetic, Georgia-born Italian-American coupled
with the curious anthropologist in me that makes me want to meet and learn the
story of just about everybody I see. Seldom is that a bad thing – although I do
get some weird looks in elevators – and often it results in new friends or at
least interesting stories from people in all walks of life.
It’s hardly a shock that this very prominent aspect of my personality carries over to how I approach wines. In fact I think it’s the Italian empathy in me that makes me want to meet and learn the story of every wine I see. It’s that empathy that once again, my favorite author and anthropological-and-linguistic-commentary-genius Beppe Severgnini illustrates perfectly by his comparison of Italian and British flight attendants in his hilariously insightful analysis of the Italian culture, La Bella Figura:
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| Me + People = Happy (I love being a guide for WSA in Rome!) |
It’s hardly a shock that this very prominent aspect of my personality carries over to how I approach wines. In fact I think it’s the Italian empathy in me that makes me want to meet and learn the story of every wine I see. It’s that empathy that once again, my favorite author and anthropological-and-linguistic-commentary-genius Beppe Severgnini illustrates perfectly by his comparison of Italian and British flight attendants in his hilariously insightful analysis of the Italian culture, La Bella Figura:
“The
Italian flight attendant sometimes takes her job title literally--the plane
flies, she just attends. But she's always pleasant, elegant, and ladylike, so
much so that she can appear intimidating. I remember one flight from Milan to
New York. The Alitalia attendant, an attractive brunette from Naples, was
strutting up and down like a model on a catwalk thirty thousand feet above the
ground. The man sitting next to me glanced at her and asked me, "Do you
think I might be able to get another coffee?" "Why ask me? Ask
her," I replied, nodding in the direction of the flight attendant.
"How can I ask Sophia Loren for a coffee?" he whimpered. He was
right. The good-looking attendant was putting on a fashion show in the sky, and
no one dared to interrupt.
But then take a British flight attendant. You wouldn't mistake her for a model. She'll have very little makeup, and no jewelry. Often she is robustly built, and until recently would be sporting one of those little round hats that you only see on British cabin staff and New Jersey ice-cream vendors. Her heels are low, and her shoes are "sensible," as they say in New York. Alitalia crews wear emerald green. British Airways has improbable combinations of red, white, and blue, or a mayonnaise-cum-apricot shade that nature felt no need to invent. The British woman is attentive, though. She comes back again and again, smiling all the time. She waits until your mouth is full, swoops on you from behind, and beams "Is everything all right?"
Then something happens. Let's say you spill your coffee on your pants. At that point, the two personalities undergo an abrupt transformation that--you've guessed it--sums up the respective national characters.
The British attendant stiffens. You have deviated from the pattern; you have done something you shouldn't have. All of a sudden, her inner nanny emerges. She doesn't say she's annoyed, but she lets you know.
The attractive Italian also undergoes a change. In an emergency, her detachment disappears. At times of crisis, what emerges is her inner mom, sister, confidante, friend, and lover. She takes off her jacket and actually helps you. Weak at, if not openly irritated by, routine administration, she comes into her own in exceptional circumstances that allow her to bring her personal skills to bear. Where did the ice goddess go? She melted. In her place is a smiling woman who is trying to be helpful.”
But then take a British flight attendant. You wouldn't mistake her for a model. She'll have very little makeup, and no jewelry. Often she is robustly built, and until recently would be sporting one of those little round hats that you only see on British cabin staff and New Jersey ice-cream vendors. Her heels are low, and her shoes are "sensible," as they say in New York. Alitalia crews wear emerald green. British Airways has improbable combinations of red, white, and blue, or a mayonnaise-cum-apricot shade that nature felt no need to invent. The British woman is attentive, though. She comes back again and again, smiling all the time. She waits until your mouth is full, swoops on you from behind, and beams "Is everything all right?"
Then something happens. Let's say you spill your coffee on your pants. At that point, the two personalities undergo an abrupt transformation that--you've guessed it--sums up the respective national characters.
The British attendant stiffens. You have deviated from the pattern; you have done something you shouldn't have. All of a sudden, her inner nanny emerges. She doesn't say she's annoyed, but she lets you know.
The attractive Italian also undergoes a change. In an emergency, her detachment disappears. At times of crisis, what emerges is her inner mom, sister, confidante, friend, and lover. She takes off her jacket and actually helps you. Weak at, if not openly irritated by, routine administration, she comes into her own in exceptional circumstances that allow her to bring her personal skills to bear. Where did the ice goddess go? She melted. In her place is a smiling woman who is trying to be helpful.”
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| Nicola Trabucco, truly an amazing wine maker and person |
Sofia Loren looks aside, I am that Italian flight attendant
when it comes to wines. The wines perform best and I appreciate them the most when the situation brings out the personal aspects of each of us. Take me in a wine store, for example. I stare at the bottles, indifferently at the rows of
labels, seemingly different yet all the same, when choosing which I would like
to take home that night. The 90+ numbers bestowed by Robert Parker on the lucky
few do little to entice me. Even when the knowledgeable employee or even owner
at the wine store points me towards the best sellers or their favorite wine, I am
skeptical and cold. Not that I don’t trust he or she likes that wine, but I’m
not interested in the wine - I don’t trust the wine - because I don’t know it.
And therein lies the key: I don’t know it. It hasn’t spoken to my personal side, it doesn’t need or want to talk to me. The way I approach
wines are the way I approach people – I want to know them and they want to know me. You can’t just give me a bottle
with a technical sheet and a long list of credentials such as “aged in
barriques for 6 months before 12 months in the bottle.” My favorite wines taste
good because I have a relationship with them – I know their story, that of the people
that made them, and the culture they come from.
This is Italian wine. Italian wines are good because the elements that people analyze are exceptional – they are amazing because each bottle is a reflection of the story of the people who make it. I love Italian wine because if you listen, it tells you that story, and I can’t wait to open the next bottle to hear what the wine has to say or relive the first time I was lucky enough to experience that bottle’s tale for the first time. In my most fortunate of cases - such as the wines of Nicola Trabucco, Castello di Neive, Allegrini, Tascad’Almerita, Villa Dora, Ferrari, and Antinori – I’ve met the wine makers, the families, the employees that pour their hearts into their work, heard their stories, and stood on the grounds where wine was born. In other cases- such as the wines of Foradori, Bruno Giacosa, and Borgogno & Figli (try No Name for a great story)– I’ve read interviews, watched videos, and and studied the legends that are poured into the bottles of these iconic wines.
This is Italian wine. Italian wines are good because the elements that people analyze are exceptional – they are amazing because each bottle is a reflection of the story of the people who make it. I love Italian wine because if you listen, it tells you that story, and I can’t wait to open the next bottle to hear what the wine has to say or relive the first time I was lucky enough to experience that bottle’s tale for the first time. In my most fortunate of cases - such as the wines of Nicola Trabucco, Castello di Neive, Allegrini, Tascad’Almerita, Villa Dora, Ferrari, and Antinori – I’ve met the wine makers, the families, the employees that pour their hearts into their work, heard their stories, and stood on the grounds where wine was born. In other cases- such as the wines of Foradori, Bruno Giacosa, and Borgogno & Figli (try No Name for a great story)– I’ve read interviews, watched videos, and and studied the legends that are poured into the bottles of these iconic wines.
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| My Italian-American family |
Italian wines are passion and love, they are history and
culture, and they, like their culture, are made for empathetic, Georgia-born
Italian-American anthropologists like me.
**Special additional thanks to those don't work for the wineries but who have been key in making it possible for me to explore the Italian wine the empathetic way: Giuseppe LoCascio and Stephanie at Winebow Imports, Jon Goldsmith at Spacca Napoli, Caolan Sleeper at Eataly, Anthony Minne at Plum Market, and the countless other people with whom I have developed relationships and friendships.
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