The Right Place @ The Right Time
Tuesday, April 29th, 2008
How does one follow up a lunch like the last one? With an appointment to visit an important cellar in the historical center of Alba. Our visit with Ceretto came to an end and we pressed one last espresso into the remaining space we had. Then a few thanks you’s and buon lavoro’s and a brief walk back to the parked car, to ply the meter with more time. I gave a call to Cesare Benvenuto over at Pio Cesare and begged for directions. “No problem, walk 100 or so meters down the street from where you are, turn left and it is on the right. Ring the bell and I’ll meet you at the gate.” Huh? No madcap driving through the cobbled streets of Alba to a countryside vineyard? No mud? No stoplights? No getting lost? On time, this time? Was I finally getting the hang of the Langhe?
Young Cesare greeted us warmly at the portal of the Pio Cesare winery. This was a winery that the town of Alba grew up around. How many times had I walked around the town and never knew the winery that slaked around underneath the ancient bricks. All very interesting to realize an historical operation was so cleverly concealed. As if the act of making wine was the most important aspect. Note to Napa: Hide a winery in the middle of St. Helena and make it a seminal one. No tee shirts, no restaurant, no Godfather’s desk. Hmm…
Once inside, we were led past two statues of Italian greyhounds while a little yippy-type dog protected Nona’s garden. Yes there is a matriarch, and her presence gracefully looms over the compound. Cesare remarks that it is only recently that he has moved into his own living space outside the walls. He is starting a family and needs a backyard and room to grow his brood.
Time out: During this recent trip everyone we have met and spent time with has been in their early 30’s. Where are their parents, my contemporaries? Not that I cannot communicate with the younger ones, in fact I often prefer it. But where are they? Have they retired? Are they all on vacation? Do they not feel the urge to stay in the game? Or is that so very American of me, to persevere like an eno-centric Satchel Paige while my colleagues have long gone to the showers? I’m not that old, am I?
In the tasting room, little details of a long life of the winery surface. This is a quaint stop; I would have never thought the Pio Cesare winery to embrace such tradition and to enshrine it along the walls and in the cellars. It’s like finding an old battleship in the depths and then exploring the galleys looking for things left behind.
A tour of the winery. When one goes to places like Rome and sees the excavations of the floor of the ancient city 20-30 feet below the modern city, does anyone else wonder how in that time it was buried below centuries of dust? So it was at this winery, though only a few feet separated the original winery from modern times. Still, two feet is a lot. But Alba has been growing up lately.
Then we run into Rome. About eight feet below we encounter a wall the Romans built over 2,000 years ago.
Turn a corner and here we find a vine planted by Cesare’s great grandfather, in the cellar. Modern day building has formed a roof over what was once an open area, but the vine is established and grows up the dark wall towards the light. These are things one doesn’t often see in a winery, anywhere.
We are walking in a working museum.
In the area where the wine is boxed and prepared to ship, Cesare’s uncle Augusto runs by, recognizes me slightly, says hello and proceeds to conquer Russia and Singapore with his wine. So I’m not the only silverback working today. Business is good, the world is flat, seize the opportunity, Augusto.
My young colleague and Cesare hit it off; they have similar trajectories in the wine business and are also in the process of assembling their families. By the time this is written, Cesare should be a proud papa.
After hitting the lowest level of the cellar, where the old wines still rest, we headed back up to taste through the range of wines that are in release. I did my due diligence for the work related business; after all we represent the winery in several states. Those notes are not for these pages, though I will say that the 2004 vintage in Piedmont for Barolo and Barbaresco is stunning. I am breathless when tasting these wines. These are classic wines, in general, and I recommend collectors (young ones) to snag some.
“What are you doing for dinner?” Cesare asks. It is our last night in Italy on this trip, and we have had many, too many, wonderful meals. I am beginning my downward spiral to a state of puny, which persists to this time.
“Please let me take you to a little place in the country that my friends run.” Italians are so graceful. “No, it is no problem, this is the life we have chosen, please let’s make your last night better by spending some time together.”
We meet at the bottom of the road from where we are staying in Castiglione Falletto and it is a short ride to the restaurant. Il Vignale is located in Roddi, between La Morra and Alba.
It is a restaurant and a country home, with 6 guest rooms starting at €75.00 for a double. This is a find. And the restaurant and cellar are outstanding. The menu changes with the seasons, but is extremely reasonable. The wine list is just a sampler of what rests in the cellar. Go here, stay here, eat here, make love here.
So after a huge day and a great finish, we headed down to the cellar for a little Barolo Chinato and a farewell to Alba. Cesare and chef Manola along with his partner Rossano led us down through the kitchen into the cellar, where treasures after treasure of red wines from the Langhe, and beyond, slept in peace. A gravel floor and another private cellar (reserved for special wines and foods) were situated beyond where we settled. A little Chinato, a little grappa, a shot of espresso to make the road down passable and that was our night.
As we headed back to Bricco Rocche and our rooms, Cesare led the way so we wouldn’t get lost. We stopped at a road he indicated would get us up to Castiglione Falletto. We then said goodbye and headed up the road a few feet and stopped, waiting for Cesare’s car to disappear. It seemed he had led us to the wrong road (we had gotten lost a few times so we knew when we weren’t on the right road). Then we proceeded to the correct road and raced to tuck ourselves into the comfortable little beds on top of the hill. We were in the right place at the right time.
Original post by Alfonso Cevola
Finally, an appointment we weren’t too late for. We were already in Alba, so chances were we wouldn’t get lost. I felt us getting closer. After a bit of friendly correspondence with Bruna Manzone from Ceretto we were finally there. We would be their guests for two nights at 
Piedmont has really hits its stride in these days. They seem to be at peace with their markets, having spread out to a larger world base while still keeping their uniquely provincial perspective. They have jazz and foam and Spada and can be in Milan in little time or anywhere they want to be. Many of the young winemakers spend time in New York; some of them even have flats there. So this quiet little Langhe can serve to recast their ambitions for the larger world stage.
Confession: I have struggled in Texas with getting the Ceretto wines off the ground in the manner in which they seem to have been accepted in some of the more cosmopolitan world markets. These are not Bar-B-Q and Barbaresco wines. What started out years ago as a conscious effort to strive for higher expression of winemaking aiming toward sophisticated levels of cuisine, what some might even call alto-borghese, has not always been how things in Texas have played out. That is changing, ever so slowly. One should not be too old to hope to see it eventually come to a fuller realization. I anticipate eagerly, living long enough to witness it.
After a tasting with Gianluca Picca, a sommelier and now sales manager for the family, we drove to Castiglione Falletto where Bricco Rocche sits. It is easy enough to find with the glass cube that marks the space. But oddly, when one spends time there, waking up early in the fog and walking around the grounds, one feels a little awed about being able to sleep around the vines that create so much joy for people around the world. I guess I’ll never really get over something like that; the urban dweller in me finds it hard to believe.
As the new day dawned, we would be going to Barbaresco, to the winery in Asili, for some barrel tasting. We went in the car with Gianluca, a transplanted Roman, who travels 40% of the time. He lives above the winery in Asili and loves it, when he has those rare moments at his home base. He seems to have assimilated quite nicely into the Langhe environment; I saw an intense and engaged face as he walked around the cellars.
Later on, in Alba, we met up with Federico, or Fedé as he was called. Fedé reminds me of an Italian Bono with a dollop of Elvis Costello. His is an animated young man who has definitely sewn some of his wild oats. Now he is engaged and will be married later this spring, and is drawn up in the pageant of the family celebration. We sat in the restaurant below the sprawling 
You can read elsewhere about the wines of the family. My intent is to encourage you to visit Alba and find the wellspring where the wines and the food pay respect to the same goddess, Mother Earth.
We live in a world of marketing, where everyone struggles to distinguish their product from the competition and where seduction is the name of the game. Winemakers and producers seemingly must participate in this cacophony of messages in order for their wines to attract the attention of consumers. This competition for eyeballs in the store (or online), and then share of wallet (or, one might say, share of cellar) leads to an awful lot of hype. Wine labels and web sites are now chock full of all sorts of claims and phrases, leaving consumers to sort out the honest descriptions of wines and winemaking from so many marketing catch-phrases.
I never thought this day would come. Really. When I started Vinography more than four years ago, part of my inspiration was the fact that when I typed “wine blog” into Google, I got zero results. I did the same with all the major blogging sites/services and came up pretty much empty handed. There were one or two wine blogs that had been started several months earlier, but they had been abandoned.
The best thing about this very moment is that I am in my own bed. Finally. After camping out for five days at Vinitaly and then taking to the road for another week in northern Italy, I came home tired, but happy, and a little worn. Airplanes filled with sick children coughing for eleven hours must have broken down my resistance. I week in the office trying to put together a series of wine seminars across Texas and then a very important dinner for an important Italian winemaker, almost broke me. I spent a weekend alternating between duties at wine dinners and laying on my couch trying to prevent getting any sicker. But come Monday I was stung. Maybe it was a little flu, or a cold or allergies, whatever it was, I should have sat the week out. Instead I took to the road. Dallas on Monday, Houston on Tuesday, Austin on Wednesday and San Antonio on Thursday, with a quick flight back to Dallas for a private and very upscale event for Riccardo Cotarella at the home of a friend in Highland Park and sixty of his closest friends and family.
Last Sunday I knew I was sunk. I had driven off the wine trail onto a shoulder, and it was leading me straight into the gates of hell. But what could I do? I was scheduled to work all week with my colleague and friend the Master Sommelier, Guy Stout. Four days, four cities. The show must go on.
First one went well. The afternoon one started later and I found myself on a hotel room laid out trying to regain some strength. I was taking a mixture of antihistamines, zinc, aspirin, nose spray, cough drops and cough syrup. I was up, down, soft boiled, poached and rendered. I felt like crap. Thirty minutes to showtime.
After flying to Houston and doing a full days worth of program we loaded up the car and headed to Austin. I have taken that Houston to Austin road three times this year and I am beginning to really like it in a country and western song writing kind of way. As we headed into Austin, missing dinner with any number of Italian winemakers who had descended upon the capital, we rolled into the hotel and bagged it for the night.
Finally we started. Seven brave souls made it to the event. Along with double that amount of wine suppliers and staff. I had no voice and my emotions weren’t too high, but I belted out a program that was one of my best. I gave it 120%. Later one of my friends showed up and lifted my spirits. I was really down. Guy wasn’t feeling so masterfully wonderful either. But we soldiered on and packed up the car and headed to San Antonio.
Finally about 9 PM Riccardo looks like I feel. He stands up and says good night. Thank you, Riccardo, we can all go rest up and get ready to pitch our tent another day.
