il vino e il polvo

When we started our dusty trek to the winery, and took those first steps out of La Morra and into the vineyards, we seemed to be headed in the right direction. But then something happened and we went su (up) when we should of gone giu (down). And then giu (down) when we should have gone su (up).

The vineyards seemed to run well into forever, with line after line of grapevines shooting into the distance like pinstripes. Somewhere along the way we lost track of the trail markers and didn't know if we were supposed to go up and over the hill standing in our way or not. Turns out we were.

So, after a long dusty haul - that included going over the hill - we arrived at the Renato Ratti winery, pant cuffs stuffed with yellow silt and shoes that looked like we'd recently undertaken a lunar landing. When we rang the bell and apologized for being so late the voice that squawked out of the call box made sure to clarify..."TWO HOURS late"...and then paused for effect.



I think we gained back some of their respect when we explained that we'd walked to the winery - yes, on foot - and gotten lost in the process. The small piles of dust that sprinkled across their floors in our wake seemed to confirm our story. We even got a glass of water before we embarked on our belated tour of the wine museum.

The tour was short, dank, and musty as Stefano and I followed one of the winery employees through an old monastery. We could make out barrels in the basement (where not all of the lights were working) and came to appreciate the unique shapes of wine bottles from the region. There was a collection of historic wine labels and photos of the man who started it all. In all honesty it was a lot of fun roaming around the small museum - and this was before the wine sampling made everything even better.



The Renato Ratti tasting room overlooks a horizon lined with grapevines and a region known for incredible wines. We sat there, wineglasses in hand, appreciating the fact that our jeans were coated with the very same dust that supported the growth of the grapes we were drinking. And these weren't just any grapes. These were nebbiolo and barbera. Grapes that become Barolo and Barbaresco, the wines people across the world recognize by their first names.



When the wines crossed our tongues in that place and after that walk, they tasted better than they have tasted anywhere else in the world. They tasted like the sun that had slowed us, and the dust that coated us. They tasted of the stories we'd heard, and a little of the impatience that had squawked at us for being late. They tasted like a day in La Morra.

And they tasted beyond perfect after a visiting Canadian cardiologist gave us a ride back to town. He not only saved us from an uphill walk back, but he should also be credited with keeping us from likely getting lost again. His generosity not only meant that we were able to catch the last bus back to Bra, but it also gave us the extra time we needed for a quick pre-bus meal. We had a glass of wine, some cheese, cured meats, a little bagna cauda...



and maybe just a little bit of dust.

alba is food love

I can't blame the wine - even though we did start drinking shortly after ten in the morning. I can't blame the cheese - even though we sampled enough varieties to seriously harm those allergic to milk. And I can't blame the flourless hazelnut cakes - even though we must have had about five different versions. Our new love for Alba cannot be blamed on one single aspect of the city - no - it must be blamed on all aspects, every single one. Not the least of which was the White Truffle Festival, which from September 30 until today combined all that is glorious about Piemonte's Langhe region into a series of festival halls.

How to begin? Well, first you pay one euro. Just one euro to enter a place that smells more than a little like bad breath. Bad breath, you say? Why would I pay to go in there? Oh, my friend, you will go in there and you will love it. You will marvel over the fact that it was just 1 euro to enter. You will stay there for several hours, wandering the halls, eating and drinking. And when you can finally bring yourself to leave you will roll yourself out with multiple shopping bags in hand, filled with food and wine. It's dangerous... this truffle festival. But it's also divine.



On the map the city of Alba looks fairly close to Milan. And I suppose it is; if you have a car. We took the train and arrived in about three hours, after taking three trains and following what might be kindly-termed a circuitous route. It was more than worth it, though, and as dawn broke we watched wine fields climb the sides of rolling hills, and fall colors sweep across our path. It was gorgeous. And gave us plenty of time to ponder the question of why there's not a more direct route. But I digress.

I'm convinced that I had never been in the presence of a truffle before. Chocolate truffles, yes, I've eaten my share. But truffles that a dog found in the ground? Nope, never. So I didn't know that the smell we came across when we entered the festival was the smell of hundreds of fresh truffles, all of which had been extricated from the ground by skilled truffle-hunters and brought to this market to display and to sell. And I'm sorry, but it's true. The magical fungus that costs obscene amounts of money smells a bit like muted garlic breath.



But the wine? First, you're advised to cup the wineglass in your hands in order to warm up the rich red liquid because it's so cold in the festival hall. Then you take a deep sniff to capture the aroma. The Dolcetto smells fruity and earthy and barky and warm. And Asti smells like flowers in the sun, and peaches and apricots and rainbows. And Barolo to me smells meaty and rich.

And the people who run the wineries and who line the festival hall want you to taste these wines. They want you to taste all of the wines. They'll fill your glass and tell you about their grapes, their techniques, and the personality of their soil. And then you'll say thank you and visit someone else who will do the same. It's like pub crawl only the point is not to get drunk and head-butt people in the streets, but rather to taste the magical wines of this silty region and try to grasp what it is that makes them so special. And along the way you're bound to realize there are a hundred reasons why...



But wait! The cheese people are holding out knives with shavings of cheese on them! And you can't say no because it's cheese. Wonderful cheese! And with so many different kinds - so many textures and flavors, it's almost too good to be true. There is sausage and salami too; hanging along the wall and laid across the table and being cut into bite-sized samples. Not just a paradise for cheese-lovers, but for their meat-loving counterparts as well.



There's also an ungodly amount of cakes, cookies, candies and general sweet ephemera lining the festival. There's the earlier-mentioned flourless hazelnut cake which is moist and not too sweet. And chocolate everywhere; in chunks and bars and elaborate art. There's torrone in bricks large enough to knock out a grown man. And you, as a truffle fest attendee, are obligated to taste everything put before you. Truly. And p.s. there's no shame in going for seconds. I tried.

I will tell you that the one difficulty of the festival is the other festival goers. While we saw very few Americans, there were sackloads of Germans and other Nordic folk. These are not small people - in fact, I'd go so far as to call them quite sturdy. Stefano, who while not being a very heavy fellow is quite tall -- I can usually see him easily across a crowded room -- was absolutely dwarfed by a crowd of men and women who made him look like a toddler. He tried but there was no penetrating the wall of heartiness, and no way for him to reach the salami sample he so badly desired. And while we went back later and Stefano tasted what he claimed was absolutely excellent salami, he still couldn't escape the idea that there are people that large in the world, and that they wouldn't let him near the smoked meats.



And now we come to the truffles. Oh delicious aromatic fungus. Why haven't we met you before? (Aside from the fact that you're too expensive and kind of rare and all...) The interior of the festival was an area where the truffle hunters lined up at tables, along with their scales and calculators, and displayed their goods. Some simply piled the truffles into little mounds while others preciously laid them out one-by-one. There were white truffles and black truffles and they ranged in size from pretty small to several golf balls large. Very small is almost in our price range, while any larger is definitely not. There was a generously-sized white truffle for 1300 euro which we found almost comical, except for the fact that not everyone in the crowd was pointing and laughing.



As you might imagine, there are very few rag-taggers trotting through the truffle festival. And those who are there as serious buyers are wearing the outfits of the filthy rich. But to be there as a spectator is just as fun. You get to smell the truffles all the same. And you can talk to the truffle-folk about how this line of work found them and their families. We talked to a girl who was there representing the finds of her father -- who truffles at night with his specially-trained dog. He was taught by his father who was taught by his father and so on. We asked her why she didn't hunt for the truffles - and her answer was that she felt it was too dangerous to be wandering around in the middle of the night. A practical girl who then went on to sell several truffles for about 100 euro.

There's definitely an art to knowing a good truffle and we received a brochure that tried to explain it. There's something about the strong garlicky smell of a white truffle originating from all sides of the truffle, and one must also keep an eye out for claw marks from the dog who dug it up. Also, don't buy one that's chock full of parasites or has been reconstituted from multiple small parts by an unscrupulous dealer. Rest assured, though, there's a truffle judging booth at the festival where you can take your prized-purchase to be sure you got your euro's worth.



I have to admit to purchasing our own little truffle. And believe me when I say it's little. But it smells strong and it looks the part. And we're going to shave it thinly and eat it over eggs. That's what everyone else was doing.

If the Alba truffle festival hadn't ended I would encourage everyone to hop onto whatever form of transport was available and get to the festival now. But as today was the final day I can only implore you to plan ahead for next year. This festival was one of the greatest food joys that we've had here in Italy and we're still groaning over its delights. The wine, the cheese, the truffles... The three hour train ride going in circles.

It's all about the goodness of Italy and the lengths people take to enjoy it. Some of us hop on trains and tool around the countryside. Others take their dogs out in the dark of night and hunt for a very special fungus. Still others cultivate grapes with a love that few of us understand. But we all come together every so often and share our energies in a single place. Some of us as wide-eyed visitors, others as wisened producers... at a crisp fall picnic that takes place in Alba.

See you there next year.

grape to glass

Wine tastings are a unique and indulgent experience. They are all about drinking one glass of wine after another, hunting for essences and aromas within each glass. I can honestly say that I tasted cherries in one red wine while using the recommended tasting method of "gargling" the wine, i.e. taking in air along with the wine while drinking from the glass. The first time I found a wafting wisp of cherries, the second I nearly choked a mouthful of red wine onto the tablecloth. Apparently the suave combining of air and wine, while drinking, is not a skill I've developed just yet.

I tasted peach highlights in the white wines and found them to be lighter than the reds. And that's about as deep as my wine knowledge goes. I do know that before drinking you need to swirl the wine in the glass to introduce oxygen which then enlivens the wine's bouquet, or scent. This works for about the first four glasses and then you start to worry that your swirling might be a little too vigorous. At that point you start focusing on the crackers instead of the wine and all goes well.



We were on a visit to the Zonin vineyard in Gambarella that was organized through work. It's about two hours out of Milan and is a beautiful site full of family history and wine making expertise. We were given a very special personal tour by one of the owners, a nephew of the founder. He walked us through the winery's museum sharing with us the history of the winery, the family, and the various aspects of winemaking.

One of the things that often gets lost in the wine experience is the cork. It blocks access to the wine, sometimes falls apart, and is generally a pain to remove. Everyone is happy when it is finally gotten rid of and dropped into a corner. But a lot of work has gone into the cork itself. Cork trees grow for over a decade before they can be shorn of their cork and the cork then must dry for over a year before it can be used.



Cork varies in quality and fine cork is prized. The finest pieces are often used in round coins at the top and bottom of corks, with lesser quality cork comprising the majority length of the cork. The ends must be high quality because they must make a strong seal between the wine and the outside world. Lesser cork is also crumbled into bits, a la blue cheese, and then recombined to form a whole cork. And of course, the absolute finest corks are through and through the highest grade. It's a shame that such a finely crafted piece is so quickly and unceremoniously discarded.

The giant wooden barrels in which wine ferments are kept at a very specific humidity level in the cantina, or cellar. Too high humidity and fungus will begin to grow on the wood. Too low humidity and the wood will begin to absorb the wine it contains. The science of winemaking is a calculation that is currently beyond me. But I will say that I love the smell of the cantina, that moist grape scent hovering in the humidity, and the coolness of the space. It's no wonder that caves were often used as natural wine cellars.



We were not only treated to a wine tasting and a tour, but also an incredible meal set in a wonderfully sumptuous room surrounded by books, art and fresh flowers. With each course arrived a new wine to try - perfectly complementing the food we were enjoying. The courses were delicious and served quite elegantly, and the expertise behind every aspect of the meal was evident. When one of the owners of the winery is not only hosting you to lunch but is pouring and introducing you to a glass of wine, you not only feel very lucky, you feel as if you have fallen into the chair of a king. Your senses are heightened and you pinch yourself under the table to see whether this is really happening.



There were white wines, red wines, dessert wines, a fine grappa reserved for friends... We tried it all. And we left with a fair amount to share with friends and family at our own table. If we can make people feel half as welcome and indulged as we felt at that meal, and throughout the entire day, we'll be happy.