About to leave for Italy in several hours. I usually don't get this personal here, but I got up at 5am to finish a story. Done. Finally, pulling out my suitcase and beginning to figure out the packing situation. Determined to keep things to two pairs of shoes. And realize I just can't disappear on you. Here's what's going on.
I'm headed over to research my Piemontese chapter; Looking for Scanavino. Giacomo Scanavino's 1968 Barolo, drunk in 1980 was a wine that changed the wine world for me, forever. 
Now, (go know), I find out he was a mediocre producer (read: plonk). To me? The wine was crushed rose petals and sandalwood with a fine silty texture and, what can I say? My boyfriend looked over to me and seeing the look on my face, with my nose in the glass, knew he lost me.
I hear S. Scanavino is old and sick and I can only hope he grants a visit. If not, there goes my chapter. And I also hope he opens up some of his old wines for me. (And yes, Melissa is coming along and she's really good at charming those older bottles out of the cellars.)
We're meeting up with the Dressner gang at Baldo Cappelano, sleeping in the spooky bunker beneath the Ceretto Bricco Rocche, meeting up with Sam Dipalo (son of Louis Dipalo)--who is studying at the Slow Food Academy and of course........ending up in VinItaly and ViniVeri (or is it VeriVini), dinner with Giampiero Bea and probably at some point joining in at the crush at Bottega del Vino.
In short, even though I have a rant prepared on irrigation (I know. You can barely wait for that one, can you? ) and on creating a wine list for an Indian restaurant, everything is on hold. Will attempt reporting back from the other side, on bottles, on travel and food notes. Later. --A
