Retrieved from my spam file ?*

The scent woke me. Not an alarm, not a voice - just that yeasty, intoxicating pull of fermentation working in the dark. It reached through the window, through my first sleep, drew me from bed the way the aroma of those ripe figs had drawn me when we first arrived in Bucita that September of 1977. Siren calls, both of them. Irresistible.

I made my way to the cellar. Cool stone underfoot, a single light carving shadows from the darkness. My cousins were already there, not doing much of anything. Just present. Just attending. We didn't talk much. Didn't need to. The wine was holding court - that gentle gurgle and hiss of wild yeast doing ancient work in wicker-wrapped demijohns that might have held our great-grandparents' wine.

Outside, the stream. Wind whistling through the clay tiles. A light breeze carrying the scent of September hills. Outside, a waft of bergamot. Inside, just the slow burn of transformation.

This was the wakeful hour between sleeps - that pause where nothing productive happens but everything important does. We weren't checking temperatures or consulting charts. We were simply there, breathing the same air as the working wine, letting time notice itself.

Years later, I would learn that humans used to sleep this way: two sleeps with a conscious interval between. That our bodies still want to wake at 3am not because something's wrong, but because something's deeply right - something's remembering. In that Bucita cellar, I was living in that remembered rhythm without knowing its name.

Our ancestors slept in shifts. First sleep, then a wakeful hour or two around midnight, then second sleep until dawn. Historical records from Europe, Africa, Asia describe this pattern as unremarkably as we might describe breakfast. People woke around midnight, tended fires, prayed, made love, visited neighbors, contemplated their dreams. Then returned to sleep.

It wasn't insomnia. It was the rhythm.

The interval between sleeps had a quality. Not dead time but noticed time - the kind of attention that shapes how we experience duration. Without artificial light, those midnight hours felt different. Slower, richer, more permeable. Time you could actually feel passing through you rather than rushing past you.

We lost this rhythm through the steady creep of efficiency. First oil lamps, then gas lighting, then electricity turning night into usable waking time. Factory schedules demanding continuous blocks of rest to maximize continuous blocks of labor. By the early 20th century, eight uninterrupted hours had become the ideal, and anyone who woke in between was failing at sleep.

But the body remembers. That 3am waking isn't malfunction - it's your biology looking for the pause that used to be there.

 

Same problem. Same loss. 

What survives isn't the efficient wines. It's the ones that held their time.

When researchers remove artificial light and clocks from people's lives - put them in conditions like our ancestors knew - they naturally return to the old rhythm. Two sleeps. The wakeful interval between. The body remembers what the culture has forgotten.

I think about that Bucita cellar often now. How the smell called me. How we just stood there, cousins in the half-dark, breathing with the working wine. How time felt - not fast or slow but present.

The slow burn isn't a technique. It's a relationship with time itself - the kind our ancestors knew in their bones, in their two sleeps and wakeful intervals, in their patient attendance to things that cannot be rushed.

We're not behind the times when we wake at 3am or make wine the long way or wait for figs to ripen in their own season.

We're remembering what time is for.

 

 

? written and photographed (In Calabria) by Alfonso Cevola limited rights reserved On the Wine Trail in Italy

wine blog +  Italian wine blog + Italy W

But here's what you won't see: the unspoken contract. The implicit understanding that this week in Chianti, these meals, this business-class ticket, comes with an expectation. Not a requirement, mind you. Just an... understanding. You don't bite the hand that flies you first class and puts you up in a restored monastery. That would be ungrateful.

Is this journalism? Marketing? Or something murkier that we've all agreed not to examine too closely?

The Quid Pro Quo No One Mentions

Let's be honest about what's happening here. When a winery or consortium spends thousands of euros bringing writers to their region, they're not funding some noble pursuit of truth. They expect return on investment. And the writers? They know it. They're not stupid?just conveniently flexible about what "editorial independence" means.

The selection process itself tells you everything. You don't get invited back if you wrote that the wines were overpriced or the hospitality was lacking. The system self-selects for the pliable, the positive, the ones who'll post pretty pictures and talk about "hidden gems" and "undiscovered terroirs." It's Darwinian, really. Survival of the most compliant.

Compare this to traditional journalism. The New York Times forbids staff and freelancers from accepting comped travel?a strict ethical policy against even the smallest hint of undue influence. The practical reality, as one editor explained, is that newspapers live in glass houses: you can't run expos?s on lobbyist junkets while your wine writer sips Barolo on someone else's dime. Ethics and optics are intertwined when credibility is your currency.

This is access journalism?when reporters become so dependent on their sources that they lose the ability to be critical. Ask the wrong question at a White House press conference and watch your credentials disappear. Wine writers face the same trap. When your livelihood depends on maintaining relationships with the very people you're covering, objectivity isn't just compromised. It's impossible. But hey, the Brunello is fantastic.

The Professional Junket Circuit: Serial Abusers of the System

But the real problem isn't the occasional press trip. It's the professional hangers-on?the serial junket-takers who've built entire careers on free travel. They're living the dream, funded by someone else's marketing budget.

You know them when you see them. Check their Instagram: Tuscany today, Pened?s tomorrow, Bordeaux next week, Napa by month's end. They're not wine writers who travel; they're travelers who occasionally mention wine between selfies. The telltale signs are everywhere: more photos of themselves than the wines, captions that could apply to any winery anywhere ("What a magical day!"), and a concerning ratio of exclamation points to actual information.

Here's the math that should alarm every winery owner: If someone is doing twelve or more press trips a year, when exactly are they writing? When are they developing the deep knowledge that makes coverage valuable? The answer: they're not. They're spreading shallow coverage thin, posting a TikTok video (one of 34 million posted daily!) that fades in twenty-four hours, maybe a blog post if you're lucky. But don't worry?they'll definitely tag you.

Yet wineries keep inviting them. Why? Because PR firms need to "fill seats." Because follower counts create an illusion of influence. Because nobody wants to admit they can't measure the return on investment. So let's just keep doing it and hope the algorithm rewards us.

That money could have hired a sales rep for a month. Could have upgraded the tasting room. Could have paid for a presence at a major trade show where actual buyers congregate. Instead, it funded someone's personal brand. And their next passport renewal.

And that's the perpetual motion machine at work. Each trip makes these "influencers" look more influential, which gets them invited on the next trip, which makes them look even more influential. They're building their brand on your dime. Rinse, repeat, provide minimal value. It's the circle of life, Tuscan villa edition.

The FTC Disclosure Theater

The Federal Trade Commission requires disclosure of "material connections"?which includes free trips. Influencers must use clear language like "#ad" or "#sponsored." Must place it prominently. Must make it "hard to miss."

In practice? You get "#ad" buried seventeen hashtags deep. Or "Thanks to XYZ Winery for hosting!" without clarifying that "hosting" meant five thousand dollars in expenses. Very transparent. Very ethical.

But here's the thing: even perfect disclosure doesn't solve the ethical problem. It just makes it legal. You can disclose a conflict of interest without eliminating it. Readers don't need labeled bias?they need unbiased information. There's a difference. Though apparently not one the FTC cares much about.

When the Influencer Becomes the Brand

We've reached a strange inflection point where people make their living as "wine content creators." Their full-time job is posting about wine. Which raises an uncomfortable question: when wine coverage is your livelihood, who's really the client? The readers, or the wineries paying for your lifestyle?

Trick question. It's neither. It's the algorithm.

The metrics game compounds the problem. Analysis shows more than sixty percent of influencers admit to buying followers, likes, or comments. Fake accounts number in the millions. Yet wineries make decisions based on these numbers, unable to verify what's real and what's manufactured. It's the economics of bullshit?spending real money on fake influence, measuring success in meaningless impressions while actual sales remain a mystery. But the engagement rate looks great in the PowerPoint.

And some of these folks have developed quite the sense of entitlement. I've heard stories?the blogger who demanded a business-class ticket before ever visiting a region, the influencer who refused to post without additional "compensation" beyond the free trip. When did we start treating wine producers like ATMs? Oh right?when someone figured out they'd actually pay.

The Uncomfortable Truth

Here's the question nobody wants to answer: Can you accept a five-thousand-dollar trip and still be objective?

Maybe the answer is simpler than we've been admitting. Maybe you can't. Maybe we need to stop pretending there's some magical ethical framework that makes it okay. Either commit to independence?pay your own way, accept the limitations?or admit you're doing PR and market yourself accordingly. Just don't call it journalism while you're working on your tan in someone else's vineyard.

But don't insult us by calling it journalism while posting from a Tuscan villa someone else paid for.

Wine lovers trying to navigate this increasingly murky information landscape deserve to know what's genuine. Which recommendations come from expertise and which from expedience? The trust that took decades to build in wine media is eroding, replaced by cynicism. Wine deserves better than song-and-dance men and Instagram hangers-on. The hardworking farmers and winemakers pouring their lives into bottles deserve advocates who can't be bought. And consumers deserve to know whether they're reading a review or an advertisement.

As they say in carpentry: measure twice, cut once. It's time the wine world cut the bullshit. 

Because if that's what's happening?if wine no longer fits into how people define pleasure, connection, the good life?then the fixes Eric proposes are like treating symptoms while the disease progresses underneath. You can adjust pricing and tone all you want, but if the fundamental relationship between wine and culture has frayed, we're dealing with something deeper than pricing or presentation.

Eric's piece might be evidence of this drift. Look at the tangles: He champions small producers making meaningful wine from real places?I'm right there with him?then says the industry needs to dramatically lower prices. But sustainable farming and artisanal production cost more. He notes wineries like Matthiasson, whose regular tier wines run $30-50, have "introduced lower-priced wines that maintain the high standards already set up" as "few younger people are willing to spend more than $20 for a glass of wine in a restaurant or $50 to $100 a bottle in a wine shop." This move suggests an industry with shifting goal posts, caught between maintaining quality standards and meeting a price point younger drinkers will actually pay ? a dilemma whose solution is elusive.

Or consider his "drinking less but drinking better" observation. That's been happening for decades, driven partly by economics ? tighter budgets mean fewer bottles but better ones. If this pattern has been steady all along, what's different now? Eric acknowledges the long trend but frames the current moment as crisis. Maybe what's changed isn't consumption patterns but the culture itself ? different priorities, different values ? and wine hasn't figured out how to speak to that.

But here's what nags at me: Eric divides wine drinkers into deeply committed geeks and those who "mostly want an inexpensive alcohol delivery system that tastes good." What about everyone in between? People who might care about wine if it connected to something they value. They're not looking for education or cheap alcohol - just something that meets them where they are. Not above them, not below them. And maybe that's not just a wine problem - we're living through a moment where people feel dismissed, talked past, left out of the conversation. Has wine become just one more place where that's happening?

From where I stand in Middle America ? up on that rickety ladder reorganizing shelves at my local Italian store, or in my office reporting on wine ? the interest is still there. People are curious. They want to explore.

Maybe the crisis isn't about pricing or snobbery. Maybe it's about whether wine still has a story that matters to anyone outside the wine world. Eric's at least swinging at the problem. I just wonder if the pitcher is throwing curves or change-ups.

Ten years I wrote 5 Italian Wine Regions to Watch in 2015. Ten years - long enough to age a Barolo, to see a vineyard replanted reach maturity, to watch trends rise and fall like the tides at San Benedetto del Tronto. So what did I get right? What did I miss? And what does the murky sphere tell me now?

The Damage Report

Alto Piemonte - The Prophecy Fulfilled

I'll take a bow here. Boca, Gattinara, Ghemme, Sizzano ? these names that once drew blank stares from sommeliers are now spoken with reverence. Roberto Conterno's purchase of Nervi-Conterno wasn't just an investment; it was a coronation. The cult producers I mentioned ? Le Piane, Vallana, Monsecco, Ferrando ? they're harder to find now, more expensive, more sought after. This one I got right, and it feels good.

The wines still deliver what I loved then: transparency, terroir, affordability (relatively speaking), and that Nebbiolo character that doesn't need the Barolo price tag to prove itself. If anything, I understated it. Alto Piemonte didn't just arrive ? it conquered.

Here's where humility sets in. Cesanese has gained ground, yes. Damiano Ciolli is still making beautiful wines, and the word is out among the cognoscenti. But did Lazio become the red wine destination I envisioned? Not quite. It remains an insider's game, a wine for those who seek rather than those who trend. Rome's food and wine culture has certainly evolved, but Cesanese hasn't stormed the gates the way I hoped.

Maybe I was early. Maybe I'm still right, just on a longer timeline. Or maybe some wines are meant to remain beautiful secrets, shared among friends over plates of rigatoni con la pajata rather than splashed across wine lists in Manhattan.

Sicily Beyond Etna - Leave the Gun, Take the Cannoli

Gaetano di Carlo's L? continues to prove that Sicily has more stories to tell than just Etna. Indigenous whites have found their audience, and the island's diversity remains compelling. But did non-Etna Sicily become the story I predicted? It's complicated. Etna itself became such a juggernaut that it overshadowed everything else on the island. The whites I championed are still there, still good, still reasonably priced. But the spotlight moved to the volcano, and everything else became supporting cast.

Chianti Rufina and Montespertoli - The Steady Hand

Selvapiana remains Selvapiana ? timeless, reliable, a wine that makes me feel smarter than I am. Sonnino continues its quirky excellence. These weren't dramatic predictions, and they didn't produce dramatic results. They're the tortoise in a world obsessed with hares. Sometimes being right means being steady, and I'll take it.

Trebbiano d'Abruzzo is still affordable, still clean, still perfect with grilled fish. It didn't become trendy. It didn't need to. Perhaps this was less prediction than affirmation ? a love letter to a wine that has always been there and always will be. The cult bottles (Valentini, Pepe) are now absurdly expensive, but the everyday expressions remain honest and true. Maybe that's victory enough.

Onward Through the Fog

So what does the crystal ball show now, in 2025? I see producers in unexpected places ? Campania's whites beyond Fiano, the volcanic soils of Lazio's Castelli Romani being taken seriously for red wine, the continued rise of Alpine wines from Alto Adige and Valle d'Aosta as climate change reshapes what's possible.

I see a world where "natural" has become less dogma and more integrated, where small importers continue to unearth treasures, where affordability becomes increasingly precious as global wine prices march upward.

But mostly I see what I've always seen: Italy's endless capacity to surprise, to reward curiosity, to offer joy to those willing to look beyond the obvious.

Time to dust off the crystal ball here in flyover country and see what the future has in store. Stay tuned.

I've spent forty years navigating Italian wine in America, and I still find myself circling back to these fundamentals. Not because they're complicated?they're not, really?but because understanding them changes how you see the entire Italian wine landscape. It's like learning to read the grain in a piece of wood before you start carving.

Think of it as a pyramid, if you must have a structure. At the base, generic wines?what we used to call table wines before that term fell out of favor. Then IGT/IGP, wines with geographic indication but breathing room in the regulations. And at the top, DOC and DOCG.

But here's what matters about IGT, which was initiated in 1992: there are 119 of them, and some of Italy's most expensive and sought-after wines have carried this designation. The Super Tuscans that rewrote the rules in the 1970s and 80s started as vino da tavola, before there was even an IGT classification ?wines like Sassicaia (now Bolgheri Sassicaia DOC) and Ornellina (now Bolgheri DOC) that planted Cabernet in Tuscany when that was heretical. These producers deliberately chose to work outside the DOC system because they didn't want to be bound by regulations that prohibited what they were trying to do. IGT was created later, in part to accommodate these wines. IGT doesn't mean inferior. It means different choices.

Interestingly, Piedmont?despite having 60 denominations?has zero IGT wines. The region has structured its entire quality wine production within the DOC and DOCG framework.

Currently, Italy has 410 quality wine denominations. That's 78 DOCGs and 332 DOCs. Both are technically the same level under EU law?DOP, Denominazione di Origine Protetta?but Italy maintains the distinction because DOCG is meant to represent the pinnacle. The guarantee.

What makes a DOCG? It has to have been a DOC for at least ten years first. The wines must pass tasting panels. The rules are stricter?specific grape varieties, precise production areas, aging requirements. When you see that numbered band wrapped around the neck of a bottle, you're looking at Italy's way of saying this wine matters. This place matters.

Where the Wines Come From

Piemonte dominates the count with 60 total denominations?19 of them DOCGs. Barolo, Barbaresco, Gavi, Nizza. Names that mean something when you put them on a wine list. Toscana follows with 52, including Brunello di Montalcino and Chianti Classico. Veneto brings 43 to the table, among them Amarone della Valpolicella and the various Prosecco designations.

But the distribution tells you something about Italian wine politics and history. Piemonte and Veneto have the most DOCGs?19 and 14 respectively. Meanwhile, Trentino-Alto Adige and Liguria have zero DOCGs but produce excellent DOC wines. Does that mean their wines are lesser? Not to anyone who's tasted a good Alto Adige Pinot Bianco or a Rossese di Dolceacqua.

Then there's the south. Puglia has 32 denominations but only 4 DOCGs. Sicilia? Just one DOCG?Cerasuolo di Vittoria?but 23 DOCs. The designation doesn't tell you everything about quality. It tells you about tradition, about how long a region has been navigating the bureaucracy, about political will and consortium organization.

In 1980, the first DOCGs were awarded. Brunello di Montalcino and Vino Nobile di Montepulciano from Tuscany. Barolo and Barbaresco from Piedmont. Two regions, four wines. Since then, in 45 years, only 74 more have been added.

That tells you something. Italy doesn't hand out DOCGs like participation trophies.

The most recent? Just five since 2011: Canelli, Nizza, Terre Alfieri, Terre Tollesi/Tullum, and Cir? Classico. That last one?Cir? Classico?just received EU recognition in July 2025. It's Calabria's first DOCG, a significant moment for southern Italian wine. The designation elevates what was previously Cir? Rosso Riserva DOC, made from at least 90% Gaglioppo in the historic communes of Cir? and Cir? Marina along the Ionian coast. Thirty-six months of aging required, minimum six in wood.

The application process started in 2019. Years of work by the Consorzio di Tutela Vini DOC Cir? e Melissa. Proving historical significance, demonstrating consistent quality, navigating layers of bureaucracy at both Italian and EU levels. When a new DOCG appears, it matters.

Beyond that, the real movement in recent years has been at the DOC level. Delle Venezie DOC and Riviera del Garda Classico DOC, both approved in 2017. These multi-regional DOCs?spanning Veneto, Friuli-Venezia Giulia, Trentino-Alto Adige in the case of Delle Venezie?reflect how Italian wine law is adapting to market realities while still trying to respect terroir-based traditions. It's a slow evolution, and probably that's as it should be.

What This Means in Practice

When you're building a wine list or training staff or just trying to make sense of what you're tasting on a buying trip through Piemonte, this system gives you a framework. A DOC isn't automatically inferior to a DOCG. Some producers make outstanding DOC wines that drink circles around DOCGs from less talented winemakers. But the system does tell you something.

When someone orders a Barolo, you know it's Nebbiolo from specific hillsides, aged according to regulations that have been argued over and refined for decades. When they ask for Chianti Classico, you know it's at least 80% Sangiovese from the historic heart of the Chianti zone, not from the expanded areas that were added later.

Some denominations span multiple regions?Prosecco DOC covers parts of Veneto and Friuli-Venezia Giulia, Lugana DOC straddles Lombardia and Veneto. These inter-regional denominations remind us that great terroir doesn't always respect administrative boundaries drawn on maps in Rome.

Italy's wine classification system can seem Byzantine. In some ways it is. But it exists to protect tradition, ensure quality, give consumers confidence in what they're buying. You don't need to memorize all 410 denominations. But understanding the structure?knowing where to find the complete list when you need it?that serves you well. Every single day in this business.

* further reference: Denominations of Italy by Region (from Italian Wine Central)

Barolo's Trophy Pricing - Called it. The Burgundization of the Langhe is now a fait accompli. Top producers command hundreds of dollars per bottle now. Kiss affordable Barolo goodbye. Those alternative Nebbiolo zones I mentioned - Carema, Boca, Ghemme - they're the only game left for those without offshore accounts.

Private Labels - From national chains to one-man pizzerias, I said. It got even crazier. Captured labels are massive business. Those Italian wineries making bank on this? Still spending August on the beach.

The Sommelier Love Affair - After years of tastevin-wielding abuse about French superiority, those young lions won their battles. Italian wine is essential sommelier knowledge now. Have they gotten normal people beyond the Big Four? Not really. But they've made headway. Of course, if you ask them, they ?discovered? Italian wine for the rest of us.

Red Blends - Still camping on wine lists everywhere. Sicily, Puglia, the Marche - all found their footing with blends as the entry point, just like I said.

Seven Fifty Daily - I put all my money on this baby. Called it brilliant, said I was all in. It's still around, but it never became the game-changer I thought it would be. The bridge between three-tier and newer communication? Not as revolutionary as I hoped.

Delectable - "I get no kick from (pics of) Champagne." Called it narcissistic wine selfies and predicted it would morph or die. It's limping along, but Vivino won. Right diagnosis, wrong survivor.

Franciacorta's Time - "It's time," I said. It wasn't. No breakthrough. No $12.99 bottles at Trader Joe's. Prosecco kept winning.

Etna's Fetishization - "We're going to beat this one with a stick," I wrote. We didn't. The rustic, hard-to-navigate Sicilian cultural crust actually protected it from trend followers. It had its moment without becoming the overexposed mess I feared.

Natural Wine - Mentioned it in passing but "misunderestimated" how it would become the darling of the eno-warrior set. Still niche, but low-intervention and organic Italian wines gave certain producers serious cachet.

AI and Wine - Here's what I couldn't see: AI sommelier apps, ChatGPT writing tasting notes, algorithms recommending wines based on your dinner photo. Machine learning curating lists, generating content faster than any blogger. Whether it helps or hurts wine education is debatable, but it's here. And it might be writing better tasting notes than half the people who got paid to do it.

Social Media's Evolution - Instagram mattered more than I thought, then TikTok arrived. Wine TikTok? YouTube wine education? I was driving around in a Model T waiting for the next model. Turns out there were several daily drivers.

The Pandemic - Recalibrated DTC and dented the three-tier system I was watching crumble. Mid-size distributors still can't get critical mass or capital. They come and go, like I said.

The Drinking Decline - Here's the big one I missed: people aren't drinking like they used to. Older generations cutting back for health reasons. Younger ones for health and economic reasons - they can't afford rent, much less a $40 Chianti. And now we've got a medical establishment trending towards neo-prohibitionistic behavior, with every study screaming that no amount of alcohol is safe. This isn't just a headwind for Italian wine. It's a category five hurricane.

The Scorecard

I focused too much on specific platforms instead of understanding the ecosystem would keep evolving. Seven Fifty and Delectable were symptoms, not the cure.

What I got right: pricing trends, distribution dysfunction, the sommelier trajectory. That Dalla Terra model I praised? Still working. Mid-size distributors? Still dying the slow death I predicted.

Wine blogging was already post-mortem when I wrote that piece - a chicken running around after its head was cut off. What rose from the corpse? Everything from Substack to TikTok to AI that may or may not know Barolo from a hole in the ground.

What hasn't changed: I'm still keeping vigil for Italian wine's success in America. Still making sure the squirrels don't eat my eggplants.

The next ten years? Ask me in 2035. But I'm done betting on any single platform. And I'm watching those machines with one eyebrow raised.

Oh, and now there are Trump's tariffs to contend with - because apparently Italian wine needed another obstacle course. Twenty-five percent on European wines? That's going to reshape pricing, margins, and what gets imported in ways we're just starting to understand. Add that to inflation eating everyone's discretionary spending, a generation that can barely afford groceries much less wine, and a medical establishment hell-bent on telling us every glass is poison. Maybe it pushes more DTC. Maybe it kills off more mid-size importers. Maybe it finally forces that distribution paradigm shift I've been on the lookout for. Or maybe we're all just screwed.

Either way, I'll be here with a glass of Trebbiano in hand, watching it all unfold.

The chef noted ironically, ?We have a lot more of what people consider traditional Italian,? but also admitted, ?we couldn?t skip the opportunity to put chicken parmesan on the menu.?

Before we proceed, let?s clarify what we mean by traditional.

• Traditional refers to beliefs, customs, and practices handed down from generation to generation, often by word of mouth or continued practice.
• It implies adherence to customs, values, or styles that are long established and, sometimes, old-fashioned.

Similarly, the root of the word appropriate comes from the Latin ad propriare, meaning ?to make one?s own.?

With these definitions in mind, I wonder: when looking at Italian menus ? both in America and in Italy ? are the dishes truly traditional? Or are they inspired? When chefs take liberties to ?make a dish their own,? are they improving on tradition, or veering away from authenticity? And importantly, is that necessarily a good thing?

It?s worth remembering that Italian cooking itself has always been dynamic. Italian cooks have adapted recipes since Roman times, incorporating ingredients like tomatoes, peppers, potatoes, and corn ? all introduced to Europe from the Americas centuries ago. Tradition has never meant static or unchanging.

Take the example of Prosciutto e Melone. Its beauty lies in simplicity: the salty fat of the prosciutto balanced by the ripe sweetness of melon creates a harmonious dance of flavors ? salty and sweet, acid and fat.

Where Does the Chef?s Dish Fit?

The chef?s version swaps prosciutto for culatello, adds lightly candied hazelnuts, figs, and basil, and dresses it with olive oil and a lightly sweet ros? vinegar.

Let?s consider these ingredients:

• Culatello is a close relative of prosciutto, differing only slightly in cut and aging.
• Hazelnuts predominantly come from Piedmont in Italy.
• Basil, while grown in many Mediterranean climates, is famously associated with Liguria (think pesto Genovese).
• Figs mainly hail from Southern Italy ? Sicily, Calabria, Campania, and others.
• Prosciutto is traditionally from Emilia-Romagna and Friuli, but can also be found in the Marche and other regions.

The use of Texas cantaloupe, however, introduces a distinctly American element.

Does this dish risk becoming a ?culinary bastard? ? a confusing mix of flavors that struggle to balance sweet, fat, and acid? Or is it a respectful evolution ? a food that reflects a reunified Italy, combining regional flavors into a single dish?

The chef insists the menu is ?traditional,? yet the additions ? candied nuts, figs, sweet vinegar ? push the boundaries of what one might consider classically Italian. The dressing of oil and vinegar might even shift the dish toward something resembling a salad rather than a traditional antipasto.

Cultural Appropriation or Culinary Dialogue?

At its core, cultural appropriation is about making something ?one?s own,? but it also carries questions about respect, authenticity, and power. In the case of culinary matters, maybe culinary appropriation is more apt. But questions still remain. When does borrowing from a culture become exploitation or misrepresentation?

This chef?s dish raises important questions:

• Is it an homage to Italian tradition, thoughtfully re-imagined with local ingredients?
• Or is it an example of cultural appropriation ? using Italian cultural symbols and flavors without full context or respect for their origin?
• Who decides what is ?traditional,? and who benefits from this reinvention?

The French phrase dialogue de sourds ? literally, a ?dialogue of the deaf? ? describes a situation where two parties talk past each other without understanding. This seems relevant here.

In culinary culture, appropriation risks becoming a one-way act: a culture?s dishes and symbols taken and transformed without meaningful exchange or respect, leading to misunderstandings and tensions.

Why Culinary Appropriation Is Not a Neutral Act

Some may argue that culinary appropriation is simply part of cultural exchange and evolution. Yet, it is crucial to recognize the deeper harms appropriation can cause. It often strips dishes of their cultural significance and context, reducing rich traditions to mere trends or exotic novelties. More troublingly, it can perpetuate power imbalances where dominant cultures profit from the foods of marginalized or colonized communities without acknowledging or respecting their origins.

In the case of this Italian-inspired dish, the casual blending of ingredients and reinvention under the guise of ?traditional? risks erasing the authentic stories and histories embedded in those foods. It becomes less about respect and more about commercializing culture.

Thus, culinary appropriation is not a neutral or benign act. It can reinforce cultural misunderstandings and contribute to the commodification of heritage. This is why it demands critical scrutiny rather than celebration. Respectful culinary exchange requires more than just borrowing flavors ? it requires deep engagement, acknowledgment, and responsibility.

Invention or Capitulation? The Battle for Authenticity

This dish and the chef?s approach exemplify the complex tension between tradition and innovation, cultural borrowing and appropriation. While culinary traditions are naturally evolving, appropriation can cross a line when it disregards the histories, meanings, and power dynamics tied to the food.

The chef?s dish prompts us to ask: Is this an informed and respectful homage, or does it simply repurpose a culture for profit and novelty? Without awareness and respect, such acts risk perpetuating cultural erasure rather than fostering genuine dialogue.

In the end, cultural respect in cuisine is not optional ? it is essential. When borrowing from a culture?s food, chefs and diners alike must engage with humility, understanding, and responsibility to ensure that culinary exchange honors, rather than exploits, cultural heritage.

And we haven't even gotten to the wine part. Not yet.