Leah and I looked at each other perplexed. It clearly said Amarone on the bottle.
Never one to back down from a challenge, Leah questioned the statement: "Why is it not a true Amarone?"
"Well, the grapes are the same - Corvina, Rondinella and Molinara - but there is not the correct amount of each in the blend."
"Did the grapes go through appassimento?" I added, the process whereby the grapes are laid out on straw mats to dry, giving the wine a full-bodied, raisiny quality. She assured us they had.
As a certified sommelier, Leah had never heard that Amarone must have a specific percentage of each of the grapes that make up its composition (neither had I). Yet the manager, a young, half-Italian, half-Malaysian trained sommelier (who looked younger than both of us, but carded me) had studied in Italy, in Rome to be exact, and so had learned the specific percentages to make up a true Amarone. She went to the back of the restaurant to retrieve her notes on the wine, which she shared with us - in Italian.
"An explanation for you," she said, handing them to Leah, her fellow sommelier.
"And a practice exercise for you," she said, nodding at me, as I had mentioned my desire to learn the Italian language (after I master French, of course).
We were at Cantinetta Piero, a relatively new Italian place in the Hotel Luca in Yountville. Leah's parents, who were in town for just three days all the way from Florida, were gracious enough to invite me to join them. We shared mozzarella di bufala, olives, margherita pizza, risotto with mushrooms and peas, a special sea bass and, in case that wasn't already excessive, a chocolate budino with butterscotch and sea salt (I am forever indebted to the genius who invented the combination of carmelized sugar and sea salt).
It was only my second day back on solid food, having re-entered the world of the living on Thursday at a work lunch in San Francisco and continuing with a dinner with the Zoblers, good family friends who were in town from New Jersey. I certainly got myself back on my feet quickly.
Oh, and the wine! Real or not, it was my first Amarone experience, and one I will always remember. The wine was deep, rich and full-bodied, with the flavors of dried fruit and spice. Incredibly well-balanced. So good, in fact, that when the server took it away Leah had no qualms about asking him to dig it out of the recycling so she could bring the bottle home.
It was a luxurious evening, one that left a good taste in my mouth as I lounged along the Russian River the next day with Adam, listening to the classiest of conversations that included trips to jail, fighting and mushrooms (the hallucinogenic kind), all the while accompanied by a violin player. Oh, and two little kids who were witness to it all, one a mere few months old who got a kick out of piling my hand with stones from the ground. I kid you not. Amazing the variety of people you can come across in this small part of the world.
It made for an amusing day, and a relaxing evening at a barbecue at my co-worker Michelle's house, where her husband, Ted, graciously made me a portobello burger while everyone else chowed down on steak. We made s'mores, while Ted and Adam played the guitar and we sang along karaoke-style (though we gave up on Radiohead's "Creep").
Quite a varied weekend - one that makes up for a week stuck in bed, at that - and it's not even over: I'm off to Outside Lands at Golden Gate Park in San Francisco for my first west coast music festival.
I'm having a pretty decent recovery, if I do say so myself.
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