House Wines
Esquire, April, 2000
"AHN-DREY-AH." I felt a little shudder. The voice lifted, then lilted in that singsongy, allegro ma non troppo sort of way that, for me, makes even a simple conversation with an Italian man feel like a serenade. "Don't think, Andrea. Drink."
And so it was that I learned the true meaning of wine. A few months before, I'd left a budding investment-banking career to pursue my passion--wine. My travels through the classic wine regions of Europe had led me here, to Vietti, one of the Piedmont's great wineries, and lunch on the terrace of Luciana and Alfredo Currado's villa. Throughout the meal, I'd been scribbling furiously in my notepad, determined to take it all in and somehow convert a bunch of notes into neat and orderly wine knowledge.
Until Alfredo gave his order....
