Column: 'che cazzo' – tasting wine the Italian way

'Ma… non lo so… è una settimana un po' particolare, quindi… But… I don't know… it's been a bit of an odd week, so…'

The woman on the phone is having a hard time. Not only with my request but also with life in general. This is the third time this year that I call her to ask if it is possible for the guests of our B&B to come by for a tasting (tasting) at her wine company Ca' del Santo en every time she finds it difficult. She reminds me of the character from Brigitte Kaandorp's 'Heavy life' and I only laugh a little.

'Ah, ma è Ferragosto… Ah, but it's Ferragosto…' she replied the first time. Hard hard, hard hard.

'Ma lavoriamo tutto il giorno quindi non potremmo... We work all day so we can't possibly…” That was her answer the second time. Hard hard, hard hard.

The complaint of this third time I recognize as typically Italian. How often do I hear her compatriots whine 'Ho un giorno micidiale. Oh, what a day I have today' or 'È una settimana terrificante. This week is really awful." It is a general whining that means nothing, people whine about it, like a Dutchman about the weather.

How little the objections of the woman (whom I later come to know as Laura, the owner of the wine company) are of no importance, becomes clear when she consults her husband. He likes it right away. No problem! Rightly so, because from our previous visits I know that they have a beautiful tasting room and that her husband is a passionate winemaker who loves to talk about his product.

Why would you turn off interested visitors, especially when they also buy hundreds of euros worth of wine? I still don't get it, even though I've come across a similar attitude before.

'But you should put up a clearer sign along the road indicating that there is a B&B here,' we said to an Italian colleague years ago. Whenever we told someone that there was also a bed and breakfast there, that person was highly surprised. Often drove by but never noticed. There was therefore only a rickety wooden sign with the text da Pratic. In brown letters. A clearer indication would certainly bring in more guests, we thought. But no.

'I deliberately didn't put up such an exaggerated sign because otherwise too many people would come.' O. Ah. Our shaky partnership with Da Prati died a quiet and painless death.

And now there is again a beautiful wine company whose owner prefers not to receive visitors. Fortunately her husband Carlo is willing and when we enter the tasting room (of course we managed to get into the wine bastion again) he proudly takes a seat behind the counter, in front of the wide display of all kinds of wine that He makes. A general before his hosts: a battery of full bottles. Bee Ca' del Santo they make many, many different types of wine.

'Making wine is just a hobby for me.' Carlo's bass voice reverberates through the spacious hall. We look at each other. A hobby? Got out of hand!

'I'm actually eno logo and monitor the quality of wine from several wineries here in the region. I make my own wine a common,' Carlos continues.

PassionYes, we know that word. It is used inappropriately by all Italians at every opportunity, just like emotion. As a result, it has become a bit of a commonplace. But Carlo radiates that he is really passionate.

This time, Cora and Marco are also present, the happy, recent owners of a second home in the region. Just like us, they were at home with the brothers Alberto and Massimiliano of winemakers Monteguzzo. When they heard from us that the brothers were arguing and would not produce their own wine this year, they were deeply disappointed. But now that they're with Ca' del Santo their mood clears up visibly. It is much neater and cleaner here and in terms of variety of wine types, the House of the Saint can certainly match Monteguzzo to measure.

Carlo also talks about the different grape varieties and the history of the company (Santo turns out not to refer to a saint but is the first name of a distant ancestor). I throw myself on the antipasti that Carlo has had an employee handle. A basket with bread and several boards with all kinds of cheese and sausage. I actually see bresaola are the most expensive meat you can find in the area. If only Laura doesn't find out!

'Il vino biologico è una truffa,' I suddenly hear Carlo calling. Oh dear, is he now starting a diatribe against the ever advancing trend to produce organic wine? Last week we were close to a colleague winegrower Ca' del Santo which works exclusively biologically…

'Il mio vino quasi non contiene solfitti,' claims Carlo. 'Il vino biological invece…'

Headaches after drinking wine are caused by the sulfite present and are rare because the quality standards are very strict. Is it now coming back via a biological Trojan horse? I do not dare to believe it immediately because I know that every winegrower here (there are a striking number of female wine producers in this region) has their own theories and tricks that are of course always better than those of the neighbour.

But for the occasion I nod obediently the moment Carlo's gaze falls on me for a moment. As long as it tastes good, that's my motto. And it's tasty. Especially the Carol, a red wine made from grape plants in an age-old field, enjoys a general appreciation. The oh's and ooh's and ah's are out of the blue. And when Carlo mentions the price, a polonaise just doesn't break out. Six euros! No money. The bottle is quickly empty.

Suddenly Cora pushes forward and grabs the bottle from the counter. Is she going to put it to her mouth to get the last drop? New. She squints at the label for a while, puts the bottle back, points to the rooster's symbol and asks in her best Italian:

'Ma è un cazzo?'

I look at her bewildered. Carlo pretends he hasn't heard anything and just before I can explain to Cora what she just said, she impatiently repeats her question.

'Perchè c'è un cazzo?'

The label shows the 'cazzo' (source: vivino.com)

I bend over to her and say that cock in Italian cock is and that fuck on the other hand, means asshole. Cora puts her hands to her face and tries in vain to hide behind the others present.

Speaking Italian, that too is sometimes difficult difficult, heavy heavy.