Living in Conversation

I have been trying to teach my students about the art of good conversation. They have been given the monstrous task of writing a research paper in four weeks (a Herculean labor for ninth graders, to be sure, but unrealistic expectations are my hallmark as a teacher). In the midst of their panic I have encouraged them to take time to speak with their friends about things that matter (in this case the content of their papers).

Curiosity and wonder are shimmering, fleeting wonders, not often sought or grabbed hold of. Conversation, I posit, is key to laying hold, because in it we (hopefully) see others possessing those same things. Mimesis drives our lives; we learn to love a thing by witnessing others love it.

How dull life would be if it consisted only of conversations about trivial topics! The memories I treasure most are of nights and days spent in deep, searching dialogue with others. There are the great numberless mass of conversations with Josh in high school. A conversation with Lee that I still think of as THE conversation. Late college nights heavy spent with thought with Andrew, Matt, and many others. Post class downtime with dear Stephen Isley. And of course many, many conversations with Leslie.

I love to converse because I love the thrill of stumbling across dusty old ideas which seem terribly new, of striking my foot against brilliant new ideas which invigorate my whole body. (I experience this sensation twenty times a minute when I talk to Dr. Gardner).

Yet to a large extent we as a people (and yes, me personally) have lost our capacity for true conversation. Our world has been reduced to soundbites and punchlines. Our conversations are no longer thoughtful symposia centered on real topics; they are instead carefully plotted battles with each combatant seeking to strike the decisive blow, to radically alter course through some devastating quip.

We teach our children history this way. They learn that events happened at such and such a place and time. Protestant Reformation? Martin Luther, 1517, 95 Theses. Check! Case closed. Perhaps a hasty mention of indulgences, but no indication that Luther was in conversation with those who came before, and certainly no invitation to engage with him in that dialogue. Over time I have come to appreciate the name TU's Philosophy Department gives to its introductory courses: The Great Conversation. Simple, yet fraught with meaning. The history of ideas essentially consists of one long conversation, and each voice adds fresh perspective. I do not mean to imply that truth as such does not exist, merely that arriving at that point is a journey (more on that in another post). That we, that I am invited to join in this conversation seems a grand, ridiculous miracle. I am no Aristotle, no Augustine or Aquinas, no Heidegger, Hegel, or Hume. Yet I too may raise my voice, by virtue of the fact that I am a man. Now that's something to talk about.

Because It Must Be Said

Ponder this.

Usque ad Hilaritatem (part 2)

The wine:

Jorio by Umani Ronchi.

Preface:

Jorio hails from a delightfully literal family of wines known as Montepulciano d'Abruzzo which are made in Abruzzo, Italy and feature the Montepulciano grape. They are table wines, but remember that for wine the term table is not a compromise but a calling. We need these wines like the world needs garbage men: easy to take for granted but you'll miss them when they're gone. Everybody can't be Pomerol. Anyway, Abruzzo is in the back heal of the boot, approximately yonder:

If you happen to run across a Montepulciano with 'Riserva' slapped across the label, it means the wine was aged for a minimum of two years in oak, but don't get too excited. Older really isn't necessarily better, especially for high-yield, less sophisticated wines like Montepulciano. Many base-level Montepulcianos are quite nice younger, and may actually benefit from it because the fruit comes through more easily. Think fresh not young. Our friend Jorio, in fact, was aged only eleven months and is a very viable table wine and does his family proud.

Montepulciano d'Abruzzo is permitted to feature up to 10% Sangiovese, the work-horse of Italian wine. And a quick word on this. Italian wines are excruciatingly frustrating to keep track of in one's head, and the real culprit to my mind is Sangiovese. It creeps it's way (one feels) into every damn blend, and unless you're sensitive to the differences, makes many Italian wines taste suspiciously similar. This shouldn't be a problem with Jorio though, thank Dionysios, because its juice is honest-to-goodness 100% Montepulciano. Which to my mind could be described as a somewhat drier Sangiovese. Oh well.

Excursus:

A deep ruby color verging on purple, and largely opaque. A heavy wine, one sees, because the way it clings to the side of the glass. Nasal investigation will reveal dark, ripe fruit like plum maybe or even raisins. There's a bit of sugar there too, like molasses or caramel. Once inside your mouth the first thing you taste is the fruit again, but this time definitely plum, undercut by some good acidity and tannins to balance. The acid races backwards and is most of what I get on the back end. A tart wine, it needs food, Italian food really.

I haven't liked Montepulciano much in the past. One in particular comes to mind, although I don't remember the name. It tasted like cardboard and acid and put me off the whole grape for a while. But Jorio is pleasant and reasonably priced (by my own unrealistic standards), right around mid-to-low-20's. Don't ever pay too much more for Montepulcian d'Abruzzo than that, please, but Jorio, I feel, is worth what you'll pay.

Cheeses:

Podda Classico, (good) Piave, Pecorino Toscano (2+ years), Idiazabal, Taleggio, Ros, and my favorite for this wine: Ossau-Iraty.

Otherwise have it at your table with some extra tangy Marinara or Bolognese sauces, and my gut tells my a rustique pate. Lots of bread and olive oil.

Bibliography:

Here's what the maker's web site has to say.

Deep ruby red, recalls plums and red cherries on the nose, followed by balsamic and salty notes on a background of ripe liquorice. With eloquent and clean tannins in the mouth, it comes across as full and vigorous, with a long and intense finish.

Most of that I can see, although liquorice is going a little far. Here's a random internet blurb I pulled up on the wine:

It was a delicious wine from start to finish. I must say I was totally impressed by this wine from the moment I smelled the bouquet it to the last drop. Looking at the wine, it was bright cherry red with vibrant pink edges. On the nose it displayed lovely vanilla, cherries and blueberry pie. Hints of loam and rich truffles

Apparently everyone agrees that it's cherries not plum I was tasting, but blueberry pie is absurd, and truffles just absolutely bonkers.

Conclusion:

Caring matters.