COLLECTED MEMORIES

After joining an oenophile and longtime friend on an epicurean tour of Italy and France, Alan Richman makes some delicious discoveries – between servings of crudo and grand cru burgundy – about today’s wine-and-food culture and the obsessive nature of th

At Ristorante Lorenzo in Forte dei Marmi — a seaside town in Tuscany — manners set the tone. Here, Jeff Joseph orders Domaine J F Coche-Dury Meursault Les Genevrieres, a premier-cru white Burgundy. Though we are in Italy, Italian whites, in my friend’s opinion, are charming, whereas their French counterparts are irresistible. “That’s very good,” remarks the sommelier.

As is inevitable, with wine being a bond, they chat. Jeff knows that during every fine meal, there will come a moment at which a lifelong relationship between himself and the restaurant is forged. He says to the sommelier: “I was here a year ago and ordered your last bottle of 1971 Monfortino,” referring to a treasure of the Italian table, the greatest vintage of the best Barolo from the revered producer Giacomo Conterno. The sommelier, Lorenzo Giannini, looks closely at Jeff and with profound emphasis says: “I remember you.” With these words, the tone at our table intensifies, for we are now certified finewine drinkers. I, of course, do not belong, for I am not a collector and not wealthy enough to become one — but I am not averse to sharing in the bounty that accrues sitting across the table from Jeff.

The owner, Lorenzo Viani, who makes our fresh mayonnaise tableside, comes over to shake hands — something he does not do for all his guests. Extra courses appear. We are treated to an olive-oil tasting, and a small bottle of Lorenzo’s private brand is pressed upon each of us on departure. The sommelier, hearing that we had difficulty obtaining a reservation, offers Jeff his card with a private number. For Jeff — retired lawyer, real estate investor and friend for a quarter-century — the moment furnishes bliss beyond any other.

I had joined him on this 75th birthday celebration of his dining life — a grand tour of his favourite European restaurants — knowing that I would eat superbly, drink magnificently, and — Jeff being a collector with wide-ranging interests — converse occasionally on subjects other than wine. Yet

Italian whites, in my friend’s opinion,

are charming, whereas their French counterparts are

irresistible.