Say what you will about St. Paul and its quaint Norman Rockwell roll-up-the-streets at dusk culture — its dearth of “urbane” fine dining and plethora of ultra-conservative politicos. No place has neighborhoods like St. Paul. Mac-Groveland, Frogtown, Highland Park. And my favorite: Selby-Dale.
Maybe it’s because when I was 15 and living in an apartment about a mile from the intersection (long story), Selby-Dale had the shivery mystique of being where all the drug dealers and hookers hung out. But today it is what we in the big cities call “gentrified,” which means, I think, that we made all those down-on-their-luck shifty characters move somewhere else so condo developers could come in. . . .Even so, I can’t help but love it.
And nowhere but in this resurrected area could a restaurant like Il Vesco Vino exist, inside a crumbly turn-of-the-last-century building with a glorious patio half again as big as the dining room itself. I’ll leave the sunning and eating to others, however, and sit inside every time. Because this is where Irv “Junior” Williams — bar manager and son of Irv Senior, the legendary jazz saxophonist — works and pours his wares.
Il Vesco Vino is the place where I tasted the De Angelis Lacrima Christi cited in my last entry (see below). This is, in fact, that rare Midwestern bar that specializes in the wines of Campania: “If you took Italy and look at it like a boot,” says Junior, “Campania is the shin.” It’s also the site where grapevines grow in the volcanic soil of Mt. Vesuvius, giving them an ancient, ashy, earthy taste.
I tried several of the region’s wines and while I loved the Bianco Lacrima Christi, I cannot say the same of its cousin, the De Angelis Rosso Lacrima Christi 2005. I found the red version of Tears of Christ overwhelming, with a bouquet of overripe fruit, dust, and piano wire, and a long finish slick with star anise. If you like jammy wines and black licorice (I do not), this one may be worth a try.
If, however, you’re more of an earthy bent, I heartily recommend the Donnafugata Nero D’Avola Sedàra 2004 — as rank, meaty, and sexy a wine as I’ve ever drunk. The aroma is rife with peat, almost sweaty — eau de men’s locker room, and I mean that (truly) in a positive way. This is a wine filled with dark fruit and tannins, tobacco, and what the tasting notes call a “persistent” finish. Very persistent.
Likely, the Sedàra isn’t for everyone. But if you’re the sort of once-lost soul who walked ungentrified windswept city streets and watched the streetlights flicker across people wearing tattered clothes, smoking cigarettes, and patiently waiting for dawn, you just might find something familiar here. (14% alcohol)
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