They were young. They were hopeful. They were brought to explore the mysterious bounty of Barbera. And they became prisoners, scions of a new generation of wine reporters, embedded inside an ancient palazzo.
“We were Barbera-boarded,” one of the young rebels cried. “We came for fruit and unlimited acid, but we were put in racks and our tongues were tortured.” Wood you? How could you?
A long week of trials in the land of Barbera, a dramatic snowfall, complicating communications.
Were they getting enough to eat? Are they warm enough? How many hours of sleep are they getting.
Frankly, we are worried about the Barbera boys (and girl). The surly older generation doesn’t seem to be coming to their rescue. Where is Scicolone? Where is Maresca? Has Hyland found dry land?
A ping from Parzen on the Blackberry. “This is brutal, but we’ll get through this arraignment. We’all entered this room as innocents, I’m not sure we’ll all leave the same way we came in.” A newlywed, he pines for his bride back in Texas.
And what about Brunello girl? Her lovely pictures have stopped coming though the Flickr-feed. Have they taken away her only link to the outside world? Is she suffering? Are her teeth ruined beyond repair?
In America, we watch. And we wait. And we pray. Must we call on Zaia to free the Barbera 7?
Barbera Meeting 2010 