Twice this morning I wrote an introductory paragraph just to shake my head and hold my finger down on the backspace button. Once, I only got as far as a starting sentence. Then I sat in silence, looking at the white screen for I don’t know how long.
The truth of the matter is that it is very hard to write about the legacy of a man whom you called your Italian dad, my babbo, when it doesn’t seem in any way possible that he has left us.
He was only 69, but coming from Sardinia, a land known for their population of centenarians, he should have seen many more harvests.
Paolo was not the founder of the winery Tenute Dettori, nor is the winery’s future in any kind of jeopardy, for his conscientious and highly capable son Alessandro has been firmly at the reins for twenty years. Obviously Paolo shaped and grew the business, but this post is not the place for listing professional accomplishments; no, this is strictly personal.
Paolo was a man of few words; sometimes when presenting a wine he would simply say “this is my wine” but while it sounds strange, it actually made space the other person’s reaction. Similarly he frequently introduced me as his daughter, and I, in turn, addressed him as my babbo, father.
It must have been sometime in 2015, when I was still very much single, and I accompanied a journalist from Le Rouge et Le Blanc to Tenute Dettori. It was during a lunch with Jean-Marc and signor Paolo that conversation turned to my wedding, which at this stage was completely fictive, but it was decided that the wedding would obviously be held at the Badde Nigolosu agriturismo. Jean-Marc offered his services for deciding the menu – clearly I couldn’t risk trying all the rich food and not fitting into my dress – and Paolo turned his mind to which wines from the family archive would be appropriate.
When I first started dating my now-husband, I took him to meet the Dettori family. They are already sitting at a table outside drinking a beer before dinner when we arrive, so we sit down and I introduce my new man to the Sardinians. Paolo had been smoking a cigarette somewhere else and when he comes back to the group, without a moment’s hesitation, he pulls up a chair right between us, and starts asking my Alessandro questions so quietly that even I couldn’t hear but I believe they were along the lines of “what do you do?” and “how many hectares do you have?” After a couple of answers, Paolo turns to me and says “va bene, va bene questo” and gives me a smile and a thumbs up.
A few years later and Paolo meets my father-in-law, Angiolino and it’s wonderful to see both strands of my Italian family come together.
The funeral is at 4pm this afternoon so this evening, I’ll open a bottle of Dettori, probably a 2007 – one of the wines chosen for my hypothetical wedding – in his memory. My thoughts today lie with his real family – two children, five grandchildren and the wider Dettori family. But once these acute recollections start to fade, this is how I’ll remember you, signor Paolo, looking out to sea in your happy place.
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