The Elusive Sotto Pantalone

Early in 2003, David Bryant, director of the Italian portfolio for The Country Vintner (now WineBow), my top wine wholesaler, invited me to join his semi-annual wine-buying trip to Italy. Twice a year he travelled to Italy to visit his producers, taste their new vintages, and discuss how their business with his company was progressing—preferably around a table during a meal with the winery dogs under the table. Three of us were eager for the experience: a Country Vintner salesman, a retailer from Arrowine in Arlington, and me. A thin, elfin man, David faced the world with a perpetually bemused expression. He was wiry and energetic, and his knowledge of Italian wine was broad and deep, as was his familiarity with and love for Italian arts and culture, having grown up in a diplomatic family stationed in Italy. This immersive exposure gave him an abiding appreciation for its wine, food, and arts.

We caught the last flight out of Dulles late on Valentines Day just as the Blizzard of ’03 began to impede roads and runways. The next morning, we landed at the Aeroporto di Milano Malpensa. Now who names an airport malpensa, “bad thoughts?” Picked up the rental car, David drove south on the A-1 to Tuscany. The autostrada wound down through Lombardia to Piacenza, into food-fabled Emilia-Romagna—the heart of classic Italian cuisine: containing the cities of Parma, Modena, and Bologna. Stopping at an AutoGrill for gas and a quick lunch, I marveled at this deli in a gas station [sounds like our own Charlottesville] stocked full of regional specialties: Parma Ham, Parmesan Reggiano, Basalmico di Modena, and Mortadella. The latter of which I devoured in a simple, delicious sandwich chased by my first doppio (double espresso). From David I learned that pulling into an AutoGrill for a tank of gas and a doppio is di rigore in Italy. AutoGrill may be a national chain, but unlike in America, each one features the specialties of its surrounding region and simple, fresh food. If only our highway pit stops were so convenient, and so molto bene. (Italy conveniently builds AutoGrills into the autostradas.)

Before getting back on the autostrada, David laid out his rules for travel…

1. Always assume that everyone, everywhere speaks English. Commenting in English thinking people won’t understand what you’re saying leads to bad outcomes.
2. If you see a vegetable, eat it. Food here is heavy on pasta, bread and meat. Take every opportunity to ingest a vegetable (verdure), or especially a salad (insalata).
3. Tell me what’s going on with your body. We four are packed together for these two weeks on this fast-paced trip. If you have a pain, if you’re starting to feel sick, if you’re feeling extra tired, tell me so that I can adjust accordingly.”

Andiamo a Tuscany!

Light snow fell but disappeared once we crossed over and through the Montagne di Apennine. We drove down past Firenze, Poggiobonsi, and Siena and arrived, as the sun set, at our destination, the hill town of Montalcino. We pulled up to Fattoria La Gerla, a winery in the northern part of the Brunello di Montalcino appellation, and exited the warm car into a biting, cold wind.

“Two weeks of this?” I thought. It was so cold, much colder than I had packed for. I needed a pair of warm winter long johns, and I expected to find them later in town. But I did not yet understand the perplexing cultural differences of Italian shopping.

Owner Sergio Rossi welcomed us to La Gerla, named for the large conical baskets workers filled with harvested grapes and backpacked to the wine cellar. He related both his vision and their story as we toured the winery and tasted our way through the cellar. A winemaking innovation I learned from Sergio is their innovative tannin management program. One of the premier red wines of Italy, a Brunello often has strong tannins that need time to mellow as it ages.

Sergio explained how their careful handling crafts a desirable wine. La Gerla’s hallmarks are plump, ripe, silky tannins with perfumy aromas: wines that are drinkable young, but age well. As we left, Sergio said he would see us at a dinner he had arranged where we’d taste his wines with local Montalcino dishes. We drove off with happy expectations.

Italians eat late in the evening but not as late as Spaniards. Since we had a bit of time before dinner, before the shops closed at 7:30, I pulled out my trusty yellow pocket English-Italian dictionary. Finding no entry for long underwear, I confidently created a mashup of biancheria intima (underwear) and lungo (long). Of course, this being Italy, I emphasized the word lungo by running my hand along my leg to demonstrate the concept.

Confident with my clever vocabulary creation, I set out on my quest. A clothing store (negozio d’abbigliamento) seemed like the best bet, and finding one, I browsed through all the winter clothes—but, alas, no long underwear. Asking for biancheria intima lungo (complete with my helpful hand gesture) netted me only a perplexed look from the negoziante (shopkeeper-owner). Luckily, however, the friend hanging out with her she spoke English; they conversed a bit before directing me down the street to the shoe store, a negozio di scarpe.

I headed out into the cold, dark night, found the negozio, walked in, and again confidently asked for biancheria intima lungo (+ gesture). “Niente,” (nothing) the clerk said, but she helpfully led me to a winter sock display. It was not what I wanted, but she skillfully picked up a pair of black merino wool knee socks and placed them in my hands, prompting me to feel their startlingly sensual softness. The seduction worked: I had to have them! After putting them on, feeling their luxurious softness, I strode back out into the cold darkness, my chilly legs cloaked in soft warmth.

Alas, that was all that was toasty, so I headed back to our hotel, the Albergo Il Giglio Ristorante¹, to ask advice from David and Sergio. David was by no means fluent in Italian—he often said he spoke Latin with an Italian accent, a very ancient and basic Italian. After hearing the details of my frustrating search, the two conversed. David had no idea, but Sergio knew exactly what to ask for, sotto pantalone—under trousers—and where to look for them, the fabric store, negozio di tessuti. Of course, a fabric store, odd to Americans, but normale to Italians.

I followed his directions and quickly found the negozio di tessuti (Montalcino 564), for I had passed it several times. I ducked inside and found the shopkeeper helping a customer at a massive ancient tailor’s table. Behind her stood floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with all manner of fabrics and things. “Buonasera,” she greeted me and asked what I needed (or that’s what I assumed she said). I haltingly, but confidently—since I now knew just what to ask for—said, “Per favore voglio comprare uno sotto pantalone” (no gesture).

Skipping over my barely passable Italian, she turned and grabbed a tall wheeled ladder leaning against the end of the jam-packed shelves. Her eyes searched along the top shelves until she found what she sought. Up the ladder she clambered to reach up into a jumble of packaged clothing. Then she turned, looked me up and down, asked another customer, another nonna—“Piccolo?”—who also looked me up and down. They nodded in agreement: “Si, si.”

She grabbed the package and brought it down from her precarious perch. “Ecco.” she said. brushing imaginary dust away, “You try.” At long last, I held in my hands a pair of the elusive sotto pantalone. My, what a pair they were!

I opened the package and felt the finely woven soft white Egyptian cotton. It looked like it fit perfectly. Exquisitely tailored, it was finer than any premium, high-thread-count sheets I’d ever encountered. Fantastico, of course, for it was it was fine Italian hand-made (fatto a mano) craftsmanship. “Grazie, grazie.” I profusely thanked the venditore and nonna for their help and purchased the luscious pantalone to complete my quest. Va benne.

I walked back to the hotel, happy in the anticipation of a fabulous dinner paired with wines of La Gerla sure to warm me from the inside out, but also happy that for the rest of the trip I would luxuriate in the warm comfort from the outside in, grazie my precious pair of sotto pantalone.

That Night’s Menu:

Pate di Fagioli in Salsa di Peperoni – Bean pate with pepper sauce

              Rosso di Montalcino 2000, La Gerla

*Risotto al Brunello – Risotto with red wine (Brunello)

[substitute a lesser Brunello, or a lesser Montalcinese red for the Barolo in this recipe]

              Rosso Toscana IGT “Birba” 2000, La Gerla –100% Sangiovese Grosso (Brunello)

*Petto di Anatra al Brunello – Duck breast with Brunello sauce

              Rosso Toscana IGT “Birba” 1999, La Gerla

*Bistecca alla Fiorentina (Chianina) – Beefsteak in the Florentine style (from Val de Chianina cattle)

              Brunello di Montalcino 1998, La Gerla

              Brunello di Montalcino Riserva 1997, La Gerla

(*Still on the menu today)

Notes:

1. The website of Il Giglio shows an original restaurant bill from the late 1800s prominently advertising both Luce Elettrica (electric lights) and Acqua Potabile (potable water).
2. Alas, both the socks and the sotto pantalone were lost along the way. I have mourned their loss as I have basked in my memories of the rest of the glorious trip.

copyright 2010-2025 by Robert W. Harllee