Trixie, Sangiovese, and a Fast Ferrari
By David Bolling
We are doing a make-over for Valley of the Moon magazine – one of the publication’s regular features – and the makeover subject is Trixie, the perpetually pleasant if annoyingly passive ticket booth presence who sits 24/7 in stoic silence at the Marquee entrance to the Sebastiani Theatre.
We are dressing Trixie up in new clothes, a hair-do, taking her out of the confining booth, out for a drive in a Porsche Boxster convertible, and then over to the Town Square bar (just a squint from her ticket booth) where we will buy her cocktails and let her flirt with bar patrons.
Now, not everyone knows that Trixie, who looks perfectly healthy behind the window of her booth, is in fact severely disabled. She’s got no legs. In fact, to be perfectly honest, she doesn’t even really have a butt. Just a torso. Which makes helping Trixie into the Porsche a particular challenge. Getting her to sit upright in that rich leather seat isn’t easy. And the body parts she does have are – how to say this kindly? – a bit stiff and plasticky. Which is why probably the only Porsche owner in all of Sonoma Valley who would allow such madness to unfold in his expensive German sports car, is helping us fold her in behind the steering wheel, being careful not to scratch anything.
But this is not just your everyday Porsche owner. It is, in fact, a renowned, award-winning winemaker with an exquisite sense of humor. In other words, Michael Muscardini.
Muscardini, who died July 15 of congestive heart failure, was a man of exceptional talent in various parallel fields, full of exuberant, emphatically Italian joy, and a font of warmth that was contagious and almost addicting. He grew up in the Marina District of San Francisco, where his grandfather made what he called a “Dago red,” and sold by the gallon for nine cents in the 1930s. That Italian heritage framed Muscardini’s life, and inspired him to produce a succession of Italian wine varietals when he started his own winery. But that took a while.
Muscardini was a graduate of the California College of the Arts, where he later served as lecturer and as a member of the Board of Trustees. He spent 27 years as co-owner of Creative Spaces, a Bay Area general contracting company, before selling in 2004 and starting what was intended as a hobby winery, with an eight-acre parcel on the flanks of the Mayacamas range in Kenwood, where he also built a home. He always said he was inspired by his Grandfather’s home winemaking, and he helped lead the revival of Italian varietals in Sonoma Valley, with a focus on Sangiovese and Barbera.
His natural warmth and Italian charm helped him forge lasting relationships with the owners of premium vineyards, with privileged access to grapes from treasured appellations like Moon Mountain, and award-winning cabernet grapes from Napa Valley.
His boyish enthusiasms helped him forge a valued friendship with me, as well. “What are you doing?” he said over the phone, one evening, “Can you meet me at the fig?” I did, and he had the bartender pull out a bottle of sweet vermouth with the Muscardini label on it. He was as excited as a kid at Christmas, told me how he made it, something like 20 different botanicals in a base of Pinot Grigio, some brandy, I forget what else. I’m not a big fan of vermouth, but this was tasty, and the pleasure was fortified by his exuberant enthusiasm. He said his Noni had a glass of sweet vermouth every evening, and through the years I had already had more than my fair share of his exceptional grappa.
Another time Michael called me, said what are you doing tomorrow, you want to come drive a Ferrari? He knew I was a motorhead, and I knew he didn’t have a Ferrari. He told me he had bought an auction prize that was good for three people to test drive a Ferrari at the dealership in Mill Valley. The third invitee was Dean Bordigioni, another Sonoma Valley Italian winemaker motorhead.
We had to sign lengthy releases, show proof of insurance and pretend to be grown up. I’ve covered motor racing for decades, have driven lots of very fast cars, but had never driven a Ferrari. The sales rep, of course, came on each ride, and by the time I had managed a variety of thrillingly illegal maneuvers on public roads large and small, the rep had almost convinced me I could afford to sign a lease application.
Back at the dealership the three of us glowed with that “I just drove the piss out of a Ferrari” glow, no one glowing as much as Michael, not just because of the car, but because of the pleasure he had given us.
When I last saw Michael, not that long ago, told him I wanted to get together, he agreed, I put it off, and now he’s gone. I will miss Michael Muscardini very, very much. His transcendently lovely wife Kate reports that a celebration will be held at the winery (9380 Sonoma Highway, Kenwood) on August 7, from 4 to 7 p.m. I will be there.
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