Welcome to Vianarra.
But first — let me tell you about last weekend.
We pulled into Bacigalupi Vineyards in Healdsburg on a Saturday afternoon. The estate was wrapping up an event — a celebration of the Judgment of Paris, the legendary 1976 blind tasting that put California wine on the world map. Bacigalupi grapes were in the Chateau Montelena Chardonnay that beat the French that day. It's one of the great stories in American wine.
We weren't part of the event. We just showed up at the tasting room bar, Lori and I, in the middle of the organized beautiful chaos of guests departing and family moving through the room.
Before we sat down, someone called us by name.
Not a family member. Staff. Someone who had looked at the reservation, checked our profile, noted what we liked, and decided that when Patrick and Lori walked through the door they were going to feel like they'd been expected.
Because they had been.
What followed was an hour of conversation — about the Chardonnay in our glasses, the terroir, the harvest years. And then something we didn't expect. The 2011 and 2013 had been released years ago — limited bottles, quietly celebrated. Only a few remained. The family went looking for them specifically for us. Not because we asked. Because they knew us well enough to know we'd want them.
We thought we'd leave with a couple of bottles.
We left with a case.
Nobody sold us anything. They welcomed us. The wine did the rest.
That's a Vianarra.
From the Latin via — the journey — and narra — to tell. The story found along the way.
It's what happens when a place knows who it is, trains its people to carry that story, and treats every guest — new or old, expected or walk-in, during a busy event or a quiet Tuesday — with the same standard of welcome.
The Bacigalupi family didn't invent that standard last Saturday. They live it. Every day. For every person who walks through their door.
That's not hospitality training. That's a culture built on story.
And it's rarer than it should be.
Why I built Vianarra.
I've spent thirty years leading organizations through crisis — 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, corporate collapses across four continents. I've studied what makes people perform under pressure, what makes cultures hold together when everything is pulling them apart.
And I've spent a lifetime walking into places with high expectations and honest eyes.
I grew up in Maine, listening to stories around a kitchen table. I learned narrative craft from Stephen King when he was just beginning — a visiting professor at the University of Maine who taught freshman English and showed a kid from a small town what a story could do in the right hands. I studied under Sandy Ives, the folklorist who spent his life preserving the voices of ordinary people, because he believed those voices mattered. I spent years as a National Park Service interpretive ranger, learning to find the story in every place and every audience — from wide-eyed children to seasoned experts — and make them feel it.
All of that led me here.
To the gap between the story a place has and the story it tells.
Most places have a Vianarra. A history worth knowing. A passion worth sharing. A reason someone chose this land, built this room, trained these people, and opened these doors.
Most never find it. Or find it and never tell it.
That gap is what I've decided to spend the next chapter of my life doing something about.
What Vianarra is.
A newsletter — this one, biweekly, free. Stories from the places worth remembering and the ones that almost were. For travelers with high standards and the hospitality professionals who serve them.
A workshop — for wineries, boutique hotels, and restaurants ready to find their story and finally tell it.
A consulting practice — for operators who want a Bacigalupi standard, not a script.
A standard — every guest, new or old, deserves to be welcomed by name.
What you can expect here.
Every issue will open with a story. A place I walked into. What I noticed. What it taught me.
Sometimes the story will be about a place that got it exactly right — the way Bacigalupi gets it right. Sometimes it will be about a place that had everything except the one thing that matters. I'll be honest either way — but never cruel. The goal is never to embarrass. It's to illuminate.
Every issue will end with something you can use. One observation. One question to ask your team. One standard worth holding.
And every issue will be worth your time — or I'm not doing my job.
One ask.
If you know someone who owns a winery, runs a boutique hotel, or leads a restaurant that has a story worth telling — forward this to them. That's how Vianarra grows. One good story at a time.
And if you want to go deeper — workshops, consulting, the upcoming Vianarra dinner experience in Reno — reply to this email or find me at patrickdunnintl.com.
I'd love to have you at the table.
— Patrick
