My knowledge of Italian wines is nascent at best. Two decades spent obsessing over a fraction of the wine produced in France blinded me to the merits of Sangiovese. Nebbiolo also blinded me to Sangiovese - my Italian wine journey began and is still centred in Piedmont. But the magic of this country, the food and the wine together, is beginning to take hold. Last month Mrs L and I even went to an Italian cooking class.
But back to November. Five us flew to Florence on a Friday morning. From there it is but a short hop down to Montalcino via Siena. We had an excellent AirBnB in the village, and various members of the team had organised tasting visits and restaurants, with the star attraction being the Benvenuto which was open to the Public at the weekend - we had tickets for the Sunday. I was doing the driving, somewhat of a sacrifice given the theme, but I smelled everything extensively and had some tiny sips on the days that we used the car - it was actually quite easy to remain disciplined during the day when there was so much wine around in the evening.
We arrived in Montalcino late afternoon, just enough time to browse a wine-shop and head for that all-important first glass in a local bar before a fabulous Tuscan feast in a nearby restaurant. The Italian custom of a starter and then primi and secondi never ceases to amaze me, I remember visiting a friend in Puglia many years ago and having lunch at his mother's house. When another course materialised after what I had assumed was the main pasta course I didn't really no what to do. If I lived in Italy I would be even fatter than I am now. The Boulvardier afterwards was an unnecessary indulgence.
The following day our first visit was to Baricci in Montosoli, a famed site in the Brunello appelation that I knew nothing of whatsoever. We had an engaging visit with Federico, grandson of the founder Nello, in the surprisingly small winery situated in the middle of the slope, tasting the most recent Rosso and Brunello. So good was the visit, and so talkative Federico that we were then late to La Ragnaie mid-morning. That was a good visit too, but it had started snowing by then so it was more of a tasting than a tour.
Onto another lovely restaurant for lunch, where we were joined for the main course by Geoff, a late entrant whose work had finished up earlier than expected and which meant he was able to join us. In the afternoon we visited J G Benda for what I can honestly say was the best wine visit ever. A man of singular purpose and vision, of exacting standards coupled with letting the wine do its own thing, John and his wife Zoe are living their dream and were simply a delight to spend time with. We spent the whole afternoon at his small winery and subsequently his house in town in front of a log fire, wonderful people. And such is his cachet that he did not even have any wine to sell us (though Peter did manage to source a case of Rosso once back in London thankfully). That evening rather that gorge ourselves at another restaurant we held an impromptu offline at our accomodation, a shopping trip for light food and each of us contributing a bottle of locally-sourced wine. Good stuff.
Dawn was spectacular from our hilltop location. I should have jumped in the car and sought out that famous curved track of cypress that was not too far way, but instead I made coffee and sat and looked out of the window whilst waiting for Nick and Peter to wake up. Some minor birding occured, nothing out of the ordinary but I take a lot of pleasure from simply knowing what I am listening to.
Today was the main event, the festival itself. Hundreds of growers under one roof, an impossible series of choices. Our tickets bought us entrance and a glass, and we spent the whoe day wandering around the stalls sampling the highlights of the appelation. There were some amazing wines, and we eagerly took notes in order to be able to find the wines once back home, the festival of course marking the release of the vintage and sale of wine to merchants for the en primeur campaign. I've been to enough wine tastings now to know the drill - if you drink everything you will be out of the picture extremely rapidly. You use your nose and you spit almost all of it, wasteful though that seems. Thus we all walked of there late afternoon in fine shape and raring to go, in fact positively crying out for some wine to actually drink. Thankfully we had another restaurant lined up for one last hurrah and boy was it good - Alla Logge di Piazza.
We returned to Florence much heavier but with a fairly modest amount of wine all things considered. Since then of course I have found a few cases of Barrici in the UK, Peter found us some Benda, and I bought a couple of bottle of Ragnaie from one of our wider wine group. When it came to en primeur a few weeks later I was fairly restrained, buying just a case each of Canalicchio di Sopra and Le Potazzine - they had stood out at the Benvenuto and I was pleased to find them. But I have so much red wine that really I need no more for years and years and so these days need to be fairly circumspect. But I needed to have a little, it is so food-friendly, and very different to the grapes I spent the first half of my life getting to know. I know a guy who has around two thousand bottles of wine, all but around twenty of which are Tuscan Sangiovese or blends. This is just what happens, it is an interest severely prone to what I call rabbit holes. I have diversified significantly in the five years since the pandamic, but I am still hugely overweight with just under 70% of the entire cellar being French, and 60% of that being Burgundy. I was about to write that I can't drink it fast enough, but actually I can....
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