Shedding Traditions for a Clearer Expression of Tuscany
Yesterday, I went to pay for grapes I had bought during this year’s harvest—grapes that, in other years, I have made into some of my best wines. Driving home, winding down from the hilltop village, I passed other vineyards, olive orchards, fields sparkling in the sunlight. The scenery, though, did little to ease my disappointment. The precious grapes had been harvested when the owner of the estate wanted, despite my urging to pick earlier. I had hoped his wonderful soils would compensate, but, as a boss of mine used to say, “Hope is not a strategy.” Only at peak ripeness can grapes become wines with violet aromas or raspberry flavors, or wines that convey a sense of place. Ripe grapes are the sine qua none for expressive wines, and at 130-140 days after flowering (20-30 days after the vine’s lifecycle had peaked), how could the grapes I bought have had anything left to say except, “Let me rot in peace.” I doubt anyone in Tuscany made exceptionally good wines this year. Mine are average. Except the wine from those bought grapes, which is downright bad, and which I am selling in bulk, at a loss.
This experience reminded of the importance of trusting my instincts. Being an outsider here has allowed me to shed winemaking traditions such as blending grapes from different vineyards, weeks-long fermentations or years-long aging in oak in the interest of making purer, fresher, more vibrant wines. In moving away from these practices, I’ve gotten to know more deeply the extraordinary raw materials with which this region is blessed. My wines aim to be living snapshots of a place and time, unadulterated by too much working over or time in the cellar.
My approach to winemaking isn’t unlike the Tuscan approach to cooking: obsessively purist. You can’t even buy broccoli here, except in October and November, when it’s in season. There is a right way to boil water. Here, you won’t find elaborate sauces or lengthy recipes, just an intense focus on capturing pure tastes.
Tomorrow, All Saints’ Day, marks the beginning of the Italian holiday season. The colors of the Tuscan landscape reach their richest hues, and the seasonal foods—new olive oil, mushrooms, game meats, chestnuts, persimmons—are intensely flavored. I invite you to experience that purity and depth of flavor through my wines. May each glass bring us closer to the unfiltered spirit of Tuscany, in all its autumnal glory.
It’s really a joy to read your posts. When a person brings fine writing to what they love, well, it’s like good poetry.