It was one of those moments. In a busy dining room it was as if time had stood still. A conversational lull in the room had occurred at that time, and the last statement, “I don’t get Sardinian wine” bellowed throughout the room and careened off the walls. Had the wine gods issued a dispatch?
Days, even weeks later, the subject of Sardegna and their wines came up in a conversation among friends. I recalled that moment in the restaurant, almost by chance, as we were also talking about how Italian desserts in America had become a bit of a caricature lately. It was if the gods were pulling me back into the “I don’t get Sardinian wine” discussion. And quite honestly, it’s not as if I haven’t wrestled, from time to time, with this region, their people and ultimately the wines.
In the many years I have been going to Italy, I have been everywhere. Except Sardegna. And I love islands. Been to Pantellaria twice. Salina twice as well. And Sicily too many times to recall. But Sardegna, for some reason that boat has passed me by.
Those islanders, they’re different – four words that mean so much and so little at the same time. It recalls that oft quoted phrase, “A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.” From where I perch, Sardegna is all of that.
I know from people who come from there that there is wildness to the island that time hasn’t eroded. There is also the fact that parts of Sardegna are the playground of the billionaire club. Perhaps for those folks, a Super Tuscan or a wine made in Sardegna by an important Tuscan producer is the perfect complement to a day at the beach followed by a platter of roasted meats. I’m willing to see the benefits to having a scenario like this.
Maybe one of my next trips to Italy should include Sardegna. I’ll keep an ear to the ground for possible communiqués from the wine gods.
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