"Have you forgotten your scripture, the thirteenth scroll? 'And Proteus brought the upright beast into the garden and chained him to a tree and the children did make sport of him.' " -Dr. Zaius
A few weeks ago, several of us were sitting around a table in Manhattan with a winemaker from Montalcino. Somewhere between his unreleased 2004 and the historic 1971, the observer in me saw a face on the label. I took a picture of it, out of focus. It reminded me of something from when my son was a little boy. And then it hit me, there it was, staring at me.
This particular producer espouses traditional methods for making Brunello. He is waiting, as are many of us, for the whole Montalcino mess to run its course.
First it was shock and now it is “Ah, hey fellahs, ready when you are.”
So we wait, open a bottle of NegroAmaro, and wait for the carousel to play out its song.
Heard in the trade: “These days, the wines from Puglia are appearing to be more authentic than their northern counterparts.”
Would that be before they discovered French oak, micro-ox, reverse-oz and designer yeasts? Say, like, in 1977?
