Giorno numero due - Il Castello

Jetlag being what it is I woke up about 6 A.M. and couldn’t get back to sleep. I killed some time watching first an Italian children’s program, then some English news (BBC), and then what seemed to be the German version of the USA’s “Court TV”. I don’t understand a word of German, so this should bring into clear focus just how whacked out I was at this juncture. But there was scenery to be seen, and wines to be drunk, so my intrepid self stepped to the fore and I trundled off to breakfast and by 9 AM we were on the road to Biondi-Santi Montepo`

Now when I tell you that this was a castle, this was a CASTLE - turrets, parapets, a portcullis, murder holes (for boiling oil, molten lead, or Chilean Carmenere - sorry, could resist that one) though no moat. Oh well, I guess you can’t have it all…but seriously, this was a castle built by a Sienese military architect in approximately the year 1000. To say that it was impressive is to say that the Pacific Ocean is neat little pond. The Biondi-Santi family itself is an ancient Tuscan line that can trace its roots directly back over 700 years, though they are not from this area of Tuscany but rather from Montalcino, a bit further north. For those of you unfamiliar with this name, the Biondi-Santis basically INVENTED, or at least closely parented the world famous Brunello wine in the mid to late 1800s. The Castello Monte Po` estate is owned and run by one Jacopo Biondi-Santi who apparently had falling out with pops regarding tradition, with dad wanting to remain close to it, and sonny wanting to be unencumbered by it. So, I guess when you’ve got more money than God, the solution is to light out on your own and buy a 10,000 acre estate with a thousand-year-old castle in which to hang your Borsalino. And so he did…

So we toured the chilly halls, saw the bottling line, the barrel room, and the armory - we met this guy Lance and his brother Dirk…sorry…anyway, we were treated to a comprehensive tasting of all of the wines which were, if memory serves, were all blends of Sangiovese Grosso, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Merlot. All of the wines were VERY well made with a notable balance and elegance, but in the end, I think that they’re a bit pricey for what’s in the bottle.

This day was a bit showery from the start, and as we pulled up to the small farm at which we were to have lunch, the sky rumbled. And by the time we had been seated under the rustic wood pavilion that adjoined their kitchen, cold heavy drops of rain began to tap on the roof. They served real Tuscan country fare: bruschetta (pronounced broo-SKEH-ta NOOOT broo-SHEH-ta) made with unsalted, toasted Tuscan bread scraped with rwa garlic and dressed with chopped tomatoes and olive oil, then pasta with beans, and a tagliata di manzo (a thin beef steak with red pepper flakes). As we ate we watched the grandmother make a home made sheep’s milk cheese that she stirred in a big, dented cooper pot set in a cast iron frame over an open fire. We were served, between courses, as an intermezzo, what is called quagliata which is the first curdling of the “cream” from the sheep’s milk - it’ something like a sweet, richer version of yogurt. We were finally served the finished, pressed curds as a dessert with some local honey. The half dozen or so cats slid past our calves meowing for an indulgence.

We piled back into our caravan and bumped down the mountain roads back to IL Tesoro. I had some apricot nectar and a little nap. That evening we went to a nearby town called Massa Marittima for dinner. This town is the latest to carry the distinction of “Slow Town” an honor officially conferred to two towns in Italy per year by The Slow Food Organization. This honor officially recognizes towns or cities that have made a particular effort to promote the “slow” lifestyle: real, organic, wholesome food made with care shared without haste with friends and family. The dinner was rustic - a bit too much so for some (the appetizer was grilled pork fat on toast) and the “tasting menu” portioning was a bit redundant and miscalculated, but all in all it was better than IHOP.

Many snoozed as we bumped back to Il Tesoro. I had been promised that morning that my suitcase would be waiting for me by the end of that day. I was disappointed. I washed my clothes in the sink, hung them up on my patented European heated towel rack, and passed out.

TOM CIOCCO