Because of the big mountains to our east, we can sleep in and still catch the sunrise over the peaks. Very convenient for vacationers indeed. Breakfast at the inn includes mostly local fare, the cheeses and cured meats being highlights. Cappuccino from the stainless steel two head La Cimbali gets us charged for the next adventure, a tour around the Tuscan countryside.
We plot a southern arc out of town, seeing the iconic Cypress lined driveways, these tall narrow trees a feature of every painting of the area. We stop and take myriad exposures of the landscape, another sweeping vista around each bend. Our first stop is Bagno Vignoni, the ancient village with a twist. What in a traditional town would be the main square is a 50 yard by 30 yard pool, fed by a natural spring. The pool is channeled through a series of small aquifers over a cliff down to the Parco di Mulini, a large mineral bath with a silky soft mineral layer lining the bottom. Mandy’s working theory is that, that in a past life (and mostly in this life), I was a big wet dog, specifically a Labrador, and my tail is wagging. Fortunately, our cheap Amazonian water shoes are still in the car, set there to dry after our morning dip in Como. Mandy hikes up her dress as we enter the refreshing, healing water for a cool dip during the late season heat.
Back on the road, we set our sights on Castello Banfi, creators of the wine that changes my life. Admittedly, I an a total amateur when it comes to wine. I always figured that, like art and sex, you don’t have to know what’s good, just what you like. A bunch of years ago, I learned my first rule of wine: you can’t go wrong with a Tuscan red. The same brothers who taught me that Crimson Rule also gave me my first glass of Banfi Brunello. I’ve never been the same. Turns out, like art and sex, the more you have, the more you try, the more you appreciate the good stuff. And now here we are, just a few short minutes to the aptly named Castle.
ASIDE – CACTUS TALES: Predictably, the final approach to Castello Banfi is along a Cypress lined drive. Mandy gets out to take some photos and I notice the completely unexpected… a cactus with huge pads and cactus flowers in full bloom just yards from the grape vines. I grab the Canon and set up my shot. I can already see it in my mind. Red cactus bulb in the foreground with out of focus grape vines in the aft. I crouch to frame the shot. Shoot a few frames, crouch lower to get it just right. My elbow barely brushes the cactus and I feel the sting of a needle in my joint. I pull away and finish the shoot. Walking the few steps to car, I touch my shirt sleeve and realize there is an entire bloom of spines sticking out. Closing the car door, I tell Mandy, who doesn’t get it at first. “Damn!” then spends the next 10 minutes pulling out as many as she can. Apparently with wine, like with art and sex, sometimes there’s a little pain involved.
We go into the vaulted tasting room, every bit the cathedral to their offerings. At the far end of the room is the tasting bar. Our timing is good as several small groups are just finishing. Our sommelier has a British accent and a thorough knowledge of the entire line, which is far more extensive than I realized. We order two different tastings so we can share and try more varieties. Good thing we did as the pours are enormous and six glasses are laid out before us. We get a lesson on what the good years are and why, and we decide what pleases our palate, dismissing really good and great for the truly amazing. Surprisingly, cost and favorites don’t correlate for us, as we connect to bottles across the price range.
Expectedly, it’s later than we expected when we finally roll. Our northern arc back to Lupaia takes us through San Quirco, and we stop mostly because Mandy likes the name. Another ancient walled town, but it captures our attentions with its laid back vibe. Wandering the narrow streets we see an arrowed sign for a Trattoria al Vecchio Forno. A man approaches us speaking very little English, so we use universal head nods, arm gestures and mouth noises to understand that he works at the bistro and will lead us there. Adorable doesn’t cover it. If this was in Epcot, I’d say they overshot, too theatrical and staged. But it’s live, in this village, in the heart of Tuscany. We order traditional pasta dishes every bit as perfect as the place itself.
We take our time driving back, and the phrase “never gets old” applies to each successive panorama. Chill in the room, consider living here forever, shower. Regrouped, we head into Montepulciano just a few minutes away, straight up. The main square is defined by the contents of each side: the expected massive church, the town hall, the statue-like public well and, most importantly, the home of the Contucci winery and residence. Clearly an economic and social force in this region, the winery has been in the family for forty-one generations (thousands of years!), and generations 40 and 41 live upper levels of this massive building and still oversee the making of the world famous Vino Nobile (the very same one I am drinking as I write this).
Why we are hungry is anyone’s guess, but it probably has to do with all the wine. Off the square we wander into a tiny restaurant who can blessedly seat us (Pro tip: always make a reservation as most restaurants are tiny and book completely before the doors open at 7:30.) (Pro tip: all the restaurants open at 7:30.) This is an authentic family run operation with at least three generations working tonight. The provisions are top quality and local. The antipasto is our best to date, with the most delicious salami, sliced paper thin like prosciutto. The lamb is superb, simply grilled, lightly salted. We bounce home up the long unpaved road, appreciating in real time what a special moment we are having.
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