The order of the day is wine tasting. We stop at 3 different wineries in Tuscany. The first one we visit is named S. Anna and it's located on the outskirts of a small town, whose name I forget. But what is interesting about this winery is the dedication to the art of wine making. The wine master, a older woman whose family has owned S. Anna for 200 years, describes the intricacies of wine making. Or at least she tried. We visited their cellars where moss grows 2 inches thick on the ceiling which gives the wine its musty aromas. She also tried to explain what to do with the caps that develop on the wine as it's being mixed in the tanks. The cap, she says, is a collection of grape skins, stems, and leaves which aren't filtered out during the draining sequence. They form a cap that floats on top of the wine, and it's the wine masters choice whether or not to leave it floating on top, or to pound it down into the wine, mixing the liquids and solids. She chooses to mix them because she feels that the acids and minerals in the stems and skins add to the overall aroma of the wine, giving it an extra layer.
I guess it was the authenticity of the place which sold me. That and the craftsmanship of the wine. I sipped and allowed the aromatic grape-juice to develop, catching all the subtle flavors that are the byproduct of a skill set developed over hundreds of years. We try Merlot, Zinfandel, Chianti, Cabernet and each has its own attitude. Considering the variety of flavors, you'd think each came from a different region in Italy. But no. They all come from grapes grown in their backyard. The wine is so good, Margie gets a little tipsy and jokes with Charlie about how he farted in the cellar. Which he did, and it was hilarious.
We move on to the other wineries, but honestly, they were factory-like and unauthentic. Which took its toll on their wine. They were mostly flat and drab.
Naturally, we are a little screwy after the 3rd winery visit and hungry. We go to a town called Montepulchiano, which sits atop a hill (don't they all in Tuscany?). We get word that there is a restaurant near the middle of town which used to house Hemingway back when he was a world traveler. But because it's too early (around 4:30) they aren't serving dinner, and nobody is willing to wait till 7, so we trudge on (after I had a peek into the restaurant of course). Our saliva is dripping as we think about the authentic Italian cuisine that is surely awaiting us as the top of the hill.
We sit at a table outside and order beer and wine. We choose from plastic menus, me - chicken carbonara. It's weird though, whenever someone orders a dish the waitor says something like; "Oh, I think we have one more of those." or "I'm sorry we don't have anymore of that dish." What's stranger still is that he seems to be keeping a tally and is checking it after each person orders. Then he brings out plastic utensils to be used for our authentic Italian meals. Our worst fears are realized when he brings out what are essentially TV dinners. Complete with plastic covers, straight from the microwave. I can't help but laugh. Here we are faded on wine, sweaty and and hungry, in the heartland of Italian cooking, a short walk from Hemingway's eatery, and we're stuck with Stouffers and Lean Cuisine. MmmMmmMmmMmmMmm, plasticy.
