Castelo di Brolio

{Article for Blending Magazine}

Prepare yourself: From the time you park at the bottom of a hill and begin your hike up to the castle, you will be lost in time. 

I know, I know: I have a weird attachment to images of the gospelers. But look how beautiful!!!

The Castelo di Brolio crouches on a stony hillside, closer to Siena than Florence, nestled in the north of the Chianti Classico region. Its fourteenth-century keep is built on top of the only remaining original walls, survivors of the long-running Siena-Florence conflict. An eighteenth-century English garden features Italian chestnuts, tropical palms, and until a year ago, a lone sequoia. The façade of the main building, damaged by bomb shells in the last war, retains its scars as a reminder of man’s destructive capacity, while the modern bottling and shipping operation is a testament to innovation.

While the castle is fascinating, the owner, Baron Bettino Ricàsoli, so-called “Father of Chianti,” was himself a remarkable character. A Renaissance man two centuries too late, he was a naturalist, a master statesman, a peace-maker, an artist, and a chemist. 

Perhaps these reasons—their eclectic namesake, the storied region—can explain the three unique wines we tasted at il Castelo di Brolio: a smoky, full-bodied chardonnay; a fantastically approachable chianti; and a juicy Super-Tuscan called Casalferro. 

If you have any interest in architecture, in the history of Italian wine (or indeed, in the history of Italy!), a trip to il Castelo di Brolio is just what the doctor ordered. 

Orvieto

Orvieto was a quirky little town--a little more lively than Siena, or maybe it was just because it was such a nice day out, or because we had a better tour guide, or because I was simply in a better mood. I'm sorry I wasn't able to better appreciate Siena.

We spent the day following around our French tourguide, peeking into pottery stores and bakeries. Lesley and I had our eyes peeled all day for a maceria or an enoteca, so we could scrape together a good lunch. More on that later...

Our tour guide was too funny. She had trouble pronouncing some words (automaton, stairs) and when I told her that little kids ride scooters around in the United States, she doubled up laughing. I explained that scooters usually refer to unmechanized vehicles in the use, but in Europe they use it for mopeds or motorcycles.

Maurizio, the 700 year-old au-to-ma-ton.

The thing I loved most in Orvieto was the Duomo. So much detail, so much sculpture, and finally I was able to appreciate it!**

I loved most the facade of the building, which featured: a depiction of God's creation of Eve by plucking out one of Adam's ribs;

statues representing each of the gospels, Matthew - angel,

Mark - lion,

John - eagle,

and Luke - oxen (by the way, why is Luke an oxen? I feel like he got the short end of the stick; the others are much more bad ass);

and last but not least the incredible detail covering the church, colored stones, engravings, mosaics, architecture. There is something medieval, baroque, gothic, renaissance in the construction of the church. I could look at it forever.

Orvieto is also faous for having a salted Easter bread, a treat, since Tuscan and Umbrian bread is famously unsalted. I was unable to find some Easter bread, so here is a picture of another Tuscan/Umbrian specialty: wild boar!

Orvieto is also famous for the white wines grown in the region. Lesley, Bruno and I shared a bottle of Orvieto Classico, a bright white wine with a hint of a sparkle. An equally famous wine goes by the name, "Est! Est!! Est!!!" It refers to a legend surrounding a bishop's visit to the town. Supposedly, he sent his servant ahead to scope out the wine at the hotel where he was to stay that night. If the wine was good, the valet was to write, "EST" ("it is" in Latin) in chalk over the door. If the accommodations were unsuitable, he would find somewhere to stay.

To make a long story short, the words "Est! Est!! Est!!!" are inscribed on the bishop's grave, a testament to his having drunk himself to death off this now famous Umbrian wine.

Lesley, Bruno and I ended up sharing a bottle of Orvieto Classico, a white wine that was as charming as the town it comes from. All in all, it was a wonderful day.

Some boys playing a game of calcio or volleyball... It was a free-for-all, really, arms and legs flying everywhere. Lesley and I really, really enjoyed watching them during lunch, and then when we found out they were thirteen (not sixteen or even fifteen as we had guessed), well, let's just say we didn't feel good about our voyeurism.

**I just want to point out that this is the first time I have used "Art" as a tag on a post; that is what a huge impression the Duomo left on me!

Exploration of Wine Culture

Finally, pictures of my wine class!

We taste three wines each time, and learn about viticulture, enology, the history of wine (which deals extensively in one of Tuscans’ favorite topics, the Etruscans), and the culture of wine production and consumption in Italy.

My teacher is always asking me, “Is this how they do it in California?” She assumes, naturally, that enology was bred into me, as much a part of me as the taste of frozen yogurt and fresh carnitas. I explained that I’m not 21 yet, and thus not very experienced, and that in fact, I only drink wine with either with my parents (pretty good wine) or my friends (very bad wine).

But she continues to ask, so I’ve started to research on Wikipedia the various aspects of wine-making, rather than relying on my very patchy knowledge gleaned from a couple wine tours in Napa and along the Russian River. I have to keep up my California reputation! Otherwise, I would have to begin to go through one of those paltry identity crises, realizing in a foreign country that I’m nt more Californian than Baltimorean, that in the face of the sensitive and deeply-ingrained Italian tradition my idea of “culture” doesn’t mean that much anyway, and that when I come home I face days of unpacking, repacking, and moving again.

And who wants to think about all of that? So I research, and uphold my state's reputation, and meanwhile, learn a lot about wine.

I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty great at this class. Our midterm is going to be blind tasting—bring it on.

Cooking with Padre Bruno

 My friend Gina, from Loomis (!!!), and her friend who is studying in Aix-en-Provence.

Padre Bruno hosts a dinner at a different student apartment every weeknight. I eat with Gabriella, but usually I give over to Bruno's festa to drink some wine and hang out with all of the ISA-ers before dinner. A sort of apertivo, if you will.

"Salad" (blanched cavolo nero, a green only found in Tuscany but similar to kale or chard) with pancetta and peperoncini.

My bruschetta: shallots, prosemello (parsley), garlic, tomatoes, oil, salt, and balsamic vinegar.

I found out from the french girls--ecuse me, American girls studying in France--that it's not just me and Deanna who go apeshit for eggplant here! They couldn't stop raving about the aubergines at a restaurant they frequent in Aix. I felt a little better about my obsession for Gabriella's melanzane alla vinaigrette.

James knows a guy who knows a got who got him 30 liters of great chianti. The best part is looking into your glass and seeing remnants of the containers' old contents (in this case, olive oil) floating like milk's skin on the top of your wine. Mmmm.

La Cena in Siena

It was so cold in Siena that Sarah and I decided we needed real food. After Venezia, we made a rule: if we are in a bad, bad mood somewhere, we need to eat. Eating a good meal can raise your mood, in my words, “by like, ten octaves.”

And coniglia alle pomodori, con polenta, definitely scratched my itch. And I’m pretty sure Sarah enjoyed her tortellini in brodo.

We didn't drink these, but they were pretty. I actually had a glass of Montalcino because--and because this is a place of truth, I say this in honesty and not out of some hidden desire to betray my new home--I'm not going to lie, Chianti is getting pretty old.