Not 2 minutes from where I am staying I stumbled on a vast Wine Tasting. €10 afforded me a broad slurred brush of the coast I now inhabit. Cities are always the product of the lives outside their walls. Tasting the fruit of miles of Aziendas and neatly lined Vineyards evokes the smell and taste of struggle; routinized local labor, familial tradition and the food which inspires its subtext. Wine is a funny thing; its superciliousness is so opposing to its process. But all art shares this discourse.
Love this dude!!
There were moments when rich Primitivo’s tasted like Lecce’s signature Arosto (roasted meats); where the earthiness and intestinal delicacies were all I could think about. Some Whites hinted at pasta dishes of the area (chickpeas came to mind). Others had the inherit sweetness of a beautiful slow roasted pepper or the deeply simplistic aftertaste of pureed Fave Beans. Yes, I was drunk and getting hungry ;)
But like all stories there is more than the celebrity spokesman. The many Rosatas (rose’s) differed greatly in taste, glisten and pink hues. Deep Strawberry notes and cream finishes vs. dry savory blanched currants; the difference between silky lingerie and hiking boots. In the end, it all matters.
All in the midst of one of the most beautiful surroundings I could ever imagine. Like all alcohol induced moments, the pace quickened and soon the piazza was filled with locals mingling with Italian tourists, lovers and then there was me; solo & content and in my element.
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