Directly next door to my house is the Cantina of the Pinti family. Their eldest, Vittorio early one morning invited me to take a tour and taste his pride. However, at 8AM I mistook his words for an invite to the moon (by foot of course), which in my walking sleep declined (ie. I didn’t understand a word his shaky northern dialect uttered). On my mile walk to work, it slowly dawned on me that indeed it was an invite to get drunk in between shifts on the vines which define my current existence. Um, certo! I’d love to.
We tasted his Brunello consecutively from 2002-2005 silently swirling and smiling. He asked that I import directly from him when my Restaurant opens and hinted that I might be his ticket to unheard of fame in NY (€!)…
He gave me a bottle from 2002; a rich, Winy, dense, earthy, caramelized berry deep Pruple bundle of liquid love. When I offered him money, he gave me a big drunken kiss on the cheek and asked that I return before I leave to say goodbye.