August 14-28, Alto Lazio

Arriving in Bolsena—the kids finally asleep, Lizzie in the back middle seat, painfully sandwiched between them—the radio gods, perhaps recognizing they had me on the ropes, played a song that I recognized from my youth. I had never considered how emotional it would be to bring my own children back to the country that raised me, but there I was, a man of the times, fighting back tears while the Italian rendition of the 1980’s disco hit “Gloria” blared in the background. The Vulpini volcano last erupted in 104 BC. The explosion scattered ash and debris throughout the surrounding area. The caldera that remained formed Lake Bolsena, and save for perfecting gelato and cornetti it can seem that not much has happened since. Of the wines: there is something truly magical about this region. Still relatively unspoiled by the effects of industrialization, Alto Lazio—which butts up to and blurs the borders of Lazio, Umbria and Tuscany—sits at high elevations and is characterized by unusual wind patterns and black volcanic soil. The convergence of these factors helps produce wines that are fresh, lean and mineral; some of our favorite attributes in wine. On our second day there, being hosted for lunch by new friends on a secluded beach, Giacomo—my four year old son who might describe himself as “a sweet, sometimes mischievous boy who does sharp knives”—evidently as impressed with the volcanic soil as I was— picked up two fistfuls of black sand and generously sprinkled it onto the feast that had just been set down before us: two giant platters of grilled fish our host had pulled from the lake just hours earlier. Different days, different emotions.

Cantina Ortaccio- August 18th

I have long admired Cantina Ortaccio, a tiny project from the volcanic, mineral-laden shores of lake Bolsena. Yesterday my family had the chance to visit Massimo and Patrizia at their home and winery, literally carved from the mountainside in the remote village of Latera. There, Massimo Antonuzzi and Patrizia Montanari—former Romans and wine shop owners (Patrizia is also a practicing architect) make energetic, zero sulfur wines from seventy-year-old, ungrafted heirloom vines. At lunch they shared their wines—joyous and brimming with life—and how they got started. Massimo said: “If you care about wine, then this is the natural progression. We are fatigued by conventional wines and their homogeneous additives and want to know just the grape.”

Geremi Vini- August 21st

Restaurant siblings after my own heart. Among the best meals we had in Italy was an evening spent with Miriam Mareschi at her restaurant Piazzetta del Sole, in the charming medieval town of Farnese, a short, winding car ride from where we were staying in Bolsena. A natural host, she and her brother, Renato, began Geremi Vini to craft wines specifically for the osteria. Lucky for us some of their wines make it out to Brooklyn. Delightful, textured and savory, their wines embody the ease, honesty and grace of Miriam’s energy that evening. As the evening drew to a close, Miriam mentioned in passing she feared hers was the last generation of true Italian artisans. Tonight I’ll open one of her wines and pray that Miriam got one thing wrong that night.

Malauva Casa Agricola- August 25th

Eliza Cortese and Giovanni Adua started Malauva in 2017. Originally from Torino and Rome respectively, they settled in a quiet sliver of southern Umbria on the Lazio border. There the couple grow 00 wines from old vines and abandoned vineyards. Experimentation is a constant in the cellar, through which they have found their signature style: light maceration and no oak (save for one delicious white) to make energetic, easy drinking wines that have a way of vanishing from your glass. Last week our family visited theirs for a lively end of summer party. Dozens of friends hung late into the night. The scent of fresh lavender filled the air, children played and huddled around the most impressive finger puppet show I’ve ever witnessed, and their charming wines flowed. So magical was the evening, both Lizzie and I had to stare down an existential crisis in the days that followed.

I miss Italy.