Week five of wine adventures in Piedmont

It’s not everyday you find yourself in the back of a British-built, racing green Bentley, coursing through some of Italy’s most prestigious vineyards on a secret mission! But then again, how often are you called upon to assess one of Montalcino’s top addresses on behalf of a prospective buyer, one with fathomless pockets? The figures were mesmerising; the prospects audacious.

My accomplice was none other than Davide Rosso, one of Barolo’s rising stars. So secret was this commission that Davide had personally burnt the communiqué prior to departure, so covering our tracks. We inadvertently ‘bumped’ into our contacts Guido and Marco, Milan’s finest,  at a gas station off the autostrada da sole, feigning any recognition bar the odd nod.

The next morning we huddled in the lobby of a local hotel, suited and booted (well, some were), to pore over plans in hushed tones, while American tourists breakfasted, sweetly oblivious, on cappuccino and marmalade croissants. Somehow the Bentley managed it through Montalcino’s twisting streets, and in we hopped, like rock stars fresh from the opening night, cushioned by cream leather seats; bemused bystanders wide-eyed. But far from heading to our destination it soon became apparent that we were following three local types ‘Il Cinese’ (one scarred let’s say), in their battered estate, and either they knew of a cut-through or else we were being taken for a ride. Amid twirling dust trails we headed down one track then another, it soon became clear something was awry. We pulled up suddenly, track-side, to ascertain what was going on. The scene was set for a mafia-like ‘hit’; yet in the back we sang “music and lights…” as ‘80s pop combo Imagination’s ‘Just an Illusion’ bounced through the speakers…

We’d been duped, lured from the Langhe hills and, in Guido’s case, his Portofino weekend retreat, to be denied at the last. We rode the scam, intrigued by the intended address: a sad looking homage to kitsch, including a life-size metal Alien standing scarily at the foot of the stairs. Not even the framed letters of approbation from Messrs Bush, Blair and the Pope could make us take this ‘serious’ Montalcino wine estate any less seriously. A complete farce, worthy of the stage…

And so to Donizetti’s Don Pasquale at Turin’s magnificent La Regia, accompanied by Maria-Teresa Mascarello (of Cantina Mascarello Bartolo). What a city! Such style! The perfect setting for a ‘grand’ opera; and there they all were, the great and the good. Fitting also that we should pit-stop on Grignolino d’Asti, Piemonte’s ancient and noble grape, and carpaccio with minutes to spare. Fired by Michel Mariotti’s pacy conducting the opera sprang to life both on and off stage. There was the obligatory break thirty minutes in to make way for the legion of latecomers, still on Torinese time. Sara Gamberoni’s ‘Norinia’ trilled while Don Pasquale, on one of many forays off-piste inadvertently swiped the baton clean out of Mariotti’s hand and into the crowd; a roar went up and so the show went on! And if that wasn’t enough for one night: only in Italia could the audience up and leave as the cast took their curtain call!! Then out we poured into the warm night, down Turin’s princely walkways, pausing along with the city senior’s citizens to pick-up an ice-cream at Maria-Teresa’s favourite vendor (see below) before melting into the night…