The grape harvest has begun in the Mediterranean, a land of wine for thousands of years. Winemakers and farmers are watching the weather these days, hoping to say, "Come on, let's harvest." It's the most beautiful moment in the wine cycle. And this harvest, after the hurricane, is here. Glory, the pandemic, the mildew, the drought... it is the first normal in years.
In a few years, we'll see bottles of today's grapes in stores or on restaurant menus. Now, the extraordinary ones that exist describe the years 21, 22, and 23, extremely tough because they were extremely dry. Winegrowers—unlike other artisans—give it all a go. They do all their work throughout the year for a single opportunity. Their bottles are summaries of the year and the landscape. The harvest went like this, and this is the result. Sweat and smiles, red stains on clothes and the back of the neck, wild boars, roe deer, and birds that are sommeliers, food in the cellar or in the hut. Closing your eyes at night and still seeing grapes. These days are beautiful. I'm lucky to share them with people who work in this field and whom I love.
The wine world is going through turbulent times. Tariffs, the demonization of alcohol (all lumped together, as if a mixed drink were the same as a glass of sparkling wine), the fierce resistance our cuisine must put up to survive (without cuisine, there's no wine), foreigners, the invasion of cheap bottles from other remote places. It's not easy to have a glass of wine, because to make it, you need two very important things, which not everyone has: sensitivity (i.e., intelligence) and someone to share it with. Someone to toast with, looking into each other's eyes and—above all—smiling. If you have this and want to make a wine today (and whatever's left, if there's any, covered, in the fridge, for breakfast tomorrow), consider yourself very lucky. There are those who have wine and no one to smile at them!
