Ornella is the kind of person for whom everything is a superlative. When she talks about her life, everything is “the most exciting,” “the most fabulous,” “the most beautiful.”

“Yes,” Ornella said, remembering a house she lived in that had no electricity or running water, “it was the most fantastic house. So, so beautiful.”

“Didn’t you have children at this point?” I asked, imagining a dim hell of how it would be to raise kids, change diapers and cook for a family without the benefit of modern conveniences.

“Yes! And we all agree—living in that house was the best, the most wonderful, time in our lives!” And then Ornella continued, describing in phrases and lush gestures the multitudes of candles around the villa, the wax sculptures their burning formed, and the wonder of it all.

If Ornella is relentlessly positive, her husband Lionello is quietly supportive. He has that kind of self-effacing charm that works to put anyone at ease. He apologized to me for his bad English, which given my Italian that makes drunk toddlers look articulate was beyond polite; later, as the evening I spent in their company wore on, Lionello was coaxed to show pictures of crossing the deserts in Egypt while filming (and telling some gripping tales about necessary camel eating).

Together, Ornella and Lionello have crafted a life so full it bulges. They have a big family, and they have a small, organically grown estate in Montalcino, where they make gorgeous Brunello, Rosso di Montalcino, and a Bordeaux-style blend, Ombrone Sant’Antimo. The wine is very hard to get in the United States—right now, IWM is the sole retailer—but it’s worth finding. A Cupano Brunello is elegant, generous and refined. Most importantly, at least to me, one whiff of it transports me to a magical evening I spent on the estate. I felt like Charles Ryder encountering Brideshead for the first time.

Cupano sits on a rolling plain at the far edges of Montalcino. Off in the distance, you can see the Banfi castle; to the left, you can see the medieval hilltop town of Camigliano. And that’s it. The stone villa of Ornella and Lionello’s, a structure that Banfi used to use as a hunting camp and which the couple acquired as a gutted wreck, sits by itself, all the better to watch the pink sunset, see the lemon-lavender twilight steal across the countryside, and view the black sky studded with stars.

The estate’s isolation means that the family’s Maremma sheepdog, many feral Tuscan tabbies, and even their horse, Cavallo, can roam at will. The earth curves downward from the house, the vines stretch out, the light does what the light does, conversation sparkles, and how can it not? The wine is very, very good.

Some families are just more magical than others. This premise underlies many stories—novels, histories, films and myths. But when you meet people like Ornella and Lionello, you can’t help but see where the idea comes from. These are people who make you believe your dreams. And that, even more than their gorgeous wine, may be their biggest, most generous gift.

Poppies and vines, Montalcino in bloom

Last spring, I was lucky enough to take a prolonged tour through Toscana, visiting many wineries and meeting the winemakers. It was, without hyperbole, a life-changing experience. Travel changes you in ways that take a long time to comprehend, so in the meantime, it’s easier to contemplate the nuts-and-bolts nitty-gritty of the experience. I learned a lot about the way people make wine, things I’d never known before. For example, the fact that once winemakers put the wine in the barrels, it doesn’t just sit there; the wine gets suctioned out every six months or so, the barrels cleaned with steam, and then the wine pumped back in. Who knew?

Cloudburst over Montalcino

I experienced the ineffable connection between a wine and the place it comes from. I learned how you open a bottle of, say, Badia a Coltibuono wine or Poggio di Sotto Brunello and it smells exactly like the air where those grapes grew. It’s like those “Vermont Fresh Air in a Can” tourist gifts that they sell at the Burlington International Airport, but the bottle of wine actually captures the symphony of scents. And I learned much about the inextricable connection between the wine in the bottle and the people who made it.

One of the "adopted" olive trees at Il Palazzone

Montalcino is shockingly beautiful, and even as much as Italy itself is shockingly beautiful and as much as Toscana is shockingly beautiful, Montalcino is special. It’s really small, for one thing. Barolo spreads across a series of undulating, muscular hills, but Montalcino is one tight-knit bowl of a place. It’s like a bedroom community, but with wine and winemakers. The people have a fierce independence, and as much as that too is true of all Italian winemakers, the concentration of Montalcino makes it feel somehow truer. They live, breath, drink, and, above all, Brunello. It’s a lot of Sangiovese Grosso, and I say that in a good way.

A view up the hill at Il Palazzone

This week, IWM will be featuring the wines of Richard Parson’s Il Palazzone, one of the estates I visited. In lots of ways, Il Palazzone represents the independence, passion and intensity of the larger Montalcino area. It’s a small estate, just 20 acres, and in addition to making some very yummy wines, it also makes some really yummy olive oil. It has an openness of spirit, a welcoming, that you find generally throughout Toscana, but I found especially in Montalcino. But sometimes pictures tell the story a bit better (though the wine always tells it the best), and so I leave this reminiscence with a few photos that capture this nostalgia better than my words can.

Just tender vines then, Il Palazzone harvests right now

Monica's father, Gianfranco Soldera.

Daughter of wine legend Gianfranco Soldera, Monica Soldera has been raised with the heart and soul of Toscana. The Soldera family’s home sits in the middle of the idyllic Case Basse estate in Montalcino, a spot as much known for Monica’s father’s Brunello as her mother’s rose garden. After obtaining a degree in Economics, Monica received a Master’s Degree in Communications from  Bocconi University and pursued a career in marketing in the food industry until she was lured from Milan and back to her family home. These days, Monica and her husband both work at the vineyard, alongside her parents, with her four children nearby. Wine is a family affair, and what a glorious affair it is at Soldera. Here’s a short interview we did with the very gracious Monica not too long ago.

What one aspect of Italian culture did you witness in NY that made you feel at home?

New York is always fascinating to me! One reason is that I spent part of my honeymoon here many years ago.  I always feel at home in New York; I appreciate the hospitality and also the smiles I see on many faces; I feel safe. Of course, I also experienced the signs of the economic difficulties, but at the same time I felt a lot of hope. Everybody seems to do his or her best for getting over the crisis.

Where did you eat in New York and what were some of your favorite dishes?

I eat in different restaurants—all of them great restaurants with high level of quality not only in food but also in service. The wines lists were amazing and I drank so many very nice wines. I met sommeliers with high professionalism. I appreciate all the restaurants where I eat, the fact that each of them was different in their style of the cooking and the dishes they offer to their guests. I also enjoyed the differences in the places, like the different architectural style.

What one thing that you can’t fit into your suitcase would you most like to bring home from New York to Toscana?

The smiling faces of the customers tasting our wines!

What is your best (or first) memory of Sergio Esposito?

Sergio has always surprised me for his knowledge and passion for fine wines. In addition, he deeply expresses the positive, sweet soul of people from South Italy. Most of all, I appreciate his respect and admiration for my father.

What one story from your trip would put a smile on your father’s face?

The congratulations everybody expressed to me for the greatness of the Brunello di Montalcino 2002 Riserva Soldera, its finesse and elegance, and its Sangiovese purity.

Given Brunello’s recent spate of press, I thought it might be a good time to look at this wine a little more closely. Sangiovese Grosso, a superior clone of Sangiovese, produces Brunello di Montalcino, one of Italy’s most lovely and prestigious red wines. The towns of Montalcino enjoy warmer, drier air than other regions of Chianti, and the open, surrounding countryside offers both ideal ventilation and cool nights. And these characteristics allow Brunello, or in English the “little dark one” because of the grape’s brown hue, to fully ripen and produce the wine’s fuller, richer taste.

Brunello has a serendipitous, even scattershot history. Though Ferruccio Biondi-Santi produced the first Brunello vintage in 1888, the wine really had a halting, sporadic start. There were only four vintages—1888, 1891, 1925, and 1945—declared in the first 57 years of production, and by 1960, there were only eleven total producers. So by the time the region had its boom of vineyard restoration in the 1970s and 1980s, the wine’s rarity had led to both higher prices and a veil of mystery and prestige.

But Brunello’s more recent history is what might spark slightly heated discussions around a wine lover’s table. As production has increased over the last few decades, Brunello’s traditional winemaking process has changed quite a bit. Traditionally, and as late as 1989, Brunello had a minimum cask ageing of 42 months, in addition to bottle ageing. But the cask ageing regulations have been almost halved in the last decade and now stand at 24 months. This lower ageing minimum mixed with Brunello’s popularity has fed an increase in the use of barriques (small oak barrels), which results in the more standardized, uniform taste that traditionalists frown upon.

So where does this leave all of us, in terms of selecting a bottle of Brunello? A wine, we should remember, can be modern in its ageing process and still retain its traditional sense of place, or the characteristics it draws from its particular soil and climate. You can take the wine out of Montalcino, but you can’t take the Montalcino out of the wine.

With over 230 Brunello producers today, the region requires that you need to know not only the region, but also the producer. Whatever your preferred style may be, without question you have options, and they’re worth exploring. However, I tend to the traditionalists, so some of my favorite producers still remain unchanged. I’ll try other Brunellos, but my heart will always belong to Biondi-Santi and Soldera.

The first I reached for was the 1999 Palari Faro, a Nerello Mascalese and Nerello Cappuccio blend from Sicily.  Still deeply colored, the nose was fairly closed until it woke up after half an hour in the decanter and showed dried plums, dusty earth and spice rack deliciousness.  Then I popped the 1997 Castell’in Villa Chianti Classico Riserva. The warmth and concentration of the red cherry fruit so typical of Sangiovese impressed me. This was the most fruit driven of the wines, something I’d expect from a warm and sunny year, and I was surprised how the usually sandy tannins of Sangiovese were so ripe and well-integrated.

Then there was the 1998 Fanti San Filippo Brunello di Montalcino that I took to Apiary last Monday (check out their corkage fee-free Monday nights!).  No brick notes had edged into the rim, and the aromas were just giving up the first whiffs of development with leather and dried leaf.  Comparing the 1997 to 1998 Tuscan wines, I still prefer the more reserved 1998s.

Finally, there was the stately 1998 Rocche dei Manzoni Barolo Cappella Santo Stefano.  This is a wine I carried back from my visit to the winery in 2002, when I hauled the original wooden case right past the customs officials. This single-vineyard Barolo was probably the most promising of them all, yet it is still reticent to express all its aromatic nuances and its firm tannins have yet to fully meld into the structure. I think I’ll put the rest of these bottles at the back of the fridge and forget them for four or five years.

The reward of cellaring has paid off so far, though I admit it’s tough to resist the temptation to fill up the space I’ve freed up in my storage.  Still, I think I hear some 2005 Barbaresco clamoring. Nature abhors a vacuum—it’s only space, and I might as well fill it.