The Land of Picotendro, Part 2

Rolando’s red-headed dog led us from the Doric column-lined vineyard to the dirt construction zone of Rolando’s “Beirut” courtyard. The vignaoli pushed on a dark, ancient door that opened into his bare-boned cellar filled with fresh white mushroomy smells. There are blackened barrels of various sizes, many made from local chestnut trees, fashioned by Roland himself. His way of fermentation is whole bunch, in stainless. He only racks once, always in December. “My aunt told me if I wanted to have a good color on my wine—as nebbiolo tends to turn brown—I must rack on a certain day before Christmas or risk color.”