When in late nineteenth-century farming Tuscany, wine was simply a source of nourishment, white and red grapes together, foot pressed, energy for a day’s labor in the fields, flasks and demijohns, Ruffino had already been producing an ambitious wine for decades, for special occasions, to be forgotten in the cellar and left to evolve during a slow rest.

This wine’s reputation, known back then as Chianti Stravecchio, quickly grew as far as the northwestern borders of the newly formed Kingdom of Italy, where ...

The story behind these simple but super good biscotti has long been debated lively and peacefully (not always!), with Tuscans in general and Pratese in particular laying claim to their provenance.

As an impartial member of the jury, I give the credit for the creation of cantuccini to the Biscottificio Mattei in Prato, also famous for their distinctive blue packaging, even if my trusty Enrico (with grandparents from Vaiano) suggests Biscottificio Santi in Migliana as the creator... ...

Few other moments symbolize the essence of the country life in such a clear, timeless and deeply rooted way as the vendemmia, the grape harvest. With progressive mechanization, the harvesting of other crops has lost something of those epic layers of sweat, dust and tank tops that fewer and fewer young people have any memory of.

The grape harvest, meanwhile, has remained unchanged, despite modifications that the passing decades have imposed on agriculture. That ageless flavor of people reunited and ...

The infection rate has started to climb again and containment measures are back in force to limit social gatherings. Without going into the pros and cons of this, every so often we’re bound to wonder how we can continue with a “lust for life” in the face of this historic juncture.

Wearing masks, often even at home; obliged to keep washing our hands as if we were Lady Macbeth; standing in single file, a measuring tape in our pockets to make sure we’re observing social ...

A few years ago, when I was reading anything and everything I could get my hands on, I came across a book called “L’Orto di un Perdigiorno” (The Vegetable Garden of a Timewaster) by one Pia Pera. There was nothing about it that particularly struck me, so I tucked it away on my bookcase, which was arranged in strictly alphabetical order.

Today brought a typical autumn afternoon, after a typical Sunday lunch with the family - a spit roast and a velvety Chianti Classico. It had ...