As a native Californian who has defended her state's red and white against staunch French connoisseurs who claim their wine is the best on the planet, I am known to languish in a nice glass of the intoxicating brew now and again. I am not, however, an expert to any degree. I drink syrah out of a mason jar. And I'm not even sure I just spelled 'syrah' right, for that matter. I've wine tasted and popped in on lessons at local wine bars. I've even had friends and family who work on vineyards. But for some reason the information on varietals and undertones and casks flows in one ear and out the other as smoothly as pinot noir through an aerator.
Traveling through the hilltop wine towns of Tuscany and Umbria, however, I've gained a whole new appreciate for this lightheaded nectar of the gods. For one, Italian vineyards are amazingly photogenic. I mean, come on. Secondly, local Italian wine paired with local Italian cuisine really do make for an exceptional culinary experience. You come out of a trattoria after eating a bowl of pasta that melted in your mouth and sipping some Montalcino Brunello and, suddenly, the churches look more elaborate, the shop owners' faces a little friendlier, the cobblestone smoother, and the countryside like some vision of green and gold utopia you had only yet imagined in dreams.
So although I'm as close to a Sommelier as Jon Stewart is to being a Republican, I can assure you this - pick a house red in the aromatic and richly soiled hill towns of Tuscany and Umbria and you'll never ever go wrong.
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More pics from wine country...
It tastes just as good at camp.
Shopping for souvenirs in Montepulciano.
Grapes mixing company with olives.
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