If I could have only one more glass of wine in my lifetime, it would be Brunello di Montalcino.
The smell, the taste, the texture, its colour; I love everything about Brunello. When I planned my Italian trip, getting to know it better was the only non-negotiable item on the list. There was one problem, however: Brunello is not prolific. It is produced in only one area: Montalcino, Tuscany, about an hour’s drive from Siena.
Naturally, it was no coincidence that I was on that Frecciarossa train, speeding towards to Tuscany at about 250 miles per hour. The sea was behind me, and now the hills awaited.
For the Rome and the introduction, Part 1 is here. For the Amalfi and frolics by the sea, Part 2 is here.
Scenes out of a Painting
Tuscany is often regarded as the heart of Italy (a point debated vigourously among Italians). Not just geographically, but also culturally and historically. Even today, it is one of the larger, more prosperous regions of Modern Italy.
Tuscany’s land itself is beautiful, famous for its landscapes and rolling hills. If you’ve seen a painting of Italy that isn’t Rome, or by the sea, there’s a good chance that it depicts the Tuscan countryside.
Countless hills cover the land like waves on an endless sea of green. There is little completely flat ground to be found, and roads, too, undulate or curve around every knoll and hillock. If one is looking for symmetry, one will never find it here.
Yet, humans tamed the wild lands of Tuscany long ago. It was civilised by the ancient Etruscans and their Proto-Villanovan precursors in Iron Age. When the Romans finally arrived, they built the cities of Lucca, Pisa (yes, that Pisa), Siena and Florence. Etruscan culture was assimilated into the Roman, and traces of both can be found in all of the region.
Their legacies can still be found today. Rows of vines blanket the gently slanted hills, with groves of olives standing sentinel over them. Farmhouses, vineyards and small villages dot the green sea. Italian Cypresses line the roads up to hilltop villas and rural abbey alike.
People tend to fight over beautiful things, and the ancient land of Tuscany is no exception. Millenia of conflict has left its mark on the landscape. One can spot the occasional ruin, and the tallest hills are crowned by forts and ancient fortified towns. One such town is Montalcino.
The hilltop town has endured for a thousand years, in part due to its formidable position. Fortifications dominate the narrow entrance into Montalcino, and weathered stones mark where cannons were mounted.
Despite its brusque facade, Montalcino’s heart is warm; cheery, baked-orange houses line its streets, and its shops are equally inviting. Which is fortunate, because the wine trade has taken the reins, and of all the types of shopping in the world, wine shopping is my favourite.
Dozens of merchants sell hundreds of different types of the region’s famous wines. Not just the local Brunello, but its younger, brasher sibling Rosso di Montalcino, the modern Super Tuscans, and to a much, much lesser extent, the Chiantis, Vino Nobiles di Montepulcianos and Morellino di Scansanos of the other great Tuscan wine growing regions.
If that sounds like a whole jumble of Italian words, then you have just gotten a taste of what studying Italian wine is like. Most of these wines are made from the same broad grape variety- Sangiovese, and they’re even in the same part of the world, but taste very different.
Part of the reason for this diversity is geography, and part of it is cultural and historical- from when the Tuscan cities warred and developed independently- diverged, so to speak. It’s a beautiful jumble that rewards you for taking the time to unravel it, plumb its depths and explore its many facets.
It’s not just the internationally known stuff that you’ll see here, too. I saw baskets of vin santo- sweet wine made from raisinated white grapes, and gleaming bottles of Grappa di Brunello, spirit made from the pomace of the Brunello winemaking process.
I don’t recall how much I spent on wine at Montalcino, but I seem to recall that wallking up and down those hills got a lot easier thanks to my much lighter wallet.
A Room with a View
Visiting Montalcino might be the most efficient way to taste Brunello, but it probably isn’t the most pleasurable way. Like all things in life, the experience of drinking the wine is enhanced by context.
In wine country, that context takes the form of having someone drive you around (stay safe!) from winery to winery, drinking in the rays of the bright Central Italian sun, and devouring the living painting just outside the car window.
Like in many wine-making regions, the winemakers are a diverse lot. There are huge, sprawling, commercialised wineries which pump out millions of litres of wine. On the other end, there are family owned operations where wine is made the way it has been for centuries- mostly from blood, sweat and tears. Between them are every shade of man-machine winemaking.
My favourite sort of wineries are the new-age boutiques where wine is given both the respect that it’s due and the modern facelift that it needs.
One such place was Podere le Ripi, one of the most modern wineries that I’ve ever been to. Perched on one of the high hills, it’s a sprawling estate, but not a typical one. It’s fairly new, and there’s much in the way of experimentation going on there.
Aside from incorporating biodynamic processes (a recent trend), there’s “bonsai” planting, where vines are planted so densely that their roots burrow deep into the ground to find nutrients. The cellar, newly constructed, is a spiraling ramp built using traditional techniques and materials- right down to clay bricks and lime mortar.
Still, a visit to the country without a visit to a farm is a wasted one. I also visited Prombaia, a modest farm nestled in the hills so cunningly that I am not sure I could ever find the place again. Staffed by a family and two extremely fluffy Maremma sheepdogs, it’s as authentic Tuscan as you can get. You can see them in the family portrait below.
While the grounds are not large, and the wine production not particularly large, there was still a sense of justified pride in the voices of our guide. The wine made here is biodynamic, and of excellent quality.
A family vineyard inevitably has some treasures tucked away, and Prombaia was no exception. I’m not talking about the wine in the cellar, though there was plenty of that.
The real treasure is something that I’ve been assured most Italians know about. Nonna’s (grandma’s) cooking.
Not boaring at all.
Tuscan cuisine is simple and hearty, based on the concept of “cucina povera” or “poor cooking”- which is not to say that the cooking or ingredients are lousy, but that the food is meant to be affordable and simple. Recipes are often passed down through the family, and nonna often has the final say.
Lots of the ingredients are fresh, and in many cases, have to be caught first. Since Tuscany is hilly and heavily forested, the hunting option is often exercised.
What to hunt though? Deer and rabbit are common, but I was told that the wild boars that infest the wooded hills are also particularly fond of grapes- and truffles. For the locals, boar hunting is the fine art of killing two…birds with one stone.
So, I wasn’t surprised that boar was on the menu pretty much everywhere I went in Tuscany, even Siena and Florence. While in the former, I enjoyed its specialty, the traditional pici with wild boar and tomatoes.
Pici is a thick, tubular Tuscan pasta that resembles the Japanese udon or the Singaporean bee tai mak. The long, thick noodles are just the right size to leave every inch coated with the thick sauce, provide a bite to match the chunks of chewy wild game, and still have a satisfying slurp.
The other specialty is Tagliatelle, the Italian flat noodles that we might affectionately call Italian mee pok back home. I had plenty of that with that wild boar and tomatoes as well. Meat was definitely back on the menu; Tuscan food has plenty of it, as you’ll see.
Both dishes were coated with a very generous helping of olive oil- the Exxon Valdez of Italian cuisine. The oil isn’t bland at all- properly made, good quality ones taste exactly like liquified olives; a green herbal flavour, a healthy dose of umami, and a touch of light bitterness that accentuates the other flavours in the dish. While our modern beach-body culture shuns it, the liberal application of olio d’oliva is indeed the secret to making the food here taste so good. At least, part of the secret.
The other piece of the puzzle is in the olives’ neighbours. As a cover crop, olives are grown in many vineyards, side by side with the grapes that will become wine. Perhaps that’s why they go so well together.
The earth and dark berry flavours of the Sangiovese wines grown here, including Brunello, are well suited to the meat. They tame but paradoxically enhance the robust, game-y, pungent, powerful flavours of the boar. The tannins and forest-floor flavours of the wine complement the herbal flavours of the olio. The crisp acidity of the wine cuts through the olive oil’s thick texture and balances it on the tongue.
I can’t get wild boar here in Singapore, but otherwise, when I crave meat pastas, this is exactly how I like it done. It’s rustic and simple, but holy cow does it pack flavour. I also include the wine, of course.
The Man in the High Tower
While its countryside is a vision of beauty, Tuscany’s cities are magnificent in their own right. I didn’t get to go to all of them (incentive for me to return one day), but I didn’t lack for excellent views in the two that I did see- Siena and Florence.
The two were republics and arch-rivals in the Medieval era, and while this often resulted in open warfare, they also manifested in wars of commerce and occasionally, beauty contests.
Much like Montalcino, the old, historical Siena is built almost entirely on top of a (relatively) flat hill, and to even enter it, one needs to put in some serious legwork. I was quite grateful to be wearing comfortable shoes, because that climb was only the beginning.
You see, the architects of these old medieval cities built on top of steep hills did not account for the needs of public transportation, and within the old town, there are only two real choices; hoof it, or stay in bed. From end-to-end, it’s about an hour’s walk. That is, if one is determined to simply walk in a straight line from one side to the other.
That would be utterly silly, of course.
The beauty of Siena is in the experience of weaving through its orange-brick buildings, for which the colour burnt sienna is named. Little has changed since its heyday in the middle ages, and over the centuries numerous back alleys, passageways and shortcuts were built, and they now honeycomb the city.
It was a joy to simply explore them and let my feet take me to the new adventures that were around every corner. Whether I found a small gelataria, an antique shop, enoteca (wine bars are my professional interest, of course) or art dealer, there was so much in the way of artisanal work for me to admire that it was quite impossible to simply walk from place to place.
That being said, if there was a place that one would be walking to, it would probably be the famous town square, the Piazza del Campo. At the right time of year, they race horses bareback here in an event called the Palio. Unfortunately, there was a noticeable lack of stampeding equines when I was there.
The fan-shaped piazza is dominated by the Torre del Mangia – Tower of the Eater. Sadly, that is not a reference to the gourmets among us, but the nickname of its first bell-ringer- “Eater of Profits”. It’s 88m high, the third tallest tower of its type, more than 20 stories tall, and still bereft of a lift.
After a day of walking, I declined to scale Mt.Mangia, but I did something else that was particularly popular at the piazza.
Yes, I sat down to admire the sights.
The Dreaming City
The other famous attraction in Siena, and even more impressive in my eyes, is the Siena Cathedral. Remember when I mentioned the beauty contest between Siena and Florence? Meet the contestant.
Her history is closely intertwined with that of the city’s. Constructed at the zenith of Siena’s power and wealth, she tells the story of its glory, but also its descent.
Initially completed in 1263 after 48 years of construction, it was built of local marble. Practical considerations aside, the symbolism was clear. The rightful heirs of the land demonstrated their greatness- and piety.
Alternating marble bands of black and white- the colours of the Siennese Republic, are built into the very bones of the cathedral. Rose and emerald marble are inlaid into almost every wall in the nave.
The light filters through stained glass windows, themselves great works in their own right. Not content to build a magnificent structure and cover it in paintings, the plaster likenesses of 172 popes gaze upon the faithful as they enter the cathedral. Below them are the emperors of Rome. Exquisitely detailed, no two carvings are the same.
The grand dome is not merely painted, but sculpted and carved. Higher even than the popes, cherubs watch every single visitor.
Such abundance of wealth, culture and talent was Siena’s that when space on the walls ran out, the maestros simply began to cover the floor in art. Among them were Michaelangelo, Donatello, and Bernini, the greatest artists of their time. Even the humble and downcast could bear witness to the glory of church and state.
Even then, it was not enough. The city was so wealthy and powerful that this soaring Cathedral was but the first milestone in its grand plans. The city’s population had grown to a size of fifty thousand souls, and the growing masses would need an even larger place of worship. In 1339, construction of an extension that would have doubled the size of the Siena Cathedral began, starting with new outer walls.
Those partially built walls, still standing today, are all that remain of Siena’s ambition. They now form part of a parking lot.
In 1348, the Black Death swept through Europe, and carried away half of those fifty thousand Siennese souls. Romantics might say that the soul of city followed them. The city never recovered from the blow, the way Florence did, and began to wither away by inches.
By the 1500s, Siena was a ghost of its former self, and in 1555, it was defeated and conquered by the Spanish in the Italian Wars, and then ceded to the Florentines. In spite of these bitter defeats of the century, works were done to enhance the beauty of the High Altar, including the two angels above the arch.
Since then, while much effort was made to maintain the cathedral, comparatively little was added or changed. Siena and its Cathedral remained in a kind of stasis- alive, but barely growing, barely changing- for almost six centuries. In the cathedral, major renovation was rare throughout those years, and its grandeur was that of its halcyon days.
Blessings come in strange guises, however. Siena’s loss of economic and political power meant that the wars that ravaged Europe rarely touched it. It survived the Napoleonic Wars, the War of Italian Unification, and the two World Wars mostly unscathed.
After the wars, Siena’s fortunes have finally started to return. As visitors rediscover the city, so has interest in the Cathedral revived, and its beauty now captivate a new generation of admirers- myself among them.
Perhaps Siena has finally come full circle.
Great Expectations
Where Siena is a beautiful medieval city, its archrival is the embodiment of a different era.
Florence is regarded as the birthplace of the Renaissance, and the city of artists, poets, and writers. When it was its own Republic, it came to assimilate its ancient foe Pisa. Later, when it became the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, it finally brought Siena and Lucca into the fold.
In the past, Florence’s powerful merchants and bankers spread its currency and influence throughout what is Italy today, and even beyond. Almost everyone speaks the Florentine dialect of Italian, mainly because it is not just a dialect, but the base for the modern Italian language.
Florence even served as the capital of Italy for a time, and is a bustling city today. It’s so busy, in fact, that it’s quite hard to walk on its narrow streets.
Just stepping into Florence gives me a sense of the immense history of the city. Think of the Italian names you know. Michaelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo da Vinci, Gallileo, the Medicis, Dante, Machiavelli, Florence Nightingale. They were all born in or around Florence. That’s an impressive list; with three out of four of the ninja turtles, and I haven’t even mentioned its most famous son: Ezio Auditore.
Ok, I’m kidding about that last bit.
In all seriousness, the city of Florence produced an impressive list of luminaries, and some were immortalised in stone, like Dante, who stands next to the Basilica of Santa Croce above.
So exceptional were the folk who emerged from Florence that I’m convinced that it was no coincidence. Whether it was the wine they were drinking, the environment in the city, its culture, or its wealth, something must have gone extremely right here. I would eventually discover what that was.
Something Gone Extremely Right
The most famous landmark in Florence must be The Duomo. While duomo simply means Cathedral, to many outside of Italy that word is synomous with the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, the grand duomo of Florence.
The Duomo’s exterior is indeed beautiful. Ornate carvings cover every surface of the building. However, its most noticeable attribute is its sheer gargantuan immensity. As the ladies sometimes tell me, size does matter.
Even today, The Duomo holds the record for having the largest brick dome to have ever been built. At 114.5m in height, it was completed in 1436 after more than thirty years of labour.
Its virtue is subtle; though not richly adorned, to create a dome that large requires advanced mathematics and engineering- something exceedingly rare in the 15th century. The architect, Filippo Brunelleschi managed to shift 4 million bricks- over 37,000 tons of weight- to the top of the structure, and build a dome. This is, to put it lightly, no mean feat.
The interior of the Duomo is indeed as cavernous as its exterior would suggest. However, I felt that it was quite plain- at least compared to the lavish decor of Siena’s Cathedral. My theory is that this is quite intentional; filling every inch with decor takes attention away from the sheer awe of the colossal structure. Perhaps man was meant to feel small in the House of God.
That isn’t to say that Florence lacks for beauty, but it’s a kind of lived-in beauty. This city has been a conduit of trade and commerce since Roman times, and there are plenty of signs of wear and gentle aging all over the place.
One of the city’s most famous landmarks, the Ponte Vecchio, is probably the best example of what I mean. Built at the narrowest point of the River Arno, runs through the city, it was and still is a hub of activity.
You might think that the bridge is famous for its looks, but you’d be mistaken. The bridge is filled with three(!) levels of shops. In the old days, those were tanneries, butcheries and all sorts of “dirty” jobs that coincidentally, benefited from the natural “sewage” system below them.
The picture above is what the Vecchio looks like today; at least, at night where there aren’t that many pedestrians- it’d be impossible to get a photo otherwise. The tanneries and butcheries are gone, replaced by jewellery stores, souvenir shops and goldsmiths.
Nothing remarkable, you say?
The bridge has been around since Roman times, the only bridge in Florence that can claim that. During the Second World War, every other bridge in the city was destroyed, but the Germans spared this one. No one really knows why.
A historic, two thousand year old bridge. Used like a bazaar.
That, to me, says a lot about the nature of the city. The Florentines live in their city; it’s not for show. They make a living however they can. The true beauty of the city is in its people, its ideas, its accomplishments and its history, not in its physical structures. To appreciate Florence, one has to engage one’s mind, not merely one’s eyes and ears.
The New World
It’s quite impossible to discuss Florence without talking about the Medicis. While the works of the Renaissance artists, writers and poets survive today, they owe a great debt to one man and his family. There’s a statue of him below.
During Cosimo de Medici’s time, Florence was a republic and had no king- and that would still be true for a while yet. Through money, guile, and sheer luck, however, Cosimo managed to achieve something close to what Augustus had at the dawn of the Roman Empire- become the emperor, without actually being the emperor.
As princeps inter pares – “first among equals”, he was able to steer the city’s fate, and there was mostly peace.With his vast wealth from banking and other businesses, he became the biggest patron of the arts in Florence. He saw it as his civic duty to fund artists, build a library, commission works and sponsor thinkers and orators. For those reasons, Cosimo is considered to be one of the fathers of the Renaissance.
His heirs would continue his work. The most famous of all, Lorenzo de Medici, better known as Lorenzo the magnificent, presided over the high noon of the Renaissance in Florence. Lorenzo’s court included Botticelli, Michaelangelo, and Leonardo da Vinci, who he helped secure jobs for. In his lifetime, Lorenzo spent the equivalent of US$460 million of his family’s money on the arts. We still enjoy the fruits of their patronage today.
One of these is the most famous statue of all time, currently housed in the Galleria dell’Accademia. On inspection, there are some curious peculiarities about the proportions of the sculpture, including the large size of the hands and head. However, far more interesting to me at that time was its purpose. David was intended as a message to Florence’s many larger foes; a literal David vs Goliath parable.
While the Academia is of respectable size, the largest art museum in Florence is the Uffizi, one of the world’s first art museums of the modern era, and still one of its most popular.
It has an extensive collection of Renaissance art, a large portion of which came from the Medici collection. This collection is so large, in fact, that despite spending almost an entire day there, I could only see a small portion of it. I still regret it.
I won’t cheapen the work of the artists by simply posting picture after picture. The colours never come out right, and the internet is dark and full of distractions. Both you, dear reader, and the artists deserve better, but I’ll provide one example to whet your appetite.
The Birth of Venus, one of Botticelli’s most famous works- and already the subject of a wikipedia article. Since I’m a rank amateur in brush technique at best, what stuck out to me were two historical elements.
The first, that it was a classical painting of a nude goddess- viewed in historical context, was the equivalent of putting pictures of naked people on Instagram.
The second is the depiction of Venus, a Roman goddess. With the dominance of Christian iconography in Italy for a millennium, Botticelli’s use of traditional Roman mythology was interesting, to say the least. He wasn’t the only one.
This classical revival was the new trend during the Renaissance, and could be considered to be the beginning of the erosion of church power and divergence from strict religious thought.
So much to think about, and this is just one out of the hundreds in the Uffizi alone. They’re, to put it delicately, worth a look. One could get lost in them. I certainly did.
Aperitivo, Bistecca and Crostini
I’ve waxed lyrical about Florentine painting and architecture, but I’ve neglected to give the culinary arts their due. Three things stand out.
First, aperitivo hour, which is basically the Italian spin on happy hour. The concept is simple. Buy an aperitivo- a pre-dinner drink, and you get access to a whole tray of bite-sized snacks, called ciccheti, free of charge.
The practice is believed to have originated far up north, in Piedmont or Turin, where much of the bitter Italian Amaros and sweet vermouths so important to aperitivo is made.
However, the practice is observed almost religiously in Florence, and it has made one of the most important contributions to the aperitivo community. You see, the Negroni, that most essential of Italian aperitivos, was invented in Florence in 1919. You can still visit the site today, at the Giacosa Cafe- though.
The second trademark of Tuscan cuisine is the crostini- toasted bread with toppings, Italian style. While pate and chicken liver are common toppings, and traditional Tuscan version is just oil and toast, my favourite version is this one.
While the bread was undeniably high quality, I think there are two reasons why it tastes so incredibly good. Quality tomatoes, which you can see on the left, and Tuscan olive oil. The recipe, I have been told by the locals, involves the following steps.
- Dice the tomatoes, chop some fresh basil
- Put the tomatoes and basil in a bowl, add a generous helping of olive oil and toss
- Toast the bread
- Lather the top face of the toast with olive oil
- Add a generous helping of tomato-basil on top of the toast
- Don’t forget to dress the top of the crostini with olive oil.
Yes, it’s definitely the real deal. I’ve not had a better tasting crostini since.
Last but not least, the Bistecca alla Fiorentina, in my view, Florence’s ultimate contribution to the culinary world.
True Florentine beef steak is made from the sirloin of the chianina cow, a Tuscan breed. Each steak can weigh anywhere between 800 grams to a kilo and a half, and anything less is sheer calumny.
After an aging period where the beef is hung to dry for 15-21 days, the steak is ready for cooking. There are no condiments used, not even olive oil. A charcoal or wood grill is lit, and only when the flames are roaring is the steak placed upon it. Each side is seared for no more than five minutes; a blink of an eye for a steak as thick as this. Finally, it is rested for five minutes, and served with a side of olive oil and vegetables.
The result is a mountain of meat with a burnt crust locking in all the goodness of the Tuscan bovine.
Each bite is a complete experience in itself. The teeth pass through the crisp top layer to find a soft, tender core that is as tender as only high quality barely-cooked beef can be. An explosion of beef flavours lights up the tongue, followed by a light nuttiness, wood smoke and finally the acrid tang of char.
While marbled, the bistecca is not overly fatty, and thus, one need not take a break in between bites to rinse out the grease with a nice Chianti, but I would recommend having the wine anyway. The acidity is a revelation, and the plum and cherry of Chianti add a welcome perkiness.
Is it really that tasty?
Well, I can only say that while 800 grams is a hefty chunk of meat, when I was presented with the dish at the steakhouse, I finished it in one sitting. On my own. I didn’t even bother with the vegetables. A satisfying meal, and memorable, but for more than one reason.
It was my last meal in Florence. That same night, I was packing my suitcase again.
What a Journey
If you’ve followed me on my journey through Tuscany, then you’d have read almost five thousand words. There’s so much more to share, but only so much time to spare.
That’s how I felt when I pulled my suitcase up to the now-familiar train station. Even though I had seen so much, there was still so much more to see. Yet, it was time to go.
Rome was fascinating and The Amalfi was relaxing, but Tuscany was where my body, mind and soul were nourished. It’s no secret that it’s my favourite region in Italy. Even now, years later, I can’t wait to see its green hills once more.
Next stop: Venice, Milan, an Ending and an Epilogue
