Romanelli Winery
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Just down the hill from Montefalco’s famed piazza lies the Romanelli family farm. For three generations, the Romanellis have been cultivating the soil here, beginning with their three thousand olive trees until now when they bottle some of the finest wines in Umbria, according to the accolades framed all over their shop. It doesn’t feel like a shop, it should be said. It feels like its original purpose—a home. The home where Devis, who gave a tour of the vines and generously poured one fantastic glass after another, was born and raised. He lives down the hill now, in a house he points to from the edge of Romanelli’s lawn, where his two dogs tussled when they weren’t valiantly trying to snuggle. The view takes your breath away, especially when you see it on the cusp of an incoming storm, all rustling green and the sky twisted with grey clouds against the tenacious blue.
Romanelli is an organic farm, but one doesn’t get the sense that this is for trendy hemp-dusted-kale-chips reasons. Rather, it’s part of the agricultural history here in Umbria—since time immemorial, successful farming relied on working with the land, not fighting against it. Good farmers understand not just the climate, but even microclimates. They consider the topography, exposure to sun and wind, the nature of the soil, in order to allow the transformation of crops into the best expressions of themselves. Why struggle to grow something that doesn’t belong and then force it into a bottle?
Balance.
Balance is key.
A small example, the family has scattered bird boxes across the farm to encourage the nesting of Montefalco’s eponymous falcons. And also owls. The big trees favored by these birds of prey are scarce now on this side of the valley. Supporting the animals to keep a talon-hold on the landscape means those birds control the insect and rodent populations.
It’s that kind of 360 intention and thoughtfulness that feels at once old-world and also thoroughly modern. It fits right into Umbria.
Usually when you visit a vineyard, your guide will lead you with proud steps to the barrels that hold their wine. They wax lyrical about extraction and fermentation and aging. They’ll gesture while speaking earnestly of softening tannins and the advantages of oak.
Not Devis.
After pleasantries and moments spent glorying in the view while petting those affectionate pups, his first order of business was to shepherd our party—me, Keith, and our friends Max and Cristiana who know small-scale producers and makers because of their work building their travel company, Ciao, Andiamo—through the lines of olive trees to the vineyards.
Stooping to pick up a handful of soil, Devis noted that the valley used to be a lake, as evidenced by the earth filled with soft, almost talc-like stones. These stones impacts how the vines grow. In fact, by studying the ground beneath your feet, you’ll notice where the ancient lake once met the shore, as the soil at that point becomes…soil. No sassi, stones.
Gaze up from that suddenly fascinating earth below and you’ll see how that demarcation between lake and shore translate to the vines. The rocky soil stresses the vines. They grow in an irregular manner, as if in fits and bursts. Answering the question before I asked it, Devis said that that stress from the stone-filled soil makes the grapes from those vines more assertive. Meanwhile, where the soil lacks the sassi the vines grow in regular lines at regular heights. Without the challenge of stretching their roots, the grapes themselves produce a wine that is softer. Rounder. The difference in those vines lend themselves to differences in flavors as well as tannins—you’ll note blueberry versus cherry notes depending on which land the grapes have grown.
In this relatively small parcel of land, Romanelli makes three different Sagrantinos. Their flagship Sagrantino from the first plot with the rocky soil, Medeo which is made exclusively from grapes that grow in the stone-free soil, and a Passito, the grapes which come from down the hill in lime-heavy soil. That lime makes for a more tannic grape, a great candidate for Passito that balances out those tannins with naturally occurring sugar from the grapes drying in the sun.
After a walk through the vineyards, we sat down to sample the wines and I almost clapped with pleasure at the sight of plates of scrambled eggs. Scrambled eggs in Umbria, you must understand, are not what you’re used to at Denny’s. Soft and unctuous, they are simply otherworldly. I once asked my friends with a restaurant in Bettona what made them so good and was told with a smile, “trickery.”
Whatever it is, sign me up for scrambled eggs at every early opportunity. Particularly eggs like these with a smattering of wild asparagus. And of course, copious amounts of olive oil, which creates, all at once, both a silkiness and a pepperiness I could sense even before tasting. Max said that Americans eat chicken, while Umbrians prefer the eggs. Why kill the food producer, he shrugged? I laughed, but my eyes were glued to the eggs, wondering if it would be rude to tuck in before the wine had even been poured.
Nestled alongside the eggs rested a piece of bread sliced into thirds. Before Devis brought out the wine, he drizzled each third with a different kind of oil from their trees. The first was made from exclusively San Felice olives, the second from Moraiolo (the most common in Umbria, about 70% of Umbrian trees are Moraiolo), and the third a blend which also included Leccine. Of the three, Moriaolo is the most assertive—peppery, what I think of as classically Umbrian. San Felice is soft and buttery. The mix, as expected, is somewhere in between.
As we ate, we talked about the word Moriaolo. Max said that it refers to stone walls, as these are trees that thrive on terracing and rocky soil. He quipped that they could have used the word sassi as a base, as it means stoney, but then it sounds like someone being stoned to death. Not so good. You want your olive tree names to conjure something gentler. Hence, Moraiolo.
With the eggs, Devis poured us a Grechetto. I use Grechetto fairly often, as it’s a cheap, non-offensive wine with very little character to muck up my risotto. But like many things in Umbria, the grape is a staple, and how it behaves depends on whose hands its in. This Grechetto was sublime, with sweet and salty notes reminiscent of Parmesan, and a yogurt-like tang, with an aroma of grass. Much more complicated than the standard version. Romanelli is clearly a winery that knows how to coax a lot of flavor and nuance from this basic grape. When the four of us lauded this first wine, Devis smiled modestly and said that people usually write off Grechetto as too simple. Which is a shame because it holds a lot of personality.
I’ll say.
Then came the Trebbiano Spoletino. Unlike Scacciadiovoli, the Trebbiano Spoletino at Romanelli spends no time in amphora, so it gets less of that minerality. What Romanelli does instead to pull for flavor is have the grapes macerate for two months with the skin. Cris noticed that the lack of amphora and the time with the skin maintains the character of the grape for a more classical rendition of the wine. The color is striking, almost like an orange-tinged rose. The flavor is somewhere between peach and tobacco—much earthier than I usually expect whites to be.
Next came the Montefalco Rossos, which Devis describes as an everyday wine, less challenging than a Sagrantino. These are wines to pair with your Tuesday salumi or whatever meat you’re grilling, making a weekday feel like a humble celebration. Romanelli’s base Montefalco Rosso uses grapes from four different kinds of Sangiovese vines, two bred in Tuscany and two from Emilia-Romagna which he says help imparts the flavor of violets and agrumi (citrus). Their Riserva is aged longer, and contains no Merlot (common in Montefalco Rosso). The grapes for this wine come from a different hill, whose soil he describes as more sandy. That sand draws water from the vine, leading to a smaller plant, which again, impacts the flavor. The Riserva is aged 30 months in wood, and is so powerful, it is a wonderful expression of the Sagrantino grape, even though it’s not a Sagrantino wine.
While we sipped and delighted in the cheese and meats, including an excellent porchetta, Devis bought out a map of the water flowing under his soil. He pointed out where the water lingers thanks to the topography and thus, the influences on grapes’ fruition and flavor.
The Sagrantinos come next. It’s funny, I didn’t used to like Sagrantino at all, and nine years later, I fidget in my seat as it’s pouring. I’m restless for that first bold sip. Our first Sagrantino came from the vines growing in the rocky soil. From the glass wafted the scent of iron, which coupled with the intense color of the wine, we laughed that it offered the suggestion of blood. Which perhaps sounds terrible, but in reality, it’s so shocking it gets past all your wine expectations and throttles your senses with its fantastic cherry notes.
The second Sagrantino, which winery calls Medeo, uses grapes from the vineyard without stones, outside the shores of the ancient lake. In lean years when yield lags, they combine the grapes from both plots of land into one wine. It’s nice to taste them separately though, to see what Devis meant about the softer wine. The gentle cherry notes and hint of spice reminded me of an aged balsamic, only less sweet.
Sagrantino Passito rounded out the tasting. The strong cherry flavors were underscored by Devis’s son running in to hand us each a cherry. We applauded the sweet lad and added the singular fruit to our cheese plate. Exquisite cheeses, I should add, strong enough to stand up to the Passito, to parry the flavors and create complexity and nuance.
As storm clouds drifted closer across the Umbrian valley, I let the others wander into the shop while I lingered over the last few sips of my Passito. Flavors filled my senses—the intense cheese softened by the sweet and tannic wine. The good spirt of friendship filled my soul. What a beautiful conclusion to a tasting.
What a beautiful conclusion to a meal.
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