Imbottigliare – Bottle up

As I make our way down along the long narrow, poorly illuminated corridor I can hear bottles clanking. I turn the corner and immediately I’m hit with the distinctive smell of musty grapes. Carlo’s already at work. We have over a dozen demijohns to siphon and bottle – a few bottles shy of a thousand – so there’s no time to waste.

Everyone that lives in the provinces bottles their own wine. Whether you make it yourself or buy it from one of the dozens of small cantine within a 10-minute drive from home, bottling is an annual ritual. Two makes bottling light work. Like a conveyor belt, one to act like a pump attendant -filling bottles, from one to the next, using a spotlight so that each bottle is filled to just the right level – the other to place and secure caps, crate up and make space for the next demijohn.

Assuming no spillage, a 28 liter demijohn yields approximately 36 bottles of wine, plus a couple of glasses. Carlo never spills a drop. And the two extra glasses are essential for quality control. Least that’s what Carlo keeps telling me. Having controlled the quality on six demijohns we stop for lunch – everything stops for lunch in Italy.

A bowl of anolini (small stuffed pasta cooked in chicken broth), a pork chop with green salad and another bottle of wine later, we resume. The shelves now full, I start filling empty wine crates. By mid afternoon we move on to the white wine – more bottles and more quality control. The wines in Piacenza seldom ever receive more than a passing reference in international wine circles. Guttornio, a dry local red, is more often than not served slightly fizzy and chilled. The predominant local white, ortrugo, is also dry and sparkling. Few of the wines produced in the province ever travel beyond its border. Wines more suited to ‘quaffing’ than serious consideration, is the standard response from the wine elite.

There may be an element of truth in that, although times have changed and under the radar some seriously good wines are now being produced in the province. But that’s another story and one that, no doubt, I’ll come back to at a later date. However, for now, it is probably fair to say that for many locals wine is seen as lubrication (albeit a very pleasing lubrication) for the not so humble food that is served on a daily basis. But it’s lubrication not without purpose. It’s lubrication that feeds a tradition. There was a time when it would have been inconceivable to imagine a meal in Italy without wine on the table. For the most part that wine would seldom have cost more than the time and effort required to tend to a vine, crush grapes and siphon the product into a bottle. And for the most part it would probably have been bottled within shouting distance of the table. What makes that wine special is not the label – should someone ever have bothered to attach one – but what it has always represented: a way of life.  

Chestnuts and mulled wine

There are 3 ways in Italy to tell that chestnut season has started:

1. Bakeries start selling a cake called castagnaccio – a Tuscan specialty, although it is made throughout the Apennines wherever chestnut trees abound.

2. The local newspaper devotes an entire page to the whereabouts of the countless chestnut festivals that will invariably be taking place throughout the month of October.

3. Chestnuts dominate seasonal restaurant menus.

The small osteria where we had lunch was offering specials of creamy mushroom and chestnut soup, handmade pasta with a chestnut stuffing served in a sage and butter sauce and escallops cooked in a brandy and chestnut butter. Desserts included a sweet fried tortelli stuffed with, yes, of course, more chestnuts.

The Italian culinary calendar is a cyclical pastiche of frenzied seasonal outbreaks. In-season bingeing is the norm and, as if to prove the point, after lunch we walked 2 kilometers from the restaurant to the stone hamlet of Scaria, deep in the heart of the Val d’Intelvi, in the mountains above Lake Como. I could smell the chestnuts roasting on the fire long before I reached the festival. We’d parked some distance from town as we knew the event would attract a good crowd (plus I wanted to try and walk off lunch!). Chestnut festivals – or castagnata, as it’s known – are always popular in Italy. Nothing draws crowds quite like nostalgia and chestnuts are one of those special seasonal foods that are always served with a generous dollop of the stuff.  As the aroma grew stronger I was already envisaging the open log fire, the flames towering around and through the pan, fingers and hands blackened, chestnuts hot to the touch.

We passed the church and joined the crowd in excited procession up to the playground above town. In the center of the car park three castagnoli – chestnut roasters, for want of a better translation! – were sitting in front of an open fire shaking blackened long-handled pans over the flames. Every town in Italy has a different contraption for cooking chestnuts. This was not entirely dissimilar to the domestic version. The handles had been elongated to create safe workable distance from the fire and they were hanging from chains attached to a scaffold to take the strain out of shaking. But other than that it was very much as anyone fortunate enough to have an open fire in their home would go about roasting chestnuts. 

Everywhere, people were standing, a bag of chestnuts in one hand, a cup of mulled wine in the other. It was chilly, as you’d expect in the Alps this time of the year and so the hot wine was particularly welcome. It also worked wonders with my appetite. Before long I’d finished one bag of chestnuts and was queuing for a second. After all, the season would be over soon. Better to eat them while you still can!

Chestnuts ‘alla vampa’

Castagne alla vampa

Serves 4

Preparation time: 10 minutes

Cooking time: 20 minutes

500g fresh chestnuts

50g caster sugar

100ml grappa or brandy

Make a small incision with a sharp knife on the flat side of the chestnut.  Don’t worry if you don’t have an open fire for roasting your chestnuts, they can be cooked in the oven.  Simply place them on a baking tray and roast in a preheated oven at 180ºC for about 15-20 minutes.  Give them a squeeze to see if they are cooked. If they feel soft they are done. Once cooked, peel the chestnuts and arrange in serving glasses/bowls.

Make a caramel by placing the caster sugar in a heavy-based saucepan and add a teaspoon of water.  Cook over a medium flame.  The caramel won’t take long to make so keep your eyes on the pan. When it turns a golden colour it is ready.  Pour a small amount of caramel over the chestnuts.

Finally pour a shot of your chosen alcohol, gently warmed in a saucepan, over the chestnuts and set alight!

TIP:  The caramel is very hot when you pour it over the chestnuts, so make sure your serving dishes are heat proof.