A Vineyard Stroll on Ischia — Pasta Madre Paradigm

photo credit: Samantha Weiss — *photo credit:* Samantha Weiss

We took a sharp right on to the neglected, semi-paved road. A tall, thin man waved for us to get out of the car and he jumped in the driver’s seat. After his smooth and rapid reversal of the car into a tight parking space, he shyly smiled as he walked towards us, before gathering next to his wife and seven year old son, proudly welcoming us to their biodynamic winery.

A thick, Ischian fog blanketed the vines, as it often does, arriving from the nearby coast. We followed the man through his vineyard rows. The leaves on the vine were crisp with vibrant fall colors. The man, Pasquale, stopped us as he knelt down to take a handful of the soil. His soil. Proudly showing us the nutritious microbial life in the soil, he quietly began telling us the story of his family's vineyard.

His father began the business after the war, starting out by only making wine — not growing grapes. He purchased the grapes from other growers nearby and solely sold the wines by the barrel. People from Ischia say, at that time there was more wine than water on the island. Taking into consideration the movement of the moon and planets, the father followed the biodynamic rules in his winemaking process. To this day, Pasquale and his father are still the only producers making some of their wine in this way on the island. It wasn’t until 1993 that they started selling wine by the bottle; in 2000 they began harvesting their own grapes. “This was truly closing the circle”, Pasquale stated, pleased.

Pasquale weaved through the vines, delicately touching the remaining grapes from harvest, focusing now on the vines rather than engaging with his guests. He continued to describe their biodynamic practices. They take the movement and alignment of the planets into consideration for each stage of the grape growing process. Dandelions, beans, and broccoli rabe are planted between the vines to support the movement of minerals in the soil.

Throughout his explanations, he made no eye contact, but rather seemed to be talking to his vines. His face had a constant state of gloom across it. Not from sadness, but possibly from the long hours he dedicates to the fields. He glanced above our heads, looking to his highest terrace, and told us to follow him as the gloom finally disappeared.

We followed behind him like baby ducks as he snaked through his small-plot terraces. Atop the highest terrace of the vineyard, his gloom disappeared. His face lit up with pride and love for his land as he looked out. He pointed to every small cluster of grape variety grown, enthusiastically describing them. As his son came running happily through the vine rows, a wide grin appeared on his face. He was no longer the gloomy gray man we were first acquainted with. Pasquale, now jolted with passion, began sharing every small detail of caring for his land. His wife waved from the patio below. He smiled at us, took a pause, we smiled back in unknown anticipation, and he announced it was time to taste. “Alllloooorrrraaa”, he bellowed with a cheery hop in his step.

As we sat around the tiled, outdoor table, Pasquale honed in on choosing the bottles of wine; bringing three out, then looking at them confused and unsatisfied, taking them back in, and out again with three different bottles. His wife brought out two plates of crostini while he was filling our glasses with forastera: a pale white wine robust with salt and acidity at first, the last sip calmly smooth akin to a golden pear. He quietly described the wines, which was impossible to hear over the simultaneous ooo’s and ahh’s for plate after plate being brought out. A large terracotta bowl was filled with dough that was lightly fried and finely salted between sprigs of herbs: zeppole. An aromatic, plump omelet filled with onions and herbs, slightly runny, oozed onto my plate. A second glass was poured for each of us, this time of biancolella.

The first sip stopped me in my tracks. I felt my heart beating. I felt the warm sun finally shining through the fog. I felt a cosmic alignment. I almost felt a tear coming. Biancolella was light and delicate, coalescing my favorite traits of a vino bianco. The balance of acidity with a touch of tartness slid down gracefully. My glee from the bites of salty herbed zeppole paired with the biancolella became a moment I never wanted to end.

More plates arrived from the hidden kitchen. Where were these creations coming from? The parmigiana was finished before it made itself around the table. This was not typical parmigiana. It was not heavy with cheese or doused in oil from being fried. It was light and fresh, tasting of every ingredient bound together by a juicy, sweet, homemade tomato sugo. Our last glass was filled with per’ e palummo, a local red variety they grow. At first there wasn’t much complexity to it,standard vino rosso, but then layers of sweet dark fruits began to unfold. The wine became livelier with astringency and finishing in strong confidence. Much like Pasquale.

Sami received her BS in Anthropology and Geography from Cal Poly with an emphasis on Nutrition. She is passionate about work that supports local food economies and seeks to make good food more prevalent and accessible to all.