Today, wine risks being prosecuted as absolute evil. It is a climate that I know, and one that wounds me: because when people speak “against” wine, they often aren't truly defending health, but rather simplifying the world until it becomes black or white. And wine, by its very nature, is never black or white: it is nuance, time, and measure. Wine is culture even before it is a beverage. It is a human gesture that spans millennia, an anthropological object capable of telling who we are and where we come from.
Inside a glass, there is not just a scent or an alcohol content: there is a landscape, a language, a struggle, a season, a collective memory. There is the way in which a community has learned to live with the land, to respect it, to tame it without destroying it. There is the secret of time: because wine is not simply “born,” it matures, evolves, and transforms itself. And by transforming, it teaches us to do the same. For this reason, it deserves respect. It is not an invitation to excess, nor a blind defense: it is a request for intelligence.
Wine does not ask for absolutions; it asks for context. It demands to be read as one reads a book or music: with attention, with responsibility, with the awareness that every human thing can become poison if measure is lost. And then there is a point that few have the courage to say: wine evokes. It can move us in a unique way because it speaks a language that is not just chemical or sensory, but symbolic. It can open a door in our memory, bringing back a face, a house, a summer, or an absence. It can transform a dinner into a story, a table into a place of listening.
This does not happen in the same way with beer, with whiskey, or with a soft drink: not out of moral superiority, but by nature. Wine is linked to the earth in a radical way; every vintage is a confession of the sky and the soil. This is why, when it is reduced to a “problem,” its truest part is lost: wine is a mirror of man. If we truly want to protect people, let us defend measure, awareness, and education. Let us not insult a heritage that has taught entire generations the value of time, conviviality, and slowness. Wine is not absolute evil. Wine is an ancient question: and questions, when they are deep, deserve respect.
Inside a glass, there is not just a scent or an alcohol content: there is a landscape, a language, a struggle, a season, a collective memory. There is the way in which a community has learned to live with the land, to respect it, to tame it without destroying it. There is the secret of time: because wine is not simply “born,” it matures, evolves, and transforms itself. And by transforming, it teaches us to do the same. For this reason, it deserves respect. It is not an invitation to excess, nor a blind defense: it is a request for intelligence.
Wine does not ask for absolutions; it asks for context. It demands to be read as one reads a book or music: with attention, with responsibility, with the awareness that every human thing can become poison if measure is lost. And then there is a point that few have the courage to say: wine evokes. It can move us in a unique way because it speaks a language that is not just chemical or sensory, but symbolic. It can open a door in our memory, bringing back a face, a house, a summer, or an absence. It can transform a dinner into a story, a table into a place of listening.
This does not happen in the same way with beer, with whiskey, or with a soft drink: not out of moral superiority, but by nature. Wine is linked to the earth in a radical way; every vintage is a confession of the sky and the soil. This is why, when it is reduced to a “problem,” its truest part is lost: wine is a mirror of man. If we truly want to protect people, let us defend measure, awareness, and education. Let us not insult a heritage that has taught entire generations the value of time, conviviality, and slowness. Wine is not absolute evil. Wine is an ancient question: and questions, when they are deep, deserve respect.
THE BOTTLES
From Elba Island, a white with a millenary tradition. And from Basilicata, a red fragrant with history.
Nesos by Arrighi is an anthropological wine, a white from Elba Island with an ancient history, produced using techniques dating back to the Greeks. A mineral, salty, and austere wine with hints of honey and rosemary that evokes stories and times of the past.
A wine that brings back memories is the Aglianico del Vulture from the Quarta Generazione winery. Ruby red, spicy, elegant, and deep. A wine of history and respect for its territory.
From Elba Island, a white with a millenary tradition. And from Basilicata, a red fragrant with history.
Nesos by Arrighi is an anthropological wine, a white from Elba Island with an ancient history, produced using techniques dating back to the Greeks. A mineral, salty, and austere wine with hints of honey and rosemary that evokes stories and times of the past.
A wine that brings back memories is the Aglianico del Vulture from the Quarta Generazione winery. Ruby red, spicy, elegant, and deep. A wine of history and respect for its territory.
----Gianfranco Cipresso
Roberto Cipresso
Wine Consultant and Author. Expert in terroir
