Despite my assurances, everyone thinks we will be late. We are in Sicily, so we cannot be late. In Italy late is a relative term; in Sicily it does not exist in any meaningful sense. But it does give me an excuse to coax whatever power I can from the balky drivetrain of our Fiat 500L and ply the Etnean roads between lunch and our next vineyard visit with more alacrity than my traveling companions would generally tolerate.

So only five minutes after our appointed arrival time we are at Ciro Biondi’s winery. To me, this place is the stuff of legend. Flip to the New Year/New Wine chapter of Robert Camuto’s Palmento and read about Ciro and his tweedy jacket and fantastic wine. Or go there, if you are as lucky as I was.

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