Before being processed the grape pomace is kept moist in special hermetic containers. After distillation, the liquid is filtered out. Part goes into silvery, ceiling-high tanks where it is stored for one year. After this, it is bottled and sold: clear, colorless grappa. The rest is stored in wooden barrels in the enormous wine cellar at the estate. Below lit vaulted arches we are shown thousands of barriques and tonneaux. These casks of old French oak give this grappa its amber color. Classical music is piped in through ceiling loudspeakers, and, instead of replying to our obvious question, Gianfranco counters by proposing an exercise. Close your eyes, be still, breathe, become aware.
The music alternates between lively and quiet. The lights flicker through closed eyelids and the smell of moist wood is pungent in the nose. We hear the others breathe, sense the grain of the wood, perceive slight movements. Then, after a few minutes, Gianfranco’s voice can be heard in the dark. “What we’re feeling now is what the grappa feels, too – it must be allowed to live in order to be able to thrive.”
“If cows that listen to classical music give better milk, why shouldn’t grappa mature better to classical music, too,” he mumbles on the way out. He appears somewhat resigned and not all too surprised that his exercise has not converted us on the spot. Reaching the end of the wine cellar, he pulls out an over-dimensional cork stopper from an opening. The strong spirits seem to have been eagerly awaiting this opportunity to escape their cage and immediately release an aroma of vanilla-soaked tobacco into the cellar.
