Page 80 of The Wrong Vintage
The whites always lead. They’re picked fast and cold, before the sun can soften their spine.
“Two weeks of dawn picks,” I confirm. “All the whites, while they still remember the night—straight to press, no bruising, no heat.”
Lucia taps her tablet. “Then Merlot—lower blocks, before the sugars start getting clever.”
Hortensio sighs. “Merlot shouldn’t be tricky, but it is.”
“The pulp is already generous,” I say. “But the seeds arestill green. I won’t take plush fruit without the tannins to carry it. So, we wait a couple of days on that.”
Lucia goes through her list. “And the Cab Franc?”
I glance toward the cab blocks farther down. “We reassess parcel by parcel as soon as Chardonnay’s in. If the nights stay cool, we can hold. If they don’t, we move.”
Cabernet Franc lies if you let the sun get to it. So we must pick it cold, at dawn, when the aromatics are still lifted—before the fruit tips into sweetness.
Cabernet Sauvignon is our anchor and the last to come in, as it has the longest hang time and the thickest skins.
Matteo calls it “the most patient varietal.”
Lucia types quickly. “So, Chardonnay first. Vermentino second. Then once you give us the go ahead, we’ll get to the Merlot. Then Cab Sav and Cab Franc—parcel by parcel.”
“Yes,” I say.
I’m anxious. Maybe even a little nervous. That’s healthy—because when it comes to winemaking, confidence can sharpen your judgment, buthubriswill kick your ass.
A good harvest requires a whole lot of preparation, and we areprepared.
Every tank has been sterilized and rinsed twice.
Hoses have been flushed three times.
The pumps have been meticulously tested.
For most wines, we’ll use gentleremontagewhen we pump over fermenting juice from the bottom of a tank and spray it over the top. For our premier cuvée—Altèra—we rely on gravity alone. No force. No shortcuts.
Harvest and fermentation go hand in hand as you start macerating grapes and fermenting them as soon as they’re picked.
But first, we sort the grapes. Twice.
The first pass is rough—hands and eyes, removing leaves,sunburned clusters, anything that doesn’t belong. The second is surgical. Individual berries. No compromises.
This is why every picker we use is rigorously trained for Pietra Alta. I don’t care what other estates do—we do it only one way here, and that’s my way.
Our pickers know how to handle clusters without tearing skins, how to leave compromised fruit behind, and how to recognize sunburn and rot without needing to be told.
Green harvest and sorting aren’t separate philosophies for me; they’re part of the same ethos.
Respect the fruit at every stage—or don’t touch it at all.
How I do it is slow and expensive, but that’s because vines are unforgiving. You don’t correct greatness later, you protect it now.
“Well, everyone, that’s the next weeks of our lives all planned out!” Lucia announces.
I let out a quiet laugh. “That’s the way we like it, don’t we?”
Hortensio and Edam give a thumbs-up sign.
Lucia closes her tablet. “Alright, team—it’s time.” She glances around the circle, meeting every pair of eyes. “So, chest out, fear in your pocket.”
