On my recent trip to Piemonte one sunny afternoon found us on a post-prandial jaunt around the hillsides of Asti.
The bus bounced along, climbing over the gentle rolling hills bathed in sunlight and covered by a blanket of technicolor green. Words don’t quite succeed when I try to describe the distilled beauty of this place.
A reverent silence came over the group of us, helpless and held captive by the dazzling views flying by us, bus windows like huge high-definition television screens, the perfect little houses and the pregnant vines. Everything around us just waiting for that immaculate moment of harvest.
There is an honesty in this terroir. It’s unpretentious and lovely, like a fascinating woman who has yet to discovery the power of her own beauty. This is agriculture at its most refined- all perfect rows and stunning vistas.
We immediately wanted to snap a picture of every heart-breaking view, hungry and greedy to bring a piece of this absolute perfection home with us. However, I think we knew that the static little images we could take home in our cameras would be impotent next to the experience of seeing this place in person.
Now that I have witnessed the overwhelming perfection of Asti I can’t help but draw comparisons between the place itself, and one of it’s most famous wines: Moscato d’Asti.
Sparkling. Ripe with fruit. Bright. Aromatic. Intense.
I should have known a wine like this could only come from a land of unthinkable beauty. Asti is poetry in the glass, and in person.