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Storie — Wine · Places · People. Published quarterly by FILO Bespoke Wine Concierge, Coral Gables, Florida.
Exclusive for FILO members. Not for sale. filowine.com
elcome to the first edition of STORIE. Written in the form of a journal, our newsletters will uncork exciting updates on genuine wines, real people, and great stories.
I invite you to approach this brief reading in the spirit of my ancestors, the Greeks and Romans, who believed it essential for humans to carve out time for themselves — away from the demands of work and daily life. They defined this time as "skhole" or "otium," a period that encourages contemplation, gratitude, creativity, and friendship.
It's no coincidence that the word culture itself comes from the same world. It descends from the Latin colere — to cultivate, to tend, to care for. The same root that gave us art also gave us agriculture. This is the idea FILO was built on: wine as an act of care — for the land it comes from, for the people who make it, for the people who will receive it.
Get ready to raise a glass to your new go-to source for all things wine!
For this first issue, I wanted to begin where my own story with wine truly begins. Of every region I have come to know in twenty years of doing this work, Piemonte remains, to me, the most important wine culture in Italy — and quite possibly in the world. Not always the loudest, not always the most fashionable, but the one where the bond between land, family, and glass has stayed the most intact.
There is a moment every autumn, somewhere between the first cold morning and the arrival of the Fiera del Tartufo in Alba, when Piemonte becomes the most beautiful place on earth.
The hills of the Langhe turn amber and gold. The fog settles in the valleys like something permanent. The smell of truffle is everywhere — in the market stalls, in the doorways of osterie, on the coats of people who have just come in from the fields. It is specific and irreplaceable and not like any other smell on earth.
I have been going to Piemonte for twenty years. Every time I arrive at Castiglione Falletto at dusk, with a producer's lights on in the cellar below, I think: this is what wine is actually about. Not scores, not labels, not investment. Time, place, people. The patience to wait. The wisdom to know what you are waiting for.
This first issue of Storie — Wine · Places · People is dedicated to that feeling. We travel slowly through the region — from the cellars of Roagna to the truffle market of Alba, from the arcades of Torino to the simplest tajarin of your life, dressed only in Piemontese butter and the thinnest shaving of white truffle you will ever eat.
We have tried to make this journal the thing we always wanted to read: honest, personal, specific. Not a tourist guide, not a wine manual — a companion for people who travel slowly and drink carefully and believe that the best meals are the ones you remember for decades.
And there is a timely reason to start here, too: this issue lands just as the white truffle season opens in Alba. The Fiera runs into November — you still have time to organize a trip, and while the best tables fill up fast, a few good appointments are still there for those who move now.
We hope you find your way to Piemonte soon. And when you do, we hope you will reach out first, so we can open a bottle together and talk about where to go.
Nebbiolo is named after the fog. La nebbia — the mist that rolls through the Langhe every October when the grapes are harvested. It is one of the great coincidences of Italian etymology that the most serious red grape in the country shares its name with the weather that defines its season.
The Langhe hills south of Alba are an amphitheater of limestone and clay, facing southeast and southwest, between 150 and 400 meters of altitude. The soils are ancient marine sediments — Tortonian in the western zones, Helvetian in the east — and their differences are responsible for the extraordinary variety of styles produced under the single name of Barolo.
Nebbiolo is a difficult grape. It ripens late — the last major variety in the vineyard, sometimes into November. It is thin-skinned and prone to disease. In the glass it is translucent, almost like a pale garnet held up to light. And yet it produces wines of extraordinary tannin and acid structure, built to last for fifty years or more. The paradox of Nebbiolo — delicate in appearance, monumental in character — is the paradox of Piemonte itself.
The French have a word — terroir — for the idea that wine expresses its place. Piemontese producers have understood this for centuries without needing to theorize it. Walk the vineyards of La Morra in the morning and the vineyards of Serralunga in the afternoon. The soil is different. The slope is different. The wine will be completely different. The fog does not distinguish between them. But the vine does.
"Nebbiolo does not give itself easily. It is translucent in color, demanding in structure, slow to reveal its depths. But when it does — in a glass of aged Barolo on a foggy November evening — there is nothing else."
Fabrizio Gallina · Storie No. 1Barolo is not one wine but eleven. The DOCG spans eleven comuni in the Langhe hills — five historic core villages, Barolo, La Morra, Castiglione Falletto, Serralunga d'Alba and Monforte d'Alba, which together account for the great majority of production, and six more — Verduno, Novello, Grinzane Cavour, Diano d'Alba, Cherasco and Roddi — where only part of the territory qualifies. La Morra, the highest and broadest, gives the softest, most perfumed wines. Serralunga, on older, harder soils to the east, gives the most powerful and age-worthy. Castiglione Falletto sits at the crossroads between the two, and Verduno, on the northern edge, is home to Monvigliero, one of the zone's most sought-after crus. Barbaresco, across the Tanaro river, is a different denomination entirely — a gentler, earlier-drinking Nebbiolo, with Pajorè and Rabajà among its finest vineyards.
Nebbiolo and the Langhe get the attention, but Piemonte's real character is its diversity. In the eastern hills around Tortona, in the province of Alessandria, an old white grape called Timorasso — nearly extinct by the 1980s until a grower named Walter Massa refused to let it die — now produces some of Italy's most ageworthy whites: waxy, mineral, closer in style to a great Riesling than to anything else made in the region. North of Torino, in Alto Piemonte, Nebbiolo takes the local name Spanna and grows on volcanic, acidic soils that give a leaner, more savory wine. Gattinara and Ghemme are the names to know, alongside smaller, almost family-only zones like Carema, Boca and Bramaterra.
Piemonte's real richness is in how many native grapes it grows at all: Arneis in the Roero, Cortese around Gavi, Erbaluce north of Torino, Favorita, and — barely known outside Italy — Grignolino, Freisa, Ruché and Pelaverga, a light, peppery red grown almost nowhere except the hills around Verduno. Biodiversity here is not a slogan. It is the reason a region this small can taste this different from one valley to the next.
Torino is underrated in the way that only very confident cities can be. It does not need your approval. It has the arcaded streets, the Savoy palaces, the best chocolate in Italy, one of the finest Egyptian museums in the world, and the absolute conviction that it invented the aperitivo. It is correct on all counts.
Begin at Piazza Castello and walk north through the arcades of Via Po toward the river. The arcades — portici — are the defining feature of Torino's urban fabric: nineteen kilometers of covered walkways that make the city navigable in any weather. Cross the Po to the Gran Madre di Dio and look back at the skyline. The Alps frame the entire western edge of the city, close enough on a clear day to seem almost painted in.
Torino's history runs deeper than its elegant arcades suggest. A Roman colony was founded here after 28 BC, known as Julia Augusta Taurinorum. After Rome fell, the city passed through the Heruli and the Ostrogoths, was retaken by Byzantium, then conquered again by the Lombards, whose territory eventually fell to the Franks under Charlemagne in 773. From 1563 it became the capital of the Duchy of Savoy, then of the Kingdom of Sardinia under the House of Savoy, and finally, from 1861 to 1865, the first capital of a unified Italy. Torino is sometimes called the cradle of Italian liberty, for its role as the political and intellectual heart of the Risorgimento — the movement that unified the country.
We arrived in Torino in the late afternoon and gave ourselves one quiet night before the real work began. The next morning started with coffee and a visit to the Pinacoteca — the kind of unhurried hour that reminds you why you fell for this country in the first place.
From there, our driver Sergio collected us and took the road toward Verduno, to Villa Scarpa. The welcome was the kind you remember: the fridge in our room stocked with their own wines — and, mysteriously, a bottle or two of serious Champagne. How did they guess my taste so precisely? I still don't know.
In the evening we met Cesar and Laura in Alba for dinner at Hostaria dai Musi — serious French bottles alongside a few local rarities, paired against food that more than earned its place on the table. Impeccable service. Italian hospitality never disappoints.
Up early for Rizzi — a photo, and two words about their dog, who supervised the entire visit with great seriousness. We tasted through their Barbaresco range; Enrico hand-draws every label himself. And a genuine discovery: they also make a small amount of excellent Moscato, which I had no idea existed until that morning.
From there to Marrone — a genuinely wonderful family. The winery is run by three daughters, with the support of Marco, who walked us through their ambitious plans and the obsession with quality that clearly runs through the whole operation. They also have a bistrot overlooking the valley, serving a menu that deserves far more than the two photos I managed to take.
That evening, a small indulgence: dinner at La Ciau del Tornavento in Treiso, one of the finest restaurants I have ever eaten at — and the wine list alone would justify the trip.
A quick hello at Gaja — no tasting, just a moment to stand in front of the name and appreciate what it represents.
Then to the Cantina dei Produttori del Barbaresco, and on to Sottimano, where Claudia introduced the whole family and poured a vertical of Basarin that was, without exaggeration, extraordinary. By evening we were spent — dinner back at Villa Scarpa, tasting through their own wines, every one of them excellent. Their Pelaverga in particular left an impression I'm still thinking about.
A last stop in Barolo, at Ferdinando Principiano, before heading back to Barbaresco for dinner.
We closed the trip with dinner at Capamac, back in Barbaresco.
These are real photographs and Fabrizio's real account of the trip. The full write-up will be expanded and polished for the printed first edition.
In Piemonte, where patience is already a winemaking philosophy, the Roagna family stands apart even by local standards. Founded in 1880 in the village of Barbaresco, the estate is now led by Luca Roagna, the fifth generation, who joined in 2001. Fifteen hectares are farmed across Barbaresco and Barolo, on grassy, biodiverse rows with no chemical inputs and no green harvest — the vines set their own low yields naturally.
Nothing here is rushed. Wines from vines under 25 years go into the entry-level Langhe Rosso; only vines over 25 years produce a single-vineyard Barolo or Barbaresco; vines over 50 years earn the Vecchie Viti bottlings. Crichët Pajé — the estate's most celebrated wine — comes only from the oldest vines on the crest of the Pajé cru, over 60 years old, and stays in barrel for the better part of a decade before release. Average production hovers around 1,800 bottles a year, and in difficult vintages far less.
This is Piemontese winemaking philosophy stated in practice rather than words: the wine is not rushed to market, and neither is the family's reputation. It has made Roagna one of the most sought-after — and most highly allocated — names to come out of Barbaresco.
Tastings by appointment only. Allow three hours minimum. Do not rush. Bring a notebook and an empty afternoon.
From the crest of the Pajé cru, vines over 60 years old, aged for years in large neutral oak before release. Considered by many the estate's finest expression — and one of the most difficult Barbarescos in Italy to secure, with average production around 1,800 bottles a year. Part of FILO's Roagna allocation for members.
From vines over 50 years old within the historic Pajé cru — the estate's calling card, made in slightly larger quantities than Crichët Pajé but still tightly allocated. Long maceration, extended neutral-oak aging, unfined and unfiltered. Available in limited quantity through FILO's Piemonte allocation.
No scores, no rankings, no price list. Just the bottles we love and the stories behind them. For the complete selection and to speak with Fabrizio, contact us at filowine.com
Monvigliero is the great vineyard of Verduno, the fifth and most overlooked of the Barolo villages. The wine is floral, precise, alive with red fruit and violets — more perfumed than Serralunga, more structured than La Morra. Less celebrated, more interesting, fairly priced. Our discovery recommendation of this issue.
From Bricco Monguglielmo, farmed organically by Diego and his son Stefano just up the hill from Giacomo Conterno (no relation). Dolcetto means "little sweet one," and this is the everyday wine of the Langhe done right — ruby red, a little licorice, a little spice, made to be opened without ceremony. The bottle that reminds you not everything in Piemonte needs a decade in the cellar.
From the Dellapiana family's Nervo cru below Treiso — steeper and cooler than much of the Barbaresco zone, which shows in the wine's lift. Violet and rose on the nose, raspberry and a clean thread of licorice underneath. The estate's winemaker, Enrico Dellapiana, is also a painter — his brushwork is on the label of every bottle.
From the Rocca family — still something of an insider's secret in Barbaresco — a Nebbiolo aged in amphora rather than wood, with production limited to around 1,000 bottles a year. Amphora lets the fruit speak without the imprint of oak. Extraordinary value for what's in the glass.
These are places we have visited, trust, and would return to. Not every good address in Piemonte — just the ones we would give to a close friend.
Via Vernazza 8, Alba. Boutique hotel in a restored 15th-century palazzo. Nine rooms, all different. No restaurant — but the truffle vendors are outside your door in October.
Castiglione Falletto. Vineyard views from every room. Complete silence at night. Book far in advance for the harvest season.
Cascina Monvigliero, Verduno. Luxury villas set among the vines of the Monvigliero cru, owned by the historic Scarpa winery. The view from the terrace looks straight over one of Barolo's great crus.
Inside the Castello Falletti. Over 100 Barolo producers by the bottle. The essential introduction before visiting individual producers. Start here.
The most respected truffle dealer at the Fiera Internazionale del Tartufo Bianco (early October–mid November, Cortile della Maddalena). They will let you smell before buying, and wrap it like a gift because it is one. Budget €300–600 for 50g of quality — a single perfect truffle beats two mediocre ones. Store wrapped in a dry paper towel, in a sealed jar, in the fridge; use within five days.
Torino. The largest Egyptian collection outside Cairo, housed in a 16th-century palazzo. Give it a full morning.
Galleria Subalpina, Torino. One of the city's historic cafès — the kind of place built for a slow coffee between the arcades.
La Morra. The most honest tajarin in Piemonte. Grandmother's recipe, handmade daily with 40 egg yolks per kilo of flour. The benchmark against which all other tajarin must be measured.
Enrico Crippa's three-Michelin-star restaurant, Alba. One of the twenty best restaurants in Italy. Book four to six months ahead.
Alba. The wine list alone justifies the visit. Local cuisine, honest prices, an extraordinary cellar. The carne cruda all'albese is the definitive version.
Barbaresco. Typically modern cucina — the kind of place that takes food, wine, and a good laugh equally seriously.
Treiso. One of the finest restaurants in the Langhe — and the wine list alone would justify the trip.
Barbaresco. A relaxed, honest table to close a long day of cellar visits.
Annunziata, La Morra. The on-site restaurant at the Marrone winery, run with the family's own hospitality — a tasting menu paired with their wines, overlooking the vines.
Piazza San Carlo 204, Torino. Order the Vermouth di Torino with a twist of orange at the bar, standing. The most civilized fifteen minutes available in northern Italy.
The simplest thing you will ever make that tastes like a revelation. The ingredients are three: pasta, butter, truffle. The technique is forty egg yolks. The philosophy is that the truffle should be so abundant you can smell it from across the table.
300g '00' flour
40 egg yolks (not whole eggs — only yolks)
Pinch of fine sea salt
Mix on a clean surface until a smooth, elastic dough forms. This will take ten minutes and some conviction. Wrap in cling film and rest at room temperature for 30 minutes.
Roll on the thinnest setting of a pasta machine, or by hand to 1mm or less — it should be nearly transparent. Cut into 2mm ribbons. This is non-negotiable in its proportions.
100g excellent unsalted butter (Piemontese is ideal; French will do)
2–3 tablespoons pasta water
Fine sea salt
White truffle: as much as you can afford
Melt the butter slowly over the lowest possible heat. Do not let it brown. Cook the tajarin for 90 seconds exactly. Transfer directly to the butter with tongs. Toss energetically for 30 seconds until the sauce coats every strand. Plate immediately. Shave the truffle over generously. Eat at once.
This is not a dish where restraint is a virtue. The truffle should be abundant enough that you can smell it from across the table before the plate arrives. The pasta exists to carry the truffle. The butter exists to make that possible. Buy well or cook something else.
A young Barbaresco — Roagna's entry-level Barbaresco, or the Cantine Rizzi Pajorè — is the Piemontese answer. Alternatively, a Barolo from La Morra for more structure. The wine should have fruit, some tannin, and enough body to stand next to the truffle without disappearing.