Ronchi di Cialla: The Saviors of Schioppettino

3 min read

As I drove through the forest-covered mountains, it occurred to me that the road had steadily shrunk to the width of my car. This doesn’t feel right, I thought. Google Maps seemed to think that the best way to Ronchi di Cialla was to follow this route as it threaded over and under the Italian-Slovenian border like a drunk sewing needle. It then appeared to switchback for another 45 minutes over the densely-wooded mountain above me through a town called Oborza. Saying that out loud — ohh-BOHR-tzuh — made me laugh and decide to pull over before I totally lost cell service. To, in short, abort-zuh.

I soon saw my mistake — I had missed a turn five minutes earlier. So I gritted my teeth and made a blind four-point turn on that cart path in the woods, and pointed my rental car back the way I came. I was headed to the winery that saved the lost grape Schioppettino, and in the process, got lost myself.

Surely I’ll be late now. It was a Sunday afternoon, and I didn’t take lightly that Ivan Rapuzzi — Ronchi di Cialla’s viticulturalist — had agreed to meet with me on a day of rest and family time that most Italians take seriously. Fifteen minutes later, I found the Rapuzzi family’s hilltop home and pulled into the parking space, where Ivan greeted me with a kind smile.

“I am sorry I am late,” I told him as I grabbed my camera bag from the back seat. He checked his watch. It was 2:05pm.

“By five minutes? This is Italy. You are not late,” he laughed.

The Grape Savior Story to End All Grape Savior Stories

The grape they saved really is a singular talent. Schioppettino has its own dialect and a unique emotional spectrum.

Italy is peppered with tales of forgotten grapes that have been brought back from the brink of extinction. Their saviors are usually local vignaioli, who — through either stubbornness or remarkable foresight, or a bit of both — refuse to let the vines fade away. Years later, their devotion is rewarded in very specific ways. Their grape might finally be acknowledged by local authorities. They might get DOC or even DOCG status for the wines made from that grape, meaning a localized name for the product that is sanctioned by law. They might get a small but devoted following abroad, and then be lauded by sommeliers table-side, their story told in places like Tokyo, Copenhagen or Austin, Texas. And they might get the coveted, unofficial title of “cult wine” assigned to their work by the wine media.

By and large, the Salvaged Grape is a story that sells, even if the details are sometimes glorified, or if the producer’s role in its deliverance is disproportionately attributed. (After all, salvation is often a community effort).

But in the case of la famiglia Rapuzzi, there is no doubt they did something remarkable. In fact, they may have the Grape Savior Story to end all Grape Savior Stories.