A recent article in Wine Enthusiast explored the idea that Homer’s Odyssey can be read as a search for “real wine.” Whether Homer intended that or not, the article reminded me of a question I’ve been asking for years.
Not, “Is this a good wine?”
Not, “How many points did it score?”
Not even, “Is it worth the price?”
My question is much simpler.
Can you visit it?
If you fell in love with that bottle, could you board a plane, rent a car, drive through the countryside, and arrive at the place where it was born? Could you walk the vineyards, meet the people who farm them, sit at their table, and understand why that wine tastes the way it does?
Or is the bottle simply a label?
Wine is unlike almost any other product we buy. A great wine is inseparable from its place. It reflects the soil beneath the vines, the climate of the region, the food of the surrounding villages, and the generations of people who have cared for that land.
That’s what keeps drawing me back to Italy.
I’ve been fortunate enough to spend time with many of the producers whose wines I represent. Those trips have taught me that once you’ve stood in a vineyard, the bottle changes forever.
You remember the smell of the cellar.
The light across the vines at sunset.
The espresso after lunch that somehow turned into grappa before dinner.
The grandmother insisting you have one more helping of pasta before anyone talks about business.
The wine becomes more than something you drink.
It becomes a memory.
One producer captures this idea beautifully.
Santa Tresa, in southeastern Sicily, produces wines whose labels pay tribute to the civilizations that have shaped the island over thousands of years. Greeks. Romans. Arabs. Normans. Spanish. Each culture left behind traditions that became part of Sicily’s identity.
When I look at those labels, I’m reminded that wine doesn’t exist outside of history.
It is history.
The Odyssey tells the story of a man moving from one civilization to another, learning from each place he encounters before finally returning home. Sicily has lived that story for nearly three thousand years. Its wines carry traces of every people who crossed the Mediterranean and left something behind.
That’s one of the reasons I love introducing people to Italian wine.
A bottle isn’t just fermented grapes.
It’s an invitation.
An invitation to discover a landscape.
To meet a family.
To understand a culture.
To imagine yourself standing exactly where those vines are rooted.
So rather than ending with the wines discussed in the Wine Enthusiast article, I’d like to leave you with a few destinations from my own journey.
If you’ve ever dreamed of exploring the Aeolian Islands, begin with Colosi Salina Bianco, Colosi Salina Rosso, or the unforgettable Colosi Passito. Each offers a different expression of Salina—an island where vineyards cling to volcanic hillsides, sea breezes temper the Mediterranean sun, and winemaking has been woven into island life for centuries.
If the power of Mount Etna intrigues you, discover Madaudo CampoRe Contrada San Lorenzo. Grown on the volcano’s northern slopes, it is a wine shaped by ancient lava flows, dramatic elevation, and one of the world’s most compelling wine-growing landscapes.
If the Strait of Messina captures your imagination, seek out Le Casematte, where vineyards overlook one of the Mediterranean’s most historic waterways—a passage that has connected civilizations for thousands of years.
And if you want to experience a winery that wears Sicily’s history on every bottle, start with Santa Tresa, whose labels celebrate the cultures that transformed the island into one of the world’s great crossroads.
These aren’t simply wines in a portfolio.
They’re destinations.
Places you can visit.
People you can meet.
Stories you can experience for yourself.
So the next time you’re standing in front of a wall of wine, don’t ask only which bottle has the highest score.
Ask a different question.
If I fall in love with this wine, could I someday go meet it?
If the answer is yes, you’ve found more than a bottle.
You’ve found the beginning of a journey.
And isn’t that what the Odyssey was about all along?
