In the mid-60s, Sommeliers from all over the world began to transform their professional role, passing from the historic role of wine "waiters" to that of "promoters" of wine knowledge, starting a glorious and meritorious season of growth of wine culture. That time was an era of badly made, approximate wines, more pressed than crushed, and those Sommeliers faced an oenological world that for a few millennia had been governed by Four Kinghts who succeeded one another in sequence, often side by side, finally finding, one at a time, their own Apocalypse.

   In chronological order, the First Knight (Pleasure) was the one who took possession of and governed the evolution of this new nectar that had the merit of giving, in addition to sweetness, a sensation never experienced before: inebriation. Until then, no drink had given men that set of sensations ranging from joy to relaxation, which push socialization and loosen the inhibitory brakes. It was perfect for rejoicing together, for cheering up parties, for cementing friendships and alliances, for fueling the fire of nascent loves.

   The First Knight delivered the wine into the hands of the powerful, politicians, warriors, rich merchants, poets, philosophers... And he gave it to him as a gift from a deity, Dionysus for the Greeks, Bacchus for the Romans.

   It was like this for a few millennia, until the Roman generals realized that that euphoria induced by wine could be a strategic fuel for their armies, capable of instilling boldness and nervous energy.

   The Second Knight (Courage) took over the reins of this new wine season and from that moment it accompanied the armies in all battles and, so that it would not be lacking, the Romans planted a vineyard in each new land conquered.

   A few centuries later the Third Knight (Faith) appeared on the scene, set out on a path never trodden by the first two, spirituality. And, in particular, the spirituality with which Christianity was pervaded. It was enough to be inspired by the crucial event of the Last Supper to place wine at the center of the liturgy and transform it into a powerful symbol of conjunction between earthly life and the beatitude of Paradise.

   This way, the Third Knight managed to get the wine out of the palaces to land it first in the catacombs and then, gradually, up to the most sumptuous cathedral.

   Until the 1200s, the rite of the Eucharist consisted of giving a whole loaf of bread and an equally whole glass of wine to each believer. This explains why, if the planting of the European vineyard was the work of the Roman armies, at the end of the dark ages of the Middle Ages its reconstruction was mainly the work of the monks, driven by the need to supply wine not to the barracks but to the churches where the humble flocked every Sunday.


   A few centuries and the scenario changes further. Already in the 1700s, wine, as the fuel of armies, was supplanted by more concentrated and powerful liquids, easy to store and transport: distillates. This was the Apocalypse that overwhelmed the Second Horseman, emptying him of the energy and motivation that spurred him to take care of his armies. In a parallel period of time, albeit with a less sudden process, the Third Knight also began to find himself in difficulty.

   The Renaissance brought to the churches the disruptive effect of pictorial images that were able to describe much more effectively that celestial world that a glass of wine could only make you imagine.

   The symbol of Communion was reduced to become the host of the present day and the wine was reduced to a few drops denied to the faithful and drunk only by the priest.


   The Apocalypse of the Second and Third Horsemen caused an upheaval in the countryside throughout Europe. Those vineyards saw their historical function vanish: to produce wine capable of instilling courage or consolidating faith. Therefore, for the first time in the millennia, the great mass of wine produced began to perform a new function, its ability to interact with the mind took a back seat and became "food", appreciated above all for the energies it makes available to the body.

   The Fourth Knight (Hunger) enters the scene and puts himself at the head of the "self-producers", i.e. those peasants bent over a vineyard handed down from father to son and, in the absence of the Second and Third Knights, end up producing wine for themselves, for relatives and, often, for some relative who emigrated to work in the factory.
When, in 1965, the Sommeliers entered the scene, even the Quarto Cavaliere was losing energy and motivation, the self-producers, tired of drinking badly, uprooted the vineyards or joined some cooperative winery, showing that they preferred little safe money to a lot of bad wine.


   The only one still boldly riding his steed was the First Knight, the one whose vocation was to push his people towards pleasure, joy and, why not, oblivion. The Sommeliers became squires of it, starting a glorious and exciting season. That small handful of dreamers, with the corkscrew in one hand and the glass in the other, has grown from year to year and, alternating enthusiasm, rigor, mistakes, study and ingenuity, has been a stimulus and has made a fundamental contribution to the qualitative growth of Italian wines.

   At a time when the media and politicians are giving space to those who tear their clothes for the contraction of consumption and dream of low-grade solutions such as low-alcohol and dealcoholized wines, a new generation of producers has felt, from the very beginning, champions of the First Knight, and has started a close dialogue with the growing movement of Sommeliers, always and only, on the side of those who buy wine, drink it and enjoy it

   The result is that the audience of consumers in search of quality has grown enormously, the world of production has made great strides in the direction of excellence, measurable today not only in terms of commercial success but, also and above all, of cultural hegemony, recognized for our wines in every corner of the world.

   The First Knight seems to have now resumed the scepter of command even if it is certain that he will not have an easy life: crowds of new and fierce crusaders are advancing against him waving the most unlikely insignia, determined to conquer a new Holy Sepulchre.

   A sepulchre in which, in the name of pleasure and pleasantness, we hope to bury them all.

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