It's time we set the record straight. I have heard whispers, the chatter of gossip, and stifled giggles amongst you. Many of you have even started to lay down bets, openly doubting my sanity, or at the very least, my good judgment. Yes, I know it's true; there's no sense in denying it now. I have been quite offended by all of these machinations and vain falsehoods. How could you possibly doubt me? What I have done to merit such little faith? You, my family and friends, talking about me behind my back. Absolutely shameful.
To clear up any misconceptions, and to dispel all uncertainty, it is high time that I make myself abundantly clear. From this point on, I want all this nonsense to stop, and it is for this reason that I lay it all out on the table.
Yes, I have been drinking wine. And lots of it.
There, I've said it. While those of you who have remained faithful collect on your wagers, please allow me to elaborate.
Wine is an essential part of the Italian experience, like bread, soccer, and coffee. When marking down my expenses at the end of each day, I have long since left off putting wine in the "liquor" column (yeah, it has its own column: whatcha gonna do 'bout it?). No, wine has firmly lodged itself where it rightly belongs, in the food column.
Indeed, there are few dinners that are not accompanied by the trusty carafe of rosso. There are two paths one can take here in Italy. The first is the hoity-toity 4-star approach, which involves ordering actual bottles of wine at a restaurant. Besides marking you for a tourist from the get-go, you have by no means guaranteed a better drinking experience. The second, and quite clearly my chosen path, is the "house wine" (or, in Italian, vino sfuso) approach. Depending on the region and the size of the town, you are almost sure to receive local wine, 
grown in the backyards of friends of the restauranteur (or, in the more felicitous cases, by the restauranteur him/herself).Aosta had various varieties of grapes, and produced a few wines inspired by the strong French influence in the region. More modest places would sometimes offer sparkling reds, usually lighter, a bit sweeter in flavor, and not very complex.
Piedmont, on the other hand, boasts some of the best wines in the world. Here, the vastly predominant grape is Nebbiolo, which makes Barolo, Barbera, Barabaresco, and Nebbiolo. With my limited knowledge and no time to research more thoroughly, I am sure that I have missed some, but this will have to do for now. The region also produces Dolcetto, which I believe is a different grape, and Arneis, which produces white wines.
There are three size choices when it comes to ordering the house wine: 250 ml (a quarto, or quartino), 500 ml (mezzo), or 1 Liter (don't know what they'd call this, and I would reveal myself as a drunkard if I did). 250 ml, or one third of a traditional wine bottle, is good for a lighter meal, and is the more affordable option, often costing less than a pint a beer. Me, I'm a bit like Goldilocks: the one in the middle is Just Right. 500 ml, or two thirds of a bottle, lasts you throughout the long Italian meal, and even allows for a small glass at the end to wash it all down.
The best part about ordering the house wine is that it always is a sort of crap shoot. Sometimes you get gut rot, something that tastes like acidic grape juice, and smells more like rubbing alcohol than wine. But then other times you get a magical potion, complex, perfectly fitted for the local cuisine, and with just the right amount of tannins. Most of the time, the wine is pleasant, not too fancy but very complementary with the surroundings and the locale. All in all, it's a risk worth taking, in my humble opinion.
Why bring wine up at this point in your travels, might you ask? After all, you have not even reached Tuscany. The reason, dear friends, is that I had the privelege of walking through much of Piedmont's wine country, starting shortly after Montà.
As I walked away from the Agriturismo, my host Carlo had shown me the scenic route around the city, and it was there that I saw my first vines of the region. Though the grapes were still green, a bit over a month away from the harvest, they were full and thick on the vines, lustily drinking in the previous evening's rain.
These vineyards grew larger and larger, and came to dominate the landscape. At around 1:30, just about lunchtime, I came across a cantina, or winery. I eagerly made my way to the entrance, where I found that the cantina was closed for another half hour. Undaunted, I made my way inside the walls, chatted a bit with one of the employees, who was washing his car, and ate my lunch. By the time I was done, the winery had reopened, and it was time to taste some wine.
This particular cantina is located in Roero, which is the Sonoma to the Langhe's Napa. Thus, while the soil composition, altitude, and temperature were a bit different, we were quite close to one of the most famous wine making regions, and the wines were still absolutely delicious, without all the hype and snobbery.After asking lots of questions about the wines, the production process, and so on, I got down to some serious tasting. I got to try a Nebbiolo, a Dolcetto, an Arneis, and a Barbera.
Here are my (admittedly simple) tasting notes, taken at the time:
Nebbiolo - 2005 - Sharp on the nose, slightly brown in color, chocolate and earth flavors, slightly tannic
Dolcetto - Very tannic, lighter in texture, not sweet as the name would suggest
Arneis - white - Full-bodied, very slightly sweet, better to drink young
Barbera - Not too heavy, ruby red in color. Classic table wine
By the time I got out of there, my legs had grown a bit flimsy, and what would normally have been a standard piece of the walk grew quite long and difficult as a result. I had learned the lesson many days ago that one should not drink in the afternoon and then try to follow it with a long walk in the hot sun. However, if there was a time to make exceptions, this was surely it, and I did not begrudge myself the hour spent in Epicurian pursuits.
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