Pruneto. Meeting Max.

Massimilliano greets me at the (already covered in farm dust) Jeep Renegade that I’ve rented to traverse the low mountains of Chianti Classico. I’ve never met Max. In the decade since I first mustered courage to climb the steep, rutted gravel road to Pruneto, he’s mostly been away at university in Bologna. In fact, he still resides in Emilia-Romagna for half the year. There are a lot of compelling reasons to live in Europe's oldest university town (tortellini, ravioli, tagliatelle, lasagna, for starters) and time away from rural Tuscany has certainly shaped Max’s view of wine. He freely admits that the beverage his father and grandfather made for 30+years was of little personal interest, until he encountered it recontextualized in Bologna. “I mostly drank gin and tonics.” An array of urban wine bars pouring a more progressive take on the drink allowed Max to grow appreciation for work his family were doing, and to cultivate enthusiasm for continuing this labour back at home.   

Unsurprisingly, Massimilliano’s father makes a grand entrance. After being summoned, Riccardo saunters from the stone farmhouse to shake hands and stand around in the unseasonably warm sun of a midmorning in late March. “You’ve gained a few kilos since we last met,” is his opening salvo. True, and funny. Covid kept us apart since 2019, and mostly kept one of us on his butt. Isolation is never ideal, but a sundrenched hillside, surrounded by forest and vine, facing a centuries-old convent across a wide valley: Riccardo’s quarantine landscape was close enough to perfect. There were hardships. But he had room to roam, and vines to tend. And now he gets to hold court. 

“Now I have a boss.” Riccardo’s view of the return of his eldest to the property is a winking misrepresentation of their working relationship. It’s clear that Max remains deferential to Riccardo, fundamentally receptive to his advice. It’s also apparent that change is afoot. The cellar is cleaner than I’ve ever seen it. A new field has been cleared, and young vines planted. To support a new generation, the farm must grow. At least a little. 

Blunt farmer assessment of the passage of years eases us into conversation about new wines. We move to the shade of a tree covered in honeysuckle, and surround a picnic table covered in wine and cheese. Remarkably, there’s a new wine at Pruneto. It’s called de Mode, and it bears the fingerprint of Massimilliano’s time in Bologna. The aromas are a tad more natural, the texture less doggedly traditional for Radda than anything I've tasted from the farm before. In sum, the wine is fruity, accessible, and good. I like the impression it makes on the palate. Irreverence, life. And I like that Max has found something worthwhile to do with the small amount of Merlot grown at the estate. De Mode is 70% Merlot and 30% Sangiovese. Its style plays to the strengths of the former grape. 

The marquee wines at Pruneto need more oxygen to reach full flight than most reds. This is true even in comparison to other traditional Chianti Classicos from nearby addresses. I regret that the decanter isn’t omnipresent in restaurant wine service, because Riccardo’s wines have a tendency to change from good to brilliant once half the bottle is poured. I think this difficult-to-explain trait must be a reflection of the man as much as the land. Soil at Pruneto is a mix of gallestro in the steepest vineyard, and clay/albarese in the lower of the family’s two sites. In short, it’s the classic geology for Chianti Classico, well-suited to Sangiovese, and not (on its own) enough to explain the reserved style of the bottled wine. 

In Pruneto’s two small cellars we view a short row of enamel-lined cement tanks, and a handful of large old wooden casks. Two of these massive vessels are enough to contain the total production of the farm in a normal vintage. Three and a half hectares of old vines don’t produce much fruit, and the age of the vines (and a series of hot, dry vintages) means that (at best) 70% of the total fruit weight is extracted as juice before fermentation. Given the infernally hot summers Tuscany has been experiencing, I’m surprised (and delighted) to find that the 2019 Chianti Classico isn’t even a bit heavy. Despite rising to 13.5% abv (uncommon at this estate) the wine seems very traditional. Chalky, dry, fresh red fruit. Massimiliano explains that at Pruneto the vineyards are so close to the cellar that fruit can be harvested and then hustled into a relatively cool room in a matter of minutes. By processing the grapes almost exactly when you pick them, freshness is retained. 

Riccardo steps away to smoke a cigarette. Max talks about the benefit of having a strong relationship with other farmers in the zone. The Vignaioli di Radda organisation shares know-how and equipment, which is invaluable in the community. Radda is the heart of Chianti. It has a history that stretches back eight centuries. But the place is remarkably small, at least in comparison to other Chianti Classico communes. Good neighbours lift the overall quality of Radda’s wine.  

We taste the 2019 Riserva, made from a single, higher-elevation site full of 50-year-old vines. The wine is impressive, more cassis-kirsch in aroma than the duo’s “normal” Chianti Classico. The texture is plush, seamless.       

Succession plans were on my mind almost from the start at this estate. Riccardo isn’t too too old, but he plays the role of an ancient codger to the hilt. On my second visit, in 2013, I remember him lamenting his children’s lack of interest in working the land around his farm. I think he was exaggerating. His daughter is around the farm, taking care of the agriturismo. It is assuring to meet Massimiliano, to get a sense of his character. He’s amiable, and full of energy. I like his ideas. I also like the relationship he shares with Riccardo. I think things will change at Pruneto in the years ahead. But not too much.