Demetrio went on to explain to Carter how he was planning to rack the new wine, to move it from one barrel into the other in order to filter out the sediment, the dead yeast, and the fruit debris from the grapes.This he would accomplish by siphoning the wine from the first barrel with a thin hose. To get the process started, Demetrio sat down next to the full barrel, put the hose into his mouth, and drew out the air like he was sucking on a straw. Soon the wine began to gush forth in a splash of red. Demetrio quickly wrapped a cloth over the end of the hose to filter the wine, before bending the hose to halt the flow. He motioned for Giorgio and Carter to sit next to him, and soon the three men were taking turns drinking the wine straight from the barrel. Carter had never tasted anything so sweet and robust, and it filled him with a deliciously warm sensation. The hose was passed around again, and Carter took another healthy gulp.

“What do you think?” said Demetrio. “Not bad, eh?”

“Delizioso,” said Carter.

“Better even than last year’s,” opined Giorgio. He nodded to Carter. “Demetrio makes the best wine in Castelalto.”

Their verdicts pleased the old man, and he let them pass the hose around for one last taste before he stuck it into the empty barrel.While they waited for the barrel to fill, the three men settled back and stretched out their legs.

Giorgio let out a contented sigh, and gave Carter a wink.

“What do you say, Demetrio?” he asked. “Can you buy wine like that in the store?”

Demetrio gave a solemn shake of his head.

“Ha!” laughed Giorgio. Then he turned to Carter and gave him a nudge.

“So tell me, Carter,” he said. “Did you enjoy dinner yesterday?”

“Of course,” Carter replied. “It was incredible.”

“What did you eat?” asked Demetrio with sincere interest.

Carter recounted the menu for him

“Ahh, che bello pranzo,” sighed Demetrio. “What a nice meal. What was your favorite thing?”

“The lamb,” said Carter without hesitation. “It’s one of my favorite things to eat.”

“Really?” said Giorgio. He sat back and gave another sigh. “Mine is mushrooms,” he said wistfully. “I love mushrooms. I could eat them every day. If they had mushroom-flavored gelato, I would buy it! Someday I will show you how to cook them. I’m a pretty good chef, you know.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Carter with a smile. “But do you know how to make gelato? That’s something else I love.”

“No, I don’t make gelato,” confessed Giorgio. “But I know a good place where we can get some tomorrow, when we go for our ride.”

When the barrel was full and stowed away in the shed, Giorgio clapped his hands together to signify that it was time for them to go.

“Basta,” he said. “Basta di pasta—”