I rarely travel to Montalcino during the summer months. Between the heat and the hordes of tourists descending upon the Rome airport during this time of year, my preference is to stay put in the US for July and August, content to dip my toes in the pool. But a special invitation to celebrate a friend’s birthday got me excited to brave the summer hassles for an end-of-August visit back to the village. Jay stayed home to watch Luna (he hates short hops over the pond), but I am never one to shy away from a party.

On my drive up from Rome, as I turned up the hill to Montalcino, it was the grapes I noticed first: those big, beautiful, fat clusters hanging from the vines. They always make my heart skip a beat. I didn’t sleep well on the flight, so the solo 2 1/2 hour drive from Rome was a bit tough this go-around. So my drive meant lots of espresso stops and singing to myself loudly in the car. I was beyond ready for bed when I arrived at my apartment late morning.

After unpacking and getting the apartment in order, I thought a pisolino (a nap) would fix things. After a quick light lunch, I turned on a few fans (damn, it was hot!) and sprawled out. Well, my little nap turned into an all-night slumber fest until 6 the next morning, when my alarm went off.

Very little keeps me from my morning ritual of watching the sunrise. Luckily, this late in the summer, sunrise wasn’t until about 6:30. So, as usual, I made my first espresso, grabbed my camera, and tucked in to await the first rays. I have a little sunroom off my little balcony that is my perch for watching and waiting for the sunrise.

After a second espresso, I couldn’t wait to get out the door to photograph the grapes. I still remember the excitement of seeing the clusters on the vine that first time many, many years ago. That thrill will never subside. Up close, I am always amazed by how beautiful they are. No two clusters are alike. By late August, they are a gorgeous jumble of shades of dusty purple, blue, even pink, and the odd green grape.

After much trial and error, a few years ago I finally found a dusty, bumpy road that runs alongside several vineyards where the grapevines stretch on forever. I have ample room to park on the side of the road and shoot photos of the grapes to my heart’s content.

So far, no one has chased me away, and although I am always tempted to reach out and taste a grape or two, I am always too afraid that an alarm would sound.

The road this time was heavily rutted from recent storms. And in my little Fiat Punto, it was a bit of a rough go to get back to the vineyards. I felt that I had earned my place alongside the vines after bouncing, scraping, and raising clouds of dust just to get back there.

And I was not disappointed.

A special invitation to join me for the next year…..

If you have been reading along for a while, you know that this little village holds a very special place in my heart. I’ve been returning for nearly 20 years now, and for the past decade, I’ve been lucky enough to call a small apartment here my own.

Over all my years of returning, I have slowly come to recognize something that I have only recently been able to name. There is a rhythm to life here in the village, a rhythm that seems to be inseparable from the vines that surround it.

My dream has been for one complete year, I want to follow that rhythm a little more closely. I want to pay closer attention to what one complete turn of the vineyard year will reveal – through the vines, the table, the landscape, and the village. I want to share what I learn and what my returning years have already shown me.

And it took me a while, but I finally settled on a name: Among the Vines.

I hope that when the year has made a full turn that these stories, images, and recipes will make their way into a new (possibly expanded) issue of our magazine (or maybe a book???) Exactly what that will look like will take shape over the year ahead. I am excited to see what unfolds.

But for now, I would simply love for you to come along.

Let’s see what unfolds.

Roast Chicken with Figs, Fennel and Shallots

Let’s talk figs – beautiful ripe figs! They were everywhere during my recent visit to Montalcino – at the Friday village market, in the supermarket, hanging from trees on my morning walk, peeled and roasted alongside meat at my friend’s party. (I sure would hate the job of peeling figs.)

I adore fresh figs. And apparently it must have something to do with my zodiac sign. I was reading an enticing Italy Segreta article – Which Iconic Italian Food Pairing Are You, According to Your Zodiac Sign? and sure enough, prosciutto and figs are my love language.

I have tried unsuccessfully over the years to grow a fig tree here in Pennsylvania, but having to wrap the darn tree to protect it from our winters always proves too much for me and my little fig tree lasts at most a season or two. So I have given up on owning a fig tree here in the US, and instead, I am content buying fresh figs whenever I can find them in our local market.

I usually eat figs very simply. I use them quite a bit on antipasti platters. Or give me a platter of ripe figs with some prosciutto, torn burrata, sprinkled nuts, a healthy drizzle of olive oil, and a grilled hunk of bread, and I am one happy girl. Great party trick as well. But those delicious roasted figs at the party got me thinking. What about roasting them with a chicken, as I have done with grapes? I decided to pair the figs with fennel and shallots. Dinner was born.

One other note that I want to share: I have become a huge fan of spatchcocking a chicken before roasting. The technique is surprisingly easy, and it produces a beautifully golden-bronze bird that cooks much more evenly in much less time. And there is no need to buy the very expensive spatchcocked chickens in the market. It is super simple to do yourself.

To spatchcock the chicken, remove the backbone with kitchen shears and press the chicken flat. It takes about 5 minutes. If this is your first time spatchcocking, this short video from Martha Stewart shows you how easy it is. And don’t toss that backbone! Put it in a bag in your freezer for your next batch of stock.

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And lastly, I wanted to share a final story….I was visiting with friends at their vineyard, chatting as the winemaker pulled unlabeled bottles from a large bin on the tractor and tucked them away on shelving for storage. Suddenly, he perked up.

“Michela – you have to take one of these bottles home for you and Giacomo.”

Now, our friends had generously gifted us plenty of bottles during our years of friendship, so I was a bit perplexed. What was so special about this unassuming bottle?

It was the Rosso from the 2024 harvest, the first year that Giacomo and I had helped with vendemmia. This bottle was filled with wine from grapes that we had helped harvest and sort with our own hands. Suddenly, this unassuming bottle felt anything but. I can’t wait to open it when we return to Montalcino.

And as I drove back to the village one morning, there in front of me was a truck with a sign of what was just beginning…..

Vendemmia 2026 is on! We are headed back to Montalcino tonight to help with the harvest at our friend’s vineyard – excited to be helping again this year. More soon from among the vines!

Un bacione!