Every day, Marino walks silently between the neat rows of barrels, in the fragrant half-light of the historic Acetaia La Vecchia Dispensa. In these very first days of December, there is something different in the air, something magical. A charming atmosphere surrounds the room and seems to turn it into a stage for a show that started many, many years ago.
As usual, the air is full of aromas: old wood, cooked must and time. Every breath has a story, and Marino, the Master Conductor, is familiar with all of them in all the details. Suddenly, he stops in front of a dark barrel and puts his arm over it, as if she were an old friend.
‘Black Pearl,’ he whispers with a smile, talking softly, as if the balsamic could hear him. ‘You’ve come a long way this year, huh? Four international awards, do you realise? From this small place of our home to the world’s most challenging palates. And to think that it all began here, within these walls.’
Marino tilted his head to look at the dark reflection of the balsamic he had just dropped on a small porcelain spoon. Slowly moving the drop to the white walls, he tests its perfection. ‘Tell me, what does it feel like to be so admired? You are like a work of art, you know? Each drop encloses years of patience, of care. Every bottle that has your name on it is about us, about the hands that cared for you and about the sun that caressed your grapes. Marino laughs softly, shaking his head. ‘Not that you needed these awards, mind you. You are already the proud of us. But I confess that seeing it makes you shine a little brighter. It is as if the whole world has realised how special you are.’
After a brief moment of silence, Marino stands up and walks towards a table where a steaming meal is waiting for him. Knowing that he would be there until late, Simone has been kind to bring him something to fill his stomach. He has chosen well. On the plate, a celebration of the rich simplicity of tradition: pumpkin ravioli with taleggio cheese fondue and balsamic vinegar. Next to it, a small 250ml bottle of Perla Nera.
‘Look at this,’ said Marino, still looking at the balsamic. ‘These ravioli look just perfect like this. You complete the dish, you give it life. You are not just a condiment, you are a story, a journey.’ Sitting down, he picks up his fork and eagerly tastes. ‘There, that’s your magic. Amazing how you always manage to connect everything. The sweetness of the pumpkin, the strength of the taleggio, the warmth of the dish. You are like time, you know? Invisible, but essential.’ Marino tastes the dish slowly, closing his eyes, as if to savour every nuance.
‘Thank you, Black Pearl. You represent us and have been able to bring our work and our story by every drop, to any latitude. Who knows how many more awards will come…. but what really matters, is that every drop is a reflection of who we are.’
The Master walks towards the exit, leaving the enveloping atmosphere of the Acetaia behind him. He carries with him a deep sense of pride, certain that every drop of the Vecchia Dispensa Balsamic Vinegar is a true living tale, able to cross time and plates around the world.
