“…a wedding feast lacking wine embarrasses the newlyweds – imagine finishing the wedding feast drinking tea? It would be an embarrassment!”
Those weren’t the words of some boozy sommelier or vineyard fanatic. That was Pope Francis, calling it like he saw it.
The man died this week at 88, and amid all the headlines about his progressive papacy and humble demeanor, most people missed something fundamental: Francis understood wine isn’t just something to drink—it is life itself.
Born to Italian immigrants in Buenos Aires, Pope Francis’ blood ran with the wines of Piedmont.
His grandfather grew Grignolino vines in the hills of Asti, not as some gentleman farmer hobby, but as survival, sustenance, celebration.
In Buenos Aires, faded Vatican flags still hang from apartment balconies, sun-bleached reminders of local pride when this Argentine son ascended to the papal throne in 2013.
The yellows are now honeyed with age, the whites gone dusty—like a properly cellared bottle, they’ve evolved but endured.
Francisco, as they called him back home, didn’t hide his enjoyment of the grape. The man drank Alta Langa Brut while flying at 35,000 feet over the Alps.
Not for show. Not for the ceremony. But because sometimes life hands you good wine at high altitude, and only a fool turns that down.
The Vatican City consumes more wine per capita than anywhere else on Earth. Around 79 liters per person annually—almost 99 bottles a year.
Sure, the numbers are skewed by its tiny citizenship, but still—this microstate runs on vino.
When Francis spoke to Italian winemakers, he didn’t give them pious platitudes. He told them: “Wine, land, farming skills and entrepreneurial ability are gifts from God. But they must be used with sensitivity and honesty, to bring joy to every man, not just those who have more.”
Sensitivity. Honesty. Joy. Words that apply equally to making wine and living well.
What made Francis remarkable in today’s sanitized world of public figures was his willingness to celebrate wine openly, unapologetically.
No PR team rushing to clarify his comments. No backpedaling about the “dangers of alcohol.” Just honest appreciation for one of civilization’s oldest pleasures.
In an era where world leaders are coached into bland, inoffensive statements, Francis spoke about wine with refreshing candor. He understood its place in human connection, in breaking bread, in marking both the sacred and profane moments that make a life.
He recognized what we all know but rarely hear acknowledged: that sometimes, the best conversations happen over a second bottle.
That sometimes, the mysteries of existence make a little more sense with a glass in hand.
That wine isn’t just alcohol—it’s agriculture, history, craftsmanship, and communion all bottled together.
I’m excited to share wines from Piedmont in our upcoming Northern Italian collection—the very region where Pope Francis’s family roots ran deep. We’re tracing his vinous heritage through bottles that speak of that same terroir his grandfather once cultivated.
So when you finally pull the cork, think about Francis—a man who remembered that joy was meant to be shared, not rationed; celebrated, not scrutinized.
Remember that life, when it’s good, is messy and communal and slightly chaotic, like the best kind of feast.
Raise your glass the way he would have wanted: laughing, surrounded by friends, with absolutely no tea in sight.
Salute,
Diego
