“Barbarians,” Vito began, as I slid into a chair across from him that evening at the bar in Trattoria Bettina. It was a sultry night, with little wind but a clear sky above. The tiny white lights that were strung across the edge of the bar gave it a festive appearance, and the lively chatter coming from the rows of patrons crowding the barstools contributed to the feeling.
“What about them?” I asked, waving to the waiter to bring another glass. Even on a warm, humid evening, Vito had his bottle of Nero d’Avola, a well-regarded red wine from the region, on the table. I might have ordered a chilly glass of white wine, or a sparkling Prosecco to beat the heat. But I didn’t expect my vintage mentor to change his ways.
“People use the modern meaning of the word, ‘barbarian,’ to think of these
