Il Bar PratoI settled into the webbed seat at a table in front of the Il Fiaschetteria in Montalcino. The drive from Siena was beautiful, as all the hills and valleys had begun to mix the slightly baked and tawny colors of fall with the vibrant purple and green of the vineyards on either side of the road. The hills yawned up, and then down again, as the Maserati glided over the pavement with perfect confidence.
I had worked up an appetite during my conversation with Cosco, which the wine helped to stimulate, and I was ready for lunch at this little bar before meeting with Sergio Berconi. The waiter brought a pitcher of chilled white wine and a basket of bread, then stood with pad and pencil in hand. I hadn't looked at a menu, didn't even know if they had one, but I assumed that I would ju
