It was a brawny, sunburned little wine from a cooperative whose vineyards ring the medieval town of Copertino, deep in the heel of Italy’s boot, that was the subject of the first piece I ever wrote for the Globe. I was smitten by the wine’s savory, dry red fruit and raspy texture and said so. It struck me then that this was just the kind of wine I wanted to bring to the attention of readers. Re-tasted recently, it still pleased me. Apparently little had changed in the 15 intervening years — in the wine or in my taste.
How things change or stay the same has been on my mind lately, since this is my final column in this space (I’m stepping away to take a job in the industry). I would like to think that I remained open to new experiences and ideas over the years, but I have a strong suspicion I leave with more or less the same convictions that I came with. The world of wine has not stood still, though, and it seems appropriate to devote these last lines to reflecting on some of the changes I have observed and speculate on which seem ephemeral and which may be destined to endure.