Thinking of or else re-imagining what it exactly feels like to take a sip of a glass of good wine, all I could remember regardless of the conviviality of the setting is that cunning and divisive of the Florentines, the author, the historian, the diplomat and the statesman as well as the philosopher of power, Niccolò Machiavelli whose treatise The Prince brought him notoriety. At the time he wrote The Prince, he was banned from entering his own city of birth and after his death where he’ll be buried. During the exile years he stayed outside the walls of the City of Florence and in the countryside of the municipality of San Casciano. In San Casciano Machiavelli spent his days looking after his vineyard and at night he spent three-fourth of his nights sipping freshly pressed Tuscany wine, currently known by the name Machiavelli Winery at Sant’andrea In Percussina, San Casciano In Val Di Pesa, Florence.
For Machiavelli and his Roman predecessors and his contemporaries wine wasn’t a kind of drink people gulp for drinking sake. It was an instrument of conspiracy and Dionysian imagination that gave birth to magnificent cities and powerful elites of the cities of medieval Italy. Wine is not just a kluge that helps accelerate food digestion it was also a potion with politically inebriating effects that has inspired such controversial magnum opuses, such as The Prince and The Art of War.