A few years ago, I sat in Camillo Favaro’s kitchen and watched him stir a pot of rice. He was making Risotto all’Erbaluce. Through the window I could see the sun was setting on his “Le Chiusure” vineyard, which carpets the entrance to his home and winery like a suburban front lawn would. We chatted about wine, life, and Bruce Springsteen lyrics. In that moment, seeing him standing at the stove transported me back to the first time he had made this risotto for me. It was nearly twenty years earlier, in the kitchen of my tiny rental apartment in Southern California. He and his partner, Antonella Frate, had made the long trip from Italy to meet clients and introduce people to Erbaluce di Caluso. At the time, I worked for Camillo’s first US importer—a now-defunct, three-person operation with zero marketing or travel budget. I had driven to LAX to pick them up in my two-door Honda Civic, wondering the entire drive how I would fit two adults and all their luggage into the back seat. Determined to save every possible cent, they slept on the floor of my living room.
     When we arrived home from the airport that night, even after traveling all day, Camillo and Antonella insisted on making dinner. I was familiar with the basic premise of risotto—Arborio or Carnaroli rice toasted in a pan, with wine and broth slowly added until a glossy sauce coated the grains. But in my house growing up, it was strictly a special occasion meal. I was raised in the era of microwave dinners and Pop-Tarts, the philosophical opposite of the slow, patience-testing process required by risotto. Camillo assured me his was nothing special: nothing but an everyday meal!
     Years later, this same dish reappeared during a trip to Burgundy. Camillo and Giampaolo Gravina had co-authored a book called Wines and Vineyards of Burgundy. I accompanied them for a month of tasting and research in France, and one evening, we were invited to dinner by a producer in Meursault. Charmingly (and typically) Italian, Giampaolo and Camillo insisted on cooking that night. In addition to the coffee, cheeses, pasta, and basic groceries they hadn’t left Italy without, they had all the necessities for this specific dish: the rice, the olive oil, and Camillo’s own Erbaluce.
     Witnessing Camillo stir the rice that night, I saw the dish for what it is: a living symbol of friendship. Every time I smell Camillo Favaro’s Erbaluce hitting a hot pan of rice, it recalls a lifelong bond that began between a bunch of broke kids in a cramped kitchen. Camillo is never just cooking dinner, just as he is never simply making wine. He is offering a piece of his home and his heart. It is a humble gesture, generously given with no expectations, only the quiet, enduring promise of connection.
     They say in Italy, “Il riso nasce nell’acqua ma deve morire nel vino” (Rice is born in water, but it dies in wine). If you’d like to honor that tradition, Camillo’s complete lineup has just landed. From his rare rosato and three red bottlings to his flagship Erbaluce di Caluso, these are wines of place, heart, and memory.

Recreate the dish that started it all with Camillo and Joanie’s own Risotto all’Erbaluce recipe here.