With Marcolfo, I didn’t have to think for long. After just a few sips, I already had a man in mind. Mid-sixties, perhaps a little older. Italian. One of those gentlemen who make you realise pretty quickly that good style has very little to do with fashion.

I picture him somewhere near Siena. Late afternoon. He is sitting outside an old stone house, a newspaper and a small espresso in front of him. Dark trousers, white shirt, sleeves neatly rolled up. Perhaps an old watch on his wrist that he has worn for the past thirty years. Nothing about him is particularly striking. And yet you would probably look twice.

He is polite, but never effusive. His handshake is firm, his voice calm. The kind of man who takes an extra moment to think before answering. And probably the kind who, halfway through a good meal, starts telling stories that suddenly have everyone else around the table listening.

That is exactly how Marcolfo comes across to me.

This Cabernet Sauvignon doesn’t arrive with overripe fruit or grand gestures. It stands tall in the glass. Blackcurrant, dark cherry and a touch of plum skin meet dried herbs, graphite and earth. Everything feels serious, but never stern for the sake of it.

It is almost as if this man were sitting beside you after a long walk through the Tuscan hills. His shoes still slightly dusty, perhaps a few herbs he picked along the way tucked into his jacket pocket. He has known this landscape for decades. Every path, every hill, every shift in the weather. Ask him about it and he will tell you. But he would probably never make a big thing of it himself.

Even physically, the image fits. He is lean, wiry and upright. No broad-shouldered powerhouse. His strength comes from the way he carries himself. And that, for me, is exactly where the appeal of this wine lies. The tannins are firm, the acidity keeps it alert, and the fruit remains tightly focused through the centre. Everything has definition. Nothing loses its shape.

And the longer Marcolfo stays in the glass, the more I warm to this man.

That initial seriousness begins to soften. Beneath the controlled exterior, a certain warmth emerges. Perhaps even a dry sense of humour you would never have expected when you first met him. He rarely smiles, but when he does, he means it.

What makes this particularly interesting is that Cabernet Sauvignon could easily put on quite a show here. Tuscany, sunshine, an international grape variety, power. Marcolfo chooses a different path. It remains classical, dry and remarkably understated. Even with more than a decade of bottle age, it still feels focused and clear.

Perhaps that is why it fits Castell’in Villa so well. This old estate in Castelnuovo Berardenga, surrounded by woodland, vineyards and centuries of history. Here, Cabernet Sauvignon doesn’t feel like the international guest eager to prove that it can do Tuscany too. It feels more like someone who arrived a long time ago and has since become a natural part of the place.

The 2011 Marcolfo reminds me of exactly that older Italian gentleman sitting outside his stone house. Educated, traditional, slightly reserved, with a wonderfully dry sense of humour. Someone who has watched trends come and go and therefore sees absolutely no reason to chase after them.

You sit down with him intending to stay for just one espresso. Two hours later, you’re still there.