Rethinking Chianti: How Ottomani Brings Life Back to Tuscany’s Most Misunderstood Wine

Tuscan wines are, in many ways, a symbol of Italian winemaking. Those storybook hills lined with elegant cypresses draw thousands of visitors every year, and the Tuscan light has long been part of global artistic mythology, captured by poets, writers, and painters.

E. M. Forster, in A Room with a View, set in Florence, wrote: “One does not come to Italy for niceness. One comes for life.”

I adore Tuscan reds. Vino Nobile and Brunello can make every sense sharpen, that little pause before the first sip feels like the start of something important. Yet, after too many disappointing glasses, Chianti became the one name that made me hesitate, especially when it appears by the glass on a restaurant list.

A similar moment happened a couple of weeks ago in Frankfurt. Meeting a friend at one of our favourite wine spots, I noticed a Chianti from a producer I did not know at all: Ottomani, which translates as “eight hands.” Curiosity, plus the owner’s stubbornly confident recommendation, won over my prejudice, and we ordered it.

The wine was nothing like the Chianti that had trained me to be cautious. It was alive, aromatic, surprisingly layered, red and dark berries with a floral lift, soft and delicate tannins, and a freshness that felt more like meadow herbs than heavy oak. It was pure joy, and one more reminder that wine is an art form, full of secrets, and that reputations, both good and bad, are rarely the full story.

Tuscany, and a small fact that says a lot.

If Tuscany feels timeless, it is partly because it has been thinking about place and origin for a very long time. One little-known detail that always makes me smile is this: in 1716, Grand Duke Cosimo III de’ Medici formally defined the boundaries for the production area of what we now call Chianti Classico, effectively creating one of the earliest modern “designation of origin” systems.

It is a beautiful contradiction. The region is romantic, yes, but it is also structured, precise, and historically obsessed with the idea that land matters.

How Chianti earned its “complicated” reputation

Chianti’s reputation did not become shaky because the region lacks potential. It became shaky because success can be dangerous.

For decades, Chianti was exported in the iconic straw-covered bottle, the fiasco. That packaging became a global symbol, but also a shortcut in the consumer imagination: inexpensive, cheerful, predictable. Over time, as demand grew, many wines chased volume and consistency instead of identity. The result was a wave of underwhelming bottles that trained drinkers to expect something rustic, thin, or overly standardised. Jancis Robinson published an article about how “decades of excess” damaged Chianti’s standing, to the point that by the mid-1970s even bottlers agreed the fiasco image had to go.

That is how a place that can produce truly thrilling Sangiovese ended up, unfairly, as a category many people approach with skepticism.

And yet, that is the key point: Chianti is not one taste. It is a landscape of choices. Everything depends on the producer, the farming, and the decisions made in the cellar.

Meeting Ottomani, and why this Chianti tastes different

After that first glass in Frankfurt, I wanted to understand who was behind it. I spoke with Alessandro, one of the partners at Ottomani, and from the first minutes you could hear the calm confidence of someone who is not performing “marketing Chianti,” but building a long-term vision.

Ottomani began around 17 to 18 years ago, not as an inherited family estate, but as a project started by friends. The name itself tells the story: “eight hands.” Four people, sharing work, risk, and decision-making. Over time, the team expanded, and Alessandro described how they grew from those original “eight hands” into a larger group, while keeping one shared sensibility: decisions are discussed together, without the internal conflicts that often appear when multiple people steer one winery.

What struck me most was that their philosophy starts in the vineyard, not in the sales pitch.

From the beginning, Ottomani committed to organic farming and a broader idea of biodiversity. They avoid synthetic chemicals, rely on very low, controlled amounts of copper and sulfur when necessary, and work with cover crops (what Alessandro called sovescio), a mix of plants and flowers that keeps the soil alive and encourages pollinators. The goal is not a sterile vineyard, but a living ecosystem where nature balances itself.

This is not just romance. It is a practical foundation for a winemaking style that relies on clean fruit rather than heavy correction. Alessandro emphasised something that matters deeply for natural-leaning wines: if you want to intervene less in the cellar, you have to be strict in the vineyard. Their approach involves multiple selection passes, reducing yields, and removing imperfect bunches early so the remaining fruit can reach better ripeness. That work is painstaking, and largely done by hand.

It also connects to another theme: old vines.

Ottomani is based in the northern part of Chianti Classico, in the area of Strada in Chianti, between Greve in Chianti and Impruneta. Alessandro explained that renting vineyards early on, rather than owning everything, gave them access to older parcels, including vines 50 to 60 years old, which they view almost as monuments. This is a worldview that flips the usual economic logic. Old vines may give less quantity, but they can give depth, nuance, and that quiet intensity you feel in the glass.

The estate today counts about 15 hectares in production, and the winery completed a new cellar in 2018, built with an eco-sustainable approach.

Concrete, amphora, and a refusal to “make Chianti taste like wood”

In the cellar, Ottomani’s choices are almost an argument with modern expectations.

For their Chianti Classico, Alessandro described a traditional path that prioritises freshness: fermentation and aging in concrete, not in new oak. That is not a small technical detail, it is a statement. Concrete provides thermal stability and gentle micro-oxygenation, without the flavour imprint of barrels. Their own technical notes describe spontaneous fermentation in concrete vats, with extended maceration and about 14 months of aging in concrete.

This matters because one reason Chianti lost part of its charm, and its identity, was the tendency to chase power and points with heavy oak and international styling. Alessandro’s critique was clear: too much barrel, too much correction, too little fruit, and too little place.

Ottomani also experiments with terracotta amphora, specifically from Impruneta, a town south of Florence famous for its terracotta tradition going back to Etruscan and Roman times. Impruneta’s clay has even been historically associated with Florentine architecture, including materials chosen for major building projects, which makes the link between earth, craft, and wine feel even more poetic.

Alessandro spoke about long skin contact and the way porous terracotta allows oxygen exchange, shaping texture while keeping freshness. Whether you love amphora wines or approach them cautiously, the intent is consistent: less makeup, more character.

Chianti, reimagined: freshness, drinkability, and real identity

When I asked Alessandro about Chianti’s image today, he did not deny the problem. He acknowledged that, outside Italy, Chianti is often seen as less exciting than it deserves to be. But his diagnosis was also hopeful: the path forward is not to imitate other regions or to polish Sangiovese into something unrecognisable. It is to return to fruit, balance, and authenticity.

He also noted how climate change is reshaping the vineyard rhythm: earlier harvest decisions, more weather extremes, more unpredictability. This is another reason why scattered parcels, careful farming, and old vines can be an advantage. Not because it is trendy, but because it creates resilience.

On markets, Ottomani’s story is quietly impressive. Rather than relying on mass marketing, they work with smaller importers and the most powerful promotional tool of all: word of mouth. Alessandro mentioned strong traction in places that appreciate artisanal, low-intervention wines, including Japan and Canada, particularly Quebec.

None of this feels like a brand strategy built in a boardroom. It feels like an organic consequence of doing the work.

That Frankfurt bottle of Ottomani did something simple, and important. It reminded me that a region’s reputation is a summary of other people’s shortcuts. Your own experience should be built on the producers who are actually pushing the place forward.

Chianti can be extraordinary, but only when it is treated as a living landscape, not an industrial category. Ottomani is proof of that. Their wines have energy, clarity, and a sense of origin that makes you want to take another sip, not because it is “easy,” but because it is honest.

And maybe that is the most Tuscan lesson of all. In every famous region, there are still hidden treasures, small estates quietly doing the real work, waiting for you to taste with curiosity instead of assumptions.