Paolo Pasini of Villa Picta is a young vignaiolo working on a little under four hectares in the small village of Villimpenta, nestled in the broad, flat Po River valley—a valley with such a wide horizon it seems to go on forever. Technically, this zone is known as Mantua; the wine region is Lambrusco Mantovano. These triangulating sentences, however, about our friend Paolo’s location convey little of the efforts this vinegrower exerts, working almost entirely alone, to produce startling, unique wines in a place where, essentially, very few people understand or care.

We start with Lambrusco itself: gods, the misunderstanding about this family of grapes—and that’s what it is, a family. There are around a dozen unique grapes under the umbrella Lambrusco, not clones, but true distinct varieties. Indeed this family is one of the most ancient we have here on viticultural Earth; there’s research that shows some of these grape varieties (Sorbara, for example) are extremely close to the vine’s wild forest origins, i.e. vitis sylvestris. Paolo shared with us that archaeological sites have been found in the wider region with preserved grape pips – some thousands of years old – and they’re an identical match with some contemporary Lambrusco grapes. And then others of the varieties – like Grasparossa – are much closer to the vinifera side of things. The potential in the Lambrusco family is sort of endless; imagine if Pinot Noir were not one, but twelve.

Why should any of this matter? Well, because most Americans and indeed a great deal of the world has been only drinking an industrial, total joke version of these grape varieties, the semi-sweet, characterless plonk we usually see in Little Italy or random bars here in New York. In these, just as in industrial Prosecco, there’s no sense of specifics: variety, climate, soil, energy. The true shame is that the Lambrusco grapes absolutely can show all of these things, with the same type of elegance and drive for which many other Italian red varieties are celebrated (ahem, Nebbiolo). The real Lambrusco, given its many iterations, is by turns mineral, herbal, darkly fruited, earthen, floral, pointed like an arrow. And the frizzante thing is really only a minor dimension of the wine; Paolo tells us, “Bubbles are only the frame; you should be able to drink the wine still with equal impression.”

It’s also complicated at Villa Picta because of geography. Paolo lives in the borderlands: at the meeting of Lombardia and the Veneto, in the open embrace of the plains of the Po. Again, this is technically Lambrusco Mantovano, but Villa Picta isn’t even located in the only two DOCs recognized here; in fact he’s in “front” of the Po, whereas the DOCs are above or “behind” the river. When our team visited, we walked the one long street that leads from the small cantina to the local church of the village—the silhouette is the logo on the labels—and Paolo shows us we’re right at the edge of both Lombardia and the Veneto, that this simple road on which he lives and works is itself the border. When it’s hard to place where exactly you are, it can be hard to tell the story of what the wines are, too.

The final thing, perhaps, that makes these wines hard to contextualize is the terrain: wine people get a bit obsessed about mountains, steepness, aspect, elevation. It’s true that all these factors, especially when the viticulture and the maker’s hand is good, can render deeply beautiful wines. But it’s not the case that a place which is flat may not be right for the vine: here, you can tell that many of these varieties have adapted beautifully, and probably for a long time, to the pure sand and limestone on which all the Villa Picta vineyards are planted. Paolo says that these soils are the “spine” of the wines, and the little bit of clay that’s deeper down is “the lungs.” Linearity and depth, bone and breath.

Between the confusion of borders; the deep, decades-old misunderstanding about and abuse of the grape family Lambrusco; and the misplaced focus on severe topography, aspect, and elevation—these are the odds working against Villa Picta being recognized for the caliber of wine being made. As we’ve gotten to know this winery, it’s become clear this battle is chosen with full awareness. Not only is this Paolo’s family’s home for several generations, but he’s not the type of vignaiolo to be told he can’t do it, nor is he the type to chase fame and fortune. What moves Paolo is on the ground and in the ground—the vines—as well as the process of coaxing something deep, refined, and piercing out of these plants. His emphasis is on vineyard work, hand labor, and gentle farming; the pruning, largely cordone speronato, is done with intense care and respect. We’re reminded of the literary resonance here—Mantua is where Shakespeare’s Romeo famously is sent to exile from out of Verona—and from out of a sense of exile in the wider wine world, we’re being gifted some very special work.

Obviously, we’ve spoken mostly about the Lambrusco Ruberti—absolutely it is not to be missed, and you should lay six bottles down and watch what extraordinary stuff it does after four or five years in bottle (!). But there’s two other wines that form the trio of the diamond-cut: his Metodo Classico Rosato, called ‘Sognare, Sognare!,’ and ‘Terra,’ his still red—both wines proving the intense mineral imprint of the zone, the lapidary acidity, and the both pretty and brambly black fruit available here: Lambrusco Sorbara and Marzemino + Merlot, respectively. Taken as a suite, these three wines put Villa Picta at the table in a number of wine regions far, far better known than this. And there are two more sparkling wines besides: ‘Melampo,’ which is a melodic little number balancing the sapidity of Garganega, the fruit of Pinot Bianco, and the aromatics of Malvasia; and ‘Mangiafuoco,’ the color of pomegranates, Paolo’s attempt to play with plush, riotous fruit—given by Pinot Meunier—which he tucks into a corset with the tense, delicate Sorbara.

We’re so happy to be working with a grower like Villa Picta—are the wines of an auteur, even if he’s just as likely to make you listen to Scottish pirate metal while he gives you a lecture on the history of Lambrusco. We need more intensely focused, intelligent small cantina like these, even operating on the verge of exile. They give us wines and tell us stories we didn’t know we needed.