It's impossible to explain in a few words what my friend Charles Scicolone, wine director of the shop Vino on West 27th Street in Manhattan, wants from wine. No matter what I say I'll get it wrong and get in trouble. It's a good thing that Scicolone is one of the nicest people on earth, because he doesn't come across that way when he's talking about wine.

To sum it up: He pretty much hates everything wine has become. He likes the way wine used to be.

I know he likes Italian wine. I know he likes aged wine. I know he likes wine that does not taste of new oak—what is called barrique wine.

The other day he opened a few of his favorites at a restaurant called Pizza Fresca on 20th Street in Manhattan. I don't know if the pizzas are always as good as they were that night, but if they are, this place makes the best pies in Manhattan.

If you want to try wines unlike those that are fashionable these days—highly extracted, highly oaked, and not particularly typical of the regions from which they originate—you should stop in at Vino and purchase a few of his wines.

The wine that most fascinated me was a 1982 Tuscan red called Vecchia Annata, made by the Grati family of the Chianti Rufini zone. If you want a 1982 Bordeaux at a shop selling French wines, it could easily run you $400. This wine is about $40. It's classified as a red table wine because it was kept around in the cellars in big barrels for so long it became a victim of official rules and regulations and lost its classification as a Chianti.

It's not a great wine. It's merely a very good wine, made almost entirely from the Sangiovese grape. It's sweet, soft, and shockingly fresh. You'll like it a lot, and you'll understand a little better how Italy is supposed to taste.

Got a beef with Alan Richman?
In need of food-and-wine advice? E-mail him at AlanRichman@GQ.com. He’ll respond each week right here on ‘Forked’