All of the great growers of Piemonte gave Romano Levi their grape pomace which he would distill.  With Romano Levi, the grappa is only part of the story. The other half is scrawled across the label—hand-drawn flowers, strange poetry, maybe a date or a thought scribbled just for the moment. This 1991 “Fiori di Marcorino” is pure Levi: rough-edged, haunting, and somehow beautiful.

It smells like flowers in a dusty room, herbs from a forgotten garden, and grape skins dried in the sun. There’s no polish, no flash—just spirit, literally and figuratively. It’s floral and fiery, with a rustic grace that modern distillers don’t even try to chase anymore.

“Fiori di Marcorino” roughly translates to “Flowers of Marcorino”—a nod to Levi’s poetic, imaginary world. But drink this, and it’s not so imaginary. It’s a time capsule from Piedmont, written in vapor and grape.