Winemaking is the occasion for further rituals, from the harvest to the pressing of the grapes to the bottling, including a feast from which emanates the odor of must, a perfume unique to Apulia. The area's wines - like the genuine, sincere and robust Dauni that go well with starchy foods (the Gargano area is known as the granary of Italy), red meat, savory game, and fresh fish - have a sunny taste.
Cerasuoli wines are delicate and dry, while Salento whites are dry and brilliant, with a fresh bouquet, and go well with foods descended from the ancient Greeks. (It seems that the Greeks were given sumptuous Archestrato wine by Salentine cooks and were thus released from the monotony of Spartan discipline to cultivate gentler ways and customs). The wines of the Taranto area range from the ruby-colored reds to sweet wines, from primitive wines to the slightly sparkling ones of the Valle d'Itria. These wines are an excellent complement to the seafood from the area around Taranto, which was founded, according to legend, by the Spartan hero Falanto and the adventurous commander Taras, born of the union between Neptune and a nymph.

I should mention the Apulian's devotion to traditional food, particularly the meals eaten at Christmas, Easter, and other holydays, year after year. I am referring, for example, to the custom of serving thirteen courses - no more, no less - on Christmas Eve; to the scarcelle that a fiancee prepares for her beau at Easter; to the frappe made for the feast of Saint Joseph; and to the sweet taralli made for the Good Friday procession.

For the people of this place, as for the people of every land, food is memory, tradition, a body of ancestral tastes that must be passed on to younger generations. This cuisine is like the weapon given by the ancient warrior to his first-born son, like the wedding veil passed on from mother to daughter, like family jewels. This is a message to treasure, just as you would cherish the aroma of Apulian vegetables, parmigiana; rice, potato, and mussel casserole; ragu' meat sauces simmered for hours; fresh, multicolored salads;
sensuous, delectable seafood; or ricotta eaten warm right out of a reed basket. This should be your lasting image of Apulia, a place that has accepted the passage of time but has never really changed: clusters of hot peppers and baby tomatoes hanging outside windows as they have for centuries, next to long garlic braids used during the winter, but also intended to ward off the evil eye. And now our voyage is truly at an end.