In the fall of 1973, a new batch of French oak barrels arrived at the Cantarella estate. They were meant for ageing the winery’s finest Merlot, a wine of which the family was proud. Among the clean barrels was one that seemed slightly different, not in size or shape, but in spirit. Old Carlo, the master winemaker, swore it was cursed. “This barrel,” he muttered, his thick mustache quivering, “has a mind of its own.” The others laughed, attributing the master’s concerns to old age and old superstitions. Before long, the barrel began to live up to Carlo’s warnings, showing its malice.

The first incident occurred during the harvest festival, a boisterous event filled with music, dancing, and plenty of wine. Late that night, the troublesome barrel somehow rolled out of the cellar and into the courtyard, where it crashed into the dessert table, sending a cascade of tiramisu flying over the crowd.

“Ah, it’s just the slope of the floor,” said Marco, Carlo’s nephew, as he rolled the barrel back, using a pipe to help him. But Carlo shook his head.

— “Mark my words,” he muttered, “this barrel has personality.”

Over the next few weeks, the barrel earned its nickname: The Mischievous One. Somehow, it always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tools carefully placed next to it would disappear, only to be found inside the barrel days later. The cellar dog, Bruno, would bark angrily at it, as if whispering a canine insult. And then there was the moment when an inexplicable puddle of wine leaked out, despite the barrel being completely empty.

Like any narrative, the story of the wicked barrel has a climax, and it came during a visit from the winery’s most prestigious client, a French sommelier named Jean-Claude, whose fine palate could make or break a vintage.

Jean-Claude was inspecting the cellar when he noticed the barrel, oddly placed in the middle of the room. “This one?” he asked, pointing at the hero of our saga. Carlo’s heart sank.

— “Yeah,” Marco lied nervously, “it’s our… uh… special reserve barrel.”

Jean-Claude insisted on tasting the wine in it. There had been only one problem: the barrel was empty. In a moment of panic, Marco ran to get some Merlot from another barrel to fill it. But in his haste, he tripped, splashing wine on the barrel and the sommelier.

It was chaos: Jean-Claude was shouting in French, Marco was struggling on the floor, and Carlo was looking at the barrel as if it were smiling at him.

Despite the disaster, Jean-Claude found humor in the situation.

— “This,” he said, wiping wine from his face, “is passion. A wine made with so much drama must be extraordinary!” He took a sip of the hastily poured Merlot and declared it superb.

Word of the incident spread, and Cantarella’s Mischievous Merlot became the winery’s best-selling label. To honor the barrel, the family displayed it in the tasting room, where visitors often smiled for photos with the infamous troublemaker.

Many years later, when Carlo died, the family found a small note hidden in the mischievous barrel. In his careful handwriting, he had written: “A little mischief makes life interesting. And good wine, even more so.”

The note now hangs above the barrel, reminding all who visit the Cantarella Winery that wine, like life, is best enjoyed with a touch of humor, a touch of nostalgia, and a willingness to embrace the unexpected. And what about the barrel? Well, every now and then, the staff swears they hear it creaking… on its own.

I straddled a stave in glory and told you the whole story.