The beginning of a story that ends who knows where

In the beginning there was Peter Weimer, aka Pete.

And Pete was Cascina Ebreo: a Swiss computer nerd with a passion for unfindable bottles, cigarettes smoked at dawn and an untameable desire to share both wines and cigarettes.


It’s the late 80s and Pete buys a couple of hectares in Novello,

a village with a population of 1042 set on one of the last hills in the Langhe on the south-western edge of the Barolo appellation. The story goes that when Pete and his wife moved definitively to Novello in 1993, they brought with them a lorry-load of wines collected from all over the world. Before he started making wine, Pete wanted to get people to taste wine: his neighbours, his friends, and anyone who looked at him as if he had two heads.

Every defect in the vineyard is a correction in the winery. We strive to not have faults. Those we can’t avoid, we accept and defend.

Anarchy in the langhe

Pete wanted to make wine in the Langhe, not the wine of the Langhe.

It wasn’t easy: anarchy and Barolo are not exactly synonymous.

Pete wanted to make non-conformist wines; rebellious, insane and delicious, as every wine should be. He was forced to give up the denomination, or he gave it up deliberately. He tended to his vineyard with a ferocious passion (they say he worked more than 700 hours a year for “only” two hectares) and, with equally ferocious curiosity, he experimented endlessly with his wines.

Whether he achieved his goals, no one can say. His wines were (those that have already been drunk) and are (those remaining) something ineffable, outside the box and the conventions of the Langhe. They are undoubtably extreme; wines for radical experiences.

Leaving a mark

Every story of growth is a story of choices, and every choice is a sacrifice.

Pete took the decision to leave Cascina Ebreo, but not before he’d left his mark on the winery. He did this by surrounding himself with friends, oenologists, connoisseurs and simple enthusiasts, who understood and deeply appreciated what he was doing.

Pete’s work, until then solitary and pioneering, became a shared lesson: the possibility of regarding the Langhe as a place for experimentation, a training ground for the production of wines that seek not to reproduce themselves, restating the obvious, but rather to become themselves.

It’s not us who give the wine time, it’s the wine that takes it.