presents
The Secret
in the Heart
of the Mountain.
AAt the end of the winter, the mountain ridges were still covered by a foot-high layer of white that made the air chilly, despite the powerful sunrays that radiated heat and a feeling of spring onto the intrigued faces of the residents of Bormio.
Along Via Roma everyone was talking about it; in the shops as well as at the newsagent’s, but particularly in the taverns. Two years had passed since the earliest rumours of a secret invention which was left to age inside large oak barrels circled with red at the heart of the mountain.
Yet, finding out more about it
was impossible.
Along the town streets, alternating between casual chat and blessings, even Don Giulio—who, of course, knew every detail about the life and times of his townsfolk—was eagerly asking for news about that genuine distillate, flavoured with herbs, roots and fruits from the Valtelline that kept everyone talking but remained a mystery.
It was, after all, a secret carefully
kept by the Peloni family.
Back in 1875, in such a small town no secret could be truly kept for long. But this case was surrounded by absolute secrecy.
In the stua—a typical mountain tavern—that overlooks Via Roma to this day, Francesco Peloni, the apothecary’s son and a witness to his father’s work, was not only planning to distil a sublime balance of flavours into his amaro.
He also wanted to choose a name for it that sounded important, and that represented its well-grounded roots in the local area: Braulio, after one of the peaks that crown the Bormio valley.
When aromas emanated out of the apothecary shop, teasing the nostrils of the residents, they would compete to see who got the most ingredients right. It was amazing: at every sip, they tasted something different, owing to the subtle complexity of its balance.
someone would scream at Bagni Romani, the ancient local Roman spas, a place devoted to the perfumes of Alpine essences in which the wayfarers en route to Stelvio would find refreshment and get some rest.
the barber would shout as he worked on the mayor, who was always quite serious and sported a perfectly straight side part.
Mr Codini—the old man of the town—would exclaim, suddenly waking up from his afternoon nap.
Ms Balestrazzi, the florist—who knew a lot about scent—managed to identify possibly one of the most complex ingredients: achillea moscata, a plant that grows in the Alps, at a height that ranges from 1,400 to 3,000 metres, and is able to withstand temperatures below -23 °C.
Quite an excellent sense of smell.
And for the remaining ingredients… well, no-one knew anything more. The warm and all-enfolding spirit of the recipe contained so many of them, and equally numerous were the secrets of its preparation process, kept by an art handed down with care, precisely in that apothecary shop, which involved the use of carefully selected herbs, berries and roots dried in the open air, crushed in a mortar and processed with pure mountain water.
In short, it sounded like a mysterious and captivating espionage story. And curiosity was great.
It was the talk of the town.
In two years, it had caused such a stir of excitement that the leaves on the trees were shaking. Finally, at the end of the ageing period in the barrels, Francesco Peloni decided that the time had come to open the doors of his cellar to all the townspeople.
The mayor, wearing his sash and sporting his signature stiff hairstyle, made his way through, pushing people aside. He had decided that he had the right to be the one to receive the first glass of Braulio from the skilled hands of its inventor.
Struck and thrilled, he didn’t say a thing.
By the swirl of his big moustache, the townspeople understood it was a masterpiece.
Finally smiling, the major invited his townspeople to try
that precious Valtellina distillate.