From the very beginning, our approach to the traditional method has been decidedly secular. No reverence, no desire to imitate. Just deep respect—and genuine curiosity. Because three hundred years of Champagne history are barely enough to convey the complexity of one of the most fascinating winemaking methods that exist. We never pretended to fully understand it, let alone compete with those who’ve practiced it for generations. But at a certain point, the question emerged: Do we want to try?
My brother had been thinking about it for a while. Every now and then—between a harvest and a bottling run—the idea would resurface. A blanc de blancs? From Chardonnay? Fascinating, sure. But complicated.
Because we don’t have the right acidity, the climate is different, and pretending otherwise would have been a mistake. The risk was ending up chasing something that wasn’t ours. And that’s never been our way.
The answer, as often happens, came from a simple intuition. At the time, we were working on the new still version of Rohesia Rosato—a project born to accompany our original rosé, in production for over forty years.
And we asked ourselves: Why not try telling the story of this grape—Negroamaro—in two different, yet complementary ways? Two souls, same name. Two versions of the same narrative. One still, silent. The other alive, in motion—shaped by bubbles and time.
The early years were mostly about listening. Because we thought we knew Negroamaro—at least as a rosé, as a red, in all its forms. But bottle-fermented? That’s a different story. The rhythm changes. The rules change. The way the wine breathes, evolves, expresses itself—it all shifts. And our perspective changed too.
We started quietly. A few trials with 24 and 48 months on the lees—Brut and Extra Brut. And then, half as a challenge, half as a game, we pushed it further: a 60-month Pas Dosé. Bottles left in the cellar, deliberately forgotten. Or maybe hidden—to see what they’d become. There was no rush. And to be honest, no fixed plan either.
The result took us by surprise. Because inside those bottles, we found something unexpected. A new voice—clean, subtle. No longer an exercise in style, but a story that felt honest. Authentic. And most importantly, our own.
Today, after ten years, the Rohesia Metodo Classico is starting to make sense. It’s not a project about big numbers—and it never will be. Yes, we sell it. But more than a commercial strategy, it’s an experiment.
More a dialogue between ourselves than a response to the market. It challenges us, excites us, makes us see our work from a different angle. And maybe—deep down—it tells us something about who we are.
Because winemaking is also this: trying, failing, trying again. And sometimes… being surprised.
