In this contemplative entry to our 2026 wine writing competition, sommelier Yannick Benjamin describes finding a moving pairing in Rome. See our competition home page for more great wine writing.
Yannick Benjamin writes Yannick Benjamin is a New York City–based sommelier, wine educator, and advocate for accessibility in hospitality. He serves as Director of Wine at the University Club of New York and is the co-founder of Beaupierre Wines & Spirits and founder of Wine on Wheels, a nonprofit dedicated to empowering people with disabilities through community, education, and advocacy. A recipient of the Michelin Guide New York Sommelier Award and Wine Enthusiast’s Wine Star Sommelier/Wine Director of the Year Award, he is known for combining a passion for wine, service, and inclusion. He lives in New York with his wife, Heidi.
Marsala & Rome at the Hour of Silence
In November of 2025, I embarked on a spiritual journey in Rome and participated in an ancient pilgrimage known as The Way of the Seven Churches, a centuries-old route through the Eternal City and its great basilicas.
As a full-time wheelchair user, I completed the pilgrimage entirely by rolling through the city myself, crossing cobblestone streets, narrow alleyways, and ancient roads worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. I began before sunrise and finished physically exhausted yet spiritually awakened beneath the fading Roman light.
On February 18, 2025—the one-year anniversary of my father’s death—I severely fractured my right leg. What followed was a long period of isolation and recovery. Only two months earlier, I had also closed my beloved restaurant, Contento. The combined weight of grief, disappointment, and uncertainty left my mind cluttered and my spirit weary.
Yet during those months at home, I decided to make the best of my circumstances. Rather than resist the solitude, I embraced it. I withdrew from the distractions of modern life and attempted, in my own imperfect way, to live more like a monk. I read, reflected, prayed, and spent long hours in contemplation. During those moments of stillness, I often returned to the words of Marcus Aurelius:
“Nowhere can a person find a quieter or more untroubled retreat than in his own soul.”
The words of the philosopher king became a source of comfort. While my body was confined, my mind traveled freely. I thought often about Rome and the journeys of the Stoics and Saint Paul.
Then, on April 21, the day after Easter, Pope Francis passed away. For reasons I could not entirely explain, I was overcome with emotion. His death reminded me of the fragility of life and strengthened my desire to make the journey.
This was not a wine trip. Instead of vineyards and cellars, we spent our days visiting Rome’s monuments and basilicas. Among the most moving experiences was passing through the Holy Doors, opened only during the Jubilee Year.
Within days, something began to change. The noise that had occupied my mind for months gradually faded. My soul felt nourished. The gratitude I experienced was deeper than anything I had felt in years.
For the first time since my injury, I felt ready to return home—not simply recovered, but renewed.
As soon as I returned home, I felt called back to Rome. I purchased another ticket and began training for a pilgrimage that would take me more than twenty miles across the city in a single day.
On November 1, 2025, at 5:00 a.m., I began. Almost immediately, I was overwhelmed with gratitude as I rolled through one of the greatest cities on earth. For brief moments, it felt as though Rome belonged only to the pilgrims, priests, bakers, and street sweepers awake at that hour.
As I made my way through the ancient streets, I imagined Musonius Rufus and Epictetus walking these same roads. Like them, I too was pursuing a mission. Along the way, I was raising funds for Holy Trinity Neighborhood Center, which provides home-cooked meals to those facing food insecurity while serving every guest with dignity and respect.
As evening approached, I arrived at my final destination: Santa Maria Maggiore, fittingly the resting place of Pope Francis. It was there, after nearly twenty-three miles and more than fourteen hours of rolling across Rome, that I found myself in deep contemplation. My pilgrimage had begun before sunrise and concluded with Mass at 7:30 p.m. My shoulders ached, my hands were sore, and my body was exhausted. Yet what I felt most was gratitude.
I wanted a wine of meditation rather than celebration, one that could help me reflect on the journey I had just completed.
The only wine that made sense was Marco De Bartoli’s Vecchio Samperi Perpetuo.
As I sat in silence, I realized that this wine represented far more than what was in the glass. In many ways, the last few years of my life have resembled the perpetuum method itself. Just as Vecchio Samperi is shaped by multiple vintages, each contributing something unique to the final wine, I too have been shaped by a series of defining years.
My accident, surgery, marriage, professional success, the loss of my father and restaurant, and a fractured leg all became part of who I am.
Each of these years left its mark. Some brought joy, others sorrow. Some represented triumph, others hardship. Yet all became part of who I am, just as each vintage becomes part of Vecchio Samperi. I am not a finished product, nor do I hope to be. Like the wine, I remain in perpetual evolution, shaped by every experience, setback, blessing, and lesson.
As I slowly sipped the wine and reflected on the long road that had brought me there, I thought of Rome itself. Like Vecchio Samperi, it is shaped by layers of history, triumph, suffering, faith, and resilience. Neither the city nor the wine attempts to erase the past. Instead, both carry it forward with dignity.
And so, sitting in the Eternal City at the hour of silence, I could think of no greater pairing than Rome and Marsala—two enduring reminders that time, when embraced rather than feared, can transform hardship into something beautiful.
The roads of Rome eventually led me to seven churches, four Holy Doors, and countless moments of gratitude. Yet the destination was never Rome itself—it was equanimity.
And for me, no wine captures that journey more completely than a glass of Vecchio Samperi enjoyed at the hour of silence, when the city grows still and the soul finally has room to listen.
Published unedited and in accordance with the rules of the competition published here.
Fonte: jancisrobinson.com
