Leone de Castris: A Family Rooted in the History of Italian Wine
Written by Davide Gangi | Published in people, wine 
More than 360 years is hard to even imagine when it comes to wine. Times change, people change, the ways we cultivate the land and drink change, markets change, and even the meaning we attribute to a bottle changes. Yet in Salice Salentino, the name Leone de Castris has spanned all of this since 1665 and continues to this day to tell the story of its territory. Perhaps this is precisely what fascinates me most about this family: their ability to draw on an immense history without making it feel like something distant. All it takes is pouring a Five Roses into a glass to realize that a part of that history is still right there, before us.
The story begins in 1665 with Oronzo Arcangelo Maria Francesco dei Conti di Lemos and the lands around Salice, where vineyards, olive groves, and other crops gradually took shape, eventually becoming a significant agricultural asset. As early as the beginning of the 19th century, the wine produced by the family began to travel beyond Italy’s borders, but it was in the 20th century that this story took a definitive turn when, in 1925, Piero Leone Plantera and Lisetta de Castris founded the Leone de Castris brand and began bottling their own wines. Today, this might seem like an almost natural choice, but to truly understand its significance, we must go back to those years and to a Puglia where most wine still had a completely different fate. Bottling meant beginning to give the wine an identity, linking it to a name, and allowing it to travel while carrying with it the place from which it came.
Then came 1943, and a wine was born that I think is worth taking a moment to discuss, because sometimes we become so accustomed to historic names that we forget what they truly represented.
Five Roses is born.
We were in the midst of the war, and the meeting with Charles Poletti, the Allied Forces’ commissary for supplies, paved the way for a shipment of that rosé intended for the Americans. In those years, practically everything was in short supply, and even finding bottles was a problem; so, to bottle that wine, they used bottles that had previously contained beer—bottles that had been salvaged and properly sterilized. A detail that may seem almost curious today but perfectly captures that era and the ability to find solutions even under the most difficult conditions.
A name was also needed that would be understandable to that new market, and those grapes came from the Cinque Rose district—a name linked to the curious tradition of having five children, which had been repeated across several generations of the family. Cinque Rose thus became Five Roses, an English name born in Salento during the war for an Apulian wine bottled with makeshift equipment and destined to cross the Atlantic—and, above all, to go down in history as the first rosé wine bottled and marketed in Italy.
It’s an extraordinary story because that bottle already contained much of what we now call identity, vision, and the ability to understand a market. That’s why I’ve always believed that Five Roses cannot be considered merely the signature wine of Leone de Castris—because Five Roses is part of the legacy of Italian wine, and perhaps we Apulians should remember that more often. Today we talk a lot about rosé—we discuss its colors, styles, and international markets—but back in 1943, someone in Salice Salentino had already realized that a rosé could possess its own dignity and, above all, its own identity.
The story, of course, continues, and in 1954, Piero, together with his son Salvatore, opened another important chapter with the Rosso Salice, making a decisive contribution to the path that would lead to the recognition of the Salice Salentino DOC in 1971. Salvatore Leone de Castris took on an enormous responsibility and, from the late 1960s onward, guided the company toward a new phase of growth, particularly in international markets. After all, Piero had not merely handed him a winery but a vision, and Salvatore had the ability to interpret it in his own time, helping to raise the profile not only of Leone de Castris but also of the Salento region, which, through its wine, was finally beginning to tell its story to the world in its own voice.
Then comes Piernicola Leone de Castris, and this is where the story changes for me, because it ceases to be merely a historical account and intersects with my personal memories. Some time ago, I had the pleasure of being involved in the celebrations marking the company’s 350th anniversary, and I still recall with great fondness my meetings with Cavaliere Piernicola. On those occasions, I asked him to tell me everything in the finest detail, because dates alone have never been enough for me when there are such important people and stories behind them. I wanted to know the lesser-known episodes, the insights, the difficulties, and those personal details that rarely make it into official accounts—but which are often precisely what help us truly understand what lies behind such a long history.
Piernicola guided me through the story of his family via his memories and what had been passed down to him, and I believe it was precisely in those moments that I understood even better just how closely Leone de Castris and Salice Salentino were connected. When a story is told by someone who bears that surname, dates cease to be mere numbers and begin to take on faces, places, and memories—and even that distant year of 1665 suddenly takes on a different meaning.
Piernicola joined the company in the 1980s, initially working in the sales department before becoming its general manager in the late 1990s. Under his leadership, Leone de Castris continued to evolve, broadened its horizons, and expanded into different markets and regions, while maintaining a very strong connection to its roots.
It’s a journey that we at Vinoway have had the opportunity to observe very closely, because Leone de Castris has always been featured in the Vinoway Selection Guide, and his presence is one that I consider part of our own history. Over the years, vintages, labels, and winemaking philosophies have changed, but every time Leone de Castris’s wines have found their way into our glasses, I’ve felt as though I were rediscovering a distinct identity—one capable of evolving without severing its ties to Salice Salentino and to that long family history that still represents its most authentic roots today.
That is precisely why, last year during the Vinoway Selection awards ceremony, we wanted to present the Leone de Castris family with an award that held special significance for us. Two anniversaries coincided, each of which, on its own, speaks to the scope of this story: 360 years since its founding in 1665 and 100 years since bottling began in 1925. We felt that simply commemorating them with numbers alone was not enough.
On the plaque, we wrote: “To Leone de Castris, who for a century has been bottling passion, culture, and identity, proudly carrying on a history that began way back in 1665. With 360 years of tradition and 100 years of bottling, he has written immortal pages in the history of Italian wine, creating Italy’s first rosé wine—a symbol of elegance and vision. Vinoway Italia celebrates a family that has made the name of Salento great throughout the world, with deep admiration and gratitude.”
Rereading those words today, I feel exactly the same sentiment that led us to present that award—and, above all, the meaning of a word we consciously chose: gratitude. Because when a family has contributed for generations to the growth of a region’s wine culture, I believe it is only right to recognize not only the quality of their wines but also what they have meant to all those who came after them.
Winemaking, of course, remains central to the operation, and under the leadership of Chiasso Cotarella, the winery continues to produce wines that are truly fascinating to taste. Alongside him, I’d like to mention Antonio Tripaldi, the winery’s young winemaker, whom I’ve known for some time and whom I’ve had the pleasure of watching grow, increasingly appreciating his professionalism, determination, and—above all—that drive that often speaks volumes more than many words ever could.
I have always paid special attention to young winemakers, and in recent years Vinoway has chosen to forge even closer ties with this new generation, which is striving to make a name for itself through study, hard work, and hands-on experience. That is why I am particularly pleased to follow Antonio’s journey, because I have seen him mature without losing his curiosity or openness to dialogue—qualities I consider essential for anyone choosing a profession in which one never truly stops learning.
And it is also with this work in mind that I want to focus on the Donna Lisa Salice Salentino Riserva 2020, a wine I found simply astonishing—and I use that word deliberately—because it is one of those tastings capable of reminding you just how deep and elegant Negroamaro can become without having to rely solely on power. In the Donna Lisa 2020, I found maturity, depth, and balance, but above all, an expression of the terroir that doesn’t seek to impress with flashy effects and leaves in the glass the personality that a great wine should be able to preserve.
Leone de Castris, however, is not just about Salice Salentino today, and one of the projects I’m following with the greatest curiosity concerns the work being done in the Gioia del Colle DOC region through the Tenuta Donna Coletta estate in the countryside around Noci, where Primitivo takes center stage. It’s an interesting development because I believe the time has come to stop speaking generically about Apulian Primitivo, as if the name of the grape variety alone were enough to define its identity. Manduria and Gioia del Colle are distinct regions, and the way Primitivo expresses itself inevitably changes as well.
Here, Leone de Castris is carrying out work that deserves attention through wines such as Saliscendi and Colpo di Zappa—interpretations that demonstrate just how much a single grape variety can change depending on the soil in which it grows. Colpo di Zappa also carries a beautiful family significance, as the name recalls the first stroke of the hoe made by Piersalvatore alongside his father, Piernicola, in 2016 on the very lands of Noci—almost a small symbolic gesture that opens a new chapter for the family.
And it is perhaps precisely by looking to the future that the story naturally turns to the next generation and to Piernicola’s children, with a special focus on Piero Leone de Castris. In prominent wine-making families, this transition has always fascinated me because bearing such an important surname is certainly a privilege, but it also means grappling every day with what that surname represents.
Piero’s story dates back to 1665; he owns Five Roses, Salvatore, Piernicola, and Salice Salentino, and has a family legacy that cannot be measured solely in hectares and bottles. But precisely for this reason, what interests me is not how much he will resemble those who came before him, but rather what mark he himself will leave behind.
I believe that a new generation must have a deep understanding of its own history in order to be able to look beyond it, and Piero now finds himself faced with this great opportunity: to preserve what he has inherited while at the same time finding his own voice and his own way of interpreting Leone de Castris in the years to come. It is a significant responsibility, but it is also the natural continuation of a history in which each generation has been able to take something and then pass it on, transformed, to the next.
When I think back on my meetings with Piernicola during the 350th-anniversary celebrations and all the questions I asked him, I realize that perhaps this is the common thread running through Leone de Castris’s story. Someone began cultivating those lands; someone decided to bottle the wine; someone, in the midst of a war, had the intuition to name a rosé “Five Roses”; someone brought those wines to the world; and today, someone else is called upon to envision what Leone de Castris might become tomorrow.
When I open a bottle of Five Roses, my thoughts inevitably turn to that year, 1943—to the war, to the Americans, and to a man who, even though there seemed to be very little room to imagine the future, still managed to see it in a glass of rosé wine.
Eighty years later, that wine is still there, and alongside it have come other wines, other regions, and, above all, new generations.
And perhaps this is the truest measure of a great wine family: not merely living off its own history, but continuing to add chapters that are still worth telling.
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