From Mount Fuji to Mugello: The Dream of Tatsuhiko, the Man Who Wants to Revive an Ancient Japanese Grape Variety in Tuscany
Some dreams are shattered. Others, just when they seem to be coming to an end, find a completely different path to fulfillment.
The story of Tatsuhiko Ozaki, known to everyone simply as Tatsu, begins at the foot of Mount Fuji.
As a child, he gazed at the sky with the eyes of someone who imagines his future among the clouds. He wanted to become an airline pilot. Flying was his destiny.
Then, at just twenty-two years old, a medical exam changed everything. An allergy—a reading off the charts—shut down the engines of his dream and closed the door to the cockpit forever.
For many, it would have been a defeat.
For him, it was the beginning of an even more extraordinary journey.
Not toward the sky, but toward the earth.
Today Tatsu lives in Tuscany, a region he chose as his home over thirteen years ago. And right here, among the mountains of the Alto Mugello, he is bringing to life a project that unites two millennia-old cultures through the most universal language that exists: that of the vine.
In Firenzuola, at an altitude of over seven hundred meters, where the landscape is dominated by pastures, chestnut trees, and ancient farming traditions, Tatsu is attempting something many would consider impossible: cultivating Koshu, one of Japan’s oldest grape varieties.
An idea that goes far beyond the production of wine.
It is a project of memory. Of identity.
Of dialogue between East and West.
The Koshu represents an important part of Japanese winemaking culture. According to genetic studies, this grape variety is believed to have arrived in the archipelago over a thousand years ago via the Silk Road, preserving deep European roots in its DNA. It’s almost as if, after centuries of history, that grape variety were now trying to rediscover a part of its origins.
That’s why Tatsu didn’t choose the Mugello by chance.
He studied the territory as a researcher would. He traveled throughout Tuscany, observing soils, digging into the ground, measuring temperature fluctuations, and analyzing the natural drainage of the hills. He was looking for a place that could offer Koshu something the Japanese climate often denies it: dry summers, cool nights, and a balance capable of preserving its elegance, acidity, and aromas.
He found that place in Puligno, in the municipality of Firenzuola.
A corner of the Apennines where the wind, limestone, and altitude seem to have created a habitat surprisingly well-suited to this variety, which is as rare as it is delicate.
“Here, the soil and climate conditions are ideal—” says Tatsu—“The project is still in its early stages; there’s a lot to do and a lot to invest,” but it already tells an extraordinary story of perseverance.
On land that has lain fallow for decades, thousands of new vines are taking shape, cultivated according to biodynamic principles. Alongside a prestigious selection of Pinot Noir from Burgundy, Tatsu has planted the first Koshu vine cuttings, patiently sourced through collectors, grafting, and years of research.
Every plant represents a small victory. Every row tells a story of a challenge.
Because the land, unlike the modern world, knows no shortcuts. It demands time, dedication, and trust. The first bottle of Italian Koshu might not arrive until 2029, but those who work the land know that waiting is part of the harvest.
And perhaps this is precisely the most fascinating aspect of Tatsu’s story.
He isn’t simply trying to produce a wine. He is building a bridge.
A bridge between Mount Fuji and the Apennines. Between Japanese and Italian culture.
Between the almost sacred respect that Japan holds for nature and Tuscany’s extraordinary winemaking tradition.
This dream has a name: “La vigna del vento”, and you can support it through the Eppela donation platform (link here).
“My dream is still halfway there,” Tatsu explains his story and the project to Appennino 365 “…like a dream, the idea ofplanting in this place a millennia-old Japanese grapevine, documented since at least 1200, which hides a secret in its DNA and reveals a deep kinship with the European Vitis vinifera.”
In Japan, Koshu suffers from excessive rainfall, which causes the clusters to swell and dilutes the must.
During the day, Tatsu works among the rows, passionately tending to his vineyard; in the evening, however, he shares his expertise as a sommelier at restaurants in Borgo San Lorenzo, guiding customers on a journey of discovery through the world of wine.
We need 30,000 euros, adds Ozaki: “Part of the land is already planted and set up for bush-trained vines, without rows, to be tended solely by hand without the use of tractors or farm machinery, but the other half is still uncultivated and wild. To complete the cultivation and make the vineyard 100% productive, I need help. Farming at these altitudes is an act of heroic agriculture and requires significant structural investments.”
The funds will be used to purchase new Koshu and Pinot Noir vine cuttings and to install a protective fence against wildlife. A support structure made of metal posts will also be needed to support the vines and withstand strong winds. Finally, a well water purifier, essential for microbiological filtration.
“Supporting this campaign doesn’t just mean planting vines, but regenerating a land with an unexpressed soul,” he adds emotionally, his eyes glistening. “I will donate 15% of the proceeds from the fundraiser directly to the municipality of Firenzuola.”
These resources will not remain idle, but will be transformed into concrete actions for our future: part of the fund will finance a photography contest dedicated to the most evocative views of our region, to share our identity with everyone. The other part will be used for the development of local school activities, to ensure better tools and opportunities right here, where our roots lie.”
Koshu, as we know, is grown almost exclusively in Japan. Outside of Japan, Koshu is extremely rare: a few experiments have been conducted in the United Kingdom and the United States.
Gastronomy will also be part of this dialogue. According to Tatsu’s vision, Mugello Koshu will accompany dishes that combine ingredients and techniques from both countries: preparations featuring miso, fish, young cockerel, vegetables, and chestnuts—a fusion that does not seek to blend identities, but rather to highlight them.
At a time when the world seems to be chasing standardization, Tatsuhiko Ozaki’s story tells us the exact opposite.
It reminds us that innovation can spring from memory.
That courage does not always lie in doing something new, but in believing that something ancient can still have a future.
And that, sometimes, fate does not take us where we had imagined we would end up.
It simply takes us where we can leave our mark.
Perhaps Tatsu never became the pilot he dreamed of being.
But he continues, every day, to take people on a journey.
Not through the clouds.
Through the aromas, flavors, and emotions held within a glass of wine.
