The Luxury Travel Magazine
The Luxury Travel Magazine
Long before the wine tastings and the Michelin mentions, before the swimming pool shimmered under the Sicilian sun or anyone spoke of “agritourism” at Masseria Susafa, life here was measured in harvests and heartbreak. In the interior of Sicily, farming meant reckoning with the land—its generosity, yes, but also its unpredictability. A year’s work could be undone in an hour: a dry winter, an unexpected hailstorm on the eve of harvest, or a late spring frost could wipe out wheat, grapes, or olives in one cruel sweep. This was a land where survival meant tenacity, and prosperity was never promised.
It was here, in the early 1900s, that the Saeli-Rizzuto family began their quiet, generational pact with the soil. Wheat was sown across golden fields, olives gathered from trees older than memory, and grapes coaxed from the stony hillsides to yield the beginnings of what would become a family legacy. Five generations later, that same land is now home to Masseria Susafa—a property that retains the grit and soul of its agrarian past while offering something altogether different: peace, elegance, and a deeply rooted sense of place.
Tucked away in the Madonie Mountains, far from Sicily’s more crowded corners, Masseria Susafa offers an alternative to coastal itineraries and Instagram clichés. This former working masseria—once the nerve center of a family-run estate—is now a refined rural sanctuary. But its transformation hasn’t erased its agricultural bones; rather, it’s enhanced them. The result is a stay in Italy that feels immersive without being staged, stylish without excess, and quietly luxurious in a way that whispers rather than shouts.
This is agritourism reimagined. Not the rustic or folksy version found elsewhere, but a cultivated experience where guests are invited to walk through rows of wheat and olives, sip wines pressed from the same soil, and dine on meals that could not be fresher if you picked them yourself. Everything—architecture, atmosphere, even the olive oil—is a reflection of Sicily’s rural character, carefully edited through a contemporary lens.
Spread across 500 hectares, the estate’s landscape moves with the seasons. In summer, it rolls in waves of amber and gold as wheat stalks ripple in the breeze. Gnarled olive trees—some more than a century old—stand as monuments to resilience, their twisted trunks weathered but still productive. In the distance, the Madonie Mountains form a jagged boundary, giving structure to the horizon and offering a reminder that this place, though tranquil, is never tame.
The original stone structures of the farm have been restored without pretension. Thick, uneven walls still bear the marks of the past. Inside, timber beams and earth-toned plaster meet glass and steel, but nothing feels jarring. Design here is quiet and assured: minimal, textural, grounded in its setting. Old winemaking tools and farming relics are integrated into the decor—not as curated antiques, but as unspoken narrators of the land’s history.
Masseria Susafa is not a brand or a marketing concept. It is, quite literally, a family story—written across generations. The present custodian, Manfredi Rizzuto, did not inherit just a piece of land; he inherited a history of labor, survival, and memory. In reshaping the estate into a destination for discerning travelers, he has managed to preserve its identity while refining its purpose.
Every aspect of the guest experience reflects this continuity. The hospitality is warm but never intrusive, the aesthetic grounded but sophisticated, the pace deliberately slow. Manfredi’s hand is everywhere, though rarely seen: in the wine list, in the gardens, in the way guests are invited to become, even briefly, part of something that feels enduring.
The estate’s gardens are not ornamental distractions; they are integral to the rhythm of life here. Organic methods shape rows of vegetables and herbs—zucchini, tomatoes, onions, and peppers—which later appear on your plate, often in ways that feel both rustic and refined. Fruit trees—cherries, figs, citrus—punctuate the property, their produce ending up in cocktails or as a bright note on the breakfast table.
A pool framed by manicured lawns and soft shade offers respite during the hot months, and nearby, a casual bistro makes it easy to linger. But the real luxury is space—the unbroken, unhurried kind that asks nothing of you except to notice it.
The mood is languid and quietly glamorous—couples sunning themselves between swims, the scent of blooming roses and wild herbs hanging in the heat. Time stretches long, marked only by the clink of glasses or a break for lunch. As late afternoon slips toward dusk, the sky deepens into amber, casting long shadows across the terrace. There’s nowhere else to be, and that’s the point.
One of the most evocative experiences at Susafa isn’t found on a map or menu. Late in the day, guests are driven across the estate to a remote hillock, surrounded by ripening wheat fields. Here, under a pergola overlooking the valley, aperitivo is served: local cheeses, olives, fresh bread, house-made salumi, and wines selected from the family’s private cellar.
There are no influencers posing for photos, no curated playlists. Just silence, golden light, and the distant hum of cicadas. It feels timeless, not because it mimics the past, but because it makes you forget the present.
Wine here is more than a beverage—it’s an expression of the land’s character. The estate’s cellar features carefully chosen Sicilian varietals, and tastings are often led by Manfredi himself, whose passion for oenology is evident in both his storytelling and selections.
Tastings take place in a lounge warmed by a central hearth, where guests gather around large wooden tables to sample wines while hearing the stories behind them. Carricante, grown on the mineral-rich slopes of Mount Etna, offers a bright acidity and stony finesse that pairs beautifully with citrus-marinated seafood or the estate’s garden vegetables. Nero d’Avola, dark and full-bodied, is poured alongside slow-cooked lamb or aged cheeses, its bold tannins softened by time and sun. Each bottle is a lesson in geology and climate, but also in patience and process. In Sicily, wine isn’t rushed—it’s raised.
The estate’s restaurant, Il Granaio, occupies what was once a granary. Its stone vaults and thick walls now house a dining room of understated elegance—one that mirrors the surrounding landscape in its restraint and depth. The menu is shaped entirely by what’s grown or sourced nearby.
Expect dishes like slow-roasted eggplant caponata, brightened with mint and vinegar, or handmade pasta rolled from wheat harvested on-site. A standout is the busiate al pesto trapanese, where almonds, tomatoes, and garlic swirl together in an homage to Western Sicily. Paired with a Nero d’Avola or a Grillo from the estate’s cellar, the meal becomes a kind of edible geography—each bite a reference point.
One of the ways to indulge in the culture of the Sicilian farmlands at Masseria Susafa is through the food—and cooking workshops that guests adore, as does the cook who leads it.
The workshop unfolds in a modern kitchen with the walls lined with mason jars filled with everything from tins of olive oil to shards of dark chocolate, dried herbs, capers, and almonds. The air carries the aroma of flour, olive oil, and something just about to brown in the oven. Here, the focus is on the preparation of focaccia—pillowy and crackling at the edges—followed by sweet peppers filled with garden vegetables and breadcrumbs. Then comes the careful assembly of cannoli, with ricotta whipped until cloud-like and piped into crisp shells dusted in sugar and crushed pistachio.
The cook and culinary maestro, who speaks only Sicilian, teaches with a kind of unspoken clarity. Her expression carries the lesson: this food is a form of memory. A translator bridges any language gaps, but the sentiment needs no help: pride in the process, reverence for the ingredients, and genuine joy in passing it on. These are the same dishes served each evening, but in the workshop, they become something more—living pieces of her family’s heritage, generously shared.
The accommodations reflect the same thoughtful ethos. Each of the 17 rooms and suites is shaped by the masseria’s original architecture—stone walls, timber ceilings, minimal furnishings. It’s the absence of excess that brings clarity: there are no TVs, no gimmicks, just calm.
Among them, the Deluxe Suite stands out—not for opulence, but for solitude. Once the estate’s armory and later a henhouse, it now features a private garden, an in-room sauna, and a view of the horizon that seems to erase time. You wake to birdsong and sleep under a sky unmarred by city light.
Though still relatively under the radar, Masseria Susafa has earned the attention of those who value substance over spectacle. Recognition from Condé Nast Traveler, Les Collectionneurs, and Michelin’s Green Key program affirm what word of mouth has already accomplished: this is not just a place to stay, but a place to return to in your mind, long after you’ve left.
Masseria Susafa doesn’t trade in novelty or nostalgia. It offers something quieter: an invitation to witness what happens when history, hospitality, and the land are treated with care. Whether you come for the food, the stillness, or the sense of continuity that’s hard to find elsewhere, you leave with more than photographs—you leave with perspective.
