Italy – Some Old, Some New
|
|
The Definitive Italian Tasting at Lord's Cricket
Ground sounds rather grand, although "definitive" is
a pretty strong claim. "Enormous" and "exhausting"
probably fit the bill rather better, but it is a
chance to swaddle one's sensory apparatus in an array
of flavours and aromas that make a palate attuned to
the more familiar French wines sit up and start to
smile in a rather deranged sort of way.
|
|
It takes a while to adjust, to start remembering
one's assigned descriptors for those minutely
different sensations of nose and palate that Italian
wine offers up; a few minutes of practising before
one starts writing coherent and satisfactory tasting
notes.
|
|
"What is that aroma?" I asked myself when presented
with a maturing Brunello
di Montalcino. "Ah yes;
singed hair", was the response, which takes us nicely back to that most arcane,
misunderstood and parodied aspect of wine merchanting: the jargon.
|
|
We can all recall that smell one gets in
hairdresser's when one pops in for a trim (for me,
being somewhat deficient in the barnet department, (Victoria
now takes me in the garden and the whole operation is
wrapped up with a pair of shears in about 20
seconds), that memory is becoming rather vague and
distant). But there is still - and probably always
will be - that indelible aroma in my mind of freshly
laundered ladies' (and back then they were always
"ladies") hair being slowly baked under something
that resembled a cross between a dalek and a metallic beehive.
|
|
That is as close as I can get to describing one of
the smells one finds in mature sangiovese, that grape
that is included to one degree or another in most of
the red wines of Tuscany. Sounds rather heinous,
doesn't it? And yet - like the black rubber and tar
of mature syrah, or the wet woolly jumpers of old
Chablis - this characteristic manages to be a welcome
element in the overall complexity of the wine. What
we're talking about here is not an exact description,
it is simply your humble wine merchant fumbling about
for what, to him or her, is the most apt descriptor
for one tiny smell in that complex bowl of cherries
that is the nose and palate of a glass of wine.
|
|
Italy
|
|
As we've discussed before, Italian culture and wine
combine to make something pretty chaotic. French wine
is governed by laws that are adhered to right up to
the moment they are deemed to be damaging to the
growers, at which time thousands of vineyard workers
gather for a Peugeot burning party and don't put away
the allumettes
until the lawmakers roll over into such a position
that, were they canines, one would be tempted to
tickle their tummies.
|
|
In Italy, things are rather different. This is a
country that elects porn stars to government; a
country that has had almost 50 Prime Ministers since
WWII, and a country that is perhaps the least unified
in Western Europe. Rather than motivating the masses
to rise up (there not being sufficient harmony for
two people to be alone in a room without a heated
discussion occurring), idiot wine laws are met with a
singular lack of interest. Essentially, Italian wine
growers plant what they
want and Italian wine makers make the wine that they
want to make. Quite often, rather than make a fuss,
the authorities will eventually change the wine laws
to accommodate the growers. They don't like too much
kafuffle. Life is more about good wine, tasty tucker,
strong coffee and pretty girls. And what's wrong with
that?
|
|
The culture here has lead to a happy situation: a
country full of excellent wine, some traditional,
some fiercely un-so. In this offer, we have
attempted, as usual, to present the best of both
worlds.
|
|
The Wines
|
|
Friuli & Veneto
|
|
The slopes and vineyards of Friuli
|
|
That Italy makes some superb white wines is not in
doubt, but it was not always the case. In any event,
they’ve long lagged behind the reds in
reputation, but in Friuli
we are here in the centre of the country’s fine
white output. Up near the Slovenian border, soil and
climate combine to enable wine makers to bottle rich,
clean, characterful examples from grapes like pinot
grigio and tocai
friulano (this latter having
recently had to change its name so as not to be
confused with the Hungarian tokaji, or tokay pinot gris which, incidentally, is
the same grape as pinot grigio. I will not be testing
you on this stuff, so feel free to forget it
forthwith). Flying in the face of convention, we have
decided to offer a red wine from this region. And
it’s a goodie.
|
|
|
|
This estate, Le Due Terre, was founded by Flavio and Silvana Basilicata back in
1984. Basilicata is also the name of another Italian
region in the heel of Italy’s Mediterranean
south, but I am managing not to let this confuse me.
Anyway, the estate is named after the two soils on
which the fruit is grown: marl and clay. Flavio’s an enlightened
traditionalist in that he determined to use mainly
vines indigenous to the region and yet include modern
techniques. This strikes me as being infinitely more
sensible than using international varieties and vinifying them in an archaic
manner. This wine is the product of schioppettino and refosco grapes. I had to look
them up.
|
|
|
|
Many of you will know all about this classic wine of
the Veneto, but humour me as I briefly describe the
extraordinary production method. This is a
sub-species of Valpolicella wine, so we're
dealing with local grape varieties here: corvina, rondinella, negrara; possibly one or two
others. The fruit for Amarone is picked early, before
the acidity in the fruit starts dropping. Then things
get somewhat offbeat. The
bunches of grapes are placed in shallow trays,
which in turn are stacked in dry, airy rooms. Then
they're left, for anything up to three months. What
one's left with is raisinned, shrivelled berries
from which almost all the water has departed, leaving
the sugar and acidity. Then begins the fermentation
fun. Some cuvées are stopped part way into the
ferment, leaving a sweet wine of about 13%abv and
this is called recioto.
Amarone is fermented dry,
resulting in a wine of considerable body, 15%abv, and
often huge complexity.
We've offered the wines of Marion before and they're
quite superb. Here's a quote from Gambero
Rosso again: "Credit is
certainly due to Stefano Campedelli and his wife Nicoletta, who have maintained
a balance between modern and traditional styles,
making elegant wines which are the result of great
care and attention in the vineyards, rather than
extreme technical efforts in the cellar."
|
|
Piemonte
|
|
The jewel in the crown, the king and queen of Italian
wines etc. etc. The metaphors have become hackneyed.
What is not in doubt is that in Piemonte one finds the finest
of all the wines of Italy; the longest living, the
most aromatically complex and those with the longest
history.
|
|
Nebbiolo, the grape from
which these wines are made, is "up there" with Pinot
Noir in its ability to translate the voice of the
soil through the medium of its fermented juice (man).
Like Pinot Noir (and very few other grapes), Nebbiolo is at its best when
unblended. It has a natural expressiveness that only
becomes muddied if you bung something else in there
with it. Jancis Robinson,
in her book Vines, Grapes and Wines, says that it
""…can be fashioned into a glorious liquid of
awesome longevity". Squirrel away a case or two of
the wines below and find out just how awesome.
|
|
|
|
A new estate to me, "discovered" at the London
tasting. Looking up the winery in Gambero
Rosso (the Italian wine bible),
I find the following observation: "This edition of
the guide may not perhaps be the best occasion to
point out the enormous work done in just a few years
by Achille
Boroli…But the winery
has fulfilled its promise." On the evidence of my
tasting, I can only concur.
|
|
|
|
|
|
I am really excited about the inclusion of this wine,
Giacosa being, as he is,
something of a wine making god in Piemonte and pretty much my
favourite producer of Barbaresco. Angelo Gaja, that Piemontese colossus, makes
brilliant wine, but it is first and foremost Gaja, a style all on its own.
For a quintessential taste of the region you can
really do no better than Bruno Giacosa.
|
|
The “…morose, introspective
genius…” that is Bruno Giacosa
|
|
Lastly, a quote from Barolo to Valpolicella, a fine work by
Nicolas Belfrage: "In my
experience, no one's Nebbiolos have been more
consistently wonderful over such a long period than
those of this morose, introspective genius of Nieve". So you don't just have
to take my word for it…
|
|
|
|
This is one of the older domains in Barbaresco,
founded in 1913. I had never encountered their wines
before the Definitive Italian Marathon mentioned
above but, on tasting them, my antennae started
twitching like those of an enraged Shrek. There's but 7 hectares
under vine here, mostly Barbaresco and a little very
fine Barbera. The
Barbaresco is planted in two of the finest sites of
the appellation: Sori
Paolin and Rabajà , and I chose the
latter, despite the brilliance of the former, as it
was, amazingly, even more intense and certainly more
backward. Rabajà
faces south-west and the vine roots grow down into
clay.
|
|
Toscana
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Enrico
Santini was born and bred in
Bolgheri, that coastal part of western Tuscany put
firmly on the map in the mid-1970s by the inception
of a wine called Sassicaia, now so firmly included in
the roll-call of the world's great wines that it has
been granted its own DOC (Denominazione de Origine). The secret of the
area lies in its proximity to the sea, which extends
its cooling influence into the vineyards. This
influence results in a longer growing season, better
aromatics and finer wine.
|
|
|
|
I know, I know. Chianti. Wasn't that the £2.99
stuff we used to take to parties? Best used as a
candlestick? Wine-in-a-basket? Well, yes, but then
Valpol's come a long way,
too…
This part of Tuscany's long been known as Chiantishire due to the
sizeable population of wealthy Brits with 2nd homes
there. Time was when one knew the draw was the beauty
of the countryside, the weather, the stunning
villages and villas; in short, anything but the wine.
So what's occurred that would make a £267 Chianti worth
buying?
|
|
The answer is two-fold. For the first of them, we
have to go back to those crazy wine laws. These have
now been relaxed, so that
there is no requirement to include crummy varieties
like the white trebbiano
(told you they were crazy). Chianti can now be 100%
sangiovese and it is probably best thus. The law now
allows inclusion of cabernet sauvignon and merlot,
amongst others. This is a shame. Even 10% merlot in
the blend means the end result tastes and smells of,
well, merlot, which isn't right.
|
|
The second great change has been a greater
understanding of how to handle the rather fickle
sangiovese. It's a tricky one to have as your local
staple. Under-ripe, it is truly foul: stringy;
watery; dry and bitter. And it doesn't stay perfectly
ripe for long. Acidity starts dropping away very
quickly once ripeness is attained and not long after
that, one is left with jam: too flabby for drinking.
And yet the wine of perfectly ripened sangiovese is a
fascinating, complex kaleidoscope on both nose and
palate. It is unlike any other wine and the hills
from where Chianti comes are rightly celebrated as
one of its heartlands.
|
|
The Castello di Fonterutoli is a very famous
estate and produces some of the finest wines of the
region. In a recent tasting of 1997 Chianti Classicos, two thirds had
fallen over, a small proportion was simply faulty and
a handful were in peak
condition. The best by some way was Fonterutoli, which offered all
the excitement of sangiovese in a proper state of
maturity.
|
|
N.B. There are two Chianti Classicos from this source, a
basic one and this, the Castello version. The basic one
has gone a bit modern on us, a little atypical. This
one remains one of the great wines of Chiantishire.
|
|
|
|
The label depicts a shower of meteorites that
occurred over the Sesti
vineyards in 2001
|
|
Here's an estate that has gone over entirely to biodynamic culture, which is
one of those rare subjects about which the more is
explained to you, the less you understand. Or almost.
Discussing it with some of its devotees, I sometime
get the feeling that I am about to understand, or
that sense, in some way, is being talked, before the
shutters come down and my mind insists on saying
something like, "Nah, mate. You're a loony".
|
|
Essentially, we're talking about growing vines and
making wine using the phases of the moon as a guide.
Homeopathic concentrations of potions are sprayed in
the vineyard to combat drought stress and other
problems. There are root days, leaf days, flower
days; who knows, there may be Magic Roundabout days,
too.
|
|
What is not in doubt is that some of the world's
greatest wines come from biodynamic producers: the
Domaine Leroy in Burgundy and the Clos de la Coulée de Serrant in the Loire to name
just two. So maybe I should make more of an effort to
understand this increasingly popular form of
viticulture.
|
|
|
|
