Le Pupille Saffredi 2006

Fattoria Le Pupille is one of the leading estates in the coastal Tuscan region of Maremma, and its flagship Bordeaux bottling Saffredi is arguably Maremma’s best wine outside of Bolgheri. Or so the international press seems to agree, showering it with praise in every vintage. Recent ones have been as successful as ever, with the 2004 ‘the best Saffredi ever made’ (this exact phrase comes up with 50% Google hits on this wine) and 2006 looking just as promising: it got RP96 and WS94, whatever it’s worth. 

 

Le Pupille also have a very efficient marketing team that made sure samples of the 2006 Saffredi reached all the right tasting tables (see e.g. Simon Woods). Yours truly was delighted to be on the list and assess this little fellow for your benefit.

 

Made of 25-year-old Cabernet Sauvignon, some Merlot and splashes of Syrah and the local Alicante (an offspring of Grenache), it has 14% alc. and sees 75% new oak. The oak must be very expensive and carefully selected here, for it makes its impact very clear from the beginning to the end. The dominant feeling is of richness, fatness, ripeness, abundance, luxury; the bouquet of this wine is that of a fat wallet and being able to buy whatever you like. There’s also quite some herby, bell-peppery, minty Cabernet–Merlot character on the nose, and a core of fleshy cherry fruit that has a Tuscan feel to it. So while a little disjointed and somewhat notional the nose at this stage the 2006 Saffredi can be said to mix terroir, grape variety and élevage in (more or less) happy proportions. 

 

Flavourwise, to say this wine is tight is to say little. The concentration is almost soupy and aromatically it is a little breathless from the oak and extract at the moment. Yet there are hints of that extra character that distinguishes a great wine from a merely very good one. The ripeness is controlled and there is not one moment of jamminess; the toasted oak flavour is quick to recede on the palate; the tannins are very present but never exactly overpowering, subtly but firmly controlled. And while it’s obviously way too early to open this big ‘potential’ wine, time in the glass and in the decanter is pretty quick to soften this into a fruitier, cherry-laden, only subtly oaky mouthful of ripe Mediterranean Cabernet. It’s all very, very good, like a brilliantly engineered sports car or an expensive watch; there is very little to criticise on the technical front.

 

Is there on the ‘emotional’ front? I’ve voiced my skepticism about the use of French grapes in Tuscany before, and while it’s obvious there are some world-class Cabernets and Merlots here, they never quite convey a sense of place and uniqueness as Sangiovese-based Tuscan reds can and should. Saffredi is „simply put, stunning juice” (quote from the Wine Advocate) but could equally well come from Lazio, Campania, Veneto or even Spain or Greece. After all, planting Cab and Merlot on a good soil and an exposed site, manicuring the vines and ageing in 1000-€ barrels is, when you have the guts and means, the easiest thing. I like to define such wines as ‘invented’. Saffredi is purely the fruit of its owner’s, Elisabetta Geppetti, two decades of determination. It shows top-notch quality of fruit and is really a supremely designed wine. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s not a very emotional wine for me, lacking what I look for in a Tuscan red, and coming across as a little soulless.

Giovanni Rosso Barolo Cerretta 2003

My tastes for wine are pretty eclectic, and I’d pretty much drink anything with interest unless it’s really overoaked and/or jammy. But when I think of one wine that I prefer over all others, it has to be Barolo. I have a weakness for those floral bouquets and high acidities, for that otherworldly elegance and unmistakeable sense of place of a good traditional Barolo. So when picking up a wine to drink in peace and solitude on Boxing Day I went for the Giovanni Rosso Barolo Cerretta 2003. A bottle I got as a gift, it comes from a lesser-known estate located in Serralunga, the eastern side of the Barolo zone, producing the appellation’s tightest and most ageworthy wines. Cerretta is one of the best vineyards there. 

Owner Davide Rosso is very traditional in his winemaking, which sees long macerations and ageing in large botte oak barrels only (though they are of French wood, not Slavonian as in the old days, coopered by the Italian company Garbellotto). Already pouring the wine into the glass, with its pale transparent crimson colour, it’s obvious this Barolo has nothing to do with the reformist movement that tried to ‘correct’ Nebbiolo’s inherent characteristics, looking for darker, less acidic, softer-tannic wines. And yet this Cerretta 2003 is no stubborn orthodox with punishing tannins. On the contrary, it’s the epitome of elegance. I felt an exhilarating wave of pure sensual pleasure when smelling this: lilies, roses and tulips, raspberries and strawberries, with a counterpoint of almost minty freshness that is so typical of Serralunga Barolos. Really lovely finesse and purity. On the palate it’s a very balanced wine, juicy, fresh, floral, only disclosing its 2003-driven richness and breadth towards the end where the tannins are very assertive but nicely ripe and never drying. And remember this comes from the the hottest and driest vintage on record which brought a wave of tough fruitless reds in many place in Europe. This wine is showing no vintage weakness whatsoever. And it drank beautifully over three days with fantastic composure. 

 

I’ve had many good bottles this year but this, somehow, was special. So extremely typical of why Barolo is special as a wine; proudly traditional yet immensely approachable and enjoyable to drink. And most importantly, with a crystal-clear sense of place that again brought a bit smile of happiness to my face.

1990 Menghai #9062 Brick

© Nadacha.

Overbuying tea is commonest of vices. Tea is cheap (mostly), vendors carry a large range of potentially interesting stuff, and then tea comes from far away where shipment often makes up a large portion of your payment (so it’s sensible to buy a bit more than you would from a shop next door). 

I ordered a dozen samples of aged puer from Nadacha in the summer, hoping to go through them in a few weeks and perhaps make some buying decisions. But soon afterwards I had four orders of 2009 Darjeelings, then a large batch of Taiwanese teas from Teamasters, and now I’ve just bought two dozen 2009 puer cakes from Yunnan Sourcing. And so the time to taste through the Nadacha samples has been very little! 

I must make it a commitment for 2010 to buy less tea and be more systematic in my tasting. I’m toasting to this ambitious undertaking with this 1990 Menghai #9062 Brick (see Nada’s product description). At £78 it’s a fairly inexpensive tea for its age and producer; this is because the brick itself is a mixture of sheng [‘green’ puer] and shu [‘ripe’, or artificially fermented, puer], lacking the dimension and complexity of a true sheng. 

Let’s look at the leaves. They are fairly dark, with minor amount of white ‘frosting’ of age, and have a faint smell: cavernous shicang [‘wet storage’, fermentative aromas] and decomposed wood. The spent leaves are interesting to look at: you can clearly see the mixture of sheng (the larger, dark brown leaves that unfold completely) and shu (darker, almost black leaves that remain rolled). Both components look like a reasonably high grade, with large, good quality leaves of which many are still intact; the shu leaves are not the usual non-descript mulch. The mix is quite rustic, however, including a generous helping of twigs and stems. 

I’ve brewed this tea several times with different techniques, and can say it’s quite unsatisfactory with long steepings. Anything beyond 30 seconds for your first brewing will result in a very wet storage-dominated profile with a vegetal decomposed-wood bitterness on end I’ve found unpleasant. 

The best approach to this tea is a classic gongfu series of short brewings in clay pot (I’ve dosed exactly 5.2g of leaf for 120ml of boiling water, rinsing once and brewing 15s, 15s, 25s, 30s, 30s, 40s, 3m). It’s hefty, powerful tea, delivering quite a bit of colour from the beginning, and a good intensity of wet storage-driven, stoney, mineral, woody taste. The first brewing also provided a nice warm mealy, fat textural touch, but afterwards the tea failed to deliver this promise and showed rather one-dimensional. 

First infusion (15 seconds) in yixing teapot.

It is quite unaromatic, and even using an ‘aroma cup’ that usually helps to magnify the bouquet only resulted in an interesting first progression from shicang through toasted grain to caramelised sweetness; subsequent infusions were pale and uncomplex. 

This tea is not very patient, as soon as the 7th infusion it’s become quite unintense and losing interest. Even though short steeps help control the vegetal bitterness on the finish, it’s still there in varying proportions, and is my greatest criticism about this tea. Although quite aged, it still has power left, and the sheng and shu elements are by now nicely fused, but there is no complexity or structure and essentially the tea has little to offer beyond its chunky shu-driven power. 

It’s an interesting opportunity to taste a mature tea from a leading producer but I feel no need to go beyond my 15g sample.

A gem from Georgia

Georgia in the Caucasus. ‘The cradle of wine’, as it styles itself without false modesty. While I think recent research gives priority to China, Georgia is indeed where the wine we drink today – European, Mediterranean wine – originated some 5,000 years ago. And surprisingly much of this heritage directly influences modern Georgian wines. Including Georgia’s greatest assets, its 500+ indigenous grape varieties. Some are the result of 2, 3, 4,000 years of genetic selection. Once the country modernises its wine industry and small family-owned domaines get to do some serious quality work in the vineyards, I’m sure you’ll hear about Saperavi, Rkatsiteli and Mtsvane.

Some of these grapes are widespread and grow on hundreds or thousands of hectares while other are very obscure and limited to single villages. Usakhelauri is one of them. While very famous in the past for its exquisitely flowery, velvety sweet wines, it is difficult to grow and has fallen out of favour. It’s hard to get trustworthy information but apparently it is now grown on around 1 ha of vines in the central Georgian region of Racha. Only two companies use it: Teliani Valley and Telavi Wine Cellar. The latter’s production is only 700 bottles a year. I was fortunate enough to receive a bottle of this expensive wine (retailing for around $40) upon my last visit to Georgia in 2005.

One of Georgia’s oddities is its wide range of ‘semi-sweet’ red wines. Produced by artificially stopping the fermentation when the wines reach c. 11% alc. and 50g residual sugar, they are surely an acquired taste, and are frequently frowned upon. I remember some vitriolic comments from Western critics after their trips to Georgia. Out of context, these wines cans surely seem odd (and many are pretty awful). In Georgia they are served in the afternoon over teatime nibbles that include dried and fresh fruits, nuts, fruit preserves, as well as tea and coffee. It’s difficult to find a wine that would pair well with such foods and drinks without being too alcoholic (as port and sherry are). Sweetish Georgian reds fill this gap. And when well-made from quality grapes, they can really be delicious.

This Telavi Wine Cellar Usakhelauri 2000 is a very good surprise. It’s only faintly sweet, balanced by really high acidity (I’d categorise this as semi-dry really). It tastes very young, with no evolution at all, and has a very good expression of crisp red cherry and damson fruit, with perhaps a bit of Usakhelauri’s notorious floral bouquet. Not too tannic but with plenty of vinosity: while many Georgian sweet reds can taste like a diluted home-made currant wine, this is the real thing. I’ve learned to appreciate its usefulness at the coffee table and a perfect match with festive conversation when we’ve had guests at 4pm yesterday. Port would have been too heavy, sweet Riesling too light, Tokaj too sharp, oaky Sauternes completely out of place. This Usakhelauri called for attention (for a moment) and kept the company spritely and good-humoured. The Georgians know how important that is: they spend a lot of time at family and friendly gatherings, talking a lot and drinking a lot. Thank God for the Georgians. 

Everything you’ll need to match with Usakhelauri.

Impressive tea from Nepal

The power of blogging. Although I don’t write about tea in Polish, my tea reviews on this blog were read by the good people at Polish web tea shop Čajografia, which resulted in a nice e-mail and a box of samples arriving at Domaine Bońkowski. Having tasted one of Čajografia’s excellent black teas in the past, I was excited at the prospect of tasting through their specialities: Nepalese teas. 

Aneta and Artur Woźniak travel the tea regions in search of good teas and people. They’re offering a limited range of interesting stuff from Nepal, Sri Lanka, Darjeeling and even Malawi. Judging by these five teas they really have a good nose. Their offerings are also extremely affordable, ranging from the equivalent of 4 to 5€ / 100g.

Green Hill (I assume 2009) is a Nepalese green tea from Ilam Tea Factory. For those familiar with Himalayan green tea e.g. from Darjeeling, this tea will come as a shock. It has nothing to do with the under-oxidised black teas that seem to be the common denominator in the region. Instead, it is made like a Japanese sencha, with moderately fragmented flat needle-shaped leaves being steamed and then fired. These Nepalese leaves are very well-processed. The steaming here has been light (asamushi), resulting in a transparent light green brew that would easily pass for a sencha in a blind tasting. It is perhaps a little darker in colour and stronger in flavour than a good asamushi, and the finish is less grassy, with an echo of nuttiness (as well as mint and lime) on the finish that is more Chinese in style (Longjing coming to mind). It also lacks the glutinous umami expansiveness that is typical of Japanese tea when brewed at lower temperature. Some bitterness here, although that seems easy to control with brewing parameters. My preferred ones are water at 70C, and 60 seconds. This is definitely good-quality tea and a very good imitation of a Japanese green. 

From the Jun Chiyabari estate comes this Himalayan Somabar black tea that is a 2009 SFTGFOP1 1st flush. Small Darjeeling-styled leaves with a mixture of brown and black colours, some tips, (photo above) and a strongly herby, almost sulphury aroma. The spent leaves are predominantly green in colour, showing some good careful processing (photo below). The colour in the cup is also rather light: more orange than ruby. 

This is a simple, rather unaromatic tea with a degree of tannic bitterness (perhaps derived from a bit of breakage in the sample). Bone-dry in taste, with a good moment of fruitiness (dried apricots?) and reasonable activity. Clearly losing a bit of freshness already, though surely not the most declined of 2009 1st flushes. Good. 

I also tried three teas from the Kuwapani estate in the region of Dankhuty. White Peony is, you guessed it, a white tea: looking at the dry leaf above it is easily identified as a Chinese baimudan style (containing both leaves and hairy buds). I drink little white tea and tend to go for the higher yinzhen grades when I do, but I’ve not seen such an immaculately processed baimudan before. There is not a single broken leaf, and the two-leaves-and-a-bud systems are impressively presented. There are minor signs of oxidation on the stem ends, otherwise you get tea leaves in a beautifully unadulterated condition (photo below). Brewed 4 minutes at 70C, this is a clean tea of good character, not very intense, showing a certain pea-like vegetality or even fishiness on top of the more usual flowery, herby notes. Unaggressive and seamless without the faintest shade of bitterness. Very flexible in terms of brewing parameters, this can also be infused 10+ minutes. Typically for baimudan styles this is not showing the ultimate finesse of yinzhen, with a bit of extra body and ‘grit’ on the palate. Really an enjoyable tea. 

The Makalu Mellow is a 2009 2nd flush black tea graded as STGFOP1 ‘Tippy’. The latter is certainly true, and the leaf is well-processed with moderate fragmentation in a Darjeeling style. Very good aroma: high-grade bitter chocolate and orange spice are added to the usual dried herbs. Infused leaves are a consistent high-oxidation brown. A clean good-quality cup: medium deep ruby colour in the glass, moderately intense aroma, getting rather chocolatey as it cools down. I like a longer infusion on less dosage here, for its thick body and impressive consistency. Not a very distinctive tea but as good as a high-profile 2nd flush Darjeeling (and remember this is very cheap). 

The star of the tasting is another black tea from Kuwapani, the Makalu Flowery (a 1st flush STGFOP1 ‘Tippy’ 2009). Opening the pack with its explosive dried herby, smokey, bergamottey bouquet reveals some outstanding tea leaves (see photo above). Huge leaf-and-bud systems are impeccably processed with no breakage whatsoever and little oxidation on the leaf. And look at the infused leaves: I don’t think I’ve ever seen such immaculate leaves in a black tea, anytime, anywhere. Predictably this brews a rather light peach colour, with the aroma of a light, herby, mildly firsty-flushy Darjeeling. The flavour on palate is expansive with quite a bit of power and bitterness on end, perhaps lacking a bit of mid-palate body and intensity (typically for a whole-leaf tea). But this tea holds back a lot, and can be reinfused several times atypically for a black tea, behaving more like a high-oxidation oolong (when steepings are kept short). There is also some outstanding huigan sweetness in the aftertaste. This is a tea of impressive integrity and fantastic personality, one of the best blacks I’ve tasted. What a surprise this should come from Nepal.

Wine’s best kept secrets

Oh yes, Greek wine. Nominally it’s one my specialities – I published my first article on Greek wine in the dark days of 2001 when few people cared – but unless you live in the UK or Germany, the availability of Greek wine is very limited. (Here in Poland, four producers!). And so it was on a private event that I met with a few fellow tasters to go through a range of wines for education and sensual delight.

On the white wine front, we’ve compared 2008s and 2007s from the four leading estates on the volcanic island of Santorini. There’s some (slowly) growing buzz about this vineyard location that surely belongs to the world’s most unusual and interesting. The partly submerged caldera of an extinct volcano, Santorini hosts some 1,000 hectares of vineyards on its lava rock soils. Unusual vineyards: the sweeping winds of the Aegean Sea mean that bush vines are pruned to grow in the shape of a basket, and often individually protected by low stone walls. Beautiful to photograph, back-breaking to work, yielding what are perhaps this planet’s most mineral wines.

Ktíma Gaía (ktíma is Greek for estate, so the name can be translated into Gaia Estate) harvest their grapes early and make a light- to medium-bodied, driven, seafoody, positively greenish style of Santorini: in lesser vintages like the Thalassítis 2008 the wine is quite simple but representative with good minerality and drinkability; Thalassítis 2007 adds a layer of saline complexity and a hint of evolutive toastiness (but showed a less than satisfactory evolution in the glass). (Thalassítis, interestingly, is an Ancient Greek term that denoted wines with seawater added as a conservative!). Ktíma Arghyroú is famous for its sweet vinsanto made of grapes dried on the sun (a local speciality) and aged for a decade in cask, but has been improving its dry wines too in recent years. The Santorini Assýrtiko 2008 is more or less in the style of the Gaia but more spontaneous and mineral, though the hot vintage’s limitations are obvious. The Santorini Ktíma Arghyroú 2007 (partly oaked) was the best 2007 tasted, a very exciting wine with plenty of mineral volcanic presence and some outstanding architecture in mouth; it’s a modern interpretation of Santorini that manages to tell much about the terroir as well. Santorini Varéli [=oak] 2003 is a big wine: I’m not so fond of the oaked Santorinis when they are young but with 5 or 6 years, minerality reemerges from underneath the oak and these can often be majestically powerful wines with honeyed-herby complexity and big structure. It’s the case here.

Haridímos Hatzidákis farms his vineyards biodynamically and has a penchant for late harvesting: his top cuvée Nichtéri (another traditional term: in Antiquity, nichteri wines were night-picked and crushed in fists for more elegance) often goes beyond 15%. I was looking forward to tasting the pre-phylloxera ‘Cuvée 17’ 2007 but it was corked (hinting at Hatzidákis’ broad, phenolic, alcoholic, less acid-driven style). We didn’t try the main estate label but the cheaper Aïdáni–Assýrtiko 2008 was one bold skin-contact white with plenty of power and mineral expression while retaining a nice natural balance and juiciness (it’s 12.5%: admirable self-restraint for this estate).

Many people’s (including mine) favourite estate on Santorini is that of French-trained Páris Sigálas. He manages to combine Hatzidákis uncompromised mineral expression with Gaía’s crisp juiciness, moderate alcohol, and no oak (in the main cuvée; there is also a Varéli). The 2007, in my recent tastings consistently one of the major Santorini successes of the decade, was underwhelming in this showing with some nice minerality but also hot alcohol (yet it’s only 13%), toastiness, and a stale sunflower oil edge too; clearly this wasn’t a perfect bottle. And the Santorini Varéli 2008 was as oaky, creamy, honeyed, unmineral, sweet-fruity as these young oaked Santorinis get. Revisit in 2015. But Sigálas stole the show anyway with a stunning Santorini 1998, a very evolved wine with an almost vin jaune-like (others said madeira) oxidation but so much stoney mineral austerity on the palate it told you more about geology than a term at university. An unusual, challenging but eminently enriching wine that shows where Santorini belongs in the wine world: at the absolute top.

We’ve also tried two wines from western Crete from the Manousákis estate: the red Nóstos 2005 (a Rhône blend) was tasting un-Greek and lifeless with rich low-acid fruit but little poise and slightly too much oak, but the Roussanne 2008 while oaky also has excellent acidity and minerality, impressive substance and length. Give it five years and it should prove a big bottle.

On the red wine front, I contributed a bottle of Papantónis Meden Agan 2001, a 100% Aghiorghítiko grape from the Neméa appellation on the Peloponnese, one of my favourite Greek wines. Skillfully vinified in the modern French style by owner Antónis Papantónis, it is a Mediterranean red with real sense of balance and elegance, slowly evolving but retaining a freshness that both makes it a jewel at the dining table and promises another 8–10 years of development. Meden Agan is produced in reasonable quantities and ridiculously affordable at 10€. 

10€ is also the price of Ktíma Kir-Yiánni Náoussa Rámnista, the ‘Barolo of Greece’ as I like to nickname it. The geographical and stylistic opposite of Meden Agan, it originates from the high hills of western Greek Macedonia, and more specifically the AOC Náoussa where the king is Xynómavro: a pale-coloured, high-acid, high-tannin grape capable of otherworldly finesse. Rámnista (a single-vineyard oak-aged Náoussa) ages as well as a Barolo, too: the 1998 was a little murky on the nose at first but then opening towards spring flowers and redcurrants; a fully resolved palate gaining flowery elegance with airing; still tannic to continue for a few years. The 1995 is now almost à point showing an outstanding quality to the deftly polished, mineral, crystal-clear tannins, and a miraculous petits fruits rouges elegance on the nose. If someone has negative stereotypes against Greek wines I guess they’d be stunned to taste this and discover what it is.

The wine of the night award goes to the Rámnista 2001, however. Combining the characteristics of the 1998 and 1995 above, it adds some impressive power and chocolatey richness on the palate, and is at its best with half an hour in the glass. Supreme elegance, iron-cast structure, regal fruit and big ageing potential: Rámnista is positively Europe’s greatest red-wine bargain.

Ktíma Kir-Yiánni Náoussa Rámnista 1995 in the glass.

2009 Darjeelings (5): Makaibari

The renowned tea estate of Makaibari is one of the few to my knowledge to operate biodynamic farming. There being little comparison I can’t really say what effect this has on the flavour of their teas, but it’s an interesting element anyway.

I’ve tasted four Makaibari teas this season. The 1st flush 2009 Imperial Delight ($6 / 100g, sourced from Lochan Tea Ltd. as all four teas reviewed today) is a good grade with well-sorted small leaves and an intense herbes de Provence, bergamotty aroma; there’s a bit more deep brown to the leaf colour than seems to be the 1st flush norm these days. A medium deep coloured cup, this starts with a fair bit of oxidation in the aroma but delivers plenty of comfortable balanced fruitiness in mouth. It’s a rather solid and tannic first flush, a little heftier than I expect from this style but balanced and very good quality. Better than a competition brewing, I’ve liked a long infusion on little leaf in a large pot (3.5g/300ml): it remains a firm tea but there is a gentler almondy flavour on the finish that’s quite attractive. 

The 2009 Vintage Muscatel is from the 2nd flush ($6 / 100g); photo above). It’s not a very tippy tea, and shows more stem than I would really like. That being said, it’s nice. It share that untoasted almonds reminiscence with the above, and shows rather smooth and ungrippy for a 2nd flush. It’s also unfruity, centered around dried herbs and nuts; perhaps mildly autumnal in style. It’s another tea that’s benefitting from a lighter touch in brewing, to bring out the elegance and cleanliness and even a bit of sweet grapey muscatel character after 3–4 minutes of brewing. Good, though not really a special 2009. 

And finally the 2009 Green Delight – I’ve tried both the first (photo above) and second flush version (both at $2 / 100g; there is no real difference between them). I must say I completely fail to understand this tea. Looking at the dry leaf it is fragmented and multicoloured and looks like a less oxidised version of black Darjeeling. Throughout a series of brewings in glass and porcelain, at various dosage from 1 to 4g/100ml, from 60C to 90C this tea is a major failure. It does indeed taste like an unsuccessful attempts at a less oxidised Darj. The colour is almost invariably deep orange and the flavour is coarse and bitter, with a citrus rind note the only recognisable aroma. I tried hard to brew it light but only got an pale insipid cup of warm water. Either I got it wrong or it’s just a stretched attempt at making green tea where one shouldn’t.

As light as this tea gets: 30 seconds at 65C.

In Apulia (2): Black and bitter

This gate in the old part of Lecce is a good metaphor of Negroamaro’s current condition.

Besides Primitivo (on which I’ve blogged here), Apulia’s other major grape variety is Negroamaro. It’s by far my preferred of these two. In many aspects, Negroamaro is the exact opposite of Primitivo. It ripens notoriously late, producing wines that are high in acidity and with nervy tannins but not very deeply coloured, with less sensual fruit than Primitivo. While Negroamaro can be harnessed to make some attractive unoaked, early-drinking, fruit-focused modern wines, its major interest in the past have been its ageworthy versions released after years of cask ageing, not in their primary youth but in the glory of their balsamic tertiary evolution. Aged Salice Salentino, the best appellation for this style of wine, as well as Brindisi, Copertino and several other DOCs have been, for me, some of the best wines of Italy’s Meridione.

I approached this trip to Apulia with excitement, therefore, but came back rather disappointed and worried. Old style Negroamaro is an endangered species. The ruthless modernisation of vineyards and cellar practice has swiftly relegated the traditional style to the antic. And there is a wave of Parkerized (or rather ‘Gambero-Rossoed’) Negroamaro that are really some of the most disgusting wines I’ve had of late.

The problem is that Negroamaro doesn’t really lend itself to modern vinification: it doesn’t like new oak, loses its vital freshness quickly when picked late in search of the elusive ‘physiological ripeness’, while its fierce tannins that formerly melted with years of large oak cask ageing, easily become exasperatedly drying when submitted to the Cotarella-style heavy-handed extraction. (Riccardo Cotarella is Italy’s most influential ‘flying winemaker’, and while long absent from Apulia he’s now consulting for some major wineries).  

The Darth Vader of Apulia.

An eloquent example of Negroamaro’s collapse in the hand of the modern style was Leone de Castris’ Eloveni, supposedly an everyday easy-drinking example of the grape (which it was in the past), now overconcentrated and overextracted through some cellar tricks it’s better to ignore, and made to taste like a soupy ‘forest berries’-infused red that could with equal plausibility be a Colchagua Merlot or a Bulgarian Syrah. To cater for the alleged ‘consumer taste’ it even comes with a generous dollop of residual sugar, for which Mr. Cotarella has even coined a deliciously cynical euphemism of svinatura dolce (‘racking off while still sweet’: this clumsy translation does nothing to communicate the oxymoronic panache of the original). We’ve also had a series of revolting Negroamaros from youngly established wineries such as Antica Masseria del Sigillo, L’Astore, Menhir or Santa Maria del Morige.

New blood lacking, it were the old classics to solitarily defend Negroamaro’s honour. I was lucky enough to attend two mini-verticals of Apulia’s standard-bearers. Duca d’Aragona from the large winery of Candido is a blend of Negroamaro with 20% Montepulciano, aged in small oak. It’s a powerful red that needs plenty of bottle age to mellow, as shown by the tight, iron-cast, minty, aromatically still somewhat vague 2003, which I however trust will join the good vintages of this bottling: the purity of fruit and overall balance are quite fine (though my Apulian hosts dismissed it as ‘too international’; it’s now made by Lombardian consultant Donato Lanati). The 2000 is still too young, though slowly revealing the cherry core of real Negroamaro and its acidic drive, and taking on chocolatey, meaty notes of maturity; it’s another wine where the extract (not speaking of oak) is perfectly gauged, and impressively backward for 9 years of age. The 1998 (still made by Severino Garofano, the dean of Apulian winemakers) is brilliant, with a lovely complex nose full of green notes of mint and camphora, less solar, more mineral than the 2000 or 1997, with wonderfully preserved primary fruit and still some power to go. My preferred vintage was 1997 (my host Franco Ziliani preferred the 1998) that was lighter than the 1998 but had a supreme effortless elegance: fresh, poised, pure, tonic, delicate, still with a kiss of tannins, it was a majestic bottle.

Gratticciaia from Agricole Vallone was introduced in 1996 as an innovation: instead of softening Negroamaro’s rough edges with the soft fruity Malvasia Nera grape and long cask ageing, the grapes are given a few weeks of amarone-like drying on reed matts. The result is an individual, expressive wine with the pruney dried-fruity notes of an amarone but also the Mediterranean herby twist of Apulia. The 2004 (first vintage by new consultant Graziana Grassini) is just a little underwhelming at the moment, showing good depth and harmony on nose but rather simple and short on palate. The 2000 (which I’ve tried in Warsaw not Apulia) is tight, powerful, expressive and impressive but would best be kept for another 5–6 years. The 1998 is a great wine, with a lovely nose less driven by appassimento, flowery, mildly green too (a recurrent characteristic in this vintage), greatly long on palate, quiet, elegant, opening up nicely in the glass over 40 minutes or so, with fantastic firmness and poise on the finish. It can still go on.

I have a weakness for the third of these Negroamaro musketeers: Patriglione from the Cosimo Taurino estate. Made from a lateish harvest but no drying of grapes, Patriglione comes from very old Negroamaro vines and sees some small oak which it digests very well. Here, too, a new winemaker has recently joined: Massimo Tripaldi, and his first vintage, the 2003, is very convincing with richness, power and structure to age well. I’ve recently also had the opportunity to taste the 2001 – more elegant than the 2003, with a textural finesse I found enticing; the slightly less convincing 2000; the 1994 that was a little tired (and had big cork problems with 2 out of 3 bottles tasted) but still showed the Patriglione character; the 1975 – actually the first vintage ever made: read here; and the 1997 which was a unforgettable bottle full of regal fruit, power and elegance at the same time. Patriglione is really a wine to die for, and at only 35€ it’s also quite affordable.

In Apulia (1): Neoprimitivism

I’m in Apulia, the Italian boot’s heel, to have a look at the current wine scene and the recent developments. The tour is organised by Radici Wines, an innovative mini-competition devoted exclusively to indigenous varieties, and my gracious cicerones are renowned wine writer Franco Ziliani and Enzo Scivetti of the Apulian branch of ONAV.

Fellow tasters Kyle Phillips, Rosemary George and Patricia Guy enjoying Pichierri’s Primitivos.

This lowland region is one of Italy’s largest producers of wine, although you’ll be excused for not being familiar with its produce as much of it is sold in bulk and much is of unexciting quality. In fact, Apulia conveys a sense of hopelessness as it has so far failed to create any romance associated with its wines. Sicily generally is jazzy and its Nero d’Avola wines just feel fashionable while Apulia, although its production structure is similar (co-ops, large latifunds, bulk production), is really stuck with its provincial image.

Well, there’s one wine that has managed to emerge from the Apulian magma of no less than 26 obscure wine appellations and as many grape varieties: Primitivo. This grape has been vehicled to fame by its discovered genetic link with Zinfandel and it’s been steadily gaining market share since. 

Manduria’s period of prosperity was the 19th century.

Primitivo yields a controversial wine with massive colour, hyperintense fruit and limitless alcohol. While in the past high yields and conservative harvest times kept the wines within reasonable limits, the modern tendency towards higher concentration has generated wines that are absolutely outrageous. On this tour we’ve visited two Primitivo strongholds, Manduria on the Ionian coast next to Taranto, and the more obscure Gioia del Colle in central Apulia, and on both comparative tastings there were many wines above 15%. One of dry wines was 18.2% while several scored 16% with over 10g of residual sugar. More frighteningly still, Apulia still abides by the old Italian tradition of indicating total potential alcohol on the label (fractioned into svolto – the actual fermented alcohol – and non svolto which effectively is residual sugar). A Primitivo Dolce Naturale from producer Attanasio thus boasts 19.5% on the front label, while the off-dry and semi-sweet wines from veteran Pichierri are 19, 20 and even 21%.

And this even isn’t Polvanera’s strongest wine.

For those port drinkers among you this might not sound all that outrageous but remember that half of a port’s 20% alc. is added in the form of grape spirit. Indeed the sweet Primitivos share many characteristics with port (and at the same time, amarone, being more often than not produced from slightly dried grapes) but have much better balanced alcohol. Semi-sweet red is a marginal style anyway. But the big problem comes with those 16 and 17% dry reds. If you agree that a wine’s primary characteristic is drinkability, Primitivo is born with a serious handicap.

It’s not the grape’s only problem. Naturally low acids and an obvious simplicity of bouquet are another. Combined with the modern tendency towards interventionist viticulture to increase concentration, late picking, heavy extraction, short ageing to boost primary fruit, and new French oak, all this results in Primitivos that are one-dimensional and really rather tiresome to drink. Sure, they have some of the most sensually compelling fruit profiles to be found anywhere, and when skillfully made can provide spectacular wines. Out of the 120-odd we’ve tried I’ve enjoyed those of Fatalone, Plantamura, scJ’o and recent star Polvanera (all from Gioia del Colle) as well as the very amaronish Attanasio, the superconcentrated Mille Una, the meatier, more rustic range of Accademia dei Racemi and the polished Duca Guarini. But a good half of those Primitivos were just too heavy, tiresome and barely drinkable.

Vittorio Pichierri drawing 22-year-old Primitivo from clay amphora.

Although it can be argued that Primitivo as a grape can digest the modern style better than many (surely better than Apulia’s other main grape, Negroamaro), there’s something unique to traditionally-made old-style Primitivo that is sorely missing in the modern examples. A visit to the cellars of Pichierri in the town of Sava (formerly the heart of Primitivo cultivation) was an eye-opening revelation. Produced largely from bought-in grapes from free-growing old vines (alberello), slowly fermented in concrete tanks, largely unoaked, bottled several years after the harvest, and sold ridiculously cheap, Pichierri wines are unlike anything else I’ve tasted. Here, Primitivo reveals an unexpected depth of aroma, a compelling bitter chocolate texture that has nothing to do with the jammy flabbiness of the modern style, and the alcohol – although often even higher than its peers’ – is miraculously well balanced. Everything here is honest, wholesome and dangerously drinkable, from the basic 1.10€-a-liter bulk wine sold to locals in plastic containers (this is an important part of the business in Apulia, and most wineries we visited still sell a sizeable part of their production this way) to the trio of vini dolci naturali, unfortified semi-sweet Primitivos of wonderfully balsamic fruit and staggering expression.

The fun at Pichierri continued with the desealing of a traditional clay amphora called capasone, containing a 22-year-old Primitivo that was fresh as a daisy and deliciously juicy (if a little unclean and bretty), and then the 1975 Primitivo di Sava, one of the great wines of my life. 18% alcohol and a fair bit of sugar, black as ink after 34 of ageing (22 of which in tank), with a fabulously complex bouquet of grand cru chocolate, balsamic vinegar, dried fruits and Christmas spices, and a palate of such vibrancy and unadulterated, fleshy fruit that was beyond the reach of many vintage ports at age 10 and modern Primitivos at age 2.

Pichierri sell quite a bit on export markets and although largely ignored by the press and critics, they seem to be in good commercial shape. I truly hope they can continue to make Primitivo as they have for 30 years. When they stop, it’s one of Italy’s best kept classic secrets that dies out. 

See another report on this visit by Franco Ziliani.