Brunello: agony and ecstasy

My last two days in Tuscany have been devoted, as every year, to the region's premier red wine: Brunello di Montalcino. Brunello for many is the king of Tuscan and Italian wine. But today the emperor has no clothes. The Brunello scandal that has been ongoing (without a very clear conclusion; see reports e.g. Vino Wire) since March 2008 has done some considerable harm to the appellation. Leading producers were charged with counterfeiting their wines by belnding in unauthorised grape varieties (Brunello is required by law to be 100% Sangiovese). The DOCG rules have since been reconfirmed and a stricter control regime has been established but one of the scandal's outcome is that today, Montalcino is deeply divided with producers, journalists and consumers entrenched on sharply antagonistic positions. 

Brunello's other problem is uneven quality. As usually when a wine-producing zone expands from 1 to 10 in a few years' time, there's a combination of erratic plantings in poor locations, lack of expertise of producers (many of which are investors with no background in wine) and a chase after a flashy international style that contributes to Brunello's disappointing level as a whole.

2005 that we've tasted this year is a case in point. It is by no means a bad vintage, having produced some reasonably deep, aromatic, mid-term-structured Sangiovese wines elsewhere in Tuscany (especially in Chianti). But in Montalcino almost everything has been done to make 2005 worse than it could have been. Late harvesting in a vintage whose primary characteristic was freshness and lightness; overextraction in a vintage with naturally tight tannins; overoaking in an appellation that needs oak less than any other; and, to be honest, an excessive period of wood ageing that exasperated a lightweight vintage and made for the fact that upon release, many wines are already evolved and unfresh.

I've tasted some 90 Brunellos from 2005 and there are very few I'd recommend to buy at the current prices. The overperformers, unsurprisingly, include mostly classic estates with a long track record of excellence such as Costanti and Salvioni. Fuligni, Franco Pacenti, Caprili, La Velona, Silvio Nardi's expensive Manachiara, Il Marroneto, and Banfi's Poggio alle Mura were also good, and I've felt 2005 is a vintage where modern-oriented producers often did an above-average job, especially as several of them have reduced the amount of new wood compared to 2001, 2003 and 2004. Salicutti, for example, used to be an extracted new-oak Brunello a couple of years ago while today it delivered one of the vintage's successes with good body and structure but excellent balance too. Pian dell'Orino and La Fuga are other examples.

Still, it has generally been a rather grim tasting, with many wines quite below their historical average quality: sore disappointments have included Campogiovanni, Ciacci, Lambardi, Lisini, Mastrojanni, Siro Pacenti, La Poderina, and Sesti which are usually among the Brunellos I really like.

The show was saved by private visits to a few dedicated estates where I was offered vertical tastings of several Brunello vintages. Andrea Costanti showed a fantastic stylistic continuity ranging from 1995 to 2009; highlights, apart from an extremely promising 2007 barrel sample, included the 2001 Riserva and two overdelivering hot vintages: 2003 and 1997, which are quite superior to their peers from other estates. And the estate of Gianni Brunelli treated us to a rare retrospective spanning 1993 through 2005: I delighted in the sweet, elegant 1996 and in the brilliantly lively 2003 but the three Riserva bottlings stole the show: the 2004 is young as hell but has superlative balance and fantastic quality of fruit; the 2001 is both sweet and mineral-saline and delivers plenty of sensual excitement without being remotely maturing (tasted from magnum); and the 1997 took a good hour of airing to unfold fully, revealing excellent density and plenty of energy from this rather patchy vineyard. This is why I still care about Brunello, and it might well become the king of Italian wine again one day.

Vino Nobile: overdone, underwhelming

My palate is exhausted after 220 Chiantis and 104 Vino Nobiles that I've tasted since Tuesday. Tannins are supposed to be a natural preservative and so I've probably extended my lifespan by a good decade, but they're really exhausting. And it's all made worse by the high-acid, high-tannin 2007 vintage that provided some exciting drinking but the wines are really rather tense. Plus there's the execrable tendency towards overextraction that is really ruining the life of an appellation like Vino Nobile.

The latter is an interesting illustration of what has to be defined the Tuscan disease. It's a historical terroir with impeccable pedigree and geologically and climatically, it really has all the cards in hand to produce some great Sangiovese. When you taste the simplest local wines labelled Rosso di Montepulciano, they have enticing intensity of cherry and currant fruit and are really a joy to drink, slightly chilled, over a plate of the unbeatable local hams and pecorino cheeses. It's all the sadder that the higher you climb up the 'prestige' ladder, the least interesting the wines become. Overextracted, excruciatingly tannic, palate-nimbingly drying, overripe, overalcoholic, macerative, flabby, chocolatey are only some of the descriptors I've used in my notes for the single vineyard and riserva bottlings. As a group they're really coming across as mutant modern Sangioveses, consultant winemaker-driven to taste like new-wave Right Bank Bordeaux.

Arguably Vino Nobile's strong natural tannins call for a compulsory long ageing in wood and bottle, and the vintages we've been treated to – 2007 for Nobile and 2006 for riserva bottlings – are just way too young. It's a criticism that extends to the entire Tuscan operation: Chianti have been presenting their 2008s and 2007s (I've refused to taste the former, there being happily enough 2006s too to occupy me, but colleague writers have gone through a 100 samples and already summarised the vintage before it is even bottled for good), Brunello is releasing the 2005s when actually today is really the right time to taste and drink 2004s, or even 2001s for the more serious wines. The Chianti Classico DOCG consorzio have introduced a measure where 20% of a riserva stock can be held to release later than the minimum required ageing, but it's hard to see why this 'optional' change (that several winemakers admitted not really understanding) would contribute towards changing the current state of affairs where Sangiovese wines, simply put, are released too early.

Why this matters was shown by a few older vintages of Nobile that were head and shoulders above their young counterparts: Contucci's Pietra Rossa 1996 and Riserva 1986 were both far from maturity and the Vigna d'Alfiero 1999 from Valdipiatta, from a slow-maturing north-exposed plot that notoriously delivers the toughest (and somewhat overextracted and overoaked too) Nobile in youth, has acquired a miraculous elegance that you wouldn't suspect when you taste the 2006. Alfiero 1999 (with the older vintages of Boscarelli and Poliziano's Asinone) was quite the best Nobile I've tasted.

Vernaccia: white Tuscany

I traditionally spend the third week of February in Tuscany, invited alongside other writers and wine buyers by the consorzios for Chianti Classico, Vino Nobile di Montepulciano and Brunello di Montalcino who make the new vintages available for tasting.

Vernaccia tasting at the modern art gallery in San Gimignano.

It’s an intense time of hectic tasting, crisp acidity and crunchy tannins. Sangiovese is a fantasting grape but it’s easy to overdose. So it’s really delightful that this year I’ve started the Tuscan immersion by the preview tasting of Vernaccia di San Gimignano, Tuscany’s premier white wine.

Vernaccia has the laudable habit of spicing up its Anteprima with a comparative tasting with a famous French wine appellation. Past editions have featured Chablis, Sancerre and Hermitage, and this year it was Pouilly-Fuissé. Such comparisons have a limited direct relevance but they’re a good occasion to taste some proper French wines (something I must do more often) and look at Vernaccia in a broader context.

The Vernaccia consorzio president Letizia Cesani with Philippe Valette
and Fabio Montrasi (of Château des Rontets).

It was actually a brave move on Vernaccia’s side, as the comparison surely showcased some of the appellation’s inherent problems. The major one, for me, was a lack of stylistic homogeneity and a clear direction. It’s especially evident in the Riserva bottlings. New oak, used oak, large oak; oak fermentation, stainless steel fermentation, skin contact, lees contact; ageing in oak, in concrete, in bottle: I’ve tasted over 25 Riservas without quite understanding where they should be going. The best examples, such as Giovanni Panizzi’s 2002 and 2006 (see also my earlier article here), or La Lastra’s 2002 and 2001, or Mattia Barzaghi’s Cassandra 2007, are wine of compelling substance and potential, but many others are just coarse and excessive with no sense of harmony.

In the end it was a more consistent showing for the basic Vernaccias (and the odd single vineyard selection), many of which provide a happy reflection of San Gimignano’s sandy-clay terroir: unaromatic and sometimes low on fruit but with vivid salty, bitterish mineral notes on the palate, Vernaccia is one of Italy’s most distinctive white flavours. Highlights included Vincenzo Cesani, La Mormoraia, Mattia Barzaghi, and Cappella di Sant’Andrea, athough it should also be said there was a large amount of bland industrial-tasting wine that does nothing to enhance Vernaccia’s reputation.

The wine was better preserved than the label.

The Pouilly-Fuissé team was restricted to three estates, but they provided some very exciting drinking. I found Guffens-Heynen’s wines built around oak, but they’re real masterpieces of oak vinification and the Mâcon-Pierreclos 1er Jus de Chavigne 2006 is one heck of a vibrant, structured, mineral Chardonnay, and the Pouilly-Fuissé Deuxième Tri 1993 was impressively preserved for its age.

Yet in a way the more stimulating wines came from Domaine Valette, including a bold no-sulphur (there’s only 8mg added at bottling) Viré-Clessé 2006 and 2003 that was slow to open but revealed an intriguing herby-medicinal minerality and a wide panorama of salty notes; it’s really thoroughly recommended for 16€. And Château des Rontets offered three very solid bottling of Pouilly-Fuissé: the Les Birbettes, from 80-year-old vines, is extractive, deep, majestic and impressive. We were surely looking at the elite of Pouilly-Fuissé but they surely showed a level of consistency, concentration and depth that is beyond the reach of Vernaccia di San Gimignano, for the moment. Reasons? I’d identify a long consolidated tradition of wine production in Burgundy, but also a stronger emphasis on vineyard management, and importantly, yields: yields are always relative and should be taken with a grain of salt but a Vernaccia producer is happy to produce 50-60hl/ha with a planting density of 4–5000 vines/ha while the Burgundian standard at 10K vines/ha is closer to 30–40hl. That’s three times less than in Tuscany. 

2008 Dahongpao

I don’t often blog on Wuyi oolong teas – because I don’t often drink them. While ‘cliff tea’ (yancha) is, for many aficionados, the epitome of the tea experience, I have an issue with their highly roasted aromas and their bone-dry style. I admire the best examples, but when choosing a tea to drink, my thoughts usually drift towards Taiwan or China’s two other major families of oolong: Dancong and Anxi.

But this 2008 Dahongpao (‘Big Red Robe’) from Wuyi is one that I do find utterly irresistible. Sourced from London’s Eastteas, it is said to be manufactured by master roaster Mr. Xu. It’s rare to see a teamaker named in any vendor’s description (since so few teas in the West are purchased directly from producers) and I tend to take hyperbolic stories of master roasters with a grain of salt (or two), but in this case the description is fair. This tea shows an extraordinary roasting skill, and is really an outstanding example.

The roast is in fact rather low for a Wuyi tea. It has been used like new oak in a very good red Burgundy wine: it’s there, and in fact there’s a lot of it, but its presence is very much in the background of things. It provides a discrete canvas over which to tell a story of fruits and spices. Without it, the aromas wouldn’t quite be as complex or deep, but it is never allowed to take first stage.

A confirmation of how thoughtfully this tea was roasted can be seen in the image above and below. The colour of the brew never really goes much beyond orange-peachy, quite a difference from the reddish-brown of a typical Wuyi tea such as Shuixian (see here for an extensive review). And the expired leaves open almost completely, revealing a deep green colour rather than brown: a sign of moderate roast.

In the cup, this tea again is vastly superior to the Wuyi average. Even brewed in a porcelain gaiwan, it is more balanced, elegant, complex and smooth than a heavily roasted Shuixian. But the real difference is revealed in a Chinese yixing clay teapot. Staging a classic gongfu brewing regime with high dosage (5–6g / 100ml is good) and very short steeping times (as short as 5–7 seconds initially) I am rewarded with an outstanding complexity and fascinating progression. Opening with a cornucopia of dried fruits, peaches, apricots and honey, moving slowly through a period of more present roast (brews #2–3) towards a renewed apricottiness, this time with added quince and hazelnut.

Dahongpao is one of the four ‘historical bushes’ of Wuyi (si da ming cong), a status roughly equivalent to a Burgundian grand cru such as Richebourg or Clos de Tart. Accordingly, there are many derivations, imitations and counterfeits, and drinking them sometimes makes you wonder what the fuss is about. This expensive example puts things in order, and shows why Dahongpao’s reputation is well deserved. 

In Apulia (4): Three wines that work well

In my recent series on Apulia I have been fairly critical of some aspects of the region’s winemaking. Back at home I sat to a relaxed tasting session with some potentially controversial wines, to see whether my feelings have softened. 

Feudi di San Marzano is a large commercial winery making wines in a very fruity style (they’re high on the list of favourites of Luca Maroni, Italy’s most controversial critic), including the Primitivo Sessantanni that embraces the grape’s excesses I mentioned here. ‘Sud’ is San Marzano’s range of everyday varietal wines, and includes (interestingly) a white Verdeca alongside a Shiraz, Primitivo and Malvasia Nera. This latter grape is ubiquitous in Salento, the southern part of Apulia, but has always been used exclusively as a blending variety for its deep colour and lush fruitiness. (I’ve heard a theory that it belongs to the Grenache family). It allegedly lacks structure to be bottled on this own. Well, this Sud Malvasia Nera 2007 works very well indeed. It is a simple wine with not much bouquet to speak of, but making a statement about Apulia as a serious source of irresistibly tasty ripe fruit. The New World inspiration is very obvious here but the whole has a natural freshness and joyfulness that is rarely seen in an overseas wine. Unsophisticated but delicious, in a word. (It’s about 8€ retail).

With the Santa Lucia’s 2000 Le More, I wanted to double check my mixed impressions from a Nero di Troia tasting organised for us at Canosa by the Radici association. This grape is another former blending variety that has quickly risen to fame in recent years. But it’s still much a work-in-progress as producers are trying to figure out what winemaking styles suit it best. Rosés, light unoaked reds, classic long-aged large-oak examples, as well as turbocharged new oak modern fruit bombs are produced. The latter solution is the least interesting, the general feeling about Nero di Troia being that it tends towards overextraction, and doesn’t digest new oak well at all. The 2006 Riserva Le More from Santa Lucia was a case in point, and I much preferred their lighter Vigna del Melograno bottling. Well, I was proven wrong with the 2000 vintage of this wine. Time has been gracious to it, and it’s showing brilliantly. It has two major merits today: it has totally digested its oak, and shows Nero di Troia’s exuberant floral profile well. Colour is still dark, bouquet only mildly evolved, softly olivey, rather simple as befits this rustic grape variety, but with good overtones of violets and other flowers. On the palate this still is quite dynamic and bit of tannic-punchy, with Nero di Troia’s typically moderate acidity. Modern and dark-fruity but with really good structural balance, and more seriousness than most Troias. 

Leone De Castris is one of Apulia’s veteran wineries, but with a recent change of style with the hiring of consultant Riccardo Cotarella I have been very underwhelmed by their wines. Especially by the Salice Salentino Riserva 2006, and all-time classic of traditional Apulian balsamic evolution, and following the Cotarella ‘revolution’ more of a blueberry muffin milkshake Mendoza Malbec-wannabe. (It is declared to be 100% Negroamaro grape aged in large oak; judging by what’s in the glass I have every reason to question both claims). So as a consolation I opened my last remaining bottle of the pre-Cotarellean Salice Salentino Riserva 2001. What a delightful wine! An unashamedly evolved, transparent ruby colour and an engaging bouquet of ripe cherry and red berries, with a hint of Salento stewed fruit preserve character, with minor herbiness for complexity; no oak, no tar. The real interest is on the palate with excellent volume of ripe and fleshy but vibrant fruit. And there’s quite some tannins on the finish. Still too young, should wait another 2–3 years at least. Where the latest vintage is flabby and boring this is poised and refreshing, structured and drinkable, sturdy and elegant at the same time. If you have bottles left, cherish them. This wine is no more. 

Giacomo Conterno Barbera d’Alba 2000

Much to my chagrin I cannot afford the Barolos of Giacomo Conterno. This 45K-bottle estate in Piedmont’s Monforte d’Alba could well be the most famous and hyped of all Italy. And the entry ticket to the theatre of its epic, majestic, supremely ageworthy Barolo Cascina Francia is a hefty 95€ (the Monfortino Riserva, the last of the Barolo Mohicans, is three or four times that). 

 

That’s a real shame, because I tremendously admire and enjoy these wines. I admire their absolute composure and uncompromised reverence of tradition. I delight in their raspberry & rose petal finesse (although that finesse is a polite grammatical way of making their stern structural statement). I admire Roberto Conterno’s soft-spoken way of refusing to depart even an inch from his father Giovanni’s and his grandfather Giacomo’s qualitative and stylistic standards. Non si cambia una virgola was his answer to what he'd change when I visited him in September 2005, a couple of years after Giovanni passed away. 

Elephantine casks hosting Barolo in the Giacomo Conterno cellar.

 

Thankfully Conterno also makes one more affordable wine: a Barbera d’Alba that comes from the Cascina Francia plot in the commune of Serralunga and sees shorter oak than the Barolo here (although 14 months are quite a long élevage by Barbera standards), but otherwise comes close to a Barolo in structure and longevity. This 2000 version cost me 22€. (The current release, 2007, is 25€ at the winery). 

 

It is a fairly aged example of Barbera, with little obvious fruitiness and a tertiary bouquet of game meat, dried herbs, with some balsamic oak overtones. The flavour is ample and long, bone-dry, with high acidity and still quite some unresolved tannins, although the fruit is a bit too low to speak about much further potential to age. Technically it’s not a perfect wine, with some rustic touches to the bouquet and a hint of volatile acidity. 

Winemaking taken seriously: Roberto Conterno with geological analyses of Cascina Francia. (Photo taken September 2005).

 

Yet there’s something quite remarkable in how this wine completely ignores the modern ‘consumer taste’ and the flavour profile of contemporary wine. It’s not merely a traditional-style wine, like there are many in Piedmont. This Barbera is really more papal than the pope. It makes no concession whatsoever to the drinker: it’s stern, bone-dry, tart, bitter, tannic; there is sense of harmony and peace but it is the ascetic harmony of Gregorian chant. It’s the taste of wine from a now remote era, when great wine was something to aspire to, and not banally ‘consume’. A time when vintners weren’t told by journalists (or bloggers) what their wines should taste like. A wine to admire – and to enjoy, but humbly, not Vaynerchuk-style self-magnifyingly.

In Apulia (3): A good... beer

I didn’t bring much wine back from my recent trip to Apulia but I did grab this intriguing bottle of beer in the nice Liberrima wine & book shop in Lecce.

Coming from the local B94 brewery in Lecce, this Terrarossa red ale comes in a serious 750ml bottle, and is made in the style of a Belgian double or, better, radieuse. It pours a a nice deep amber reddish colour and is instantly inviting with notes of Christmas spices and red fruits (strawberries, cherries). It is even more convincing on the palate with a very clean, deep, well-defined malty flavour, yet avoiding the excessive caramelly sweetness of many beers in its style. Instead, it finishes with proper hoppy bitterness that make this a very good match with food. I’ve tried it with one of my favourite beer & food matches – a mid-aged Camembert cheese and endive salad.

One more useful detail – at 5% alc. the Terrarossa is lighter than comparable Belgian beers, and so finishing the bottle could be done more or less innocuously. Raffaele Longo makes a few more beer styles and while I’m not sure about distribution, be sure to give him a try when you have the occasion.