The Italian Argument
My friend (and wine
importer) Massimo is so Italian, I sometimes feel like asking him to tone it
down a bit. When he does Vintage Room tastings, he dons his baby-blue velour
blazer, unfurls the red-and-white checkered tablecloth, and puts out the bread,
the cheese, and the salami that he drove to East Van to buy (“always so bad the
traffic, Jordan”). He knows the families behind each of the wines that he
pours, and purrs out the hyper-syllabic place names like arpeggios; he is
simultaneously 100% legit and one step away from hopping onto a turtle shell to
go save the princess. Sometimes when he’s pouring I step back, out of the
Vintage Room, to observe the people he’s serving to see if they get the same –
“Hello, Jordan.” It
came from behind me, a familiar voice with an accent that was similar to
Massimo’s, if somewhat time-worn. It was Vito.
Vito is, well, the
other Italian importer that I buy a lot of wine from (and who also does
tastings with cheese and bread and tablecloths – it’s like the Aloha of Italy,
I guess). In fact, I’ve been buying from Vito since long before there I knew
there were Massimos (Vito has been in Canada a lot longer), and maybe that
explains my sheepish expression when I turned around to face him. Despite the
fact that I support both of these importers equally and despite the fact that –
last time I checked – I’m a grown man, I felt guilty, like I got caught
cheating on Vito with Massimo. After I made small talk with Vito for a couple
minutes, he announced that he was going to go say hi to Massimo, and I promptly
ran away, just as a grown man would do.
As I pretended to do
important things in the rest of the store, I talked myself down. You have Vito
pouring in the Vintage Room all the time, I told me. Vito’s been here a long
time, probably doesn’t even have a temper anymore, I continued. You’re 43 years
old and you can buy wine from whomever, it’s all good, you’re such a
professional, I said. It was working. I felt better. My friend Rick was
standing at the tasting bar looking into the Vintage Room and beckoned me over,
“you’ve got to see this”, he said. My anxieties returned like booming car
stereos.
It looked initially
like they were trying to swat many flies away from each other’s heads. Vito and
Massimo were gesticulating wildly at one another, raising and lowering their
pitches accordingly. I don’t know what they were arguing about (I no habla Italian)
but I got the sickening feeling that I’d put a Japanese Fighting Fish in the
same tank as another Japanese Fighting Fish. I had to do something before it
came to blows, so – like a grownup – I ran away further into the back.
After dusting the
same bottle for 10 minutes I figured the coast was clear, and emerged
cautiously from the back and went into the Vintage Room where Massimo was
pleasantly whistling. Vito was gone. “What was that about?” I asked Massimo,
who blinked at me for a beat before asking “what you mean, Jordan?” “I mean,
what were you and Vito talking about?” I clarified. Massimo blinked at the
table, then the ground, then his own hand, “I think the weather?” he shrugged.
After I pushed a little further, Massimo divulged, with a puzzled look, that
they’d maybe discussed soccer a bit. They weren’t fighting, they weren’t even
disagreeing, that is just how a couple of Italian guys talk to each other.
That kind of passion
pervades every Italian conversation, but it can be weaponized when applied to
things that really matter, like wine. Throughout most Italian wine regions, the
predominant argument is between those winemakers (and wine drinkers) who adhere
to styles and practices handed down to them over centuries, and the restless
types who want to use the best techniques from around the world in their own
back yard. Between the Traditionalists and the Modernists.
The documentary
Barolo Boys showed how the rift between Traditionalist and Modernist winemakers
in the Langhe created an ongoing feud that has affected every part of
Piemontese life. There’s a great Decanter article (linked to below) that
describes the more technical aspects of the divide, but the main points of
contention regard the macerations (length and temperature - affects colour,
tannins and intensity) and oak treatment (type, size and aging – affects
aromas, texture and tannins), as well as the general vibe of the finished wine.
Traditional Barolos generally need a long nap whereas Modern bottles can be
friendlier earlier. Traditional Barolos hue a particular shade of orange around
the rim, where Modern ones trend deeper red.
Both kinds of Barolo, however, are comprised of 100% Nebbiolo, but still
the battle rages on.
The Tuscan argument
is about as old and as famous as Led Zeppelin, and largely put to bed. When
Piero Antinori made the decision, now conservative but then radical, to add a
weensy smidge of Cabernet to his Chianti, Tignanello was born and started a
chain reaction that brought forth the army of “Supertuscans”, non-traditional
premium wines that shook the tree so much, the traditional rules were
eventually amended to allow for more innovation. Nowadays a Toscana I.G.T. (the
Italians don’t like the term Supertuscan) is as normal a find as a Chianti or
Brunello, indeed many houses will produce an I.G.T. alongside more traditional
fare.
And that’s how many
Italian houses mind the gap, they either compromise, inhabiting a point on the
spectrum using elements of both ideologies, or they straddle the divide by
having two kinds of children: one becomes a judge, and the other one invariably
ends up before that judge sporting a Mohawk. Elio Grasso and Fontodi, featured
below, do this, making a traditional bottling alongside a more international
one, whereas houses like Macchion dei Lupi, Benanti and Paitin stake their
ground firmly between both camps. To the wines:
Elio Grasso
It’s worth
remembering that although Nebbiolo has been grown in the Langhe for centuries,
villages like Barolo and Barbaresco were only recognized as world class
terroirs after Noblemen like Conte di Cavour enacted vineyard and cellar
practices that dragged everyone kicking and screaming into the 19th century,
cementing the traditional Barolo style we know today. The Grasso estate in
Monforte d’Alba (one on Barolo’s communes) dates back to that time, and the
family makes both traditional and modern wines:
Elio Grasso Ginestra
Casa Mate 2012, Monforte d’Alba, Barolo
A traditional
bottling from the tiny lieu-dit Casa Mate in the muscular Ginestra cru. If you
squished cherries, pebbles and an unlit cigar together on a freshly paved road,
everyone would wonder what you were doing. The window probably opens next year,
with spicy delights for those patient collectors who venture through it. 96
points Vinous, 95 points Robert Parker, 2 6-packs available, $117.49 +tax
Elio Grasso Runcot
Riserva 2010, Monforte d’Alba, Barolo
To quote Chris Pratt
from the recent Magnificent Seven remake: “I do believe that bear was wearing
people-clothes”. Staying a very modern 2 years (minimum) in new French
barriques, then a further 5 in bottle until it stopped being angry, this caged
animal exudes cherry, plum, licorice, soy, menthol, truffle and tobacco, before
an enormous mouthfeel and tannins you could cut with a knife. The reviews say
that you can approach this beast in a year or two, but I would wait a few more,
just until it gets used to your scent. From Monforte’s Gavarini vineyard, only
made in worthy years. 98 points Robert Parker, 96 points Vinous, 2 wooden
6-packs available, $210.99 +tax
Fontodi
Before being
replanted to vines 200 years ago, the amphitheatre-shaped landscape beneath the
town of Panzano was planted to wheat, giving the area the name Conca d’Oro
(Golden Shell). Today, the Conca d’Oro is one the best terroirs in Chianti
Classico, and after making terracotta tiles for decades, the Manetti family
started acquiring vineyards here 50 years ago. Their winery, Fontodi, makes
both Supertuscans and Chiantis:
Fontodi Vigna del
Sorbo 2013 Chianti Classico Gran Selezione
The very top of
Chianti’s traditional scale, a Gran Selezione designation must be earned anew
each year, approved in blind tastings by a rotating panel of Tuscan winemakers,
and this firecracker from the Sorbo vineyard in Conca d’Oro is just bonkers.
Leather, flowers and black cherry swirl towards an intensely packed front
palate, on the back end there’s minerals, spices, and nothing but time.
Gorgeous. This wine can be vintage-sensitive, lucky for us that 2013 was just
so wonderfully silly. 98 points Vinous, 96 points Robert Parker, 3 6-packs
available, $79.99 +tax
Fontodi Flaccianello
2013, Colli Toscana Centrale
You didn’t know
Sangiovese could do this, heck, I bet Sangiovese didn’t even know. Unlike most
other Supertuscans that employ international grape varieties, Flaccianello is
comprised entirely of traditionally Tuscan Sangiovese, but they’ve somehow
trained it in hand to hand combat. The body on this is always enormous (24
months in new French barrels can do that), but the stars aligned in 2013 to
give this Flaccianello special powers. The concentration astounds, with black
cherry, blackberry, plum, mint, and vanilla all vying for your attention, and a
friendlier tannic structure than you’re expecting. I already know I don’t have
enough of this, I’m currently trying to get more. 98 points Robert Parker, 97
points Vinous, 3 6-packs available, $135.99 +tax
Here is that
Decanter article regarding the Barolo Argument, very well done:
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