Among the 2010 Brunellos I was able to taste here in New York a few months back, Col d’Orcia’s stood out for its finesse. It had all the fruit and structure that showed well in the best examples of that very fine vintage, but over and above that, the Col d’Orcia sample showed an elegance that very few Brunellos ever achieve – an impressive accomplishment in a Sangiovese-based wine that is usually more noted for power than for polish.
Consequently, no one will be surprised to learn that when I was invited to taste that 2010 again, along with some older bottles of Col d’Orcia’s very fine cru Poggio al Vento, over lunch at Del Posto, I very rapidly accepted. I anticipated a good lunch and good-to-superb wines, and I wasn’t disappointed.
Col d’Orcia is an exceptional property in many ways. In a zone where small – even boutique – producers are almost the rule, Col d’Orcia is large, the third largest estate in the denomination, after Banfi and Castelgiocondo.
And it lies in the far south of the zone, nearer to Sant’Angelo Scalo than Sant’Angelo in Colle. This is by far the hottest, driest part of the Brunello zone, a set of growing conditions that has only been exacerbated by climate change. So winemaking here is no dance with benign nature; it is more often a challenging and labor-intensive wrestling with the demon of drought.
Col d’Orcia’s proprietor – Count Francesco Marone Cinzano, whose father bought the extensive property in 1973 – has responded to these conditions with the kind of scrupulous attention to the vineyards that is usually the mark of smaller, more easily workable estates. A long-time estate manager, Edoardo Virano, and consulting enologist Maurizio Castelli – the latter practically an institution in Tuscany – between them ensure that most vineyard and cellar operations are carried out in a craftsmanly rather than an industrial manner. The whole management team has worked with scientists at both the University of Florence and the University of Milan in researching matters such as the suitability of different rootstocks to different soils, and even more fundamental, the suitability of different clones to their sites.
The results of such care show, as they always do, in the wines. Col d’Orcia’s basic Brunello (if that isn’t an oxymoron) is almost always a textbook example of the breed: deep black cherry fruit, soft (or softening) tannins, sufficient acidity and alcohol to guarantee decent longevity – not as much as the prized cru Poggio al Vento, which is often a wine for the ages – but a good five to fifteen years from release, in sound vintages. Poggio al Vento is vinified from a 300-meter-high vineyard near Sant’Angelo in Colle, and only in the best years.
All the examples of this wine I’ve drunk have been memorable, and I’ve not yet experienced one that was tired or over the hill – my good luck, I’m sure: all wines eventually reach the end of the road. Some, like Poggio al Vento, just take a long time getting there.
Here are the wines I tasted at the Del Posto lunch:
2012 Rosso di Montalcino
Very characteristic and enjoyable. Fresh black cherry fruit, good acidity. Very drinkable and a good companion to food, and a nice introduction to the taste of Montalcino’s version of Sangiovese, for anyone not familiar with it.
2010 Brunello di Montalcino
As good as I remembered it. A very lovely wine, with perfect balance – one of the best 2010s I’ve tasted. This was a serious drought year, so the harvest was small and concentrated, and it took careful cellar work to avoid a tannic, alcoholic monster.
2006 Brunello Riserva Poggio al Vento
Mellow and round, with lovely fruit and acid and its tannins already softening. A very elegant wine that is maturing beautifully and clearly will continue to do so for many years yet.
2004 Brunello Riserva Poggio al Vento
Simply a great wine, maturing slowly and serenely, with years or decades to go before it peaks. I wish I had a case of this in my cellar, and the assurance that I’d live long enough to drink it at its mature best. Oh the humanity!
2001 Brunello Riserva Poggio al Vento
Another masterful wine, thoroughly classic Brunello, but for my palate just a slight step below the 2004. I’m probably really splitting hairs here: ’01 was also a spectacularly good harvest, and this wine is an excellent reflection of it.
Neither the province of Cortona nor the calanchi country where Umbria and Lazio collide figures largely in the notional map of the wine world that most of us carry in our heads. Yet excellent wines flow from both of them, though seldom encountered here – a situation importer/distributor Tony di Dio is hoping to change. Over a lunch at Gotham restaurant, he introduced me to his newest protégés, Baracchi, from Cortona, and D’Amico, from the UNESCO-protected calanchi district. Both make very drinkable and enjoyable wines, from quite different grapes but in similarly elegant styles.
The Cortona DOC territory lies in extreme eastern Tuscany, just south of Arezzo. Its western end butts right up against the Vino Nobile di Montepulciano vineyards. Not far from the city of Cortona, the Baracchi family runs a total Tuscan enterprise: vineyards and winery; olive groves; a Relais and Chateau Hotel with a Michelin one-star restaurant and spa. Their wines reflect an emphasis on elegance, which started with a surprising-to-me brut spumante made from 100% Sangiovese, Brut Rosé Metodo Classico 2012. This was crisp and fresh and, yes, elegant on the palate, with excellent perlage and delightful wild berry and sottobosco scents and tastes – a lovely aperitif.
The other Baracchi wines we tasted:
O’Lillo 2012: The Cortona zone was originally designed as a home for international varieties, and that remains its primary vocation. This balanced, elegant, and fine wine results from the blending of equal parts of four varieties: Merlot, Syrah, Cabernet sauvignon, and the native Sangiovese. No wood at all here: The wine is fermented and aged six months in stainless steel.
Smeriglio Sangiovese 2012: By contrast, this wine is aged 12 months in new barriques. The good news for me was that I and it weren’t overwhelmed by wood. In fact, it was quite lovely on the palate, with good Sangiovese character and fine structure.
Ardito 2010: The Baracchi family regard this wine as their masterpiece. It is a 50/50 blend of Syrah and Cabernet sauvignon, aged for 24 months in barriques. The latter fact caused me some serious – but as it turned out,groundless – apprehension before I tasted. The Syrah was evident in the peppery nose; the barriques weren’t, nor were they on the palate, which was fine and deep, with complex fruit and earth flavors. Surprisingly restrained and fine.
The D’Amico properties lie in extreme northern Lazio, right near the border with Umbria and the Orvieto DOC zone. As I noted above, the vineyards lie with within the UNESCO-designated zone of calanchi, stark vertical hillsides of eroded lava and tufa, both of which form large components of the soil throughout the area. That’s not ideal for many other crops, but it can be wonderful for grapes, because of the intense mineral/earth traces that the vines absorb and transmit to their fruit.
The four D’Amico wines I tasted all showed that marked minerality and an easy, elegant palate that matched well with our various luncheon dishes. These are truly food-friendly wines.
Seiano Bianco 2013: This is a blend of Grechetto and Sauvignon blanc, a round wine, soft on the palate, with excellent white fruit and – happily – none of the too-often-encountered extreme grassiness and cat’s pee that Sauvignon can be guilty of. Here the Sauvignon is under control, so the Grechetto’s fruit and the vineyard’s minerality predominate.
Calanchi Chardonnay 2012: An interesting wine, and it’s been a long time since I’ve said that about a Chardonnay. Here, while there are some tropical fruit notes in the nose, the flavor is dominated by intriguing mineral flavors – limestone and slate, for instance. Medium body, round, and companionable with food. It kept opening in the glass, getting richer as the lunch went on.
Seiano Rosso 2013: Another interesting wine that continued to open and change in the glass. A blend of Sangiovese and Merlot, very fresh in the nose and on the palate, with soft tannins and a good acid balance to keep it supple.
Atlante 2011: This was the most unexpected wine of the day for me, a 100% Cabernet franc. Great nose, with tobacco and cedar predominating. The palate followed suit, and although that may sound as if this was a thoroughly French wine, it wasn’t: Its bright acidity and equally evident minerality marked it as totally Italian. A quite successful adaption of a French grape to an Italian zone.
This was for me an eye-opening sequence of wines, showing some of the best adaptations of international grape varieties to authentically Italian styles of winemaking that I have encountered in a long while. Don’t you just hate it when someone challenges your prejudices?
With a lot of curiosity and an only slightly smaller amount of skepticism, I last month accepted an invitation to a vertical tasting of Prosecco, a wine that is usually drunk young and fresh. The producer so bravely putting himself and his wine on the line was Primo Franco, owner of the Nino Franco winery (Nino was his grandfather) in Valdobbiadene, the heart of the heart of classic Prosecco country.
I knew his wines to be excellent examples of the breed, with charm and elegance and fruit and an ever-so-slight hint of sweetness in the finish – lovely Proseccos, all of them, and I and a lot of other wine professionals regard his Prosecco Rustico as one of the best bargains in sparkling wine of any kind from anywhere.
And since I also knew him to be a serious winemaker, devoted to the highest standards of quality in the field, the cellar, and the bottle, my curiosity easily trumped my skepticism, so there I sat waiting to taste library samples of his Prosecco Primo Franco DOCG 2013, 2003, 2000, 1997, 1995, 1992, and 1989.
Seeing the projected lineup of wines, my skepticism had a little resurgence. 2003 was a wet, wet year all over Italy, and disastrously so in some regions. 2000 was hot, very hot, everywhere, producing a lot of wines that feature both over-ripe fruit and under-ripe tannins – not the best combination for a sparkling wine of elegance and charm. 1997 was superb in Tuscany, OK in Piedmont, and not so good further to the northeast. ’95 I couldn’t really recall, but I was pretty sure that ’92 hadn’t made distinguished wine anywhere.
All these forebodings were reinforced by Primo himself, who in his preliminary remarks said that all the vintages he was showing had been very difficult – too hot or too cold, too wet or too dry – and (this confounded me) they had been chosen to be shown after he had tasted through some 30 consecutive vintages in his own cellar. We have got here, I thought to myself, either a brave man and a master winemaker or a complete lunatic. An hour later, it was very clear he wasn’t even a partial lunatic.
So here’s the short story: The 1989 was a little disappointing, showing a perceptible tad of oxidation – not a bad wine by any means, but a come-down from the superb standard that had been set by the other six vintages. Primo felt this was bottle variation: “Not the best bottle of this vintage” he had tasted recently, he said.
Those other six bottles were across the board textbook top-of-the-line Prosecco, delightful to drink and fresh even at over 20 years old. Indeed, I was amazed at how consistently, through the whole lineup, aromas of honey, smoke, and acacia flowers persisted, how the palate deepened and intensified ever so slightly from vintage to vintage, how it preserved always the hints of spice and dried apricot and slate, the elegance and appealing effervescence of the youngest sample. (For more detailed tasting notes on these wines, see Charles Scicolone’s comments here.)
This is first-class winemaking, and a superb demonstration of the potential of the Glera grape (it used to be called Prosecco) in the right soils under the right hands. Several of the tasters, and Primo Franco himself, noted similarities between Glera and the great Chenin blanc wines of the Loire. There, Chenin yields wines dry and sweet, still and sparkling and capable of great age, as does Glera in Valdobbiadene.
Alas, the comparison doesn’t end there, because both varieties and regions are esteemed by experts but largely underappreciated by the general public. More makers of Primo Franco’s quality, offering more such graphic demonstrations of their wine’s greatness, should change that.
There is probably more writing about wine available to consumers now than ever before. That is due, of course, to the great democracy of the internet and its multiple channels for conveying opinions and information: blogs, social media, tweets, comments, consumer evaluation forums, and so on. The problem is, who checks the accuracy of the information? How do you judge the value of Person X’s opinion? The great democracy of the internet really culminates in a grand indeterminacy, in which – all too often – the more you can find written about a subject, the less you confidently know about it.
Just a few examples:
The blogosphere is enormously heterogeneous. It contains many serious wine writers who post useful information that could otherwise not easily be dug out – about, for instance, wineries in the American Midwest, unusual grape varieties, distribution patterns and consumption patterns – but it also hosts naïve enthusiasts and egoists who present their momentary reactions and crackpot theories as eternal truths. Nobody fact-checks the internet the way editors – a dying breed – used to check articles submitted for publication, and no one verifies authors’ credibility. I know this sounds like an old geezer’s lament, but it is true: Nowadays, having an opinion is sufficient warrant to publish it.
Well, I taught English literature to undergrads and graduate students for several decades, and I can assure you of one great undemocratic truth: Not all opinions are equal. Your opinion is only as good as the data you can gather to support it and the intelligence and insight you can bring to understanding both the subject and the data. Beyond that, there are valid and invalid ways of using both, and knowing which is which takes experience: You have to learn it over time, and exercise it until you’re comfortable with it. Think of good judgment – or a good palate, if you prefer – as a muscle that can be developed by use and atrophied by idleness. So – speaking again as one who’s been doing this for a long while – writing about wine should involve a lot more than simply voicing your likes and dislikes as if they were fundamental truths.
I can understand why many people might not think so. Lots of terms that wine writers use generate confusion in readers. It’s hard, after all, to find objective language for what are largely subjective reactions. Moreover, since drinking wine is a greatly pleasurable activity, it’s understandable why many consumers assume that learning about it and writing about it must be equally subjective and enjoyable. While nobody in his/her right mind would undertake wine writing – or winemaking, for that matter – without a passion for it, the nasty little secret of professional wine tasting and writing is that they are rarely fun: They are work – hard, plodding work.
The civilian world – wine consumers – by and large think of tastings as enjoyable occasions, where they’ll sample six or eight wines, usually with some food, often with a full dinner, and with a professional – perhaps the winemaker – leading them through the tasting, essentially telling them what they’re experiencing and how excellent it is. There are various degrees of intensity and seriousness to these events, but they are rarely analytic or evaluative exercises. Essentially, their purpose is publicity or sales.
That may be a bit harsh. Some commentators at such events do try to convey real information – but I’ve got to say, at the risk of offending some of my colleagues, that most presenters at tastings designed for consumers try much harder to entertain than to inform. It’s not a choice I can fully respect: I think it sells at least some of the paying customers short and underestimates their intelligence and seriousness. (Perhaps I’m being naïve; perhaps the entertainers are right. If so, so much the worse – for me, I guess.)
Obviously, many consumers are quite content to enjoy wines without needing to know all about them – and who can fault that? Many, many wine blog posts – the kind I think of as “What I Drank with Dinner Last Night” (a type I have been guilty of myself ) – deal almost exclusively with enjoyment, not analysis – and, unless they’re offered as analysis or eternal verity, who can fault that?
Nevertheless, there remains a gulf between the writing that results from serious wine tasting and the writing of even the most acute uninformed opinions. An occurrence a few years ago at Nebbiolo Prima (the annual week-long, for-professionals-only tasting of newly released Barolo and Barbaresco in Alba) summed that up for me.
The organizers of the event, in a laudable attempt to “get with it,” had not invited many of the print journalists who had been their customary clientele and instead had asked a large number of bloggers to attend. So at the start of the week, bloggers of every stripe and several languages were present in force in Alba.
On the first day of the event, every place in the three tasting rooms was filled, and the tastings began in silence, just as austerely and rigorously as ever, with somewhere between 65 and 80 young Nebbiolo wines to be gotten through before lunch.
The next morning, there were conspicuous empty spaces. By the third morning, the tasting rooms were half empty. I don’t think a single blogger made it to the end of the week. Who can fault that? There’s no question that it was brutally hard work, both physically and intellectually: Staying focused through repeated flights of young, tannic wines day after day requires real effort, and not everybody is capable of it. More than one winemaker I visited that week said “I couldn’t do what you do” – meaning not me personally but the whole cadre of tasters.
But the point is that those who abandoned the tastings after a day or two thereby lost the whole point of the event: gaining knowledge of the character and quality of a whole vintage for an entire major wine zone. That’s knowledge and experience that can never be made up in any other way, and no amount of enthusiasm or personal certainty can equal it. How many of those disappearing bloggers, I wonder, went on to write “authoritatively” about that Barolo vintage?
In a later post, I may return to the differences between professional tastings and consumer tastings, because I think it’s an important topic and an all-too-often misunderstood one.
Long ago, when I was young and serving my time deep in the heart of Woody Hayes country, I used to revere the Bolla company. Bolla’s wines were then the best-known and best-distributed Italian wines in the US, and in the Midwest were often the only drinkable wines I could get. So I blessed their makers and drank a lot of them – Bardolino and Valpolicella and occasionally Amarone (I wasn’t earning much money back then) and of course the firm’s Soave, so well-known, so popular, and so reliably good that it practically became one word: Soavebolla.
That, of course, eventually became its undoing: Popularity led to increased demand led to overproduction led to decline in quality led to, eventually, a watery, characterless Soave and red wines that, if not following down the same road, at very least shared a fallen reputation. Sic transit gloria mundi, and Bolla went from being a dominant figure in the American wine market to playing a very marginal role in the Italian wine boom of the 70s and 80s.
Well, Bolla’s back, and that is welcome news. The source of the firm’s original quality lay in the fine vineyards it held in the heart of the Veneto’s prized wine zones. Those are still in place but under new management, so to speak.
In 2008, Bolla was taken over by a joint venture of the Italian GIV group and the American Banfi firm. Christian Scrinzi, who had been winemaker with Bolla since 2001 and in 2006 had been appointed director of oenology, then began a complete renewal of Bolla’s winemaking – everything from vineyard management to cellar equipment and procedures – with the goal of restoring Bolla’s premium quality and consequent reputation.
Lots of firms announce goals like that. With its new ownership, Bolla seems to be achieving them. My interest – and that opening fit of nostalgia – was originally kindled by drinking a bottle of its Amarone Le Origini 2006 some weeks back, as the holiday season dwindled down to its end. That bottle of Amarone provided closure for the holidays and opening for my curiosity. It was lovely and thoroughly classic: suave and deep and velvety, and drinking beautifully despite its – for Amarone – extreme youth. If Bolla was making wine that good again, I had to find out more.
To that end, I tasted through half a dozen of Bolla’s line. Here are the wines and my reactions to them, with all my usual caveats about the limitations of tasting notes.
2012 Soave Classico DOC
Light floral/mineral nose, medium body, showing nice white fruit (mostly undifferentiated, in the apple/pear range) and some minerality: The Soave zone is Italy’s northernmost volcanic terroir. The same generalized white-fruit finish. A very pleasant, enjoyable wine, with no sign of fragility or fading.
2013 Bardolino DOC
Here’s an old friend back after a long absence. Bardolino for some years just about disappeared from the American market, which was a shame, because it’s a charming wine with a real niche of its own. This one is a fine example of a lovely, slightly old-fashioned (thank god!) style of wine: light garnet in color; raspberry/blackberry notes in the nose; light body with berry-ish flavors and just a hint of tobacco (toasted oak?); good acidity; and a pleasant almost blackberry finish. Thoroughly enjoyable, and a perfect light lunch wine.
2013 Valpolicella DOC
In style, this simple Valpolicella is similar to the Bardolino. Berry/tobacco nose again, and the same notes on the palate. Slightly heavier in body than the Bardolino, with good acidity, and a longer, dried-fruit finish. Not complex, but very enjoyable.
2011 Le Poiane, Valpolicella Ripasso DOC
The ripasso technique referments Valpolicella on the lees of Amarone: It’s like giving the wine a dose of steroids. Very dark in color and in style. Earth, black plums, and tobacco (definitely toasted oak) aromas. Obvious tannicity, tasting of grape skins, earth, and black fruit, with a long, drying finish. For my palate, too much evidence of wood throughout makes this wine a little clumsy.
2009 Amarone Classico DOC
Very dark garnet. Mostly wood on the nose, with black, plummy fruit well underneath. The same dark fruit shows through on the palate, but there is still an abundance of tannins. Good black fruit again in the very long finish, which bodes well for this wine, but it needs years yet. As it opened, however, the up-front fruit got very sweet and even more forward, so it will please greatly those who drink Amarone young (fruit nuts, I say).
2011 Creso IGT
Markedly different aromas here from the rest of the wines. I smelled wood and Cabernet and Merlot as almost separate strands, but I was wrong about the Merlot. This wine is vinified from 65% Corvina (both fresh grapes and some partially dried ones) and 35% Cabernet sauvignon, and it sees a lot of barriques. On the palate, Creso shows sweetish black fruit (plum from the Corvina, I suppose): It’s big, soft, and slightly tannic, with a long, tannic, black-fruit finish. This wine is very well done of its kind, though this international style is far from my favorite in Italian wines.
All in all, coupled with that classic Amarone Le Origini, this lineup of wines shows that Bolla has terrific versatility and is turning out very enjoyable wines in a variety of styles. I’m a traditionalist, so I like best the wines that hew closest to the tastes of yesteryear – which is probably why I’m so inordinately pleased by the return of Bolla Bardolino.
On a recent evening, Diane and I enjoyed a very bright moment in the middle of this dreary winter. To accompany some braised short ribs, and to give us a treat and alleviate a bit of the depression that this seemingly endless grey, chill weather induces, I opened a bottle of Bartolo Mascarello’s 1998 Barolo.
I expected an enjoyable bottle of a traditionally made Barolo: What we got was a marvel. By a great serendipity of timing, the bottle was absolutely at its peak, poised beautifully at the precise balance point of freshness and maturity. It was suave, it was elegant, it was complex, it was linear and structured, fleshy and fruity and voluptuous all at once. In trying to articulate what we found so wonderful about it, we both fell back on the image of our favorite Modigliani nude – linear and round at the same time, abstract and carnal, immediately accessible to the mind and the senses. Barolo just doesn’t get any better than this.
As most Barolo lovers know, Bartolo Mascarello was for decades an icon of traditional Piemontese winemaking, a model of integrity and consistency in his craft and in his life. I was lucky enough to have a conversation with him a few short years before he died, and his recollections were fascinating. He spoke quite modestly, even reluctantly, about his experiences in the Resistance, but he waxed eloquent and enthusiastic about his first experience, after Liberation, of American cigarettes: “Oh that aroma! That taste! I still remember it. So rich. We had been smoking straw, and those American cigarettes were intoxicating.” Given his subsequent career in wine, it’s not surprising that aromas and flavors should stay fixed in his memory.
As he had resisted Fascists, he resisted fads in wine and fools in politics. He hated barriques, and he hated Berlusconi. One of his wines was once banned for sale in Italy because its label – he designed his own – proudly proclaimed “No Barrique No Berlusconi.” Another said “We should make not barriques but barricades.”
He even refused to make cru wines. Even though he owned vineyards in prime areas (two in La Morra – Rocche and Ruè – and a piece of Cannubi in Barolo), he continued the traditional practice of blending their unique characters to achieve the balance and harmony he and many other Barolistas consider the hallmark of fine Barolo.
In his last years, his daughter Maria Teresa had largely taken over the actual winemaking, and the recent vintages of Mascarello wine I’ve tasted indicate that she is following firmly in her father’s footsteps, both in style and in quality. Even though climate change in Piedmont has made all Barolos much more drinker-friendly much earlier than they used to be, these remain wines to cellar. Sure, you can drink them young – but given the amazing grace with which they mature, you’d be a fool to do so.
On another such serendipitous evening as our Mascarello experience (yes, I’ve been dining well this winter), I opened a bottle of Picariello’s 2012 Fiano di Avellino to drink with some simple but excellent broiled chicken legs from a great poultry farm on Long Island. Ciro Picariello is first and foremost a classic Campanian grape grower, honest, hardworking, unpretentious, passionate about his wines and justifiably proud of their quality. He farms about 7 hectares – roughly 18 acres – high in the hills of Irpinia, and he oversees his lovely Fiano from blossom to barrel. Though, in fact, he doesn’t use barrels: His Fiano ferments and ages entirely in stainless steel. He and his wife started their winery in 1997, but he didn’t bottle anything under his own name until 2004 – and he attracted attention right from the start. Now he is a frequent winner of Tre Bicchieri from Gambero Rosso and Cinque Grappoli from the Italian Sommeliers Association.
2012 was a lovely white wine vintage in Campania, and Picariello has made the most of it. His wine is medium-bodied – almost full-bodied for a white – and round and soft in the mouth, with abundant but totally unobtrusive acidity to keep it vivacious. This wine struck us immediately by its purity and intensity: White flower and hazelnut scents, and apple/pear toned fruit, with hazelnut undertones and the generous minerality of its volcanic soils. It was an intriguing, complex wine from the very first taste, and one that constantly grew and changed in the glass. For all its immediate pleasure, it also hinted an ability to age and mature in very interesting ways. I’ve not tasted any bottles of Picariello’s more than five years old, but they all seemed still very fresh, with years before them. For anyone with a taste for fine, mature white wines, I’d suggest that Picariello’s Fiano is a name to add to your cellar list.
It’s being a long, hard winter, but happily there are ways to escape it that don’t involve long plane trips.
By now, I’m sure that anyone with the smallest interest in wine has heard at least some of the hoopla about the 2010 vintage of Brunello di Montalcino. The ’10 Brunellos are just now being released, because of the strict aging requirements that the Brunello DOCG demands. I didn’t make it to the Benvenuto Brunello event in Montalcino this year, where almost all the Brunello producers showed their wares, especially their 2010s, so I only caught up with any of the wines recently.
Last month at Gotham Hall in New York, 44 Brunello producers showed their new releases. Forty-four may sound like a lot of Brunello makers, but it is only a fraction – about one-fifth – of the ones who pour their wines at the Montalcino event, so the New York version hardly gives a comprehensive view of the vintage. As you might expect, most of the participants here were larger estates, and all were wines that have already established at least a toehold on the American market. Consequently, I can’t make any judgments about what the vintage was like throughout Montalcino: My comments can reflect only the group of wines I was able to taste.
Enough qualifications: Let’s cut to the chase. What do I think of Brunello 2010? Well, it’s unquestionably a good vintage, potentially a very good one indeed, but it’s not of the same caliber as the 2010 vintage was in Barolo and Barbaresco, which are superlative wines. Brunello producers love their 2010s, especially because they follow a few less-than-exciting harvests. The winemakers themselves who were actually in attendance in New York – very few, unfortunately – all raved about how equable the growing season had been, how problem-free the harvest went, what perfect ripeness the grapes achieved.
And I could taste that: All the wines, across the board, had fine structures, with good acidity, already softening tannins, and an abundance of dark-cherry fruit. Some displayed remarkable accessibility, being already pleasantly drinkable, though most still need time to fully come together. Almost all of them displayed the kind of equilibrium of fleshy fruit and acid/tannin/alcohol structure that promises not only long life but really interesting development. I think many of these 2010s will get better and better as they age. Certainly, were I a few decades younger than I am, I’d put some cases away and forget about them for as many years as I could.
This is not to say there weren’t the usual evidences of the human ability to screw anything up. A few wines were perceptibly over-oaked and/or over-manipulated, so that good Sangiovese fruit was submerged in a sweet stew of oak and vanilla and coffee. But there were in fact very few of those, and most of the wines I tasted reflected admirable restraint in the cellar, letting the pure pleasure of Montalcino’s grapes and soils shine through.
So why am I hesitating to be as super-enthusiastic about these wines as I have been about the 2010 Barolos and Barbarescos? Good question, and one I’ve been trying answer for myself ever since I tasted them. Partially, of course, one cause is the difference in the grapes themselves. For my palate, Sangiovese, much as I love it, never achieves the amazing complexity and layered-ness that the best vintages of Nebbiolo reach. Granted, that shows best with older wines, and younger Sangiovese almost always makes pleasanter drinking than young Nebbiolo. But I think the main reason I’m hesitating is the growing season itself and its results in the two zones.
Good as the 2010 harvest was in Montalcino – especially in comparison with the two preceding ones (both generously overvalued by the consortium) – it just doesn’t seem to me that it was as off-the-charts good as 2010 in Alba. As much as I enjoyed the vast majority of 2010 Brunellos I tasted, very few of them made me tingle with anticipation from the very first smell and smack my lips with relish at the very first taste as so many of 2010 Barolos and Barbarescos did. Granted, that may be purely a subjective response – but it’s the only one I’ve got to work with. I’m just not getting from Montalcino’s wines the intensity, the perfect pitch, that I got from Alba’s.
Still: For all that, these 2010 Brunellos offer extremely high quality and the probability of very long life. Just because I’ve got an almost impossible standard of comparison for them is no reason to ignore them. As I implied before, if I had the slightest chance of living long enough to drink them at their maturity, I’d be stocking up on them. And these, in alphabetical order, are the wines I’d buy first:
Very good; still lots of tannin, but plenty of acidity and fruit – a meaty wine in the very best sense.
A very small estate. Soft tannins, lively fruit, a bit of astringency in the finish, but developing nicely.
This one’s going to go long – a big, structured wine, with excellent fruit. Totally worthy of the vintage.
The basic Brunello has a lovely nose, good fruit, terrific acid, soft tannins, all developing very nicely. The cru Vigna del Fiore is huge and will need years to show its no-doubt spectacular best.
Deep, dark nose, slightly tobacco-y. Big dark fruit on the palate, beautiful long finish, almost licoricey. Well structured, like all the best wines of this vintage.
Canalicchio di Sopra
Lighter-bodied than most, but well balanced and juicy. Structure is sound, on a slightly smaller scale than the very best wines of the vintage.
Good tannic, grape-skin nose. On palate, soft tannins, fine fruit, lots of acidity, quite long finish. Should develop and improve for many years.
A classically structured, classic tasting example of this very fine vintage.
Another slightly light-bodied wine, but beautifully put together and already juicy and flavorful.
Sassetti Livio Pertimali
Simply a gorgeous wine, one of the best of the vintage I’ve so far tasted.
A huge wine, beautifully balanced, with deep black cherry fruit supported by excellent acid and tannin, for me the outstanding wine of the vintage. My hands-down favorite. I think this is a great wine.
So there you have it, 2010 Brunello as I’ve so far experienced it. I may report on the vintage again in future posts as I taste more of it, especially if I come across anything I like better than these.
The New York Wine Press’s annual Champagne luncheon was held last December, as it always is, in a private room at The Brasserie. This year’s event was a standout even among those normally fine tastings, however, both because of the selection of Champagnes – all Rosé – and because of the sheer pleasure of the dishes that The Brasserie matched with them: Kudos to everyone involved. Here is the menu.
Once again, Maestro Ed McCarthy chose and introduced the wines – and make no mistake about it, these were wines in every sense, not just pretty party bubbles. Rosé Champagne usually has more body – more substance – than most other Champagnes, and because of the importance of Pinot noir in its blend, it can often show more complexity and depth than other Champagnes. As Ed pointed out, Rosé has had a terrific growth in popularity here in the US (which may lead the world in its consumption), from a mere 5% of the total Champagne market about a decade ago to 15% of it now. Once regarded by the great houses as almost a novelty, Rosé is now taken seriously indeed and produced with steadily increasing care and quality.
As you can see from the menu above, Ed and The Brasserie carefully matched the wines with their food and their role in the meal, starting from the lightest-bodied as aperitifs and working up to the heftiest (at least in price) – the vintage Champagnes – with that beautifully rare Beef Wellington. The interplay of the wines and their accompanying dishes was a good part of the pleasure of the day, and I enjoyed all the Champagnes and was impressed by the quality of every single one, even though a few of them caused me sticker shock. Most, however, fell comfortably into the range of very fair price for the quality of the wine.
So: to specifics. I’m not going to comment on every bottle, since all fell into the good-to-very-good range, but I’ll concentrate on the wines that I found most appealing. (Regular readers will understand that that means on this particular day in these particular circumstances: As I’ve said repeatedly, no tasting note by anybody about any wine is engraved in stone and forever true.)
Among the aperitif Champagnes, I was most impressed by the Ruinart, which showed a greater liveliness on the palate and complexity in its attack and finish than the others. Note that this is not Dom Ruinart, which is a much more expensive cuvée than this reasonably priced bottle.
The next flight had to face the challenge of the lushness of fresh foie gras and its accompanying poached pear. All performed admirably: The sweetness of the flesh and the fruit called up all the wines’ Pinot noir subtlety. These are all very reasonably priced wines for their quality: roughly $65 to $75, which is certainly not extravagant for Champagnes of this caliber. The Laurent-Perrier, by the way, was the only 100% Pinot noir wine of the entire line-up, and very good it was. For all that, my favorite of this group was the Henriot Brut Rosé, which had a restraint and elegance that greatly pleased me. Ed thought it “a bit too young,” and he is probably right: It certainly seems to have the stuff to develop well for a few years yet.
The next course presented a very different sort of challenge to the wines, to integrate with the lushness of buttery lobster and chanterelles. It rarely occurs to me to match chanterelles with seafood, but they went together very well, presenting two different yet complementary kinds of intensity for the Champagnes to partner with – which they did quite superbly. This was my favorite flight of the day, both for the wines in themselves and for the way they married with the lobster and mushrooms.
Ed said that the Pascal Doquet – a Premier Cru – had been blended of four different vintages. This was a big wine, almost gutty. Not quite as big but equally fine, and elegant and complex to boot, the Charles Heidsieck didn’t so much challenge the intensity of the food as merge with it almost seamlessly. My favorite wine, however, was the Gosset Grand Rosé, which, while still a big wine, had the lightest body of these three but also extreme elegance and poise. For me, it was in fact the single best wine of the day, even though Ed thought it too “a bit young,” and even though he may well once again be right.
The final flight had to deal with the woodsy flavor of morels paired with the richness of a rare and juicy beef filet, encased in the thinnest possible pastry crust that had been smeared inside with foie gras pâté. All four of the wines that Ed matched with those flavors were vintage Champagnes, and all were very good, quite substantial enough to deal very pleasurably with the meat and mushrooms. Because they were vintage bottlings, these were – with the exception of the Louis Roederer, which is quite modestly priced – the most expensive wines of the day. Nevertheless, I have to say I found them less complex and intriguing than the flight that preceded them. I think Rosé may be one case in which the blended, non-vintage wine surpasses the usually more prestigeous vintage bottlings. For the record, my favorite of this flight was the Pol Roger Extra Cuvée de Reserve.
It’s not often one experiences so utterly unmitigated a set of pleasures as this occasion presented – not a dull wine or bland dish in the array. Would that we – all of us – should always be so lucky!