Muddy Boots

Why everything tastes the same on wine junkets

The whirlwind wine trip of the "Barbera Boys" finishes up today. And when the seven bloggers have time to reflect and compose longer, more thoughtful posts, we'll see what a long half-life their experiences will enjoy. I think it's safe to say that the Barbera d'Asti zone won't be quite the same.

Still, having followed their posts and tweets with keen interest, one aspect of this trip that leaps out at me is the relative uniformity of the wines that have been presented to them. The cries of "too much oak" and "too much tannin" have echoed through each communique. I attribute this sameness to five factors:

1. The selection committee, however composed, has picked wines that they believe will appeal to international (American) consumers.

2. The producers are afflicted with group-think and are convinced that the high-oak, concentrated route is the sure path to success.

3. The same producers are the ones with sufficient clout to get themselves selected. Think intense involvement in the C of C, Rotary Club, Lions, etc., or their Italian equivalents, and you see how small-town networking pays off for the assiduous glad-handers.

4. Fear. A perennial favorite. Along with it, risk-averseness. An unvirtuous feedback loop is established.

5. The exclusion -- or self-exclusion -- of smaller players vastly reduces the chance of tasting wines that don't conform to the prevailing style. Visiting writers receive a fairly representative overview of the zone's production, but necessarily an incomplete one. The prevailing style is consecrated as "official," even to the detriment of the production zone.

I wish I could reveal how going against this grain has benefited Domenico Selections in finding a true gem in Barbaresco, but I won't until the deal has been signed. Suffice it to say that you aren't going to find "hidden" gems by hanging around consortium offices or the local Chamber of Commerce. The quality outriders don't play that.  

 

  

The word "importante" in the Italian wine lexicon

As I wrote earlier today, the Barbera 2010 confab is generating a lot of press that its creators never thought possible, or at least likely. No doubt the assumption was: 

Well, blogging is in. We have to have bloggers. We're hip and with it, after all. It'll be a cinch. The regular American wine press are such pushovers, and in exchange for the all the free stuff and the chance to swan about il Bel Paese, they write the nicest things about our wines. Just think what these nerds from the sticks will write! 

It must have seemed what, in the 80s, was called a win-win-win. I mean, if you get three wins, how can you lose? Right?

As wine-market historians will long note, this event was when It All Changed. For now we know for sure that wine writers may indeed bite the hand that feeds them.  

I can't help it. The Schadenfreude is too delicious. I must savor it. 

Now to the announced topic: Importante

In a post by Saignee, the word important was bandied about quite a bit in a heated confrontation between the bloggers and the producers of the Barbera d'Asti appellation. Saignee's post began with:

What is an “important” wine? Does history and culture deem a wine “important” by the simple fact that a wine is tied to the land and the people that make it? Or is a wine “important” because it is massive, tannic, structured, “bold?”
Yesterday at the barbera meeting we attended two events where the conception of importance was central to the debate that seems to define this event.

Later in this near-brawl:

And then someone asked the question point blank. “Why are you doing this to these wines? Why is there so much wood? Where is the acid, where is the beautiful simplicity of barbera? Are you going so far as to add tannins to these wines?
What can only be described as a shouting match broke out. A sore spot had been touched. These are structured, elegant wines, important wines, the producers protested. 

"Important." I hear about "important" wines from producers all the time, in which case the word is code for "an overpriced, overoaked, overconcentrated mess that was concocted for you wine barbarians in America."  Imagine their outrage when we tell them, "Actually, this isn't your best wine. It's obviously created for the American market, but the market's flooded with such wines. Why would we want to bring them in to fight for shelf space against Argentina, Chile and every other low-priced producing country?"

"But we used only the best new French barriques!"

"I'm sorry. You should have saved your money. We prefer the wine you made in the tank. It actually tastes like it came from here."

And so on. 

Whether the word "important" is meant to delude us or is a form of self-delusion, I won't try to discern. Maybe it's a bit of both. Certainly the desperation of throwing the word "important" around is all too clear. They do it with big, clunky bottles -- "And here our cru is in an important bottle --"

"Why is the bottle important?"

"Well, you see, it's so big and imposing -- so thick. Like for an important wine. Like Burgundy!"

"No one in America cares. Anyway, how long will this wine improve?"

"At least four or five years!"

"Not like a Burgundy. Buy a cheap bottle and put your money in the wine, please."

In the case of fracas in Astilandia, the producers are acknowledging that their traditional wine styles aren't important, that they are destined to be also-rans in the great wine olympiad -- the Jamaican bobsled team of Piemontese wine. You can easily imagine their dark thoughts: "There they are over in Barolo and Alba, raking in the dough with their big-name juice and celebrated terroir, and what have we got? Bupkas! And I spent 60 cents for each bottle!"

It must gall them on the best of days. But on the day of the bloggers it must have shattered many a carefully built house of mirrors. 

The truth will set you free, boys. If you choose to heed it.

 

Almost live from Barbaresco

It's been too long since I've updated you on our sipping progress in Piemonte. The past few days have been a whirlwind of visits and tastings, all the while using the agriturismo of the fantastic Giovanna Rizzolio and Italo Sobriano (whose winery Cascina delle Rose makes lovely Barbarescos in small quantities). These people have a heart-wrenching story behind them -- I won't go into it here -- but let's just say that, for once, the underdogs persevered despite powerful and exceedingly arrogant adversaries in the wine world. 

Giovanna Rizzolio of Cascina delle Rose at Vinitaly last year. "Cascina" means farmhouse. "delle Rose" = of the roses. You could translate the name as "Rose Farm" in English. I can affirm that there are lots of rose bushes here.  

Domenico Selections is in the process of signing up a producer from this area, one whose tiny production has to be allocated to Hong Kong, Italy, Sweden and (soon!) the United States. This young man of 32, whose enologo is a very famous one in Piemonte, has been working in the vineyards and making wine most of his life. 

He makes four wines: a Dolcetto that beats the pants off any Dolcetto I've tasted in a long time; a Barbera and a Barbera Riserva that, to me, redefine the potential of Barbera (I say that because it's never been a particular favorite of mine); and a stunningly good Barbaresco that is thrilling even in its youngest barrel samples. All combine superior quality with prices that are highly affordable. When the contract's been signed, I shall tell all. This guy has quite a story to tell. 

We're off to Tuscany tomorrow. We have a ton of appointments all over the southern half of the region -- Bolgheri, Maremma, Chianti, Montecucco. 

We'll tune in again from Tuscany or, failing that, Rome late next week.    

  

Climate change, Soave style

 Valentino Tessari, who with his son Francesco makes the hot-selling I Stefanini wines, claims that his olive oil is excellent -- and all his. "He makes pretty good wine. My oil is the best."*  There's a little father/son rivalry here, clearly. 

The reason for this brief post isn't to Jerry Springerize the Tessaris' family relations. It's to provide one more bit of documentation of climate change.

We said, "We didn't think this was a big area for olive trees because it was too cold."

Valentino said, "It was that way. When I started experimenting with olive trees 25 years ago, everyone in Soave thought I was nuts."

"Did they die in winter?"

"Sometimes they did. But everyone grows olives and makes oil around here now. Even a cold winter like this isn't all that cold when you look back at the old days."

You can take a faith position on climate change: yes, it is happening and it's all our fault. Or, no, it's a myth concocted by liberal hysterics. 

Put all that aside and listen to the farmers. Strict empiricists like Valentino Tessari.

*By the way, the oil is excellent.

 

More funny winemakers' tricks

We were speaking today with a small producer in the Valdadige, the long narrow region that extends from the suburbs of Verona up into Trentino. This guy makes Pinot Grigio with a couple of clones that are well-adapted to his area. We were talking about America's insatiable thirst for this wine, which is represented by dozens of labels in any decent-sized wine store. We discussed at length the astonishing popularity of a wine that almost tastes like water (with a color to match). At one point, the winemaker told us, "Well, of course, most of it isn't really Pinot Grigio. If you gathered up all the Pinot Grigio we make up here in Northeast Italy, it would fill only about two containers. All the big brands -- ALL of them -- dump in plenty of Trebbiano Toscano, Chardonnay, whatever they have left over. As an example he mentioned Santa Margherita: "40% Pinot Grigio and no more.

"You could just write 'Grigio' on the label and they'd sell it."

This is, of course, completely in line with the ancient if not honorable wine maker's/merchant's tradition of extracting as much value out of his wine as possible -- all the better if he can palm off a cheap, inferior wine as something a little better and/or, as I write this laughing, "more authentic." Yet, as the "scandals" of the past couple of years have shown us with Brunello and Valpolicella, cheating the consumer and making monkeys of the wine press is a well-developed sport.

Speaking of the wine press, could it be that their gullibility (and/or their complicity) in these cute games is the real reason they take so much heat from bloggers and most people who are serious about wine? And one of the main reasons their clout is declining so precipitously?

As to the producers: enjoy it while it lasts. If nothing else, changes in fashion are going to make your financial woes even worse than they already are.

 

10 years ahead: Wine trends in America

Today Dale Cruse of Drinks Are On Me posted a link to an interesting post by Jon Bonné in today's SFGate, the website of the San Francisco Chronicle. (Click here for the article.)

In his piece, Bonné lists five trends that he thinks will be most important in the decade ahead. In the setup paragraphs, though, he makes a key point that we all would do well to remember:

More wine is being consumed than ever before - nearly 3 gallons per U.S. adult in 2008, according to data from the Beverage Information Group.

There's something else: a lot of newly minted wine drinkers who grew up with wine-drinking parents.

This is truly something new in American life. And I think it has everything to do with the fifth trend that Bonné observes:

 5. Less is more. Less alcohol (the numbers are already leveling off), less wood flavors, less tinkering. Some of this is a change in taste: more clear fruit than wood, brighter flavors that go with dinner, wines from around the world that fit this bill.

But there's another lesson to be drawn from the recession: Simple winemaking is also less expensive. And all caveats aside about denting the brand - less expensive means more wine sold.

(Underscores mine.)

This "less is more" trend is clearly visible and well under way in a city like New York, and presumably in Bonné's home territory in the Bay Area. These younger wine-drinkers are precisely the kind of people he refers to at the top of the article -- the children of Boomers, whose parents exposed them to wine consistently from a very young age. Unlike their parents, though, the young ones tend to view wine less as a substitute for liquor and more of an accompaniment to food. Hence the "less" -- less wood, less alcohol, less heavy sweetness and less tinkering. It doesn't hurt that the closely related trend to "natural wine" has been strongly tied to "green" values and a sort of civic if not global virtuousness.

In short, they are acquiring, consciously or no, a more European approach to wine. I think this is, by and large, a positive development for both US and imported wines of quality and character WHEN the price-quality ratio is appropriate.

If we unpack Bonne's observation we do see potentially upsetting consequences:

* California's producers have to back off the 20+ year trend toward pricey, overblown wines. This will not be easy to do. Think of Detroit in the face of the serious Japanese challenge of the late 70s and 80s. Instead of doing a good job of making smaller, more efficient cars, Detroit opted for bigger and less efficient trucks. 

* Should California rise to the challenge, eventually many Old World wines that fit the "new" profile will lose their now crystal-clear distinctiveness. The question arises: What will be the basis of their new market appeal? Merely trumpeting their organic farming practices and obscure local grape varieties will not suffice.

In both cases, I agree with Bonné that intense downward pricing pressure, combined with this flight to "authenticity," will separate the sheep from the goats. 

Dilettantes and gentleman farmers, beware.      

In praise of "vinino"

 A few months ago Angelo Peretti, a wine writer in the Verona area, wrote a post in which he extolled the virtues of "vinini" -- little wines -- placing them in opposition to big, overblown wines (vinoni) of the type to win critical praise and high points.

By vinini, Peretti states clearly that these wines aren't insignificant. What they are is easy to drink, pleasant to taste, fun to share with friends. Such wines are the "instrumentality" that lubricate easy discourse and social bonding; they are not the main topic of conversation and certainly not the object of lengthy analysis and argument.

In his somewhat pompously titled "Elogium of Vinino, or Manifesto for Wines That Are Easy to Drink", Peretti lists a neat set of oppositions: 

* Wines that are easy to drink (lighter, less alcoholic, balanced) vs. colossally concentrated, high-alcohol oak-monsters

* Wines to drink vs. wines to taste

* Wines to share and enjoy with friends vs. those you dissect critically 

* Wines made to the tastes of the individual winemaker (one attached to his own territory and traditions) vs. those made to some international conception of what a good wine is

* Wines that are what they are -- quirky, even imperfect -- vs. those made by the numbers, striving for technical perfection

Well, you get the idea. It's an elegant presentation of current dissatisfaction with today's wine culture and its obsession with mosts and bests as defined by a corps of tastemakers whose tastemaking days are waning.

What I like about Angelo's approach is that it is not predicated on some ideal of "natural" or biodynamic wine, which to me is suspect because it is becoming an orthodoxy no less rigid and wrong-headed as the "international" craze, to which it rose in opposition. Anyway, this entails taking winemakers at their word, which is, frankly, never a smart thing to do. (Sorry, guys. I know. You have to make a living too.)

None of that for Angelo. He centers the argument on the experience of pleasure (hedonism!) in the context of conviviality. This resonates deeply in our culture -- the symposia (drinking parties) of ancient Athens, the ritual use of wine in Christianity and Judaism, the drinking songs and games of Medieval students, the Sherry parties of our great-grandmothers, Sunday dinner in Italy, France, Spain, etc., etc.

All right, enough of this. 

What are we going to drink with our amici this evening?

What are your suggestions for some delicious, very drinkable wines?

 

 

  This one works for me

Tintore in the spotlight

For a couple of years now I've written about a Campanian grape that captured my affections, Tintore. We're lucky enough to have two wines on our list that contain this rarity. Both wines are from Luigi Reale, and his Borgo di Gete is one of the very few made entirely of Tintore.

Imagine my delight last evening when I saw a link, on Facebook courtesy of my amico Luciano Pignataro, to an article by Michela Guadagno, in which she reported on an event Wednesday called "Tintore Day". Here's the link to the piece, which is informative and thought-provoking if you read Italian. 

I'll not attempt to translate the whole piece -- I've spent entirely too much time at the computer today and this week -- but I will pluck out some of the most interesting tidbits.

The headline makes it clear you're in a special place: Tintore is grown on a grand total of less than 10 hectares in the Amalfi Coast area (20 acres or a bit more), and just 8000 bottles are made in any given year by all the producers. And by "Amalfi Coast area" I should specify the little inland town of Tramonti, where Reale, Gaetano Bove and other protagonisti del Tintore have their wineries. This is verily the hometown of Tintore.

Our buds Fortunato Sebastiano and Luigi Reale. (Photo by Michela Guadagno, stolen without consent)

Guadagno devotes a long, dense paragraph to the roundtable presentation given by the enologo at Reale, our friend Fortunato Sebastiano. He described the history and characteristics of the grape, in effect explaining why several of the vineyards feature ancient vines (up to a century old): the variety is highly resistant to insects and mold; the grapes have thick skins which contribute to the dark color ('Tintore" means "dyer", hence its use as a coloring grape); and a bracing tannicity.  

Fortunato, who studied with Italy's most respected scientist in the field, Attilio Scienza, traced the likely origins of Tintore to around 1800 AD. DNA analysis strongly suggests that Tintore is the "son" of Aglianico (masculine) and the related Tintora with its feminine flowers -- an autochthonous grape with a vengeance.

While the producers are pushing for DOC recognition for Tintore, this "local hero" is hardly known within its native zone, and it doesn't exist as far as the ampelographic powers that be are concerned.

Wines made with a large percentage of Tintore require 18-22 months ageing in wood. The rough tannicity is softened in oak, although my feeling is that these wines are released before they're ready. I understand the financial pressures small producers face, but a few more years' bottle time would benefit Tintore immensely. Reale's Borgo di Gete 2005 is only just now acquiring the tertiary characteristics that make for more than a simple, pleasant drink but, rather, a serious red that you can savor all evening long.

I'd like to see "Tintore Day" become a regular feature. Next time, though, I want to be there.

Michela Guadagno in another time, another place

   

 

  

A peak experience in Modena

On our last stop before heading to Rome for the flight home, Jeff and I stopped at an enormous wine installation outside Modena.  We were there specifically to discuss the wines of of producer whose methode Champenois Lambruscos make the designation "Lambrusco" seem pathetically undescriptive and unjust.  (Made from the Sorbara subvariety, not the more common Grasparossa.)

We had tasted the wines at Vinitaly.  We liked them then and loved them now.  Stay tuned for further developments.

The CEO, heard that we have our wines in several Mario Batali restaurants here in New York.  He insisted on taking us to lunch at Hosteria Giusti, an old and very small restaurant in the center of Modena, since the late Adriano Morandi and Batali's father struck up a friendship many years ago, and it is been carried forth by the younger generation.  Here Matteo Morandi runs the place with the kitchen magic of his sister Cecilia and especially his mother Laura.

You enter the restaurant through the salumeria ("Enogastronomia Famiglia Morandi"), which faces the arcade running down the length of the street.  The enogastronomia is a small jewel of the finest foods of the region -- the best salamis and prosciuttos, cheeses, breads, wines, olive oils, Modena vinegars -- and the aromas are intoxicating.

You step past the counters, down a couple of steps, zigzag a bit and find yourself in a traditionally-decorated Italian dining room. (Heavy on the lace.) Roughly 14-16 people at a time eat as well as anywhere in Italy, I imagine.  

The walls are lined with relics of old vertical tasting dinners -- Ch. Petrus springs to mind -- and old pictures of Modena and the Morandi family. 

By the way, there is another entrance, outside of which is a tiny courtyard area for drinks. The name of the street is Vicolo Squallore -- Squalor Lane.  If this be squalor, roll me in muck.

The meal was by no means one of those gut-busters that Italy so often presents to you at midday.  But it was probably the most satisfying meal either Jeff or I had ever had.  The starter was a small zucchini stuffed with pork and parmigiano, delicately spiced, prepared in a big padella (skillet).  The cotechino fritto with zabaione, which is featured in one of Batali's books, is a stunning marriage of savory and sweet -- and, by the way, a superb pairing with the most fined of "our" producer's spumantes. 

Aside from the spectacular "home cooking" (which it is if your mother is a culinary genius with her pick of the best ingredients anywhere), the warmth and good humor of the Morandis made a marvelous meal an unforgettable experience. 

Matteo was proud of the Batali connection and noted that several of his family's recipes had shown up on Mario's menus. "We are collaborators," he beamed.

By the way, Hosteria Giusti is booked till February at this point. Reserve your part of the table, hock your diamonds and GO. Telephone: +39 059222533

Facebook and Twitter come through

A couple of weeks ago I put out an APB (all points bulletin, linguaggio poliziesco) asking my Italian "social media" friends to guide me to interesting wineries in Le Marche, a region that I know only from whizzing through it on the autostrada.  (Oh and one rainy August 2006 afternoon in Ascoli Piceno.) 

Well, folks, it worked.  I got some excellent suggestions from Twitter and Facebook friends in Italy and the US.  We have some appointments set up for the September trip, and I expect to show-and-tell these visits after I return to New York.  

Below: Ascoli Piceno, a provincial capital in Le Marche.  Scottish weather in August

From an American perspective, Le Marche is a region without a clear identity.  Its name refers to its position as an Adriatic coastal frontier between the Papal States and the Holy Roman Empire, and with that came with a great deal of armed conflict, which militated against building up great wealth and an artistic overload.  The region has its gems, such as Urbino (a Renaissance jewel I've long wanted to see) and Ascoli Piceno itself, but it rests in the shadow of its major illustrious neighbor to the west, Tuscany, the fat and prosperous Emilia-Romagna to the north, and the relatively obscure Umbria to the west. In the northeastern US, at least, its southern neighbor, Abruzzo, is much better known, and not only for wines like Montepulciano d'Abruzzo; central New Jersey is packed with the descendants of Abruzzesi.

The wines of the region are interesting.  Rosso di Conero is popping up on more lists, and it can be one of the great bargains of Italy -- juicy with modest tannins and lip-smacking fruit.  Common in the Marche's wines are Sangiovese and Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, two of the best food wines anywhere -- variable in style, versatile as to pairings, hugely pleasing when well-made, not overcropped and not forced into an "international" strait jacket.

We are looking forward to a productive and interesting trip, to be sure. 

  

Going home

My other home, I mean

I was last in Italy just a few months ago.  No, two-and-a-half months ago, to be precise.  I miss it greatly, even if I do NOT miss the discomforts of constant traveling.  But oh, the food, the wine, the people, the pretty old towns, the ugly edges of the cities, the language, the bitchy shop personnel, the herds of bovine tourists -- I miss it all.

Next month Jeff Mazen and I are heading back to Italy to visit some winemakers and, we hope, find some new producers to represent here in the US.  First we head to Tuscany to meet with an up-and-coming consulting enologist, then we'll split up and cover different territories.  Before we leave the land of the Etruscans, I hope we see our buddy Gianpaolo Paglia of Poggio Argentiera. 

I'd love an excuse to visit Sicily, though I suspect the Marche will be more in my itinerary; I do go for those rossi piceni and rossi di Conero.  (NB:  It's pronounced CON-ero, not CoNEro, which sounds like pseudo-Spanish.) 

And maybe I'll get to Urbino at last.

  

      

Stefania adds details and pictures

Stefania Pepe took some time yesterday to clarify a few things for me regarding the give-and-take between herself and her father Emidio.  She also sent some lovely pictures taken at a different season and in better weather than we enjoyed last week.  Keep scrolling for the English version.

Photo: Stefania in tractor at harvest.  Note tendone training, which is traditional.  It prevents burning of grapes in hot summer sun. 

Non è stato mio padre ad insegnarmi l’uso del cemento, io ho voluto “iniziarlo” all’uso del legno….Lui non ama il legno, quando io ho acquistato i primi tini e lui mi ha vietato di metterli nella sua cantina, gli ho chiesto di darmi in uso la vecchia cantina….avevo fatto fabbricare espressamente per me dalla Garbellotto su mio disegno dei tini di fermentazione simili a quelli di Chateau Margaux…e non potevo dirgli che non li prendevo più perché mio padre non voleva…li ho acquistati lo stesso e mi sono riorganizzata nella vecchia cantina di papà.

 

Destemming by hand

Nel 2003 ho fatto il mio primo vino per conto mio nella nostra vecchia cantina…e quando la Guida dei Vini d’Italia de l’Espresso lo ha scelto come il miglior vino Montepulciano d’Abruzzo Colline Teramane…probabilmente si è convinto!
 
Si sono molto orgogliosa ...hai ragione è per questo che da subito ho voluto fare la mia etichetta…ed il Cuore Di Vino è nato nel 1997 nella cantina di mio padre…
 
A presto. Buona domenica
 
Stefania Pepe

Stefania Pepe: In her father's footsteps. Sort of

Recently we visited Stefania Pepe and her husband, Adone Del Negro, in the Controguerra zone of northern Abruzzo.  It was my first time visiting her property or her father's, the legendary Emidio Pepe, a pioneer of the "back to the future" winemaking movement in Italy.  Yet it was hardly my first time dealing with wines from the Pepe family; my very first post on mondosapore (October 2005) was about a tasting where I first tasted an array of Emidio's always interesting and sometimes perplexing Trebbianos and Montepulcianos d'Abruzzo.

The differences between the father and the daughters are striking, and they ultimately go far in explaining the varying character of Emidio's wines and Stefania's.  Where Emidio is a compact country gentleman with a reserved, courtly manner, the daughters are tall, vivacious an d definitely not reserved.  Stefania, especially, is an outsized personality -- dare I say a kind of Anna Magnani of wine?  She's passionate, outspoken and kind, but, I suspect, pretty tough on people who don't live up to her standards.  Her husband Adone is a calmer, slightly more detached sort of person, and here I suspect he provides the groundedness a passionate character like Stefania needs in both life and work.  

 

Stefania at site of a vineyard to be born some time after

her second child

If you detect my warm personal connection with this couple, you're right.  They're hard not to like.  They are both grape farmers and winemakers, and their wines seem to express their personalities as clearly as they express their terroir.  There aren't many wines which, when you put some into your mouth, cause you to exclaim, "This wine's alive!  It's dynamic!"  This is what you get with Stefania's in particular.  Even if they aren't to your taste, you have to admit that they're highly individuated.

Note that like many of her father's wines, some bottles of Stefania's wines can be rather off-putting when first opened.  (You wanted natural wine, didn't you?)  After the gases blow off, the true beauty of these wines knocks you out.

Casks and Concrete

In general, Stefania adheres to her father's philosophy of minimal intervention in both vineyard and cellar.  Some of her vineyards are certified biodynamic, while others are certified organic, with every effort made to have all classified as BD.  She is candid about needing to apply sulfur and copper to the vines when conditions are particularly poor (excessive moisture), but only then.  Green manuring with cut grass helps reduce pests and keeps the vines from being burnt or water-stressed in the summer heat. 

One of the initial differences with her father was over the use of concrete tanks for fermentation and storage.  He scoffed at it as "too old-fashioned" (ironic, that), but the results persuaded him to go back to the future; Emidio uses cement now.  oak casks.  Emidio now uses casks as well as cement tanks, convinced by the example his daughter had shown him.

We tasted one of Stefania's wines made in cement and one in wood, and the cement was far more alive on the palate and nose than the wood.  Whatever it may have lacked in finesse, it more than made up for in verve and the delight of drinking it, so intense was the fruit.  Of course, her wines aged in oak are not a bit overdone; the wood is used judiciously, and the results are perhaps a little more conventional, hence pleasing to most wine-drinkers.  Both containers yield wines that are deeply interesting.

(The text in red is a revision of an error that Stefania flagged.  I had originally written that Emidio didn't believe in using cement, which is of course a ridiculous misstatement.  Mental dyslexia at work! -- * TDH)

 

Stefania said she wants to control the entire vinification process as much as possible.  This entails a mix of the old (grapes are all crushed by their feet, though they wear rubber boots, you may be relieved to know) and the new (a soft-press machine using technology the peasants of yore would never have conceived of).

The pictures will give you a thousand words' worth of my tiresome prosing. 

Stefania, in motion as ever, in front of the crushing table

 

 

 Contrary to rumor, there is no feud or bad blood between Emidio and Stefania. It is not an Italian Falconcrest

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E finalmente - i vini!

Here are some salient notes on the wines Stefania had us try.