Sunny vampire spit
It is spring and a middle-aged geezer’s fancy inevitably turns to vampire spit. I beg your pardon? Us proto-Nosferatus blinking in the shadows just aren’t sure whether our vinous preferences are Arfa or Marfa at this time of year. What to sink the old dentines into? There is a still a chill in the air so we’re not perky for pinky yet. Just-bottled whites can be sulphurous nostril enemas. Reds can be lean and cantankerous. Much cheap champagne is drainer. There is a style of wine, however, that would happily unite Klingons, Dick Swivellers, ardent neckgrazers and the King of old Dunfermiline town in an orgy of uncritical guzzling. I invite you to cast aside your preconceptions and bring your lambruscos to the slaughter.
Emilia-Romagna, of course, is Lambrusco-shire. Ask for a glass of house red in any Bolognese tratt and, as likely as not, you’ll be given a beaker of unapologetically foaming purple-red liquid. Like so many wines Lambrusco has become adulterated in the translation – usually in the confected, sweetened shambrusco versions that have rocked up on our shores for so many years and populated the supermarket shelves. The more authentic, cultured styles from one of the of the better Emilian growers may not give one furiously to think, as Hercule Poirot would say, but they invariably deliver rasping, toothsome satisfaction.
Lambrusco is also one of those wines (think Provencale rosé, think Picpoul, think Txacoli) that trigger happy holiday memories. Magic is what you make of it. Victoria Moore describes how a glass of Lambrusco (bloody good Lambrusco it has to be said) whisks her on an imaginative journey: “―And if I only had a villa in Umbria with a terrace surveying a tangle of olive groves and cypress-ridged hills, it (the Lambrusco) would exactly fill that gap when the afternoon had faded but the evening has not properly begun… Perhaps that‘s why I like this Lambrusco so much – it makes me think of all these things.”
The Donatis make real (biodynamic) red wine that happens to be Lambrusco.
A frizzante wine of 11.5% alcohol, this is a traditional, unfiltered, bottled fermented Lambrusco that is quite dry and only gently sparkling. It is a deep, brilliant crimson colour. It has soft brown-sugar and strawberry pulp aromas, with a little hint of briar. On the palate it is only gently frizzante, with quite a robust, serious, earthy palate with lots of cherry and quite intense plum-skin grip. Mouthfilling and well-textured, there is plenty of racy raspberrry acidity and lovely balance.
By the way the Donati Lambrusco bottle has a beautiful embonpoint and is sealed with a crown cap.
What am I eating when I am not devouring wall to wall pasta and nibbling on Parmesan? The animal of choice in Emilia-Romagna is the pig. Italians will tell you that the pig is like the music of Verdi—nothing goes to waste. Nose-to-tail eating indeed! Indeed, the pig gives its heart and other bits to make charcuterie that is unrivalled anywhere in the world for delectability (says me). Most famous is the silken prosciutto di Parma, the exquisite air-cured ham. Bologna loves its mortadella, a delicate sausage studded with pistachio slivers and eaten either in slices or chunks. Modena favours zampone, stuffed pig‘s trotter (feet) that is boiled and served at New Year‘s with lentils. Ferrara likes salama al sugo, a very soft sausage that crumbles when cooked and is served with mashed potatoes. The Lambrusco cuts the fattiness of the pork and leaves the mouth refreshed.
Lambrusco isn’t the only sanguine red to “foam alone” in Emilia. (A man who could make so vile a pun, wouldn’t hesitate to pick your pocket). Consider Gutturnio from La Stoppa in vivace mood.
The wine-making traditions of the hills of Piacenza date back to Etruscan times, even though eating grapes were already cultivated in this area in prehistoric times. Gutturnio’s ancestor, Kilkevetra, was also appreciated by the Romans, so much so that Pliny included it among the eighty best wines in Italy. During the Renaissance the wines of Piacenza appeared on the tables of Popes, noble houses - from the Sforza to the Visconti - and artists of great fame: Michelangelo Buonarroti loved them to the point of never being without them.
Gutturnio, so-called because of the archaeological find near Piacenza of a “gutturnium”, a silver goblet or cup from Roman times, is an important addition to the table: its intense colour already reveals its clean, slightly sweet taste, which makes it harmonise perfectly with the culinary traditions of the Piacenza region. The vines which produce it are Barbera and Bonarda, which came to the hills of Piacenza from the Piedmont.
The DOC Colli Piacentini allows varietal wines from half a dozen grapes, plus a couple of specific permitted blends, one of which is Gutturnio, a mix of predominantly Barbera with some Bonarda. A stramash in the glass this is dark, opaque, purple-black in colour, the nose is filled with bramble, spice and minty blackcurrant and cured salami. Quite fleshy and full on the palate, with a smooth texture and intense vinous flavours; lots of earthy, bramble darkness, good concentration and grippy, but fine tannins with intriguing afternotes of grilled celery.
This effort from La Stoppa is (go with me here) the equivalent of a dusky, hair-tossing Penelope Cruz smoking a cheroot and swearing mellifluously. Naughty, but indescribably nice.
Speaking of effervescent Barbera, Elena Pantaleoni’s friend, Alessandra Bera, makes one particular example that bubbles and squeaks impertinently. The unfiltered Barbera ―Le Verrane, fermented in cement tank, is true to type with varietal notes of mulberry, cherry-soda, balsam and mint and faint traces of liquorice on a palate that drives all the way. The wine undergoes its malolactic in the bottle; do not be surprised to get a Lambrusco-style tongue-prickling epiphany. This unpredictable red is a party in glass, vinous space dust. It is frivolously serious with a charming bitter-sour contrariness guaranteed to offend the techno-squeakers, nit-pickers and fault-fetishists. Great stuff. Try with bean stew brandished with a knuckle of pork
Italy has a love affair with fizzy reds. Freisa, Grignolino, Brachetto, amongst others, often make youthful sparkling, astringent-and-acidic light-bodied wines to wash down the meaty cucina.
The blood-red fizzy phenomenon is not confined to Italy. There’s plenty of combustible Gamay sizzling in obscure natural wine bars in Charing Cross and Paree.. Flibbertigibbet wine that should sport a sell-by date on the label. Ode to joie de vivre - purple stained mouth – check - beaded bubbles winking at the rim – check- seriously frivolous? – double check. The Pet Nat (Pétillant Naturel) is a savoury Gamay sur juice. It is made thusly: In the purest tradition of natural wines without sulphur the secret consists of harvesting the grapes ripe and in perfect health. The must begins its fermentation in vat and finishes in bottle. The richness of the sugars, the CO2 and the pressure created by the fermentation in bottle undermines the work of the yeasts. The fermentation then proceeds in a very slow manner until it finishes leaving the wine demi-sec. So flip off the red crown cap, pop, a seductive whisper and foam into the glass. Amidst the oodles of strawbs and rasps there‘s a smoky flavour and a neat whack of green pepper – drink it chilled, of course. This fizzy McLizzy is intended for the dizzy days of summer and Heredia counsels sternly against drinking it beyond September. As if you would…
It’s red, its fizzy, it’s seriously frivolous and it’s frivolously serious. I can almost hear the vamps licking their chops with the greatest of expectorations. Let the red times roll and down a glass or three. As Roald Dahl would say: “It will make you as ‘appy as an ‘amburger”.
