Northern Italy by way of Savoie Part 1
DAY ONE: Haute-Savoie-Valle d’Aosta
Savoie is one of those offbeat wine regions that even many French people only seem to have a vague idea of its location. Viticulture here seems like opportunism and local demand sucks up the thin, often acidic wines without discernment. Amongst the patchwork scattering of scrawny vineyards and tiny wineries there are but a few gems and serendipity alone would lead you to the ramshackle village of Ayze and Domaine Belluard.
The vineyards of Domaine Belluard are situated in Ayze in the Haute-Savoie as Dominique Belluard was at pains to point out when we finally arrived at the winery. They rise to about 450m above sea level and from them you can see the spur of the Alps. Some of the vines are planted on the flat grounds near the winery, others terraced on the steep inclination of the exposed south-facing hills behind including some on Terre Feu, a red scarred, mineral-rich subsoil composed of glacial sediments and moraines (continuous linear deposits of rock and gravel). The Alpine climate ensures a big temperature difference between day and night, ensuring both physiological maturity in the grapes as well as good acidity.
Dominique Belluard, who enjoys hang-gliding (this would be a novel method of harvesting grapes), has a restless, questing demeanour. Like many vignerons you sense he would rather be walking or puttering off in his tractor than talking. He has long grimy tapering fingers and constantly makes roll-ups one-handed without looking. Occasionally, only occasionally, a half-smile will crack his features.
Beware of vipers in the grass too
We learn about the Gringet grape, that previously it was thought to be Savagnin, the famous grape of Jura, but ampelographical testing suggests that it is, in fact, an older variety. Now the grape has virtually disappeared from Savoie with only Belluard holding any significant quantities: a mere 8ha. Most Gringet goes into the production of sparkling wines which are a local speciality and likely to remain so.
Dominique is a serious proponent of biodynamic viticulture. He speaks all of the time of ‘balance’ with regard to the vine and its environment, the relationship of the plant and the cosmos and that the preparations given to the plant are to enable it to find this balance. When he mentioned the alignment of the planets and telluric forces a few eyes rolled, but I suppose that if you don’t work the land you’re not in tune with the rhythms of nature and all such talk must seem like arrant poppycock. The notion of achieving balance derives from holistic aspect of biodynamics that sets out the idea that all life is trying to achieve internal harmony and that we can create the preconditions for this state by observing and understanding how the natural world (or the world of natural forces and energies) works.
In his not hugely prepossessing paint-flaking winery which seems to be held together by masking tape Dominique expounds on his dislike of oak (it deadens the flavour) whilst pouring us some Gringet from the tank. He’s not a fan of stainless steel either, believing that it doesn’t allow the wine to breathe properly. As a result he has installed oval cement betons. All the wines we tasted were fantastically pure, especially the mineral Gringet from the Terre de Feu terroir. No malolactic fermentation here the fruit is beacon-bright, crystalline and the acidity sings. The wine conveys initial aromas of white flowers and jasmine, is citrus-edged with a hint of white peach, jasmine and violet and a twist of aniseed to finish. The latest Gringet cuvees from the egg-shaped tanks were more emollient and slight more textural as if the lees contact had smoothed some of the stony aggression.
An oeuf already! The unique cement ‘eggs’ used for fermenting and ageing the wine. Note the primitive artwork on the walls
I left thinking that Belluard’s beton was metaphorically half empty. Below in the valley lorries rumble and the pollution festers; meanwhile, in his redoubt on the slopes, Dominique is searching for purity and perfection. His slightly hangdog expression suggests that he is fighting a battle not just against the perennial forces of nature, but against the depredations of Man. Whatever you think about his endeavours or his wine he is the archivist of a nearly-vanished grape variety and should the Gringet ultimately disappeared, well, we are all ultimately diminished by that fact. Uniformity can be endless replicated making individuality all the more precious.
The Mont Blanc tunnel is not for the claustrophobic and it was rather wonderful to eventually shoot out the other side into the soft evening light of the Aosta Valley. We stop at the luxury spa hotel in Pres Saint Didier where we are met by the youthful Gianluca Telloli, winemaker at Cave du Vin Blanc. Down the stairs, get changed, then cavort through numerous rooms of warm waterfalls, sultry steam baths and assorted thermal geysers, then into the blood temperature outdoor pool where we sat on marble shelves each with a glass of sparkling Cave de Vin Blanc (from the Prie Blanc grape) and toasted the resplendently snow-skirted Mont Blanc, its muscular massif locking in the northern horizon. A bubbly mood ensued, lots of splashing and diving, before our second glass of something, a frivolous, effervescent Gamay. As Goethe might quoth as he might quaff: ‘Wie herrlich leuchtet mir die Nature’.
The Cave de Morgex may be the biggest wheel in town but is in reality a tiny co-operative of many dozen of members some of whom own a mere row or two of vines. The total vineyard area amounts to around 20 hectares, fragmented over many sites. The sheer beauty of these soaring mountain vineyards is made even more arresting by a time-honoured system called pergola bassa, or low pergola, where the vines are trained near the ground in trellised arbours with stone columns surrounded by stone walls. According to La Cave’s winemaker Gianluca Telloli, the low pergola has been used for centuries here because it protects the vines from wind and heavy snowfall, while allowing them to benefit from heat accumulated in the ground during the daytime. Yet the low pergola presents many difficulties, too. Harvesters must pick the grapes on their knees and, in some cases, while laying flat on their backs.
The vineyards, famously, are amongst the highest in Europe, with some vines at 1300m above sea level. They are old as well; some of these gnarled veterans have been knocking around for over 100 years. As I gazed towards Mont Blanc fading into the gloaming I thought we were in some kind of wine version of Shangri-La, a womb-like forgotten valley where traditions hold as strong as ever and where amongst the extremes there was a humble approach to growing and winemaking.
Telloli explains that the stone walls surrounding individual plots and the enormous piles of rocks heaped in a seemingly haphazard manner among the terraces have a function beyond aesthetics. Centuries ago, the peasants realized how important the heat conducting capabilities of the stones were. We’ve kept the ancient stone walls and rocks because they really help retain heat during the cool nights, which is crucial for the grapes maturation.
To that end he took us on a magical mystery diversion in his car haring round the zigzags to the base of a vineyard that sheered into the tenebrous sky. By now it was dark, the first stars were blinking and we staggered uncertainly up the slope marvelling at the stone walls that buttressed the terraces. The vines seemed to be clinging on for dear life; occasionally you could see where the roots had twisted around and poked through gaps in the wall to re-emerge on the surface. This was, we were told, the vineyard of Enfer d’Arvier, an amphitheatre of a couple of hectares, which through a chimney-effect was considerably hotter at the top than the bottom. We were enjoined to place our hands on the stones and feel that they were still warm, mini night storage heaters.
The pergola bassa with Alp posing in the background
All this alpen-traipsing sharpened the appetite no end and it was a hungry group of travellers indeed that dumped their luggage with alacrity in the hallway of the hotel and thundered into the dining room in the mood for some serious bibbing and tuckering. The coach, after a dizzying drive a la Italian Job, had decanted us at the beautifully reconstructed Inn/Restaurant of ‘La Clusaz’ which stands in the village of Gignod, in the Aosta Valley, just a few miles from the Great St. Bernard Pass.
The Valley of the Great St. Bernard is a fascinating area, of great historical interest, a grandiose natural setting of woodland and countryside that changes with the seasons. In the surrounding villages, characterized by rascards (wooden chalet-style farmhouses) and other historic buildings, time seems magically to have stood still, preserving the area’s ancient rural way of life rumbled only by the bloody pantechnicons that roar perpetually through the valley.
Around 1050, Bernardo di Mentone, vicar general of Aosta diocese, built a hospice at the pass that now bears his name to offer refuge and assistance to pilgrims and travellers. The hospice was run by Augustine monks, who have faithfully continued to perform this task right up to the present day. The hospice has been altered and extended many times over the centuries, but is still a place of peace and prayer for travellers wanting to benefit from its atmosphere of quiet contemplation.
In their work of succouring travellers, the monks had a great ally in the St. Bernard dog, the very symbol of loyalty and faithfulness. A powerfully built animal, hardy and of excellent temperament, the St. Bernard was trained to seek out travellers who had lost their way or been buried in snow as a result of avalanches. Although modern rescue methods are now used, including helicopters, and lighter-built dogs are preferred, the monks continue to raise St. Bernards, following a rigorous breeding programme. The dogs spend the winter at Martigny but are brought up to the pass in the summer months, to the delight of the many tourists who come to see them each year.
This ancient tradition of hospitality in the Valley of the Great St. Bernard is reflected in the history of ‘La Clusaz’. It is first mentioned in the 12th century and there are documents dating from 1140 which refer to the inn as a place of refuge and refreshment for travellers and pilgrims crossing the Great St. Bernard Pass.
La Clusaz: All rooms have views
Whilst in the restaurant the food was perhaps primped and prettified, it was nevertheless a fascinating insight into the quality of local ingredients. Behind this labour lies a passion for organic produce and genuine flavours. The perpetuation of traditional production methods over many years has evidently become a time-honoured rite and every dish has its particular story. For example, we were told about the pane di segale, a nuggety hard bread made from the harvest festival loaves that are baked annually. Traditional cooking here means that nothing is wasted.
Observing the philosophy of Slow Food La Clusaz understands that the seasons dictate the pattern of production throughout the year. When the hotel’s pigs are butchered, they produce the salami, dry-cured ham and local black puddings which feature on the traditional menu. La Clusaz also makes its own butter and a number of traditional local cheeses: fontina, the main ingredient in local soups, vapellenentse, cognentse and rebleque, a soft cheese which is also served as a dessert with cinnamon, rum and cane sugar.
The amusette to our feast was a little goat pate, followed by a selection of meats (Prosciutto crudo e salumi). I recall some melt-in-the-mouth lardo and various hams including one made from the udders of a cow (which elicited the predictable ‘udderly delicious’ from one wag). Another course featured a golden yellow quenelle of roughly- milled corn-meal polenta in a pool of melted fontina; and another was a classic of fatty ham-wrapped chestnuts with cabbage (Tortino di castagne, pancetta e lardo con pane de segale). This dish should have been served warm so that the lard could melt into the chestnuts and release the sweet flavours therein in the end it didn’t fit together. Gran piatto del Maiale con cavolo viola al miele was also about the big pig-ture (sic) and contained artfully arranged - pancia a cottura confit, cotechino (boiled sausage), costina and the splendidly named Stinco disossato (deboned shank) with some honey-drizzled red cabbage. As the rather elegant plate was put in front of us, Christian, on my left, whose expression had become increasingly glazed throughout the evening,- it had been a long day - looked as if he wanted to bury his face in the meat selection and go to sleep. Eric was critical: the dishes weren’t rustic enough, the magic was missing, but I think our collective appetite was more suited to gnashing the flesh off spare ribs and tucking into an earthy stew than playing pat-a-cake with the deconstructed concoctions on our plates.
We drank the Morgex wines throughout the meal beginning with the Estremi made with wild yeast ferment. The 2006 was a mere 11.5% was yellow with pale greenish tints, a citrus-edged nose and an irrepressible minerality. This wine is still writing a Mont Blanc cheque to my taste-buds. I loved it, but then I seem to have a penchant for wines produced by the thimbleful. The Rayon, by contrast, which I had formerly associated in my mind’s palate with all things ethereal and mountain-peaky and gingham-skirted damsels cavorting through alpine meadows (I must stay off the cheap grappa), suddenly seemed less linear and stone-inflected and instead rather ripe and full-bodied with palpable flavours of orchard fruits. At the end of the meal we tried the off-beat Chaude Lune, an eiswein (or vin de glaciere) that uses (according to tradition) several different types of wood to act as a conduit for flavour - in this case chestnut, oak, cherry-wood and juniper. Remarkably, one could isolate the various fugitive wood essences. This thoroughly distinctive wine harvested with snow literally clinging to the grapes (the Prie Blanc is a hardy soul) might be described as the classic grain de folie or pour ma guele (for my gob) showcasing the art of the possible in a wine. Commercialism doesn’t come into it; passion and a fierce sense of tradition do.
Finishing the meal with a cheeky grappa before collapsing into bed. Tomorrow morning, two more vineyards in Valle d’Aosta: Cantina di Barro and Les Cretes, run by ahem! the exuberant Costantino Charrere, before driving down to Piedmont and visiting the cellars of Giacomo Borgogno. Finally, to beautiful rolling Asti and the biodynamic vineyards of Vittorio Bera. A long day indeed.
That’s a mountain. That’s another mountain. That’s a mountain too....
DAY TWO: Valle d’Aosta-Barolo-Asti
What you really want to wake up to is a refreshed blue sky and dazzling mountain vistas. This is the classic shortbread tin box scenery that you could just crunch forever.
Valle d’Aosta, to pinpoint the pinprick on the map, is a tiny autonomous region bordered by France to the west, Switzerland to the north and Piedmont to the south and east. It is divided into 74 communes. The population measuring around 120,000 is swelled in the winter by ski-folk who flock to the resorts and in the summer by hikers and other tourists.
First stop was Andrea and Elvira di Barro’s tiny winery. We stood on the south facing hill of Torrette from which the cru of Torrette is named. The vineyards are between 500m-900m (the Mayolet grape grows at the highest altitude). As usual when you are in Italy or France you receive a short historical lesson about the region. Understanding wine, it seems, is not about simply tasting the product (reductive word!) in the bottle. It starts with the geography, the geology, the peculiarities of the micro-climate, the soil, the sub-soil, the health of the soil, the plant diversity, the insect life, the way the vineyards are laid out, the training and trellising. The people who live in the region and have given their lives to viticulture are an essential part of the dynamic and it is not beyond fancy, when you taste the wines, to experience something of the personality of the growers. Scientists would scoff at these whimsical notions, because all wine flavours to them are about bottled molecular exchange and transformation.
The valley was originally inhabited by Celts and Ligurians before being conquered by the Romans who founded Augusta Praetoria (from which derives the name Aosta) to secure the mountain passes and to fortify the region. After the fall of Rome it was loosely held by a succession of Goths, Lombards, then the Burgundian kings, but was essentially a series of independent fiefs. In the late 12th century Thomas of Savoy granted a charter of liberties that preserved the autonomy, and though this was revoked centuries later that energy towards independence was never far from the surface. It was during the Middle Ages, however, that the wines of the Aosta Valley established a widespread reputation. And they acquired something of a ‘sacral’ character as well because, according to numerous reports, they were used in the rite of exorcism.
Back to the Di Barros. Andrea told us the appellation of Torrette was effectively founded on this hill in 1837 and the wine made always comprised the indigenous grape varieties of Petite Rouge, Gros Rouge, Mayolet and Fumin. Originally, the grapes used to be harvested and left in small boxes for a few days to increase flavour concentration. He explained that this was an area of very little rainfall; add to this the sandy soils and great heat and you have vines which are extremely stressed and resultant natural low yields (30-35hl/ha). No chemicals are used in the vineyard.
Once again the vineyard was composed of numerous minuscule plots. Some plunged straight into the valley towards the Dora Baltea river, others clung to the mountain precariously further up the slopes held in check by stone walls and rock faces. The sun beat down bouncing off the white rocks. According to Andrea the local almond harvest takes place here at the same time as in Sicily; this is essentially a Mediterranean climate with bells on.
For all that people discuss airily extreme viticulture it really reaches its literal and metaphorical peak in Valle d’Aosta. Extreme in the disposition of the vines, a row here a row there, on steep gradients, virtually impossible to tackle with machinery, extreme in the temperature variations and lack of rainfall, extreme(ly) small in the size of the operations and extreme in the cherishing of traditions and local varieties.
Back a bit, back a bit, back a bit, Oops, sorry, too far.
We descended to the winery which was surrounded by lilac, cherry-blossom and almond trees. Andrea glanced at the row of tanks. ‘We don’t do much in here’, he said, ‘no filtration, a little bit of bentonite for fining and a touch of sulphur at bottling’. We could make about 25,000 bottles, but we would rather accept the low yields and stick around 18,000. A quick calculation suggested he would be earning all of 8,000 euro’s per year for his wine (before tax!)
That winery tours could all be so mercifully brief. A tank is a tank is a tank for a’ that.
And so to the tasting. Cantina di Barro only produces red wines and a token sweetie for fun. The wines are lip-smacking.
Petite Rouge 2005 - Bright, limpid red. Cranberry-sharp, bright juicy attack, hint of bitter cherry and raspberry pip, easy medium-length almondy finish.
Mayolet 2005 - (This grape has virtually disappeared off the oenological map.) Lovely ruby red colour, deep cherry, rosehip and blueberry fruits on the nose, appealingly fresh in the mouth with good development, lively finish. Imagine a Fleurie with more grip and personality.
Torrette Superiore, Clos de Chateau Feuillet 2005 - This wine undergoes a short period in old barrels. A traditional blend of Petite Rouge (80%), Gros Rouge, Mayolet and Pr’metta, this wine reveals more complexity. The fruit is reminiscent of wild berries and hedgerow fruits, the aromas are verging towards the gamey, almost meaty and the extra palate-weight lifts it to another dimension.
Fumin 2004 - This unoaked cuvee was specially made for Les Caves de Pyrene. Really distinctive with herby-spicy flavours and a rip-snorting fresh fruit finish. Lovely.
Fumin 2005 - A blend of oaked and unoaked wine. Dry woody smell and sawdusty fruit. Disappointing
Torrette Vigni di Torrette 2004 - This wine can reach a blockbusting 15% in certain vintages, but nevertheless has superb balance. This wine is homage to the original Torrette grown on Monte Torrette. Opaque crimson-red, it delivers a rich, unctuous nose of strawberries and liquorice with chunky, meaty notes (seasoned by herbs). This wine exhibits a wild Rhone-like feel. The tannins are powerful, but beautifully integrated, and the wood is a just one part of the whole.
Lo Flapi 2004 - an oddity made from the local Moscato grape which is harvested late (between September and November) with several passes through the vineyard selecting only the ripest grapes. After pressing in December the wine ferments slowly for a year reaching 15% with 55-60 g/l residual. Flapi, by the way, is dialect for ‘skin shrink’.
The wines, like the Di Barros themselves, are natural, generous and true to the locality. I am reminded that complexity is a false god to admire and that purity or typicity of flavour is achieved with less intervention and less conscious extraction. The greatest wines will inevitably appeal both to our intellect and emotion; otherwise I will always favour the wines that appeal to my emotion, that I feel ‘on the pulses’ over the glitteringly insincere, meretriciously vacuous, carefully constructed, highly wrought wines designed to win competitions and appeal to critics. The wines that attract me most have the quality of gratia placendia, a mouth-watering drinkability that slakes thirst and gets the gastric juices bubbling.
Poets, like painters, thus unskilled to trace
The naked nature and the living grace,
With gold and jewels cover every part,
And hide with ornaments their want of art
It was only a ten minute trundle to Les Cretes, Costantino Charrere’s winery across the valley. If the di Barros were laid-back, Charrere was a one-man oompah band brassily booming for Valle d’Aosta itself in general and his wines in particular. A former ski instructor he hurtled up the slopes in a blur, a windmill of gesticulation. I kept expecting him to say ‘beep-beep’ and disappear in puff of dust like road-runner and although I trotted after him with my notebook like some winded faithful recording angel endeavouring to gather the philosophical pearls as they tumbled from his lips, he always seemed ten steps ahead. One word that cropped up even from a distance was ‘biodiversity’ and certainly there seemed a welter of bug life inhabiting the vineyard. I ended up with my jeans covered in sticky spider-webs from where I had gingerly picked my path between the vines.
Getting in touch with your inner terroir
We all climbed, at varying pace, the famous Coteau de la Tour, named after the tower that stands sentinel at the top of the first ridge. Whilst elucidating the various training systems of the vines Charrere would throw in a sotto voce observation about Australians (or was it Australia in general?) which had us scrambling in his wake to find out whether he would expound further. Were there an Aussie present you sense he would gorgonize them from head to foot with his proud contumely. Whatever the reason for his unbridled scorn I couldn’t ascertain but many thousands of miles away a bunch of wine-growers couldn’t give a four x.
Charrere recruits willing new vineyard workers
Charrere reeled off a litany of climatic facts and vineyard practices that determined the nature of his wines: the microclimate (less rain than Sicily), the glacial soils, the completely manual work in the vineyard, the benign neglect (allowing grass to grow between the vines to maintain biodiversity). At one stage during his yomp he exhorted us to lie down between the vines and feel the earth beneath our bodies - like Antaeus. Finally, a true peroration, forza aosta if you like, wherein he fixed each of us with the glittering eye of the Ancient Mariner and let rip politically about the true origins of wine. “Let the territory, the men, the passion, the culture be translated through the grapes into the wine.” “Only here (in Europe) is this understood.” It is interesting how all the growers are defenders of the faith - some more evangelical than others - their objective to capture in their wines some of the essence of the extraordinary Alpine valley. The continuing commercialisation of wine has necessarily created a uniformity of style, a reduction of numbers of grape varieties and a general orientation towards branding. The future, I believe, lies in reacquainting ourselves with ‘real wines’, seeking out and preserving the unusual, the distinctive and the avowedly individual.
Charrere led us back to the winery (spotlessly clean) for lunch and a tasting of a small selection wines. We enjoyed a local speciality and mainstay of the Valle d’Aostan diet: slow-cooked carbonade made with beef, polenta, sausage, onions, white wine, laurel and juniper. Some of the polenta had stuck to the bottom of the pan and Charrere went among us distributing the crispy burnt bits like so many communion wafers. My travelling companions had seconds, thirds and fourths of the delicious stew.
The best bit of the polenta (and that’s the copper bottomed truth)
An impressive tasting featured the following wines:
Chardonnay Frissonniere 2006 - This is an unoaked version (their other Chardonnay is called Cuvee Bois) and what a wine! Green-gold with fine citrus aromas of mandarin, orange zest and lime, excellent acidity ricocheting around the palate keeping the flavours coming, but also a suggestion of smoke and flinty minerality at the end to indicate ageing potential.
Petite Arvine 2006 - A variety seen predominantly in Switzerland, this version sings of meadow-blossom with its fragrant notes of broom and white flowers. Classic palate of apple-skin and grapefruit, medium finish with refreshing acidity.
Fumin 2005 - More colour than the wine tasted at Di Barro. Unfiltered red bursting with purple fruits, peppery spices and vanilla. Excellent structure and lovely balance (only 12.5%)
Coteau de la Tour - Made from 100% Syrah with an opaque purple-red colour this wine from the hot south-facing slopes has a tremendous bouquet of sweet blackberries and rich, smoky-velvety fruit. Superb.
We said our goodbyes and piled on to the bus for a three hour drive to Piedmont.
A Digression Concerning Biodynamics
All the growers in Valle d’Aosta seemed to be practising a form of ‘biological agriculture’ and I’m aware with our forthcoming tasting called ‘Real Wine’ and a recent blogathon in The World of Fine Wine anatomising biodynamics that I had better define my terminology a bit more clearly. The notion of organic viticulture seems to me mainly proscriptive: it tells growers that, in order to achieve certified status, they must not do x,y and z in their vineyards. There is no clear set of guiding principles with organic viticulture and too many bodies with their separate political agendas administering the certification. Biodynamics is more proactive; it is a mixture of intuition, logic, ethics and sustainable farming practice. It is founded on respect for the environment.
Biodynamics is regarded by its most fervent adherents as the saviour of the planet, a spiritual Gaian link with earth, or as hippy-trippy nonsense by so-called scientists and professional sceptics. Most of the arguments have taken Rudolph Steiner’s philosophy and subjected it to the kind of analytical exegesis reserved for Old Testament prophets by fundamentalists. Certainly, he had many far-out ideas that don’t bear much critical scrutiny. The real world, however, is the one where the farmers work and take decisions and not the one where one’s knowledge of life is gleaned through reading scientific journals. (There are more things in heaven and earth etc.) I read post after post on The World of Fine Wine web-blog which seemed to posit an adversarial domaine of the slick dispassionate scientist versus the ignorant peasant who believes in a voodoo religion called biodynamics. The scientist is determined in a typically contrarian pseudo-academic fashion to create a “straw man” of the biodynamic philosophy and thump it to bits. As well as being couched in depressing jargon many of the posts and articles were just intellectually lazy. Science, as Wordsworth would say, murders to dissect; it exists to disprove and what it can’t disprove, it ignores. Science, as we know, derives from the Latin scientia (knowledge) and knowledge exists in many forms and can be reached by many paths (I sound like a Chinese fortune cookie). Not all experiments can be conducted in Petri dishes nor all life reduced to mathematical equations. “The road from methodological reductionism (we study only what we happen to have the appropriate measuring instruments to see) to ontological reductionism (the only things that exist are what we are able to measure) is dangerously short.” (Granstedt, Kumlander, Schiotz, Skaftnesmo)
I did agree with Beverley Blanning’s following observation: “Biodynamics encourages open-mindedness, curiosity, willingness to learn, and an acceptance that there are still elements of nature that go beyond the scope of conventional science.” To use the example of the moon, how relevant is it for winemakers to know that the moon’s gravity exerts a force of less than a hundredth of a gram on a human body, when they can clearly see the effects of racking wine at different phases of the moon? Andre Ostertag is typical in his view when he says: “There are many things in biodynamics I can’t explain, but I believe it because I see the effects. I can’t explain why the preparations have such an impact, but they do - you can see it in one plant against another.” Olivier Humbrecht MW has been convinced by similar personal experiences. He relates how he discovered the importance of ploughing according to the biodynamic calendar. He ploughed one row at the recommended time, and the next a few days later. In the second, the weeds grew back right away. Of course, this has no scientific validity whatsoever. And of course, Humbrecht, an intelligent chap, knows this very well.
Anything which goes against the scientific grain is quickly labelled as a cult. Although wine growers exchange ideas freely they are not in the thrall to a single governing notion of biodynamics. Didier Barral said: “I am not biodynamic. The earth and the moon existed before I did and will do so after I die”. Luc de Conti who nourishes his vines with herbal tisanes is sceptical about the influence of the moon and the planets. For him it is the health of the soil that is paramount. In a sense they and other organic growers are mainly kicking against the nastier products of scientific research, the same science, which in the name of efficiency and progress has embraced technology for technology’s sake, encouraging the industrialization of farming with the consequent virtual rape of the soil and destruction of natural habitat and biodiversity, which has created the chemicals that pollute the water table, which has weakened the plant’s natural resistance - one could go on. Science has its own quack nostrums and scientists are more than happy to advertise them (until something new supersedes them).
Biodynamics, stripped of all the persiflage, is simply about understanding and helping to create balance in the vineyard using only natural remedies. The ultimate objective of biodynamics is to achieve typicity, the notion being that the ultimate product (in this case wine) should taste of the place that it came from.
Which leads us to real wine. What is real wine? In one sense it is the antithesis or antidote to mass-produced, branded wines and the prevalent pretentious modern style of over-manipulated, over-flavoured, over-acidified, over-harvested, over-filtered and over-oaked wines that seem to dominate the shelves of the supermarkets and high streets.
Real wine, however, is not simply a broad counter-blast; it is set of ideas underpinned by certain strong ethical principles. Although the practices in the vines and the cellars could never be codified in a strict charter, there is a rational attempt to tie together essential common practice. The priorities are: the life of the soil; a search for terroir; selection massale; the attachment to historic grape varieties and the refusal of the increasing trend to plant standard varieties; the use of organic treatments; the search for good vine health through natural balance; the refusal of GMOs; the prudent use of chemical plant treatments; the search for full maturity; manual harvests; the respect for the variability of vintages; the refusal to chaptalize systematically; natural fermentations; a sparing or zero use of SO2; minimum or no filtration; the refusal of standard definition of taste of wines by certain enological or market trends; the possibility of experimenting and questioning different aspects of work; respect of history, of roots…
Various movements such as Slow Food, La Renaissance des Appellations and the Soil Association are pushing the political agenda. Meanwhile, by understanding and promoting typicity and by espousing natural or organic practices in the vineyard, a new wave of growers is creating a sensible foundation for a renewed appellation controllee system, one that rewards richness of diversity and complexity.
I am conscious throughout this debate of the abundance of what politicians describe as terminological inexactitudes. Proponents of Steiner and the biodynamic philosophy use quasi-religious language: they talk about spirit, energy, dynamism, balance and cosmos. Winemakers are engaged in trying to make the best wine they can and the health of the vines determines that path. Many great vignerons have arrived at biodynamics by trial and error; for others it is a tenet of their holistic philosophy. Instead of worrying about the linguistic niceties let’s look at one rather encouraging fact: that a large proportion of the producers making the greatest wines in the world are self-styled biodynamic producers.
Historic Barolo
The three hour drive from Valle d’Aosta can properly be described as dreary. You bowl along through flaccid countryside under smog-ridden skies. The pollution in northern Italy taints everything. We finally arrive and are met by the gregarious Giorgio in his Sheffield Wednesday sweatshirt (!) and stand on one of the highest points looking down at the famous landmarks. It was like examining a map; the terrain was splintered with innumerable vineyards, very like Burgundy. Dario is an admirable guide giving me a potted geography lesson.
Apparently they deliver Barolo by truck every morning to every household in Piedmont so they can pour it over their cornflakes
Barolo, like Chablis for example, is a tiny village. The Borgogno family has been in residence for nine generations and the estate now comprises some 20 hectares of south facing Nebbiolo disposed amongst the vineyards of Cannubi, Cannubi Boschis, Liste, Brunate e S. Pieter) exclusively from the Barolo district. Bartolomeo Borgogno founded his winery in 1761; upon his death in 1794 his three sons took over control of the business, though only one, the youngest, Giacomo, persevered. When he was little more than a boy, Eugenio Giuseppe, born in 1827, took over from his father and signed a contract to provide wine to a boarding school for the sons of army officers (Esercito Sabaudo di Racconigi) in 1848. This was the first legal document in which the firm is cited, and, it turned out to play a fundamental role in the company’s more recent history, for in 1955, the French Institute of Appellations filed a lawsuit filed seeking to block the further use of the name Borgogno because of its similarity to the French word Bourgogne. Those crazy French. The house was in grave danger, but the case was quashed thanks to Eugenio Giuseppe’s foresight. In 1861 Borgogno Barolo was served at an official banquet presided over by Garibaldi celebrating the unification of Italy. More recently the wine appeared in one of the Godfather movies!
We discovered that they are proud to work organically; no herbicides are used, only natural products. To do this you have to understand the weather, the local conditions and analyse the risks, but ultimately the way to achieve quality and to protect the environment for future generations is to ensure that you don’t pollute the ground with chemicals.
The local AA service tows away broken truck
We walked through the capacious cool cellars and marvelled at the enormous old Slavonian botti. We also saw the old vintages stored against the thick walls, the bottles caked with dust. Since the 1950s the winery has made it a policy to keep aside a few thousand bottles of each vintage for collectors and sommeliers. They taste the wines frequently to ensure that they are in good condition and when an order is placed they decant the wine into a fresh bottle very carefully and recork it.
No-one’s been dusting, I see
During the tasting we assayed the 2001 Barolo which was showing very well, the 1999 which was out of kilter and the 1961 which was so fresh it pinched your cheeks like a fairy-tale grandmother. It grew even bolder after about ten minutes in the glass. We also tried a Freisa, a pale rosehip scented wine of tongue-tingling acidity - this would be perfect in the summer after a five minute sojourn in an ice bucket - and a Chinato, which if you like that sort of thing is the sort of thing you like.
2001 Barolo Classico
Classic by name and classic in style. Restrained nose of ground spice (cumin, nutmeg) and dried fruits (prunes, figs). Savoury-tarry attack on the palate, grainy tannins, which begin to melt as the wine warms in the glass. The acidity comes into play giving the wine a purer, more linear composition and adding length to the finish. 2010 - 2030
1961 Barolo Riserva
Medium ruby, with a hint of brick at the rim but otherwise showing very little signs of its age. The aromatic nose displays menthol, anise, and delicate, sweet flavours of dried cherries, finishing with tremendous freshness and a seamless, long and fresh finish. The wine is very lively, the grainy tannins giving grip and definition. Now - 2015
Taste the history - the village of Barolo under smoggy skies
I think I’m having a belated love affair with the Nebbiolo grape. The older wines unveil big, gamey aromas, tobacco, tanned leather, fruitcake and vanilla with a whiff of earth and often reveal a palate with savoury raspberry flavours bolstered by fresh acidity and powdered tannins; the younger example have that classic nose of dried rose, tea, tobacco and nutmeg. The wines are pleasingly shot through with contradiction: virile yet feminine, austere yet aromatic, tannic yet fine, powerful yet delicate. Whenever I taste a good Barolo or Barbaresco I have this strange reverie wherein I imagine all wines are comic book heroes and villains from a camp 1960s TV series. Barolo and Barbaresco are Batman and Robin; Bordeaux is the Joker (naturally) and Burgundy is the Riddler. In my dreamy scenario the latter two are having seven bells knocked out of them by the former.
As per usual we were running a couple of hours late and still we still had to reach Canelli in Asti and Bera where Alessandra Bera was awaiting our arrival.