In reality, the title is the rough translation from medieval latin of the region I am residing for the first few days of my trip- Piemonte. It is actually surrounded on three sides by the Alps so they aren't lying when they say that they're "at the foot of the mountains". I started here because, well, this is one of THE wine regions in all of Italy. That's saying something considering that Italy produces, as of 2013, roughly 44.5 million hectoliters (most of which goes to the USA- haya doin'). Putting it in plain speak: that's a lot of fucking wine. Usually, Italy is right behind France in the number of wine produced annually despite drops in consumption at home; but I digress.
Two names tossed around by people who want to sound like they know something about wine like Floyd Mayweather Jr. might toss hundred dollar bills in the air exiting limos at Vegas strip clubs are Barolo and Barbaresco. These two are, rightfully so, referred to as the King and Queen of Italian wines. Piemonte makes plenty of other wines, many of which never land state side, but more on that later. These two wines, in many ways, encompass one of the things I find so fascinating about wine. That something, using the same grape (Nebbiolo in this instance), could have so many different expressions. The discussion I had first thing in the morning on a drive with Aldo Vacca, the managing director at Produttori del Barbaresco, drove this point home in spades. On the side of the road in Barbaresco I got a psuedo geography lesson about recent borders that had been drawn within the region. The reason, he stated, was that nebbiolo, for example, grown in Rio Sordo (an incredibly tiny space in the middle of the hills of barbaresco) have a different expression from Nebbiolo grown in Rabajà ( a slightly higher elevation). In just a few feet you would not only have the obvious shift in elevation (the Langhe and Piemonte writ large are notoriously hilly) but the soil would radically change. Suddenly, the shift in calcium would take a grape from elegant and perfumey to robust and insanely tannic. To put the words Nebbiolo, much less Barbaresco, on the label would tell you almost nothing about the wine's story. It's no different than my name telling you anything about my story.
This theme carried on into my next two winery visits--Damilano and Villadoria. To be sure, this is a theme that is drilled into everybody who begins the journey into "appreciating" wine; that stupid word that reeks of ostentatious, hoity toity garbage-- terroir. As much as it pains me to say it, visiting this region and tasting their wines drilled home that case- wines have an identity. What's inside the bottle can tell you a smorgasbord of information- how the harvest went, where the wine is elevation wise, the type of soil etc. It commands you to take the time and hear the tale that the wine is telling you ( I swear I'm not drunk and hearing things).
To get to know wine is to get to know these nuances. It's a similar manner in which we develop friendships and establish social ties. You have different tiers of friendships: There are those that you don't really know at a deep level and only hang out with and party; they serve a purpose but only within the framework in which you dictate. Skipping all the gradations in the middle and skipping to the end, you have those friends- those who you have known for years. You understand them, warts and all, and they understand you. You know how the scars and the quirks came to be and you appreciate them all the more for it. Mind you, no matter how much you drink, you cannot have a socratic dialogue with a glass of wine. What I'm saying is that you, as an active agent in the imbibing of wine, begin to hear the underlying story. You begin to appreciate not only the expression of the grape but what the winemaker wanted to accomplish and express with that bottle in your hand. Looking out at the landscape, seeing row after row of grapes on the vine, hit that nail further into the wood. Getting past the immediate, sensory experience of a stunning landscape I could see what Aldo was saying. The hills have a tale to tell; they're all different in their own right but they're telling the same thing-- I am here and I am unique. It's hard to believe that, at the end of the day, it's just goddamn fermented grape juice.
*side note* The 2004 Barolo Riserva from Villadoria had this intense nose of Big Red chewing gum. I shared a laugh with the winemaker/owner over that because he knew exactly what I was talking about.
The next several days will be without winery visits. I'll be mostly hiking through Piemonte and taking pictures. If I get a thought or some good pictures I'll post it here. I really don't know where I'm going with this other than it's a clean and concise way to (1) digest my experiences (2) share them with people and (3) do something while watching Kitchen Nightmares and the Cosby Show in Italian.
Here's a picture of my car.
Here's a picture of my car.
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