A Hedonist in the Cellar_ Adventures in Wine - Jay McInerney [13]
Anselmi’s friend Leonildo Pieropan remains married to the Soave appellation; he and his forebears are undoubtedly the best thing that ever happened to this slatternly tramp of a wine region. Stylistically and temperamentally he is the opposite of his friend Anselmi: a shy, bespectacled homebody who favors cardigans and lives with his family in a meticulously restored villa just inside the crenelated medieval walls of the town of Soave.
Despite his reputation as the ultimate traditionalist, Pieropan loves technology, and the medieval outbuildings around the house are crammed with the latest in computer-controlled, stainless-steel fermentation tanks. His vineyards, like Anselmi’s, are located exclusively in the hills of the Classico region, and his wines have long been cherished by connoisseurs around the world for their purity, delicacy, and balance. His single-vineyard La Rocca is one of Italy’s greatest white wines. Unlike most Soaves, Pieropan’s wines have the ability to age for ten years and beyond, becoming increasingly minerally over time. They are the best possible proof that the region is worth saving.
A few other producers are making noteworthy wines, including brothers Graziano and Sergio Pra, whose single-vineyard Monte Grande Soave, made from grapes with a serious case of vertigo, is consistently one of the best wines of the region. The Gini brothers, Sandro and Claudio, make a rich, plump style of Soave, as does Stefano Inama. Inama’s regular Soave is very good, but he has made a name for himself in a hurry with two supercharged, wood-aged, single-vineyard wines, Foscarino and Vigneto du Lot, which are deemed freakish by some traditionalists, tasting somewhat like superripe New World Chardonnays. Whether you like this style or not, they are an excellent antidote to the notion that Soave is a dilute and boring quaff.
A few other names to look for: Cantina del Castello, Coffele, and Suavia. There may be a few good makers I’m unaware of, but the six and a half million bottles a year from other sources are probably worth avoiding. Soave’s reputation as a reservoir of cheap mouthwash works in favor of the consumer; the regular bottlings of the top producers sell for ten to fifteen bucks and the single vineyard wines are in the twenty-dollar range. They are perfect summer whites—especially in this market.
GRAY IS THE NEW WHITE
Pinot Gris
Back in the 1980s, I remember seeing a graffito in Milan that read no more gray. The slogan was a young fashionista’s battle cry against the muted palette of Armani and his followers, but it might also have applied to the Pinot Grigio (gray Pinot) that was coming out of Italy at the time, which was at least as dull as a gray suit. When I first tasted a great Pinot Gris from Alsace, I didn’t even make the connection between this ambrosia and the stuff we used to swill by the bucket at Elaine’s. Pinot Gris, Tokay (as it is sometimes called in Alsace), and Pinot Grigio are from one and the same grape—although the northern and southern styles vary considerably. Some brilliant PGs have begun to emerge from Friuli, in northern Italy. And, in recent years, the grape has also found a new home in Oregon’s Willamette Valley, alongside Pinot Noir.
Pinot Gris, a.k.a. Pinot Grigio, is, in fact, a mutation of Pinot Noir that probably first appeared in the vineyards of Burgundy. It is so named because the grapes, when ripe, can often appear gray-blue (as well as brownish pink). In rare instances, a producer may leave the juice on the skins long enough for it to pick up some color; but, generally speaking, Pinot Gris makes a food-friendly white wine. Pinot Gris reaches its apogee in Alsace, where it yields rich, full-bodied, profound wines—some in a sweeter, dessert style—that can age for decades. The average Pinot Grigio is made in a crisper, lighter style. Oregon, where the French name is used, seems to be staking out some middle ground.