About this article
This article presents the introduction to Barolo & Barbaresco: The Primacy of the Vine by David Gleave, published by Académie du Vin Library. Drawing on four decades of visiting the Langhe, Gleave explores the historical, cultural and human forces behind the region’s transformation. From debates over tradition and winemaking to the challenges of a changing climate, the introduction sets the scene for a deeper understanding of Nebbiolo, its vineyards and the people who shape its wines.
Introduction
This is the story of a region that is both special and apart, rare in the world and unique in Italy. Turin, the capital of Piemonte, is often referred to by other Italians, only partly in jest, as ‘the most Italian city in France’. I’ve tried to tell the story here of why this is the case, and of why the wines are so special.
This book charts the changes I’ve seen in the Langhe hills of southern Piemonte over the past four decades. But we go back further, for wine is not just from the piece of land on which the grapes are grown, it is part of the culture and society that sustain that land. We look at the multiple factors that led to the fragmentation of landowning in the Langhe and the development of what a distinguished French academic called ‘the primacy of the vine’ in the region, and follow that thread through the first few decades of the 20th century to the post war years of the 1960s.
In the 1970s and 1980s, it seemed as though that thread was going to take on a golden hue, even if there were moments when it appeared it would break altogether. One of those moments, the methanol scandal of 1985, in which 23 people died, threatened the future of all Italian wine. But the langaroli (people of the Langhe) overcame that threat and emerged stronger. In the 1990s, they went through a phase of winemaking as performative art, when previously stark wines became as ornate as a Baroque palace. Today, there is the threat that winemaking is nothing more than a series of incantations invoking the god of minimal intervention. Both these extremes imperil the delicacy of the great Nebbiolo grape.
This delicacy is also vulnerable to the changing climate. The vintages are getting hotter, and the climate drier. A lack of water, and a change to patterns of rainfall in the region, poses a risk to all the work that has been done to tame Nebbiolo’s fierce tannins. It also threatens to undermine the subtle balance between these tannins and the acidity of the wines that has seen the fame of Barolo and Barbaresco rise dramatically in the past few decades.
Nebbiolo, Piemonte’s native grape, is central to this story. At times, it has mirrored the region’s battles, whether those be about taming tannins, debates around oak ageing, or arguments over the length of maceration and the type of oak used. There are still those, both winemakers and drinkers, who hanker after the wines of the past, citing ‘tradition’ as something we need to respect. The battle over ‘tradition’ has been fought for as long as I’ve been going to the Langhe, and I don’t expect it to end any time soon, as its focal point shifts every few years. We look at this in some detail and ask how to define tradition. It is more complex than dividing wines and producers into opposing camps, yet the word has been used as a weapon in the Langhe, either to defend entrenched positions or to attack those momentarily unbalanced as they stride forward.
While writing this book and reflecting on the past four decades in the Langhe, I’ve learned that progress is seldom linear. It stutters, zigzags and it even goes into reverse as it is buffeted by external forces. This has happened frequently in the Langhe since the end of World War II. One of these external forces appeared in 1964, when sharecropping was outlawed. Surely this was progress? Not to the landowners, says one of the region’s greatest winemakers, Angelo Gaja. The trade unions had triumphed, but landowners wondered how they would manage their land if they had to employ agricultural workers. As a result, some preferred to sell their holdings. In that way, Gaja was able to buy the piece of land he called Sorì San Lorenzo.
This theme appears repeatedly in these pages. Many looked backwards, fearing the uncertainty of the future, while others, like Gaja, seized the moment and shaped their destiny. The land was also reshaped. The area under vine has almost quadrupled since the late 1960s, which reflects the increased demand for the wines from Barolo and Barbaresco.
My first encounter with Nebbiolo’s wines was in London in 1983. The 1978 Barolo from Pio Cesare, the 1971s from Franco Fiorina and Cavallotto were unlike anything else I’d ever tasted before. Over the next few years, I visited the Langhe and tasted many others, from Gaja to Giacomo and Aldo Conterno, from Bruno Giacosa and Renato Ratti to Borgogno, Oddero and Vajra.
I was hooked, and set out to proselytize. One of my !rst targets was Michael Hill Smith, Australia’s first Master of Wine, whom I met in London while he was studying on the MW course in the mid-1980s. He was resistant to what I saw as the wines’ obvious blandishments. Given that he was from six generations of winemakers, his palate was much more technically incisive than mine, and what I had learned to appreciate as tipicità,(‘typical characteristics’) he identified as faults. He objected to the high levels of volatile acidity and to its evolution to ethyl acetate (think nail polish remover). What I now know is that these faults made the tannins, which attacked the palate like coarse sandpaper, harder, rasping and drying.
During the latter part of the 1980s, the wines started to evolve, and my palate had to keep pace. Oxidation (once sought by producers, as we see in Chapter 2, In the Cellar) and volatile acidity, both preventable, gave way to fresher wines with more focused fruit. There was upheaval in the cellar before producers realized they had to turn to the vineyards to improve their wines further. Over the next few decades, we saw a region and its wines reborn. Barolo was once described as ‘having the colour of Alba’s cathedral’, an austere brown brick building in the Piazza Duomo. The writer Paolo Monelli continued in the same theme, saying the wine ‘has the colour of autumn leaves’ and then: ‘In its warm, brick-red hue I see the towers of Bologna glowing against a stormy sky.’ Today, the colour is fresh and vibrant while the wines are teeming with vitality.
The region has a new bounce in its step. In 2014, the Langhe was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The aim of such recognition is to protect the way humans and nature work in concert. Coincidentally, this is basis of great wine too. While the holy trilogy of altitude, aspect and soil defines the vineyards of the Langhe, these would be nothing without the grit and talent of the people working the vineyards and making the wines.
In the first three chapters of this book, I’ve attempted to tie the myriad events, people and places together with a narrative thread. The two chapters that follow, Great Vineyards and Champions of Nebbiolo, are for dipping into or for looking up a producer or a vineyard when you’re buying, opening or drinking a Barolo or Barbaresco.
We end with Eating in the Langhe, as these wines are best enjoyed with food, and the Langhe arguably has the best food in Italy. The region certainly has the greatest concentration of outstanding restaurants of any wine zone in the world. And this is from a position, back in the 1960s, when the gastronomy was as poor as the region.
This poverty was the theme of Beppe Fenoglio’s famous novella La Malora, set in the first decades of the 20th century. At the end of the book, the protagonist, Agostino, is on the family’s small plot of land, which is planted with vines and fruit trees, checking on the progress of one of its apple trees. He has just returned from working for a sharecropper, as his family couldn’t afford to keep him at home and have another mouth to feed. His brother has died, and his mother, not knowing Agostino is outside, leaves the house so that he won’t hear her prayers. He sees her kneel in front of the !rst vine she comes to and start praying that God will spare her until the body of her dead son arrives from Alba.
The image of her praying, using the vine as an altar, illustrates the importance of the vine in the Langhe; it was one of the few things the peasants had. At the same time, Agostino’s return to work his land, the land he inherited, shows the strong link the peasants had with their smallholdings, a link they seldom wanted to relinquish even if the work to maintain them was backbreaking and the poverty soul-destroying. It was certain and cyclical, like the apple tree and the vines.
The attachment of the people to the land has not diminished in the past 120 years. As Angelo Gaja said, the need to have land ‘was something deeply ingrained in the heads of the people’ in the Langhe. And what land it is! Pedro Parra is one of the world’s leading ‘terroir hunters’, a consultant who helps wineries identify their best vineyards and divide them into parcels based on geology. He is certain that the Langhe is one of the world’s great grape growing areas. As we discuss in Chapter 3, Walking the Vineyards, he says that the vast majority of vineyards in Barolo and Barbaresco are planted ‘on high-quality calcareous soil’. There is, he says, a reason why the world’s fine wine market is dominated by Barolo and Burgundy: ‘In my opinion, it’s the fact that both are situated on high-quality calcareous soils that mark a big difference between these wines and those from the rest of the world. While there are obviously other calcareous areas among the world’s famous regions, these are the only two where all the vineyards are planted on a large geological matrix defined by calcareous terroir.’
The land was always there, as were the people. The story of an entire region transformed beyond recognition is the story I tell in the following pages. It is a remarkable story. Even more remarkably, Michael Hill Smith now calls or messages from restaurants in Australia and Singapore to ask which Barolo he should choose. The wines, not the proselyte, brought him around. Their story follows.
Barolo & Barbaresco: The Primacy of the Vine by David Gleave is published by Académie du Vin Library and is available now.
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