B is also for Brunello
There are two things everyone tell you about Brunello - that it comes from a hilltop town in Tuscany called Montalcino and secondly, that it takes an eternity to open up so let breathe an hour or two before even attempting to drink it.
More of the second later but first, another road trip story. Anth and I were sharing a flat when we first started work and in the summer of 1992, we were both feeling a little out of sorts so we decided to take ourselves to Italy for some sun, salami and signorinas. We flew into Pisa, got a train to Florence and then hired a car to drive around the hills near Siena.
Now I don’t know if you are aware but I used to be the worst driver in Europe and things got so hairy on the Strada Statiale between Siena and San Gimingano that I was ordered out of the driver’s seat at the next hilltop village. We left the Fiat Cinquecento halfway up the hill and set off on foot to the top of the hill to look for an espresso. When we got there, the only place which was open was a sleepy little enoteca - I cannot remember if we bought a bottle of water or were given some but in any event, we felt like we had to buy some wine so we lugged a couple of bottles of something il padrone recommended down the hill. Muttering all the while we had probably been fleeced - who would pay £10 for a bottle of local plonk? Thus we were introduced to the “monster” vintage of the Brunello di Montalcino 1990 (present value between £50 - £80 depending on the vineyard it comes from).
Since that happy accident (did I say accident? For the record, there was barely a scratch on the car and in any event, nobody saw what I’d done to the car except Anth) I’ve had many, many happy hours in the company of a few bottles of Brunello. One of the first drinking expeditions Anna and I undertook in Rome ended with an exquisite bottle of Castello Banfi Brunello di Montalcino 1997 at the aptly named Cul de Sac wine bar off the Piazza Pasquino. Then there were the three nights before Anth’s wedding when we polished off a bottle of Fattoria Barbi Brunello di Montalcino 1995 each night (in addition to the bottles of Mumm champagne which seemed to appear every evening as soon as the sun set). Happy days.
From a viticultural perspective, the grape which goes into the Brunello is merely a local variant (and not very different) of the sangiovese which goes into your bog standard Chianti. The word sangiovese comes from “sanguis” and “Jovis” which I guess approximates to the blood of Jupiter (the Catholics amongst the readers will not fail to notice the Tran-substantial connotations albeit in a pre-Christian context and to suggest that the blood of a Roman god could exist in bottled form might seem at the very least blasphemous - yum!).
The nose from after about an hour of aeration is not unlike a walk in the woods on a dewy morning - leaves, earth and a whiff of rotting wood. As the morning sun breaks through the mists, tiny flowers open and the scent of berries and fruits ripening on the trees in the orchards (principally apples and pears) are carried by the rising breeze. A first mouthful and here is the first sign if the wine has not had enough air - if it is sour, leave it in the glass for another 20 minutes.
The acidity is also the key to the complexity of the structure and the reason for its longevity in the bottle. Tar, tobacco, cedar and sandal wood are all present in varying quantities and perhaps the merest hint of vanilla - no two bottles ever seems to be the same. There is also fruit aplenty - thick, jammy stuff which will only come through with airing. The finish tends to directly proportional to the development tannins and it is here that perhaps I have always paid the price for taking my bottles out of the cellar (wine fridge actually) too early.
Regrets, sure I’ve had a few - as the Brunellos were something I encountered (relatively) in my youth and hence a wine discovered in poverty, I have always been cautious and bought the massed produced stuff first from financial constraints, then out of insecurity and now out of habit. Perhaps the time has come to revisit Tuscany and experiment. Any takers?
More of the second later but first, another road trip story. Anth and I were sharing a flat when we first started work and in the summer of 1992, we were both feeling a little out of sorts so we decided to take ourselves to Italy for some sun, salami and signorinas. We flew into Pisa, got a train to Florence and then hired a car to drive around the hills near Siena.
Now I don’t know if you are aware but I used to be the worst driver in Europe and things got so hairy on the Strada Statiale between Siena and San Gimingano that I was ordered out of the driver’s seat at the next hilltop village. We left the Fiat Cinquecento halfway up the hill and set off on foot to the top of the hill to look for an espresso. When we got there, the only place which was open was a sleepy little enoteca - I cannot remember if we bought a bottle of water or were given some but in any event, we felt like we had to buy some wine so we lugged a couple of bottles of something il padrone recommended down the hill. Muttering all the while we had probably been fleeced - who would pay £10 for a bottle of local plonk? Thus we were introduced to the “monster” vintage of the Brunello di Montalcino 1990 (present value between £50 - £80 depending on the vineyard it comes from).
Since that happy accident (did I say accident? For the record, there was barely a scratch on the car and in any event, nobody saw what I’d done to the car except Anth) I’ve had many, many happy hours in the company of a few bottles of Brunello. One of the first drinking expeditions Anna and I undertook in Rome ended with an exquisite bottle of Castello Banfi Brunello di Montalcino 1997 at the aptly named Cul de Sac wine bar off the Piazza Pasquino. Then there were the three nights before Anth’s wedding when we polished off a bottle of Fattoria Barbi Brunello di Montalcino 1995 each night (in addition to the bottles of Mumm champagne which seemed to appear every evening as soon as the sun set). Happy days.
From a viticultural perspective, the grape which goes into the Brunello is merely a local variant (and not very different) of the sangiovese which goes into your bog standard Chianti. The word sangiovese comes from “sanguis” and “Jovis” which I guess approximates to the blood of Jupiter (the Catholics amongst the readers will not fail to notice the Tran-substantial connotations albeit in a pre-Christian context and to suggest that the blood of a Roman god could exist in bottled form might seem at the very least blasphemous - yum!).
The nose from after about an hour of aeration is not unlike a walk in the woods on a dewy morning - leaves, earth and a whiff of rotting wood. As the morning sun breaks through the mists, tiny flowers open and the scent of berries and fruits ripening on the trees in the orchards (principally apples and pears) are carried by the rising breeze. A first mouthful and here is the first sign if the wine has not had enough air - if it is sour, leave it in the glass for another 20 minutes.
The acidity is also the key to the complexity of the structure and the reason for its longevity in the bottle. Tar, tobacco, cedar and sandal wood are all present in varying quantities and perhaps the merest hint of vanilla - no two bottles ever seems to be the same. There is also fruit aplenty - thick, jammy stuff which will only come through with airing. The finish tends to directly proportional to the development tannins and it is here that perhaps I have always paid the price for taking my bottles out of the cellar (wine fridge actually) too early.
Regrets, sure I’ve had a few - as the Brunellos were something I encountered (relatively) in my youth and hence a wine discovered in poverty, I have always been cautious and bought the massed produced stuff first from financial constraints, then out of insecurity and now out of habit. Perhaps the time has come to revisit Tuscany and experiment. Any takers?
posted by porcorosso at 1:51 AM
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