May 14, 2008
A Rare Tuscan Offer: Querciabella

A Note from Sergio Vintage Super-Tuscan Vertical Big Chianti Classico Value in Tuscan Blends

Bâtard-Montrachet in Toscana New Saturday Seminars Los Angeles Times Reviews Passion

Paolo has been one of my best friends for what feels like forever; he and his chic and intelligent wife are close enough to feel like my second family. But it wasn’t Paolo and Allison who taught me something that night; rather, it was the irrepressible Danielle. With a skeletal grin and a vintage 1930s charm, Danielle has an infectious spirit—she’s just one of those people-person people. I always regard the kind of person who can talk to anyone with a sense of wonder. My brother Sal is like that, but I’m not and never will be.

At dinner, Danielle talked effusively about her joy of one of those online meet-and-greet sites: Facespace, Mybook, something like that.

“I love it,” she said, her smile splitting her face and making her eyes blaze.

“What’s Facespace?” I asked. I generally see computers as something for work, not fun, and certainly nothing to get excited over.

“It’s a site where you can see what your friends are up to,” Danielle explained. Then seeing the blank expression on my face, she continued. “You know, get email from your friends,” she elaborated.

“Why would I want to do that?” I asked. “I already have three email accounts with too many emails to read.”

“No,” she said patiently, as if she were explaining it to a toddler. “You can see what all your friends are doing, all on one page. Plus you can reconnect with friends from your past, like high school friends. I’ve even heard from ex-boyfriends.”

“Why would I want to do that?” I asked. “I already have a hard enough time keeping up with the friends I have right now. The last thing I need is friends from my past. If I didn’t find them interesting then, I wouldn’t find them interesting now.”

Paolo agreed with me, saying, “If you left them in the past, there’s a reason for it.” And then the conversation changed, and we left the Facespace in the settling dust of the night’s festivities.

Later, though, as I was getting ready for bed I started to think what Danielle said, what Paolo said, and I began to make connections, as I do, with wine. That week, I’d tasted a series of Querciabella Camartinas, one from ’82, one from ’86, and one from ’91. I had tried these wines in my youth when they were new on the market, and I remember tasting them and feeling duly unimpressed. They were nice wines, pleasant wines, but they weren’t wines I wanted to build a lasting friendship with.

I was running in a different crowd from that ’82. Back then, I was into Nebbiolos. I wasn’t interested in a Super- Tuscan like the Camartina. It was like being a mod or a rocker—you had to make a choice. And as for the ’86 and the ’91, both of those years had been overshadowed by the years preceding them. Both ’85 and ’90 had produced wines that were such knock-outs that they had stolen my attention, leaving their lesser-touted following years forgotten.

The Facespace conversation put me in mind of these wines I’d tasted and not appreciated when both I and the wines were young. Now that they—and I—were in adulthood, a certain element surprised me. No longer young and immature, these wines now had character. These were interesting, mature wines, wines I’d enjoy having a long and elliptical conversation with. I didn’t anticipate the maturity of these wines when I first tasted them, but then I too was young, brash, and untested.

After reflecting, I realized that Danielle had a point: it really was nice to reconnect. And sometimes reconnecting doesn’t just make us rediscover; it makes us learn something new. Sometimes things from your past deserve a second look.

You won’t see me on Facespace anytime soon, but you might see me enjoying a glass of ’86 Camartina and thinking about how much it—and I—have changed for the better.

My Best,
Sergio

For more accounts of Italian wine, food and life reserve my new book:
Passion On The Vine: a Memoir of Food, Wine, and Family in the Heart of Italy

2000 Chianti Classico

Before we get to that Camartina, though, we’ve got to take a moment for the wine that started Querciabella’s story—its Chianti Classico, one of the region’s finest expressions and most consistent performers with respect to both quality and typicity. We’re singling out the 2000 simply for the fact that it’s peaked (a.k.a. it’s in the zone), and we’re fortunate enough to experience just what that means in a ripe year like 2000. For starters, Sangiovese’s trademark acidity has toned down quite a bit here, allowing a copious amount of lush red fruit to emerge. But it goes beyond such youthful pleasures, signifying the age that it brings to the table in a savory, smoky meatiness. In essence, these distinct elements have integrated into a harmonious composition that will play the consummate hit single at your next party. That’s why we’re bringing out the 5-liter bottle here. It’s already had a few successful engagements at client parties that we’ve heard about, and it’s ready to be your ultimate crowd pleaser, the toast to beat in ’08….

Querciabella 2000 Chianti…$231.00 (5.0L)

Camartina ’82, ’86, ’91, ’99 and ’00

Camartina is one of Super-Tuscan specialist Giacomo Tachis’ numerous legends. What makes it stand out on that high-profile list, which includes Tignanello, Solaia, and Sammarco? Simply put, consummate value. Like the three other wines mentioned, Camartina is irresistibly accessible upon release, yet promises equally riveting rewards if cellared and experienced over time. It’s also one of the original Super-Tuscans, debuting on the market in 1981, right behind Solaia (1979) and Sammarco (1980). Moreover, Camartina shares a special connection with Sammarco, as both are artisanal, biodynamic productions of the Chianti Classico zone. If you look at the numbers, though, Camartina’s on its own. An ’82 Tig will run you $240. An ’86 Solaia comes in at $269, while an ’86 Sammarco is roughly $180. The same vintages of Camartina are priced at $79 and $65, respectively, far below what you'd expect these complex and articulate ambassadors of the past to be. The '82 strikes a particularly refined pose, enigmatically choosing to go punt-less. It seems to say, if you will, that all of that pontificating about the punt's uses (it steadies the bottle, captures sediment, etc.) is sheer rubbish. No other wine of such class and pedigree enables you to encounter the past and present in tandem at such a modest, unassuming cost.

This is your vertical to discover, of course, but here’s some brief reflections on our one-on-one with Camartina: The ’82 has aged in a timeless manner, presenting a poised and refined structure that elicits admiration on its own merits, but becomes wholly mesmerizing when presented as the striking complement to a palate of dried fruit and an herbal finish. With time in the glass, an unexpected caramelized quality on the nose emerges, endowing it with a wholly unexpected and thrilling suggestion of Port.

The ’86 recalls its youthful irreverence in a feral and sauvage nose, a wild impression that settles down on the palate in notes of dried fruit and dried herbs that are not quite as prominent as those of the ’82. Both hold glimpses of that ’91, which is clearly planning on doing Camartina proud for another decade at least, though it’s likely to seriously entertain another ten-year run. It’s a mature beauty that has replaced all of youth’s affected allure with a deeply writ understanding of what it has to offer, projected on a layered palate of olive, tar, and earth that fits comfortably into a structure attuned to its every nuance. Both the ’99 and the ’00 offer all the allure of the young Camartina’s rich fruit, yet the proximity between them provides a comparative “aside” from the main event, contrasting the ’99 vintage’s elegant structure with ’00’s bountiful fruit.

Now, the glass is on your side of the vertical. Enjoy the journey….

Querciabella 1982 Camartina…$79.00

Querciabella 1986 Camartina…$65.00

Querciabella 1991 Camartina…$49.00

Querciabella 1999 Camartina…$73.67

Querciabella 2000 Camartina…$75.00

Querciabella 1998 Batàr

Can a Burghound ever find bliss with a Tuscan white? Rarely can one answer affirmatively, but Querciabella makes such a seemingly fantastic match possible with Batàr, a power white comprising Chardonnay and Pinot Blanc that effectively established Toscana’s ability to not only deliver a high-caliber white, but one that offered substantive ageability. A benchmark of flair and finesse, Batàr gives Toscana an auspicious place among legendary whites—a genre no one thought it belonged in.

In addition to his penchant for Cristal champagne, Querciabella's Guiseppe Castiglioni nursed a passion for white Burgundy, particularly certain of the Montrachet crus. Despite the lack of precedent for a high-level Tuscan white, Castiglioni set out to evoke his beloved Burgundy aesthetic. He started off with circumspection, testing out the terroir with Pinot Blanc and Pinot Grigio in an 80/20 blend, respectively, named Bâtard-Pinot. Having got what he wanted from this early blend, Castiglioni was ready to move on, reducing Blanc’s contribution and dropping Grigio altogether to make way for the debut of Chardonnay, complemented by an abbreviated and highly suggestive new name—Bâtard. Wary of the opposition that this provocative statement might incur, Castiglioni and his son, Sebastiano, soon compromised, engaging in a clever homophonic exercise that involved exchanging Bâtard for Batàr, while retaining the former’s pronunciation.

Although the blend has continued to reflect the 1992 split (50% Chardonnay and 50% Pinot Blanc), its stylistic orientation altered with the 1998 vintage, when the use of new oak was reduced. This modified approach (50% new oak and 50% one-year-old oak) brought Batàr within much closer range of its Burgundian archetype, which it had previously only flirted with in its rather overt mannerisms. Indeed, this formerly lavish/flamboyant sort has become a model of reticence and incipient pleasure. Upon release, it often shuts down, seemingly preparing itself for a lengthy and complex evolution. The 1998 Batàr has worked through this slow and nuanced development, showing itself in many rewarding phases over the last few years, each of which was but a preface to its ultimate destination, where it is currently resides. It’s a place where a Burghound would love to be….

Querciabella 1998 Batàr…$48.00

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Passion in the Los Angeles Times

Passion on the Vine: A Memoir of Food, Wine, and Family in the Heart of Italy by Sergio Esposito (Hardcover, 304 pages) Buy Now

In the May 14 edition of the Los Angeles Times ‘Food Section’, an article featuring the latest wine memoirs was featured. One memoir mention was Sergio's Passion on the Vine. Below is an excerpt: In Sergio Esposito’s memoir, ’Passion on the Vine,’ written with Justine van der Leun, meals are the centerpiece, the linchpin of memory. It is hard to read a page without developing pangs of hunger and thirst. Esposito owns Italian Wine Merchants, a wine shop in Manhattan that serves practically as a temple for Italian wine in that city. He makes frequent sojourns to Italy, to stock his shelves and to discover the secrets of Italian winemaking, and his accounts of these trips make up the core of the book. It begins in the early ’70s, in Barra, the suburb of Naples where Esposito was born, and carries on after a few years to Albany, N.Y., where he immigrated as a child. Most of his childhood memories involve meals, where, surrounded by family, he devoured “heaps of spaghetti with a sauce of crushed fresh tomatoes; poached white fish dressed in lemon, olive oil and parsley; fried miniature artichokes; fluffy, anchovy-battered zucchini and cauliflower.” I could go on, but it wouldn't be fair. You'd have to run to the kitchen. His love of wine comes from the same table, where he took tiny sips from his beloved Uncle Aldo’s glass. “Still today,” he writes, “I remember those wines like I remember the smell of cigar—like musty cooked apples—on Zio Aldo’s fingers.” Each chapter of “Passion on the Vine” takes you to a different corner of Italy (as well as to Slovenia) and the strongholds of the country’s most iconoclastic winemakers: the 500-year-old farm of Bartolo Mascarello in Barolo, the Slovenian dungeon where Josko Gravner has buried traditional clay amphorae to make his ancient-style wines, and the fecund gardens that intrude upon the Brunello vineyards of Franco Soldera. On its own, Esposito admits, Italian wine can be difficult to understand. But through loving, mouthwatering detail and portraits of unforgettable characters, wine comes alive in these pages in a quintessentially Italian way, “intuitively, emotionally, without pretension or over analysis.”