One of the more memorable tastings from my Vinitaly this year was with Alessandro Medici (above), the current generation of the Medici Ermete winemaking legacy.

If you follow Italian wine in the U.S. (and especially if you like Lambrusco), you probably already know his family’s wines. Medici Ermete is one of the Lambrusco powerhouses and its wines are nearly ubiquitous in the states.

But the twenty-something Alessandro wasn’t interested in showing me the estate’s popular Concerto, its best-selling wine. Instead, he wanted to pour me a wine that he has created and launched this year: Phermento, an ancestral-method Labmrusco di Sorbara.

Most Lambrusco (like Prosecco) is made using the Martinotti method (sometimes referred to, however erroneously, as the Charmat method). A still “base” wine is produced. The wine is then transferred to pressurized tank. A sweetener and yeast are added to provoke a second fermentation. The resulting CO2 is captured and contained by the sealed vat. The sediment (from the dead yeast) is separated from the wine using a temperature control system. And then the wine is bottled.

Some Lambrusco is made using the classic method (also known as the traditional method or Champagne method, although it’s illegal in Europe to call it the Champagne method except for when used in Champagne). A sweetener and yeast are added to the base wine in bottle. The bottle is sealed. A second fermentation occurs. The CO2 is trapped in the bottle. The wines are “aged on their lees” (the dead yeast) for shorter or longer periods depending on the producer. The sediment is disgorged by storing the wines upside down at a 45° angle, thus causing the solids to be concentrated in the bottle’s neck. The sediment is generally removed by freezing the neck and then allowing the pressure of the CO2 to expel it from the wine once the seal is removed (although there are other ways to disgorge the wine).

But more and more Lambrusco producers are using the ancestral method to make their wines these days. And Alessandro’s is the first to be released commercially by his family’s estate.

The ancestral method is as simple as it is challenging.

A base wine is produced and then a sweetener is added at bottling. Although not everyone in the wine world agrees on what exactly “ancestral method” denotes, most Prosecco and Lambrusco producers concur that the addition of the sweetener at bottling distinguishes the method from pétillant-naturel wines (known in the vernacular as “pét nat”) because the latter is bottled before fermentation is completed. In other words, pétillant-naturel wines only undergo one fermentation while ancestral method wines go through two.

Ancestral method wines like Alessandro’s are not disgorged. You can see the sediment in the bottom of the bottle above.

It’s challenging to make wines like this because, as many winemakers have told me, you have to get the amount of sweetener just right to obtain a dry wine. Too much sweetener will lead to unwanted residual sugar and an off-dry as opposed to dry wine.

I enjoyed Alessandro’s Phermento a lot: fresh and clean on the nose, with delicious primary grape flavors and some berry fruit — just right for a wine like this.

But it also struck me that this new entry from a winery like his family’s marks a new wave of commodification of what was once a wholly rural tradition.

Sometimes these wines are called rimosso, a term you could translate as re-animated or revived (not removed or repressed, as the term is sometimes translated depending on the context). They are reminiscent of the days when most country-dwelling Emilians grew their own Lambrusco and made their own wines (before the EU reforms that enticed them to grub up their vines). Grandpa or dad (and yes, it was the patriarch who made the wine, not the matriarch) would add a handful of sugar to the bottle to attenuate Lambrusco’s bitter character (most people don’t realize that Lambrusco is a highly tannic grape). I remember drinking wines like that in the early 1990s when I spent time in the countryside outside of Reggio Emilia.

Today, winemakers like Alessandro are trying to appeal to a revived interest in ancestral method and pétillant-naturel wines among young American (and to some extent Italian) consumers. Beyond the fact that it makes for a good conversation starter, the rimosso wines seem to convey a richer sense of authenticity.

Are they more authentic than Martinotti-method Lambruscos? Do they taste better? They certainly cost more because they are more costly to make.

I’m confident that Alessandro is going to hit a long ball with this wine. At the fair in April he told me he was heading to New York for an exclusive launch of the new label. The wine is delicious, the packaging is fantastic (he tracked down an elusive local artist to create it), and Alessandro has all the right energy to make this label a genuine success.

But would grandpa recognize a wine in a clear bottle, with an artist’s label, and a sensational name like Phermento (a hypercorrective paronomasia playing on ferment fermentation)? I don’t think so. But then again I remember people, inspired by California’s new cuisine, putting boiled corn kernels into their salads in Italy in the late 1980s. Grandpa looked over and said, “in my day, that’s what we fed to the chickens.”

In other Lambrusco news…

I’m dying to read Alice Feiring’s article on Lambrusco in the current issue of The World of Fine Wine.

Have a sparkling weekend, everyone! Thanks for being here.

When the press release reached my inbox earlier this year, its author’s claim seemed like a bit of stretch: “Montonale Lugana Orestilla named best white wine in the world by Decanter” (translation from the Italian mine).

In fact, the 2015 vintage of the wine, rated a 95 out of 100 points by the editors, had been awarded the “best single-variety white wine” prize by the magazine’s 2017 tasting panel.

The 2016, also a winner of the masthead’s gold medal, scored a whopping 96 points (besting the previous vintage by a point) with the magazine’s 2018 tasting panel.

I had to pull some serious strings at Vinitaly this year to taste the 2016. Even though I had asked the winery’s publicist to make me an appointment at its stand at the fair, the team member flat out refused to pour me the wine when I showed up at the agreed-on time. It took a call to the owner himself to open that bottle (I know a guy…).

And it was worth it… If ever there were a white that embodied the notion of “unbearable lightness,” this would be it: the wine’s intense, rich flavor and texture was buoyed by its remarkable freshness and its glowing white fruit and white flowers. And underlying the fruit, a vein (as the Italians would say) of delicate nuttiness played its savor character in counterpoint to the elegant, juicy sweetness. What a wine!

It was also impressive inasmuch as Lugana, beyond the Brescia-Verona axis, is rarely considered a contender for best in show. Part of my curiosity about the above-mentioned (and overblown) release stemmed from the fact that you never see Lugana and its local variety Turbiana called out like this (by the way, many today believe that Turbiana is genetically synonymous with Verdicchio and not Trebbiano as the linguistic affinity would suggest).

If this wine is any indication of the appellation’s potential (and surely it is), we should all be looking more carefully at Lugana as one of the spiritual homes for great white wine from Italy.

Is the “best white wine in the world” Italian? Probably not. But man, Italy’s ability to deliver world-class whites seems only to expand.

Is Barbera (the grape and wine) a feminine or masculine noun? In other words, what’s its grammatical gender? Is it correct to say la Barbera or il Barbera?

Believe it or not it’s an orthographic that comes up frequently in Italian winespeak.

The Barbera d’Asti Consortium published my post answering the linguistic conundrum this week.

My research for the post led me to dig up my grad school notes on the great Italian poet, scholar, and critical theorist Giovanni Pascoli.

And one of his poems led me to the renowned Italian soldier and patriot Giuseppe Galliano (the one the liqeuer is named after).

And that led me to the great Ethiopian Emperor Menelik II (1844-1913) (above).

Galliano died at the Battle of Adwa (1896) where Emperor Menelik defeated Italian imperialist forces led by General Oreste Baratieri.

The biography of the Ethiopian ruler is as fascinating as it is thrilling: he was a brilliant military strategist and he became the first Africa ruler to repel European colonialism. The Italians’ defeat at Adwa stunned the world and Menelik became an icon of African and African-American independence.

Read my post on Barbera’s grammatical gender here. Next week, I’ll translate the poem (which also fascinated me) in its entirety with a brief critical apparatus.

In other news…

Parzen family made it home from Italy safely and soundly last night.

Georgia and Lila Jane (above) enjoyed one last taste of pizza yesterday morning for breakfast at Malpensa airport outside Milan.

The ladies at the food court were so sweet to them. It was a wonderful coda to our stay in a country where children are universally adored.

Both girls were extremely well behaved on our flights and both were overjoyed to sleep in their own beds last night — as were their parents.

Thanks again to all of our friends who made the trip so fun, special, and memorable. It was a really great one.

One of these days I’ll get around to telling the story of the Michelin-starred chef who made Lila Jane a hamburger on the spot (because ethereal housemade spaghetti tossed in delicately sautéed cuttlefish and garden-grown tomatoes just wouldn’t do)…

Top image via Wikipedia Creative Commons.

It’s been a wonderful three weeks in Italy with our girls, ages (almost) five and six and a half.

They’ve been trying all kinds of new foods (Lila Jane now loves rabbit; Georgia has a yen for fried anchovies) and picking up Italian words along the way (Georgia can now count to 13 in Italian; Lila Jane’s grazie is impeccable).

They’ve made a ton of friends here: Cecilia, Tiziano, Lorenzo, Federico, Andrea, Alba, Azzurra, Atena… too many to count. And they played with kids from all over the Mediterranean.

Their mother and father have been eating well, too.

Our host (and the best friend you could ever ask for), Giovanni, made us delicious linguine with fresh tomatoes and coppa last night (above), a perfect pairing for his Franciacorta Dosaggio Zero (Arcari + Danesi).

Other highlights were fish stew in Liguria, a cow-goat hybrid Robiola paired with Nebbiolo in Piedmont, spaghetti with clams at Giancarlo and Francesca’s house (Piedmont), erbazzone and homemade salame on Michele and Vanina’s farm (Piedmont), aperitivo with the Lini mispucha (Emilia), tortelli verdi with the Levy clan (also in Emilia).

Another highlight was a vineyard picnic on Sunday with my dissertation advisor Luigi and his son Edoardo, also a great friend of mine. We were the guests of the Arcari + Danesi winery in Coccaglio (Franciacorta, Lombardy), where we enjoyed perfect weather, wine, and a paradisiacal Bagòss.

And that brings me to the best part of all — loving and being loved in return.

That’s Giovanni in the photo below (top, left) with Nico (his partner at Arcari + Danesi, top right), and Andrea (their partner in SoloUva, bottom left), Georgia (center) and Lila Jane (right).

The guys did everything in their power to make sure that the Parzen family was comfortable, safe, and well fed. By the time we said goodbye this morning, the girls were playing with them (and on them!) like they were uncles — my Italian brothers.

Words cannot express how thankful I am to them for everything they did for us. Just knowing they were there for us in case we needed them made the trip all the more relaxing and enjoyable for Tracie and me.

Not many can boast of having such loving, lovely, and generous friends. We’re so lucky to have them in our lives.

Many tears were shed as we all said goodbye this morning: dew cascading gently from a grape bunch as the sun rises over Montorfano.

Arrivederci, Franciacorta! Arrivederci, Italia! We have loved you as you have loved us.

Yesterday Parzen family spent the afternoon meandering through the Michele Chiarlo winery’s Parco Artistico La Court in Asti province with Stefano Chiarlo.

Lila Jane and Georgia, who had been complaining about the hour-long drive from Bra in Cuneo province (“daddy, this is taking forever!”), literally bounded out of their car seats and headed straight for the park’s observation tower.

It was a clear, beautiful, but hot day in Barbera vineyardland yesterday.

Atop Chiarlo’s Cascina La Court, a cool breeze gently soothed their cheeks as they marveled at the newly born bunches, still green only a few weeks after fruit set.

Any keen observer of grape growing would remark on how wild Barberaland is and how the vines don’t have the manicured look of their counterparts in Nebbiololand. The farming there alternates with woods and other crops and many growers have shifted to organic practices like Chiarlo, said Stefano.

That’s Stefano as he showed us the apotropaic totems mounted on each of the rows. His family’s park is open to the public throughout the day and the winery will organize picnics and tastings by appointment. But everyone is welcome enjoy the estate, any time of day, he said.

There are works of art by contemporary artists installed across the park. And there’s even free wi-fi.

“Hills, that’s what makes Italian viticulture unique,” said Stefano as he waxed agronomic (he’s the family’s vineyard manager). Our girls couldn’t agree more.

I can’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon…