Toscana Obscura
By Todd M. Wernstrom After all, central Italy stretches far and wide from the spine of the Apennines. Just to the east and sharing a border with Tuscany is Italy's "green heart," Umbria; just to the east and south of there is Marche, which in turn shares its southern border with Abruzzo. (Lazio and Molise are considered part of the boot's center, but their winemaking prowess is less than the aforementioned three.) While Tuscany certainly produces more than enough good wine to sate our Italian-sympathetic palates, a good wine isn't so hard to find these days. What is becoming scarcer is wine of interest; that is, wine that doesn't taste like it could have been bottled in Australia or California or South Africa - or Tuscany for that matter - with no reliable geographic imprint as to which.
It's easy to pick on the Tuscans; the Toscana IGT could be read to mean "Tuscany: where International Grapes Triumph." But fair is fair. The vino da tavola pioneers certainly didn't envision Napa East reds when they unfettered themselves from archaic Chianti recipes 30 some years ago. There is no doubt that the quality and consistency bars have been raised by the zeal to inject French élan into tired sangiovese blends. But the downside is marginalization of native grapes and wine styles - a refrain relevant just about everywhere wine is made - to the detriment of consumer choice and, therefore, knowledge. Yet the less-traveled and -glamorous regions of the peninsula's middle deliver ample local style.
I have a particular affinity for the wines of Umbria. My maternal grandparents hail from there. Long before Rome was grand, there were wines in Umbria, Italy's almost exact geographic center, a position that put it in a near constant tug of war between the Papal States, Florence and other militant city states. While Rome's pull is now felt much less than Tuscany's, Umbria is emerging in its own right, thanks in large measure to the Lungarotti family. Practically synonymous with Umbrian red wine, the estate is ably run by founder Giorgio's daughters, Teresa Severini and Chiara Lungarotti. All the right things have been done in the last few years, from investing millions of euros in facilities and vineyards to, in Chiara's words, letting "curiosity push you to discover new possibilities." So, there is cabernet under vine - Giorgio Lungarotti was among the first, if not the first, to investigate its possibilities in Umbria - but mostly there is sangiovese, the region's primary red grape. The seamless blend of the two (plus a little canaiolo) in the San Giorgio (named for the saint, not Lungarotti pater) shows less bombast than it does balance with its earthy truffle notes and red fruit highlights. And it ages gracefully, something not often said of internationalist creations.
The family's bread and butter, though, is the humble Rubesco, a wine so important to Umbria, despite its reasonable price tag ($18), that it ended up with its very own appellation - or nearly so. Technically, the DOC is called Rosso di Torgiano, and is named for the town where the Lungarottis hold court just outside of the regional capital, Perugia (home to my nonna's people). Wine has been made here since the time of the Etruscans and while that tribe may not have left much of a written record, there is little doubt why they planted the vine here. The hills are verdant and gently rolling with lots of distinctive microclimate variations. The riserva-level wine is actually accorded DOCG status - Umbria's first; the other is the brilliant Montefalco di Sagrantino, a wine that packs the punch of Amarone and the class of Barolo - and Lungarotti's Vigna Monticchio shows the nuance that has become harder to find in Chianti Classico Riservas since French barrels became the rage. (For fans of everyday Sangiovese, Castello delle Regine's Podernovo proves that the quotidian can be anything but dull.)
Marche's layout couldn't be more different than Umbria's with its long, Adriatic coastline and abrupt, interior hillsides. Its most famous wine is a white made from verdicchio, a grape that can be found elsewhere, but one that shows little of its true self away from its two main appellations: Castelli di Jesi and Matelica. So storied is it that it's said the Visigoths loaded up on it on their way to sack Rome in 410. The main red grape is montepulciano (not to be confused with the town of the same name in Tuscany). Perhaps the most intense central Italian red I've had is a 100 percent montepulciano called Kurni from Oasi degli Angeli. A perennial three-glasser, it sells for $80-plus (the importer says the 2003 will be closer to $100), a steep price in these parts, but its unmistakable montepulciano grapy qualities are folded nicely into mocha and oak char notes. Purists and Parkerites both can find something recognizable in it.
Rosso Piceno, one of Marche's best, if not particularly well-known, appellations, challenges the assumption that the region's future is linked only to white wine. Saladini Pilastri, a Rosso Piceno specialist, marries sangiovese and montepulciano in ways that allow the best attributes of both to show, while closeting the more diffident traits of each. The Vigna Monteprandone ($27) has generous black fruit thanks to the latter with the former's sometimes biting acidity held in check. The basic Rosso Piceno is a steal at $13 and could never be mistaken for anything but what it is.
And montepulciano virtually defines the mountainous region of Abruzzo. Its most famous wine, Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, can be legally raised practically wherever vineyards are found here. In an unusual proportion reversal, Abruzzo has three times as many IGTs as DOCs to go along with a DOCG. Like much of the south - many say Abruzzo is more mezzogiorno than central - winemaking has improved by leaps in the last 20 years. Historically, much of that hearty montepulciano was sent packing northward to colorize and beef up everything from Amarone and Barolo to Bordeaux and Burgundy. Now it pays to bottle it at the source. At about $17, Valle Reale's is as representative a version of the classic wine of the region a consumer could hope to find. The San Calisto cru from the same producer provides about twice the texture and nuance for about twice the price.
While I would never pass on a Brunello or one of Bolgheri's finest, I prefer to spend my money outside of the considerable Tuscan glare.
Todd M. Wernstrom is the executive editor and frequently writes about French and Italian wine