David's Wine Blog

Bright sun and a warming breeze was all the encouragement a fair-weather lackey needed to swap the pen for the secateurs. Alas it wasn’t to be. All togged up in my choicest gear, complete with hiking boots, the boss/il capo effectively left me on the bench as I watched a pair of seasoned Macedonians dominate the set pieces. Still, I was left in no doubt as to the mercurial talent of Giovanni Rosso’s rattling 4x4 Fiat Panda; thirty years old it may be, yet it remains as nimble as ever among the vines and not short of pace…

I notched up my first run out soon after. This time I was under the watchful eye of Luca Sandrone, younger brother of Luciano; so much younger in fact, twenty years or so, that he appears to have lucked out on a full name. But what he lacks in letters, he makes up for in application. Luca is Sandrone’s secret little weapon; he’s their viticulturalist and boy is he good. Meet Barolo’s Mr Incredible; for who else bicycles 16,000 km a year; runs the infamous Barolo to Alba road in all weathers, even during his lunch break, and personally oversees the collection, delivery and spreading of the priceless Castelmagno cow dung?

But back to the vineyard. Picture it: there I was, muck spreading cow dung on Cannubi Boschis in thirty degrees of heat, flies all around me, while a team of Romanians kept repeating ‘how do you do’ and singing tuneless Beatles’ songs. It was only a matter of time, in no time in fact, before the relentless ditters forced me to take an early shower. Meanwhile you know who, yep Luca, continued to chew gum and dig dung trenches; his single diamond ear stud glinting in the sun.

Ear studs I can handle, tongue ones even; German Shepherd dogs ‘no thank you’. I can just about shrug off the one that berates, or should that be ‘scoffs’ my morning walk to work. But imagine my delight on meeting a bearded owner of two, complete with Tom Jones ringtone!

As way of finale I was home again to host a Marcarini Barolo Dinner of all things (see the picture of Manuel Marchetti Marcarini, left). And how honoured that Manual Marchetti’s delightfully demure wife Luisa, Signora Marcarini, should choose this event of many to make her virgin voyage to England! The shutters may have been going up all over London ahead of the G20 funfair but there was no hiding the Marcarini Baroli. Initially all were wooed by the fuller, cocoa powder and balsamic brilliance of Brunate; so named after the Piemontese word for frost, ‘brina’, such is its continental mesoclimate. While the flightier, incense, tobacco and curried verve of La Serra, from a warmer if loftier site – La Serra is Italian for greenhouse as well as being the highest point – wove its magic as the wines opened up. So a delicious pair of 1999s, ten years off their best, were put in their place by a fine, fresh 1997 Brunate and a graceful 1994 La Serra. Benissimo!

After what was, let’s be honest, a shaky start, I had a hunch things were about to change for the better when I received that call from Davide Rosso (my adopted fratello) as I made my way ‘home’ after a weekend in England. It was approaching midnight and I had just cleared the last toll booth. ‘Where was I?’ They (Davide, Alessio and Roberto Conterno) had been at Ciccio’s (Alessio eatery in Serralunga) all afternoon awaiting my return! A tad tired, I dumped my gear and headed up to the Castello where a glass of vintage Champagne greeted me – benvenuto indeed!

Talk about timing, Piedmont shone as Berrys’ training team emerged into the Monday morning sun. Raffaella Bologna at Braida pressed all the right buttons. Act Two featured a certain Uncle Angelo Gaja, apparently out the country, gliding in and effortlessly upstaging his wines. The Bruno Giacosa experience was packed with thoroughbreds; the Cigliuti family charmed us with their perfumed Barbareschi and then fed us like kings. The visit to Serralunga on Day Two featured the establishment in Franco Massolino ‘pitted’ alongside an ambitious Davide Rosso; local radio permanently on, pulsing through his wines and winery. Guiseppe Mascarello proudly showed off their Monprivato and Santo Stefano di Perno vineyards, while the visit to Giacomo Conterno was, well…what can I say? And so it went on: Day Three with the genial Manuel Marchetti at Marcarini, the door always open; Maria-Teresa Mascarello (Bartolo), a study in serenity; while the Sandrone family provided a lesson in exactitude and grace, capped by a glimpse of the sandy sun-trap that is the Valmaggiore vineyard. Summing up, to one of the team the region is a perfect blend of Burgundy’s finezza and perfume with the slopes and structure of the Rhone! And we haven’t even touched on the cuisine…


Yet, bazaarly, the visit to Alba’s market on Saturday reminded me more of Mumbai: the weave of fabric stalls through its narrow streets; the array of colours from unlikely sources, such as the piazza packed with dusters; the pressing of people and their chatter; all overlain with a heady smell of chocolate courtesy the local Ferrero-Rocher factory, spiced up occasionally by the strident cologne of some eager young Albese. Then there were the food halls, clearly delimited between trader and peasant farmer, between bought-in and homegrown; perfectly formed and wrinkled. Triple zero anchovies, purple celery, pears, primavera miele, a clutch of eggs wrapped in brown paper, Calabrian oranges, hazelnuts and of course a basilico plant all filled my groaning basket.


The region might well sit at the foot of the Alps but as I walked the windy Serralunga ridge to work this morning, eye to eye with Mt Viso on the horizion and flanked on either sides by vines, it doesn’t feel quite so lowly.

Just a few days in and I managed to steal down to Piacenza to attend a 'natural wine' fair (as in low sulphur dioxide levels) and snatched a quick video interview with Stella di Campalto, presenting her new '04 Brunello; that was prior to announcing her intention to follow the holy order (or I think that's what she said...):

When not grappling with ever remoter wireless access, or attending wine fairs, my cloistered existence has revolved round Serralunga's hub, 'Centro Storico'. Owned by wine fiend (and now friend) Alessio and his wife (and chef) Stefania, this hive of fine food and wine is patronised by merchants and producers from all over, each one coaxed to tell their tale. A fascinating place.

In a break from the norm, David Berry Green, wine buyer at Berrys' since 2001, has relocated to Northern Italy for seven months. The objective? To develop a keener understanding of Italian culture while focusing on the wines of Piedmont and, more generally, on delights a little further afield. This first installment follows his journey during his first ten days in his new life...

OK, so it was hardly a Hannibal on an elephant moment, but my peppy Japanese two-stroke piped a note of euphoria sixteen hours since leaving the Shires; sweeping past the 'Italia' sign midway along the alpine tunnel before popping out, off-piste amid thick cloud and snow into the Valle d'Aosta below.

The euphoria didn't last long, unlike the damp cold nebbia/fog that has cloaked my every move ever since arriving in Piedmont. Imagine an ancient hilltop village, vertiginous vineyards on all sides, scarce funds (you may well ask), a bare fridge, seemingly cut off from the outside world, little grasp of the local patois or customs, beard, sandels (OK, flip flops) and ecco! A monastic scene straight out of 'The Name of the Rose'. Throw in the news that one of our suppliers is resolved to becoming a nun and the picture's framed.
Thank God (see!) for the (Giovanni) Rosso family, who've adopted me as one of their own, even to the point of assigning me an office complete with weighty (Ikea) bureau and green Churchillian lamp! That said their winemaker son Davide still hasn't forgiven me for failing to turn up in a Jag...but he was re-assured on hearing they're two-a-penny among colleagues back home.
Let the adventure begin!