Barolo is an Italian wine, one of many to claim the title “Wine of kings, and king of wines”. This Denominazione di Origine Controllata e Garantita (DOCG) wine is produced in the Cuneo province, south-west of Alba, within the region of Piemonte. The Barolo zone extends into the communes of Barolo, Castiglione Falletto, Serralunga d’Alba and parts of the communes of Cherasco, Diano d’Alba, Grinzane Cavour, La Morra, Monforte d’Alba, Novello, Roddi, Verduno, all in the province of Cuneo. Only vineyards, planted in primarily calcareous-clay soils, in the hills with suitable slopes and orientations are considered suitable for Barolo production. Barolo is made from 100% Nebbiolo and usually has the aromas of tar and roses. Barolos are noted for this ability to age and usually take on an orange tinge as they get older. When subjected to aging of at least five years, the wine can be labeled a Riserva.

In the past all Barolos used to be very tannic and they took more than 10 years to soften up. Fermenting wine sat on the grape skins for at least three weeks, extracting huge amounts of tannins; then it was aged in large, wooden casks for years. In order to meet the international taste, which preferred fruitier, more accessible styles, the “modernists” cut fermentation times to a maximum of ten days and put the wine in new French barriques (small oak barrels). The results, said “traditionalists”, were wines that weren’t even recognizable as Barolo and tasted more of new oak than of wine. The controversies between traditionalists and modernists have been called the “Barolo wars”.

In the past all Barolos used to be very tannic and they took more than 10 years to soften up. Fermenting wine sat on the grape skins for at least three weeks, extracting huge amounts of tannins; then it was aged in large, wooden casks for years. In order to meet the international taste, which preferred fruitier, more accessible styles, the “modernists” cut fermentation times to a maximum of ten days and put the wine in new French barriques (small oak barrels). The results, said “traditionalists”, were wines that weren’t even recognizable as Barolo and tasted more of new oak than of wine. The controversies between traditionalists and modernists have been called the “Barolo wars”.

Is Barolo still Italy’s greatest wine? It’s a question I’ve been mulling over for some time. And like some of life’s bigger questions (Is there a God? And what really constitutes a 100-point wine?), it’s not one whose answer is readily known.

Barolo, after all, has been called “the King of Wines” for centuries—never mind that it took a Frenchman to bring this about (more on that later). But what was a certainty some 200 years ago may not necessarily be true in 2007. After all, the Barolos of only two decades ago bear little resemblance to the wines of today.

This is a consequence of what have been dramatically titled the “Barolo Wars,” with French oak and rotary fermenters and maybe a few Cabernet grapes as the weapons of choice. These are the armaments of so-called Modernists, producers whose mission has been to make Barolo a more contemporary and, as they might say, better wine.

To Traditionalists, a.k.a. Classicists, this is nothing short of heresy. (In this way, the Barolo Wars seem a bit like the Crusades.) To Classicists, Barolo has always been, and should always be, made the same way: produced from the native Nebbiolo grape (a thin-skinned, rather acidic and tannic red), then generally aged in big Slovenian casks called botti in a particular (and very lengthy) way.

This was more or less the model created by the Frenchman Louis Oudart back in the mid-19th century. When Oudart arrived in Piedmont, Barolo had been a simple, rustic, even sweet wine. Oudart been hired by the Marchesa of Barolo, who wanted something more noble to be created from her native red and believed a French wine consultant could do the job (a belief that the French have encouraged in various other parts of the wine world up through the present day). Oudart made such an impressive wine that other Piedmontese producers followed suit and a new style of Barolo was born, winning quite a few fans in the process—some of them even royals, like Vittorio Emanuele II, the first king of unified Italy (though probably best known today as a boulevard; I’ve yet to visit an Italian town that doesn’t have its own Corso Vittorio Emanuele).

The style of wine Oudart created is the one that Traditionalists are still making today: wonderfully fragrant, with notes of bitter cherry, truffles, earth and even roses and tar; rather light-colored, quite high in acidity and very tannic, needing several years’ aging in barrel and bottle. In fact, by law Barolo must age a minimum of three years (at least two in barrel), though some producers age their wines longer. And even after Barolo is bottled, it requires many more years’ aging time. As famed Barolo producer Aldo Conterno once said, he made his wine to be “undrinkable” when it was first put into bottle.

Modernists found this style off-putting, not to mention commercially challenging (how to explain to consumers that they could buy a wine but not drink it for a decade or two?) and sometimes even flawed (a wine might take so long to come around that the fruit was gone before the tannins ever softened). And so in the ‘80s, winemakers like Luciano Sandrone and Paolo Scavino, among many others, adopted some techniques employed by winemakers in other parts of the world, like a shorter maceration of the grapes (resulting in softer, less tannic wines, as tannins are extracted during the maceration process), rotary fermenters (another means of softening wine) and the use of smaller French barrels over big Slovenian casks.

The result was a wine that was fruitier and easier to enjoy in its youth (sometimes even upon release), but one that Traditionalists argued lacked much of what made Barolo distinctive: its classic structure, powerful tannins and distinctive aromas. The modern wines were more like a lot of others and smelled mostly like French oak. They were also more pleasurable and less “intellectual”—the one word that Barolo Traditionalists invoke a lot. “Barolo is an intellectual’s wine” was the line I heard most often from sommeliers, wine merchants and collectors when I asked their thoughts on the wine. Barolo collectors, by the way, are almost always men. Why, I don’t know. Maybe wines with firm tannins are a measure of masculinity.

Second only to the suggestion of Barolo’s “intellectuality” is the assertion of its resemblance to Burgundy: “Barolo is the Burgundy of Italy.” This can mean any number of things, though I’ve narrowed it down to three: First, Nebbiolo is a lot like Pinot Noir, the great red grape of Burgundy, in that it is also thin-skinned, difficult to grow and possessed of beguiling aromas. Second, Barolo, like Burgundy, requires its followers to memorize many names—not only dozens of producers (traditional and otherwise) but also names of communes and vineyards. And finally, like Burgundy, Barolo can be quite inconsistent. The highs are high and the lows, very low. And it doesn’t come cheap. More on this a bit later.

I’m not sure how much nebbiolo and pinot Noir ultimately do have in common (for example, few seem to be planting Nebbiolo in any other part of the world, nor is there a movie like Sideways extolling its charms). But in terms of geographic complexity, the Burgundy comparison seems to hold true. Barolo, like Burgundy, comes from a specific set of communes, of which there are eleven in Piedmont’s Langhe hills, although only five truly matter. And Barolo lovers describe the characteristics of these communes in as much detail as Burgophiles do vineyards of the Côte d’ Or.

A few generalizations: The commune of Barolo produces wines famed for their concentration, while the wines from the neighboring La Morra commune are more “feminine.” The three other communes, Serralunga d’ Alba, Castig-lione Falletto and Monforte d’ Alba, are all located on Barolo’s eastern side, and they generally tend to produce wines that are bigger, more structured and slower to mature than those from the communes in the west.

Within these five communes are hundreds of vineyards or crus, whose names may or may not appear on the bottle, and they too have different characteristics and varying degrees of fame. Some of the most famous include Brunate, Cannubi, Cannubi Boschis, Bussia and Fiasc—but, as with Burgundy, a single vineyard name isn’t necessarily a guarantee of greatness. A further complication that not even Burgundy can match is the fact that some of the best producers don’t make single-vineyard wines but blends. (Imagine a great Burgundy producer deciding to put a little Musigny into his Chambertin.) This was the general practice among most Barolo producers until Ceretto and others decided to bottle single-vineyard wines.

With so many variables of producers, communes, vineyards and blends, not to mention variation of vintages (though Barolo has thankfully had quite good ones in recent years), I decided to tackle the question of greatness by simply tasting wines from as many producers and vintages as possible. So I called up various Barolo importers and asked them to send along a few bottles, preferably both new and old. The latter was a bit of a challenge, since older Barolos, like older Burgundies, can be hard to find and quite expensive. (Unlike Burgundy, however, it’s still possible to find good 10-year-old Barolos for under $100 a bottle.)

The latest Barolo vintage is 2003, and the wines were released fairly recently. That was the year of the great summer heat wave in Europe, and I expected the wines to be a little more accessible than traditional Barolo—lighter both in body and color, though still quite tannic and hard. These were the wines I was planning to taste when my friend Kate called to invite me to her dinner party.

“ Barolo? Isn’t that a great Italian wine?” Kate said excitedly when I described my project to her. “Why don’t you bring some along?” I didn’t have time to explain that greatness was exactly the quality I was hoping to determine. To Kate, and to most people I know, “great” was just another word for expensive.

I brought along five bottles of Barolo, all of them from the 2003 vintage, produced by both Modernists and Traditionalists. The Ca’ Rome’ Vigna Cerretta, a Modernist wine, proved the most popular, probably because it was the easiest to drink, with lots of sweet, ripe fruit. Second was the Cascina Bongiovanni, also made in a Modernist, fruit-forward style. The Michele Chiarlo Cerequio, a compromise between Modernist and Traditionalist techniques, pleased the crowd with its depth, richness and high price (almost $100 a bottle) but was denounced for its lack of color (the guests didn’t realize that, with a few notable exceptions, Barolo is almost never a very dark wine).

As for the also-ran wines, the Vietti Lazzarito Castiglione Falletto and the Marcarini, made by two excellent Traditionalist producers, were more difficult for the crowd to appreciate, mostly on account of their firm, tannic structure; both were fairly austere.

“ You can’t drink those wines right now; they’re too young,” I explained to one of the guests as he looked longingly at Kate’s bottle of the 2005 Jim Barry The Cover Drive Australian Cabernet. “Well, when can you drink them?” he replied, though clearly what he meant was, “Then why did you bring them?”

Barolo may or may not be an intellectual’s wine, but this much is certain: It’s definitely not a wine for drinking with a crowd. I decided to taste the rest of the young Barolos myself.

My solo experience, however, was inconclusive. The E. Pira & Figli and the Luigi Einaudi Cannubi, two Modernist wines from the great 2001 vintage, proved surprisingly lush and ripe, full of sweet fruit and soft tannins. But other 2001 Barolos were more difficult to assess at such a young age, like the impressively structured Domenico Clerico Ciabot Mentin Ginestra (Modernist) and the Vietti Brunate (Traditionalist), while some seemed to be mostly tannins and acid (the Modernist Prunotto). Perhaps the challenge wasn’t so much determining Barolo’s greatness but figuring out exactly what Barolo was. Could a Barolo that was enjoyable to drink at a relatively young age (six years or so) still be considered a great wine? Or even a Barolo at all? After all, one of the chief tenets of Traditionalist producers is that Barolo should not be ready to drink without 10 or 15 years of aging—and it should still have the capacity to develop for decades after that, too. Many of the wines I tasted were delicious and well made, but none seemed to have the structure of a wine that was potentially great except the Vietti Brunate and the Clerico—and yet they were made by two different types of producers, one Traditionalist, the other Modernist.

Maybe what I needed was to taste wines from a vintage that Barolo makers themselves acknowledged was ready to drink. According to Luciano Sandrone, one of the most acclaimed of all Modernists, that vintage was 1996. I’d met Sandrone when he was in Manhattan to promote his 2003 wines—big, rich, intense Barolos that were still incredibly youthful.

“ What about 1997?” I’d asked him. My friend Scott Manlin, a wine collector from Chicago, had mentioned he’d opened a bottle of 1997 Sandrone Cannubi Boschis—Sandrone’s most famous wine, which costs hundreds of dollars a bottle—a few weeks ago. “My friend Scott said the wine was terrific.” (Scott had actually said “Great juice,” but I wasn’t sure Sandrone would understand this as a compliment.) “That wine isn’t ready yet,” Sandrone replied.

Soon after my conversation with Sandrone I was invited to a Barolo tasting at Vino, the Manhattan wine shop owned by Nicola Marzovilla, the proprietor of I Trulli restaurant across the street. (Although his restaurant and background are Apulian, Nicola is a big Barolo fan.) Perhaps the older wines would better reveal Barolo’s greatness.

The class began less than auspiciously. One of the first questions the instructor, Jim Hutchinson, fielded was, “Why did you pick this region?” It gave me a flashback to Kate’s dinner party. What was it about Barolo that provoked people so? Was it the tannin?

“ Because Barolo is a great wine, and it’s also a misunderstood region,” he patiently replied. “It’s not a California fruit-driven wine,” he added earnestly. “For example, I’m a black-coffee drinker because I like the strong flavor, and the wines that appeal to me also make me feel like I’m tasting something. Barolo does that.” I hadn’t considered a caffeine connection, but before the class could ask any more questions (or perhaps issue more complaints), Hutchinson suggested we start the tasting.

The wines (all 1996s save for one ‘89, a great vintage) included only Traditionalist bottlings, among them a 1996 Bovio Vigna Gattera (still very closed and tight); a ‘96 Borgogno Riserva (a bit light, with earthy and cedary aromas, and still quite tannic); a ‘96 Vietti Rocche (softer, more accessible, with classic red berry aromas and excellent structure; the most impressive of the tasting to me); and the ‘89 Borgogno Riserva, which even the instructor admitted “hadn’t really developed yet.”

At this, one of the students seemed to fall into despair. “If it’s not ready yet, when will it be?” he asked about the Borgogno. Hutchinson shrugged his shoulders. “It’s hard to say.”

“ It’s kind of discouraging, to know you have to put a wine away for at least 15 years for it to be drinkable,” another student commented.

“ And they’re all about $150 a bottle,” someone else added.

It was an interesting, if not necessarily uplifting, tasting—there didn’t seem to be much joy in the tasting room (but Barolo, after all, is an “intellectual” wine). And I wasn’t sure I was any closer to an answer to my original question. Only one wine, the Vietti, seemed to have all its components synthesized into a great and memorable whole.

Perhaps what I really needed to do was to buy some older Barolos myself—wines from great vintages and indisputably great producers, both Modernist and Traditionalist, and drink them at just the right time.

So I called a couple of wine merchants I know, including Mannie Berk of the Sonoma-based Rare Wine Co., who does a big business in older Barolo, and Lance Cerutti of Suburban Wines & Spirits in Westchester, New York. Between them, I found all the bottles I sought—two from 1989 and two from 1990, each one the very best of its type. The total cost came close to $2,000. At these prices, Barolo was definitely beginning to seem like Burgundy to me.

Scott contributed a 1989 Conterno Cascina Francia, another legendary Traditionalist wine from a single vineyard. He had it shipped to New York, where we planned a special Piedmontese dinner at I Trulli.

We started with Scott’s Conterno, which sadly turned out to be a bit of a dud. Thought not actually flawed, it was dull and a little dried out; the fruit had faded, although the tannins were still firm. “Too bad,” Scott declared, affecting nonchalance.

Next up were two more Traditionalist wines: the 1990 Mascarello Monprivato and the 1990 Bruno Giacosa Falletto, from two of the most famous Barolo producers in the world. They weren’t dull like the Conterno, but unfortunately, neither were they quite profound. The Giacosa had a solid, earthy core, and its tannins were still very firm, while the Mascarello, built along the same lines, was more concentrated, with a little more fruit. They were admirable, we agreed, though not truly great.

We were down to the final two bottles, the famed 1989 offerings from Modernist Paolo Scavino (the Bric dël Fiasc bottling) and Sandrone’s modern-style Cannubi Boschis—together representing about $700 worth of wine. The Scavino was a completely beautiful wine, youthful and bright, with great acidity. Clearly it still had a very long life ahead of it. The Sandrone was lush, ripe and enormously concentrated, with beautifully balanced tannins and fruit. It was, at last, a truly great wine. “It’s as good as any wine in my cellar,” said Scott.

What to conclude from this tasting, and all the tastings that went before? With the Sandrone, I had found a Barolo that was truly profound. The rest of the Barolos, well, there had been little in the way of consistency. Some wines had been fruity and delicious, some almost impenetrably tannic. Some of the best producers had disappointed, and some of the lesser-known wines had been remarkably good. Some had been made by Modernists (Scavino, Clerico) others by Traditionalists (Borgogno, Vietti), but all of the best had many years of development ahead.

Maybe there hadn’t been much in the way of consistency, but couldn’t a wine be great without being reliable? When I considered all the great wines in the world—starting, of course, with Burgundy—consistency wasn’t a word I often heard. In fact, describing a wine as consistent is far from high praise for any (noncommercial) wine, except perhaps in the case of nonvintage Champagne. Greatness is about risk, not reliability.

Of course, the dozens of wines that I had tasted were only a tiny fraction of the Barolos in the world (though probably many more Barolos than most people might drink in their lifetimes, unless they had a generous wine-collector friend like Scott Manlin). But based on a handful of bottles that had truly stood out—that Sandrone, that Vietti—I had to give Barolo its due. It was, very occasionally, depending on the year and the producer, a great wine. But mine wouldn’t be an intellectual vote; instead it would be something less rational than that, something more akin to belief or hope. And a wish for a very large wine budget for what might be only a very occasional reward.

A Royal Wine from the Foot of the Alps

Barolo is one of Italy’s noblest wines. Born in the Piedmont region, literally at the foothills of the Alps, it is full-bodied, acidic, redolent of strawberries and violets, and carries the aristocratic DOCG appellation. Indeed, some call it a King among wines.

The wine takes its name from the tiny village of Barolo, one of a cluster of villages in the region, which devotes just around 3000 acres to the Nebbiolo grape, from which Barolo is made. Other villages that make up the Nebbiolo-growing region, collectively called Langhe, are La Morra, Castiglione Falletto, Serraluna d’Alba, and Monforte d’Alba.

The black Nebbiolo grape probably takes its name from the Nebbia or the thick fog that covers the area during autumn. The Nebiolo has distinct qualities which it brings to the Barolo. It has complex flavors and bitter tannins. It has an exceptionally long growing season, and sunshine is of vital importance to ripening, which, by extension, means that the location of particular vineyards – the amount of sun they catch – has a direct bearing on the quality of the wine. Hence the terms bricco, sori and costa which you might see on Barolo labels, indicating hilltop, hillside and sun-catching potential.

Further, the grape mutates easily, and adapts to specific locations. This means that the products of even adjacent vineyards may differ significantly. And the mutation is an ongoing process, so though vintners may be using plant material that came down through generations, their current output may be quite different from what their ancestors cultivated.

The chief factors that influence the quality of the Barolo are climate, soil, farming methods, choice of grapes and process of maturing.

Taking climate first, prolonged summers with as little rain as possible during harvest make for ideal Barolo climate, because the Nebbiolo needs every little bit of sunshine it can soak up. In fact, the grape growers of Piedmont had an unusual run of excellent vintages starting from 1995, with exceptionally conducive climatic conditions.

The soil of the area can be divided into two main categories, Helvetian and Tortonian. The first yields grapes that take longer to mature, while the second produces a softer, more fruity variety of Barolo in comparison with the grapes nurtured on Helvetian soil.

Farming methods also impact the quality of the Barolo. Compact farming, where individual farmers experiment with the number of vines per hectare and arrive at what is optimum, the shift to organic farming, where chemicals are either reduced or done away with, and green harvesting or cluster thinning, where unripe bunches are selectively removed to concentrate others, are all yielding results in the quality of the Barolo.

The technology and process of fermentation has also changed drastically over the years. Now, modern methods of temperature control and hygiene are adopted, and the result is a much more standardised product. The jury is still out on the use of barriques or small oak barrels which lend a distinctive flavour to the wine and modifies the raspy taste of tannin. The wine produced in these barrels is distinct from what is produced using traditional equipment. There are those who consider the change an unnecessary deviation, but there are others who are highly appreciative of the effect of this essentially French innovation. .

Under the DOCG norms, Barolo has to be aged for a minimum of three years with five years for a Riserva. The longer the maturing period, the better it tastes. A good, aged Barolo will bring to mind the flavours and aroma of tar, liquorice, leather, violets, chocolate, figs and prunes.

The wine is generally distinguished by vineyard, and most are bottled in family-owned wineries, but there are those who buy grapes from different growers and blend them too.

Among the best known producers of Barolo are: Aldo Conterno, Giacomo Conterno, Ceretto, Gaja, Pio Cesare, Prunotto, Paolo Scavino, Fratelli Revello and La Spinetta.
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The Barolo is a way of life in Piedmont, where the people are hearty eaters of meat. This is also white truffle country, and the wine makes a perfect accompaniment to the rich meals that characterise the cuisine of this area.

A typical Barolo contains more alcohol than the average Italian wine – between 14% and 15%, and it is not an inexpensive drink.

When you buy Barolo, make sure it’s from a reputed producer. Open it at least one hour before you plan to serve it, to make sure it is properly aerated. And always serve it with food, as it is a taste-enhancer.

It is truly a wine fit for royalty.

Barolo is the most powerful red wine from the single-varietal Nebbiolo grape and it is produced in the Piemonte region of northwest Italy. A number of factors make this wine special starting with viticulture and vinification practices all the way to the aging process. Barolo is a special wine because of its color, aromas, taste, aging, and its ability to complement food. It is Italy’s highest priced wine and commands its expense because of its high quality. A break from the traditional method of making Barolo has resulted in different styles with modernized winemaking techniques.

What makes Barolo special? The region itself is in a very expensive part of Italy whose growers have invested a lot of money on production. I assimilate it to the Mercedes Benz of Italian red wines. This sub region grows grapes in small vineyard areas where supply does not meet the high demand. This region also has no known history of producing “jug” or “bulk wines.” What makes Barolo what it is begins with continental climate in this inland region with hot summers and longer autumns which create long ripening seasons. Because Barolo is in the foothills of the Alps, winters are cooler with year round rainfall which is highest in April/May and October/November. The weather within these climates can vary which explains the significance of vintage variations as one often reads about high ratings for one or two years per decade. The terroir also impacts the wine. To the west, calcareous marl of La Morra and Barolo is more compact and fertile and produces softer, fruitier, aromatic wines that age faster. To the east, sandstone of Monforte and Serralunga is less compact, poorer in quality and less fertile which results in more intense structured wines that mature more slowly than those of the west. Heavy investment has been put into this region for the past 20 years for continued superior quality wine. As a result, Barolo has had a loyal following by mainly its export markets.

All traditional fine Barolos are common in style in that the color is never deep or opaque. It is pale ruby fading toward garnet or brick with age. Its complex aroma consists of plums, rose petals, tar, and sometimes white truffle. The tannin and alcohol levels are generally high. As tannins polymerize, leathery flavors and aromas develop. Also, intense Barolos have enormous structure that matures more slowly. Modern style Barolos, on the other hand, are fruitier, less tannic, can be drunk sooner in five years, and are less oaky than the traditional ones. Modernization in technique accounts for newer styles.

While traditional Barolo is a product of up to two-month old maceration of grapes less phenolically mature and highly tannic picked early in the harvest, modern Barolo is produced by temperature controlled fermentation, reduced maceration from two months to five to seven days through use of rotofermenters, pumping over as opposed to submerged cap, and use of Barriques. These modern methods result into softer and fruitier wines. Nebbiolo is harvested later in the season, thus producing super ripe grapes along with complete ripeness of tannins. Also, single cru Barolos are “handcrafted” wines that often command higher price tags than negociant blends.

As factors that account for different styles include terroir, age of the vines, harvesting times, fermentation and maceration durations, and amount of aging time in oak, any time saving step is a deviant from traditional Barolo making which results in a variation of styles that one can differentiate with experience tasting this highly sought after wine. If there were to be an increase of investors who are under pressure to make a return on investment, it will be even more increasingly difficult and expensive to procure traditional Barolos.

Ingredients
6 1/2 to 7-pound boneless beef roast, chuck or bottom round, trimmed of fat
2 teaspoons coarse sea salt or kosher salt, or to taste
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
3 medium onions (1 1/4 pounds total), peeled and quartered
5 big carrots (about 2/3 pound), peeled and cut in 2-inch wedges
6 big celery stalks (2/3 pound total), cut in 2-inch chunks
8 plump garlic cloves, peeled
3 branches fresh rosemary with lots of needles
8 large fresh sage leaves
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 1/4 teaspoons whole black peppercorns
1 1/4 ounces dried porcini slices (about 1 1/4 cups, loosely packed)
Three 750-milliliter bottles Barolo, or as needed
3 cups beef stock, or as needed
Freshly ground black pepper to taste

Recommended Equipment
A heavy 6-quart saucepan or enameled cast-iron French oven, round or oval, with a cover; select a pot in which the roast will fit with no more than 2 inches of space around it—the less space in the pot, the less wine you’ll need
A meat thermometer

Preparation
Heat the oven, with a rack in the center, to 250°F.

Season all surfaces of the roast with 1 teaspoon salt. Pour the olive oil into the big pan, and set over medium-high heat. Lay the roast in, and brown it on each side for a minute or two, without moving, until caramelized all over. Remove to a platter.

Still over medium-high heat, drop in the cut vegetables and garlic cloves, toss to coat with oil, and spread out in the pan. Drop in the rosemary, sage leaves, grated nutmeg, peppercorns, dried porcini, and remaining teaspoon salt, and toss all together. Cook for 3 or 4 minutes, stirring frequently and scraping up the browned meat bits on the pan bottom, just until the vegetables soften, then lower the heat.

Push the vegetables to the sides, and return the roast to the pan, laying flat on the bottom. Pour in the three bottles of wine and any meat juices that collected on the platter. The roast should be at least half submerged—add beef stock as needed.

Cover the pot, and heat until the wine is steaming but not boiling. Uncover the pan, and place it in the oven. After 30 minutes, rotate the roast so the exposed meat is submerged in the braising liquid. Braise this way, turning the meat in the pan every 30 minutes, for about 3 hours, until fork-tender. The liquid should not boil&151;if it does, pour in some cold water to stop the bubbling, and lower the oven temperature.

After 4 1/2 hours or so, check the beef with a meat thermometer. When its internal temperature reaches 180°F—it should be easily pierced with a fork—take the pan from the oven. Remove the meat to a platter, with intact carrot and celery pieces to serve as a garnish.

Skim any fat from the braising juices, heat to a boil, and reduce to a saucy consistency that coats the back of a spoon. Pour through a sieve set over a clean container. Press in the juices from the strained herbs and vegetable pieces. Pour in any juices from the meat platter, and season the sauce to taste with salt and freshly ground black pepper. (If you are not going to serve right away, put the meat and reserved vegetables in the sauce to rest and cool, for a couple of hours or overnight.)

To serve, slice the meat crosswise (easier when it is cool). Pour a shallow layer of sauce in a wide skillet, and lay the slices in, overlapping. Heat the sauce to bubbling, spooning it over the beef, so the slices are lightly coated. Lift them with a broad spatula, and slide onto a warm platter, fanned out. Heat the carrots and celery in the sauce too, if you’ve saved them, and arrange on the platter. Serve, passing more heated sauce at the table.

 Proponents of these techniques have found that certain procedures, in the vineyards and in the winery can lead to more consistent wines that impress both the critics and the buying populace as well. There can be no doubt that this movement has created more quality wines from more producers than ever before. One of these techniques is to allow the grapes to hang on the vines for a much longer period of time. This produces riper grapes, which in turn produces wine with bolder fruit and more alcohol, which makes a more full-bodied wine.

Others would argue that the growing internationalization movements have lost something along the way. Like the effect on indigenous foods cultures by the proliferation of McDonalds® or KFC® restaurants around the world, these wine purists wonder whether a glass of purple opaque fruit filled wine, that could be from anywhere in the world, means there an inherent loss of diversity that diminishes our wine drinking choices and culture.

I will leave that argument for another day. The fact is perhaps, nowhere is that clash of methodologies more acute than in the tiny northwest corner of Italy. In Barolo, in the heart of Piemonte, the same argument that has been playing out around the world is also a heated topic of debate. But in Barolo, we as consumers can and do get the best of both worlds. There is no reason for us to choose sides. We can buy both.
Traditionally, Barolo was made by fermenting Nebbiolo grapes in large wooden casks called botti. These were made of chestnut or Slovenian oak and could be quite large. The wine was fermented for long periods in these barrels and the skins left in contact with the must. This gave more color to the wine as Nebbiolo actually produces a light ruby colored wine. It also extracted the sometimes-severe tannins of the grape. Of course, in this older method, there was no temperature control and the chance of bacterial infection was great.

 The wine was then aged in large casks and saw no new wood. In fact, these large casks encouraged a bit of oxidation to the wine. The final product looked like an aged wine with a ruby/orange color that had substantial bricking (the edges of the wine took a brick red color; an effect usually prevalent in older wines). The better producers took advantage of these qualities and their wines exhibited wonderful dried cherry and floral qualities to them.

Traditionalists were limited by the location of their grapes. The great producers who owned the best vineyard sites could make great wines. Even they, however, were limited by the weather. In maybe three or four vintages a decade those producers had a chance to make great Barolo. The best producers could also make decent wine in all but one or two vintages in the rest of the decade thereby ensuring their reputations. But those wineries with less desirable sites suffered. Even worse, some vignerons simply lacked the experience and the skill of the old masters and made wines that were thin, bitter and insipid. The heavy tannic quality of the grape overwhelmed the wines.

Toward remedying that end, and inspired by the growing international movement among wines, the modernists arose. The Modernists movement started in Barolo in the 1960’s but really got into full swing around 1985. This new crowd introduced controlled temperature fermentations to create more fruit driven balanced wines and to protect the wines from bacterial infections. In addition, led by Angelo Gaja, the modernists utilized new 225 liter French oak barrels. The theory being the sweet tannins found in the new oak would offset the naturally harsh tannins of the Nebbiolo grape.

The smaller size of the barrels allows the wines to mature faster while more of the fruit is still fresh and vibrant. Finally, the level of toast in the barrels adds to the wines color and vibrancy. Eventually the modernists also discovered that by shortening the time allowed for fermentation and maceration, the amount of bitter tannins could be reduced without sacrificing flavor or color. This created wines that are accessible at a younger age.Many of even the long time producers of Barolo adopted more modernist techniques.

 Of course, it is not all or nothing. There is some middle ground. And while all this talk of traditional versus modern Barolos involved the winery, let us not forget that during this same period advances in the vineyard were being made worldwide. Clonal selections, new definitions of ripeness, green harvesting, and control of yields all came to be better understood in the last 20 years. In the hands of these masters, traditional or modern, the quality of the raw material had greatly increased. It is expected that the wines produced are also better.

But as I said, we are lucky in Barolo. There are great wines being made on both sides of the aisle. I like them both. An interesting quality too is that the older these wines get (and don’t forget these wines can easily age for 20 years and some for 40 or more), the more similar the wines become.

There are many good and great producers still making traditional Barolos. Perhaps the best producer in all of the Piemonte is Bruno Giacosa. His Barolos are very expensive and well worth it. Other good traditional producers include Giacomo Conterno, Marcarini, Bartolo Mascarello, Aldo Conterno, and Cavallotto.

Some of the producers making very good wines in the modernist style include Domenico Clerico, Mauro Veglio, Silvio Grasso, Luciano Sandrone, Eraldo Viberti, Roberto Voerzio, and Elio Altare. In addition Angelo Gaja, whose Sperss wine is no longer labeled as a Barolo (instead using the Langhe designation) is still pushing the envelope.

Whether to drink now or cellar to enjoy its imminent, spectacular maturity, has suddenly become a no-brainer. Thanks to the superb vintages spanning 1995 through 2000, Italy’s noblest red wine is enjoying unprecedented prestige.
Barolo is an Italian wine, one of many to claim the title “Wine of kings, and king of wines”. It is produced in Cuneo’s province, south-west of Alba, within the southern end of Piemonte. Barolo borrows its name from the small hamlet (population 760) that lies near the center of the wine’s growing zone. The zone itself is a more self-contained microcosm than most Barolo fans may realize. While wine in Italy is timeless, Barolo came about in the 1800s when the Marchesa Giulietta Colbert Falletti started making wine out of Nebbiolo grapes. There are only about 3,000 acres of nebbiolo under cultivation here — not quite as much vineyard land as in Margaux, a single Bordeaux commune.

Barolo is produced in the communes of Barolo, Castiglione Falletto, Serralunga d’Alba and parts of the communes of Cherasco, Diano d’Alba, Grinzane Cavour, La Morra, Monforte d’Alba, Novello, Roddi, Verduno, all in the province of Cuneo. Only vineyards in the hills with suitable slopes and orientations are considered adapted to production, and the terrains must be primarily clayey-calcareous in character. The wine is produced solely from the Nebbiolo grape variety. The Lampia, Michet and Rosè types are authorized. It matures at the end of September for the most part. Nebbiolo thrives during prolonged summer seasons. The clusters are dark blue and greyish with the abundant wax that dresses the grapes.

Barolo wines are typically a deep red and can take on an unusual orange tinge with age. Their flavor is thick and complex. Barolo typically smells of tar, violets, and roses. But also fruit, licorice, and/or oaky. The initial nose of a barolo is often that of the pine tree. When subjected to aging of at least five years, the wine can be labeled a Riserva. Barolo should be drunk at 60F and can age for 5-10 years.

For connoisseurs it is Italy’s most collected wine; for beginners it can be a difficult one to understand.

In the past all Barolos used to be very tannic and they took more than 10 years to soften up. Fermenting wine sat on the grape skins for at least three weeks, extracting huge amounts of tannins; then it was aged in large, wooden casks for years.

In order to meet the international taste, which preferred fruitier, more accessible styles, the “modernists” cut fermentation times to a maximum of ten days and put the wine in new French barriques (small oak barrels). The results, said traditionalists, were wines that weren’t even recognizable as Barolo and tasted more of new oak than of wine.

The controversies between traditionalists and modernists have been called the Barolo wars.

The war has now subsided. Though outspoken modernists are still committed to new oak, many producers are now choosing the middle ground (like Elio Altare or Roberto Voerzio with long macerations combined with barrique), often using a combination of barriques and large casks. The more prestigious houses, however, still reject barriques and insist on patience only for their exceptional wines. These are auction staples, sought after by aficionados in Italy, Germany, Japan, Switzerland and the United States.

Barolo is all about the soil. The terroir. The road that runs south from Alba through Monforte d’Alba and on to Dogliani roughly divides the two dominant soils: to the west lies the Tortonian, a blue-tinted marl mixed with sand and marked by the presence of elements such as magnesium. To the east, the sandier Helvetian loam is lighter in color and texture and is relatively rich in limestone, iron and phosphorous. The wines springing from the western-sited, Tortonian-nourished vineyards have generally been described as soft, fruity and aromatic, while those from the eastern, Helvetian sites are perceived as bigger, more structured and longer maturing. These broad distinctions are often blurred and sometimes completely obliterated, however, by the combination of clonal variation and winemaking techniques. More detailed analysis has also revealed that these two soils are layered throughout the region. In summary, of the towns in the area, the “left” hills have compact soil and produce long lasting wines. The “right” hills have softer soil, making a wine that should be drunk more quickly. Both vineyards are regulated – Barolo vineyards can only grow around 3200k of grape/acre.
LEFT HILLS: Diano d’Alba, Grinzane Cavour, Serralunga, Castiglione Falletto, Monforte d’Alba

RIGHT HILLS: Roddi, Verduno, La Morra, Novello, Cherasco

Barolo alcoholic content is set at 13%. There are two grades of Barolo: Standard Barolo, aged two years in the barrel, one in the bottle. Riserva Barolo, aged three years in the barrel, one in the bottle. Of note is that Barolo, due to the small supply, large demand, and labor intensive and delicate crop (much like Pinot Noir) can also be a bit pricey compared to other wines of Italy.

Benchmark Vintages: The majority of producers count 1982, 1989, 1990, 1996 and 1997 as the five greatest vintages of the past 20 years. A significant number also favor 1998 and 1999. A run of middling years preceded a disastrous 1994 vintage, wherein heavy rains ruined the harvest. Only a few makers produced a wine that was even drinkable, and most of those are already fading fast. In most instances, the less said of this vintage the better. Wine Spectator denotes 2000 as one of the best years ever noting rich and opulent reds, with round tannins and exciting fruit; perfection in Nebbiolo. 2001 was also a very noteworthy year with structured and firm reds with very nice racy character. 2002 was a washout. If you have some of this around drink it now. It should not age well. 2003 is just being tasted and although there are many unbalanced wines, due to an extremely hot growing season, there are some nice surprises to be found.

There is no clear surviving evidence about the beginnings of Barolo. In pre-historic and later eras, the area was certainly inhabited by Celtic-Ligurian tribes, subdued later by the Romans, as well as by the Romans themselves, but it seems that the first real settlements here took place in the late Middle Ages. Among the many suggested etymologies of the name Barolo, the most likely seems to be the Celtic bas reul, or low-lying place. In 1200, the village is listed in the “Rigestum Comunis Albe” as Villa Barogly, and again in 1600 under the two names Barrolo and Barollo.

During the Lombard ascendancy, Barolo was under the Gastaldo of Diano; under Charlemagne, it became part of the Contea of (the Conti, or Counts of) Alba and then of the Marca (March) of Turin. Nearly a century of Saracen raids occurred at that time, and Berengarius I consequently permitted the building of a fortress, the original nucleus of the present castello. In the year 1250, a powerful banking family, the Falletti, acquired from the commune of Alba all the territory of Barolo, but the preceding period witnessed a continuous series of owners: (more or less peaceful) acquisition of lands and their later parcelling-out was pretty much the order of the day in those years. The last pre-Falletti ownership change was in 1233, when the commune of Alba assumed control again of the Barolo area.

 The arrival of the Falletti put an end to these changes. An example of the emerging non-noble middle classes, they controlled the fate of Barolo and surrounding areas for several centuries, thanks to the economic power that enabled them, in the years around 1300, to gain control over some 50 Piedmontese landholdings. In 1486, Barolo became part of the Stato Monferrino (of Monferrato), then passing to the House of Savoy under the treaty of Cherasco, signed by Duke Vittorio Amedeo I. In the meantime, Barolo suffered many calamitous invasions during the numerous wars for European hegemony, the most ruinous at the hands of the French in their struggle with the Spanish. Before 1600, it had become a Contea; in 1730, it became a Marchesato, with Gerolamo IV as its first marchese; a talented military leader with many exploits to his credit, he was nominated in 1731 viceroy and Capitano Generale of Sardinia.
Leaving aside for the moment the thread of the Falletti saga, let us draw attention to several historical references to Barolo viticulture. Barolo and the surrounding areas have, in fact, a well-documented viticultural history, with venerable manuscripts containing “statuti” referring to the town of Barolo. A proclamation of 1674, for example, threatened severe penalties against whomsoever should damage vines or steal grapes, whether man or animal. The initial date of harvest was also a subject of solemn decrees, with extremely heavy penalties for scofflaws.

Returning to the Falletti, Gerolamo IV’s good fortune in military events did not carry over to family matters. In 1695 he married Elena Matilde Provana di Druent, only daughter of Monssù Druent, described in contemporary accounts not only as haughty and capricious but also caught up in dark court intrigues. His character showed itself quickly: in 1700, when his daughter had been married but five years, he shut her up, on some whim, in the Palazzo Druent in Turin and forbade her to see her own husband. Severed from Gerolamo and the three children born during their happy marriage, she took her life a few days later. Later, upon the death of her father, last of the line, Gerolamo IV inherited his wealth and his palace, which is known today as Palazzo Barolo.
Only two other marchesi followed Gerolamo IV. Ottavio Alessandro Falletti was a man of lively intelligence dedicated more to his studies rather than to his military or political career. Carlo Tancredi, too, was a man of studies, but his true field was philanthropy, in which he was in perfect synchrony with his French wife, Juliette Colbert, granddaughter of the famous minister of the Sun King. A Consigliere di Stato, he was a very able administrator as well and was twice named mayor of Turin, where he put into practice policies benefiting the disadvantaged that were far ahead of his time. His generosity caused his premature death, for it exposed him to the 1835 cholera epidemic; he did survive it, but he never completely recovered and died three years later. The last chapter of the Falletti family history thus concerns the last Marchesa Falletti, Juliette Colbert, and it is she who wrote an important chapter in the history of Barolo wine.

 She was a well-educated woman of broad culture, even though she liked referring to herself as a politically reactionary “vandeana” (from Vendée), and quickly won a reputation for her brilliance and clear thinking, with a dash of impulsiveness that involved her in more than one controversy but which led her above all to undertake efforts to help the poor, activities therefore looked upon “with disfavour” by the establishment. Overall, Colbert exerted fifty year’s of influence on the intellectual and political culture, besides being a women of action …and bringing innovation to winemaking. Before her death in 1864, she had already stipulated that her works of benefaction should continue in the Opera Pia Barolo, to which she left her entire family inheritance.

But the history continues. From that time, Barolo suffered ups and downs, as did its viticulture. As elsewhere, the farming culture paid heavy dues, with hard conditions, to which phylloxera contributed its share, forcing farmers to abandon family lands and emigrate. The first few years following the Second World War, movingly described by Beppe Fenoglio in Malora, were scarcely less hard. A new period then began, that lasted into the 1960s, an exodus into the cities, in search of more stable jobs and wider horizons; this led to further abandonment of the countryside, although less severe in this area than in the Alta Langa and in other areas of Piedmont. Recent years are seeing the reverse: young people are deliberately deciding to be grapegrowers, largely influenced by the nearby Scuola Enologica di Alba, and those a bit older are returning to the vineyards, all of this brought about by renewed interest in wine and in the improved income it can bring.

Today, Barolo is a wine town in the strictest sense: the scent of wine can be sensed at every street corner. Nor is Barolo wine like other wines, for it has transformed its town into a kind of “sacred place,” which the pagan wine cult’s adepts must honour, from time to time, “in pilgrimage.” This vinous augury has for some time now been translated into concrete results, leading to a gradual increase in tourism and consequent local economic benefits. Not that this has changed the locals’ tranquil character or their rhythm of life. Do not be surprised, then, if Barolo is different from other towns suddenly become famous for their wine. Its inhabitants remain level-headed and courteous, and you can come face to face with these qualities in the local bakery or pharmacist’s, where we willingly exercise patience while the person ahead of us keeps the shopkeeper up-to-date on the health of family members. Should you find yourself in that queue, do not be irked, do not be impatient: fall, rather, into the “rhythm of the place,” gentle as the hills that watch over this magical town.

Angelo Gaja will be included, as he contributed to the modernist movement (even before the Barolo Boys) both with his inclusion of Barbera and by introducing the use of barrique in the vinification of his 1975 Barbaresco cuvée. Gaja is widely credited with having instituted this practice. Aldo Conterno, although often positioned as a modernist, (when discussed in comparison to his brother, the late Giacomo Conterno) is actually in between the traditional and modern realms—in political terms he would be considered a moderate, as he is someone who has accepted new ideas but has always been traditional at heart. This tasting will feature both Aldo’s modern and traditional personas—Il Favot and his famed Granbussia, arguably one of Piemonte’s most significant Barolos. Furthermore, we will include Valentino Migliorini’s landmark Pianpolvere Barolo Soprano Riserva, a wine of limited availability that few are willing to pour.