The arrival of a small trove of perfectly stored 1997 Bartolo Mascarello Barolo—in its original cases, no less—had SommSelect Editorial Director David Lynch thinking back to his early days on the job at Babbo Ristorante in New York City.
A few weeks ago, one of our most trusted suppliers of aged and rare wines sent us a very enticing photo: a closeup of a few cases of Bartolo Mascarello’s 1997 Barolo, still in the boxes bearing the name of its legendary longtime US importer, Robert Chadderdon. The sight of these perfectly stored cherries brought me back to my earliest days as wine director of Babbo in New York City—when I was in possession of a relatively massive stack of those same boxes (not the exact same ones, obviously…if there’s any of Babbo’s stash left, it’s still there underneath 110 Waverly Place). When I started at Babbo at the beginning of 2001, the ’97 vintage in Barolo was the hot topic of the day, and wines like Mascarello’s were only recently arrived in the US market. Although the “perfect” 1996 vintage broke Barolo out of a five-year slump (’91-’95), it produced immensely structured wines that weren’t at all approachable when young (some still aren’t ready today!). By contrast, ’97 was ripe, rich, and media-beloved for it, so even ultra-traditional, classically structured (i.e. tannic) wines like Bartolo Mascarello’s were flying out the door. In the case of this wine, it felt like infanticide; to re-visit it now, in its glorious old age, is to experience one of the greatest Italian wines ever made at its peak. We’re excited to share the few bottles we have with our very top customers—although we can only offer two bottles per person, it promises to be a showpiece worthy of the most special of occasions.
Given its scarcity, combined with the legendary status of both its producer and vintage, I don’t need go on too long about this wine—other than to dub it perhaps the greatest example of classically styled, ‘traditional’ Barolo on the market, both then and now. But I can’t help myself. Looking at these bottles of the ’97 summons both great memories and one big regret.
Regrets? I’ve had a few, and the biggest of all is not having met the late Bartolo Mascarello (he passed away in 2005). I had my chances, including an entire year spent living in Italy in 2000, when I enjoyed face-to-face time with many Italian winemaking legends (Gaja, Giacosa, Quintarelli, Felluga), but not him. I’ll admit I blew it; I didn’t fully appreciate his significance until I started working closely with his wines at Babbo. In his later years he became a kindly dispenser of wisdom from a wheelchair in his small office in Barolo, looking smart in a black beret and continuing to draw and paint images for limited-edition wine labels. He had joined his family winery in 1945, after fighting as a teenage partigiano (anti-fascist ‘partisan) in WWII, and maintained his commitment to ‘traditional’ Barolo wines—fermented with long skin macerations in old wooden and concrete vats, followed by aging in well-used, Slavonian oak botti—even when the market of the ’80s and ’90s embraced more ‘international’ styles aged in smaller French oak ‘barriques.’ He famously illustrated a label that loudly proclaimed “No Barriques, No Berlusconi!” on bottles of Barolo at the height of the Italian premier’s Trumpian rise to power. These days, it’s Bartolo’s thoughtful daughter Maria-Teresa who makes wines at the small estate, still living in a townhouse right next to the winery in Barolo.
As for Robert Chadderdon, his legend is less well-known to consumers but is very much alive with wine-buyers (like myself) of a certain ‘vintage.’ If there were a Mount Rushmore of American wine importers, his visage would be on it—a face I didn’t see in person at Babbo until I was about six years in. I was lucky: I ‘inherited’ a relationship with him. Most restaurant buyers had to prove their worthiness either by tasting with him in person at his office or sending their menus/wine lists before he’d agree to sell them wine. He was an expert selector/taster and wasn’t afraid to take big ‘positions’ on wines so that he could cellar some. He was a wine purist (and a holder of inventory) in a market otherwise dominated by an ‘in-and-out’ distribution model focused on maximum efficiency. Seeing his imprimatur on the side of the cases we bought leaves me surpremely confident in the wines’ provenance.
As you’ll see on the label, Mascarello famously avoided “single-vineyard” bottlings and instead focused on a single Barolo incorporating fruit from the family’s holdings in the
cru vineyards of “Cannubi,” “San Lorenzo,” and “Rué,” all in the town of Barolo proper, as well as “Rocche dell’Annunziata” in the neighboring commune of La Morra. This 1997 is peaking now, with a still-vibrant ruby core moving to substantial orange/amber at the rim, with the aromatic mélange that only well-aged Barolo can deliver: dried black cherry, red currant, dried orange peel, old mahogany wood, leather, tar, beef broth, dried rose petals, and dark, stony earth. Its tannins have softened nicely over 20 years but the trademark acidity is still bright and tangy, keeping the wine lifted and balanced (it’s worth noting that even in a hot, ripe vintage like 1997, this wine only hit 13.5% alcohol). It is, in short, a ‘bucket list’ wine experience. While it’s still got about five more years of peak drinking ahead of it, I see no reason not to find a worthy occasion to open it sooner rather than later. I’d probably stand the bottle upright in a cool place and pull the cork about 30-60 minutes before serving in Burgundy stems, pouring carefully from the bottle rather than decanting. Get some meaty, earthy Porcini mushrooms and make a little risotto to pair with it. Go slow. Enjoy every sip and bite. And, if you’re very lucky, repeat!
—D.L.
