The Aglianico grape reaches its greatest heights on the upper slopes of Monte Vulture, an extinct volcano in the southern Italian region of Basilicata. As SommSelect’s David Lynch (re)asserts, these world-class reds don’t get the respect they deserve, resulting in under-priced gems like this one:
Based on what I’ve seen so far, after nearly two years with SommSelect, southern Italy’s Aglianico grape has yet to find a mainstream audience. I’m doing everything I can to change that, as are the vignaioli of Campania and Basilicata, where the greatest expressions of the variety are grown. I’m also hoping that today’s Aglianico del Vulture from Macarico heralds a trend toward brightness and elegance in wines known mostly for blunt-force power. Grown on the slopes of Monte Vulture, a spent volcano in tiny Basilicata, Aglianico del Vulture can be inky, mineral, and often bruisingly tannic—a style which dominated in the early aughts, when I first started working with these wines—but if you take your foot off the gas pedal a bit there’s some beautiful perfume and pulsing energy to be drawn from this hardy, thick-skinned variety. Macarico’s 2013 is dark-fruited, smoky, and mineral, to be sure, but it also has freshness and lift. We loved it: It captures the distinctive essence of both the variety and the place without excessive force, and as for the price…well, it is comically low for a wine you’d be very pleased to revisit after five years of cellaring. Monte Vulture is already recognized by professionals as an important terroir—now it’s your turn!
One of my go-to references on Italian wine these days is the exhaustive “Native Wine Grapes of Italy,” by writer and educator Ian D’Agata, whose section on Aglianico details the ongoing exploration of the variety’s origins. Some experts believe the grape arrived via the Bay of Naples with the colonizing Greeks in the 8th century B.C. Others believe it was a ‘wild’ grape native to the Italian peninsula that was ‘domesticated’ (like another indigenous Italian, Sangiovese). Modern-day mutations of the grape are found across most of southern Italy, but its greatest expressions are found in Campania—especially the volcanic terroirs of inland regions such as Taburno and Taurasi—and Basilicata. As D’Agata asserts, “…as great at the wines of Taurasi and Taburno can be, they are often bested in blind tastings by the superstars coming out of the Vulture area in Basilicata.”
When I first visited Basilicata many years ago, I quickly learned that “southern” Italy can mean many things. It is hardly uniform in either topography or climate, as Basilicata so dramatically illustrates. The region is almost entirely consumed by the Apennine mountains, with little slivers of coast on both the Mediterranean and Ionian seas. Its capital, Potenza, sits at the highest elevation of any regional capital in Italy. Monte Vulture is an extinct volcano in the northern reaches of the region, with vineyards the climb as high as 700 meters in some places, and as such this is a relatively cool climate—providing the already late-ripening Aglianico with an extremely long growing season. It’s not uncommon for Aglianico del Vulture to be harvested in mid- or even late November (even later than Piedmont’s Nebbiolo in some instances).
From a grower/winemaker perspective, the magic of Aglianico is that it is both hardy—thick-skinned and resistant to disease—and capable of improving with age. Some similarly resilient varieties (Carignan comes to mind) never manage to shed their “workhorse” image and remain relegated to blends. Aglianico has proved its mettle as a solo act—thanks in large part to its aromatic profile. In comparison to both Sangiovese and Nebbiolo, Aglianico is a more full-throttle variety—loaded with color, extract, acid, and tannin. Traditionally (and this continues to be true in most cases), I’ve compared Aglianico del Vulture to the Malbec-based wines of southwest France; there’s a similar, often fiercely tannic structure and dark fruit profile, if perhaps less of the ‘animal’ element in the Aglianico.
Macarico, based in the village of Barile, makes a point of noting—on its labels—that its vineyards are situated at particularly high elevations on the “Alto,” or “upper,” slopes of Vulture (about 450 meters on average). The soils are volcanic ‘tuff,’ called tufo in Italian, which causes some confusion among soil geeks, because tufa (with an ‘a’) and tuffeau are words widely used to described limestone soils. Tufo (with an ‘o’) is volcanic rock, full of silica and other minerals, and whether or not you believe in the concept of ‘minerality’ in wine, it is impossible not to smell and taste the connection to the soil in Macarico’s Aglianico (which ages in a cellar excavated from the tuff). Its smoky, stony savor is evocative and unmistakable.
“Macarico” was subjected to a not-insignificant 20 days of skin maceration during fermentation, followed by a year of aging in French oak
barriques (20% new) and another year in bottle before release. In the glass, it is a satisfyingly deep ruby with black and purple highlights, with aromas of mulberry, blackberry, cassis, licorice, tobacco, dried violets, and pulverized black stones. It is medium bodied and enjoyably fresh, and while the tannins have grip they are extremely well-managed and balanced by ample fruit. Whereas I normally find Aglianico most enjoyable on a cold day with some fatty food to tame its tannins, this one has great balance, moderate alcohol, and as such a lot more versatility. It hints at southwest French Malbec, northern Rhône Syrah, and even the Cabernets at different intervals, but its distinctive volcanic savor is always there. Decant it about 30 minutes before serving in Bordeaux stems at around 60 degrees, pairing it with all manner of meats off the grill—steaks, sure, but also anything from the smoker as well. The attached brisket recipe would be a fantastic way to showcase this wine. It is genuinely special, and insanely affordable. Cheers!
— David Lynch
