Tuscany - Hotbed of Innovation

Written by Tod Stewart | 28 April 2009

If this puppy rolls we’re all dead.

The thought flashed briefly through my mind as Dales D’Alessandro, Operations Manager for Agricola Querciabella deftly swung the small, white pickup over the crest of the vineyard and angled it down the dirt track — no wider than a footpath, really — towards the levelled terrace where we finally came to a stop. Considering D’Alessandro probably piloted this route more or less daily, it was pretty unlikely that we’d be sent careening 600 or so metres down the slopes of these biodynamic vineyards to the valley floor below. It was, after all, my first trip to Italy, and I really didn’t want it to be my last.

I have some Italian blood in the family. I had tasted and taught about the wines of Italy, dabbled in its culinary traditions and knew a little of its history, art and culture. I even had music from obscure Italian rock bands on my iPod and sat (begrudgingly) through Under the Tuscan Sun. But thanks to an invite from a friend who was heading over for a week in Tuscany, there I was. We spent four days touring seven wineries (do not attempt this if the activity “relaxing” is on your agenda), an unforgettable experience that combined an equal measure of the expected and unexpected.

The first thing I didn’t expect was for the weather during this first week in October to be like summer. I don’t think anyone did. Not the management of the hotel we stayed in on our last night, who had shut off the A/C for the season. And not the mosquitoes that came out for a last chance to dine on some of the imported stuff (me). But what was perhaps most unexpected was just how ahead of the curve this Old World wine region actually was.

Tuscan Innovation

Sure, I had, on numerous occasions, spoken and written about how Tuscany was a hotbed of innovation and experimentation, and how Italian wine laws seemed destined to be broken by Tuscans who refused to comply with what they perceived as wrong-headed and limiting (see "There’s Something About Sangiovese," Tidings, September 2008 for a refresher). But it was something else to see this first hand.

Everywhere we visited we saw an almost seamless integration of the historic and the modern. Wineries housed within ancient stone walls that hid gleaming stainless steel tanks, experimental fermenters, new takes on the old oak barrels (like the completely untoasted ones at Fontodi — a practice so unheard of that even the coopers themselves were reluctant to build them). In San Gimignano at the Falchini winery, we were introduced to an imposing machine with glowing lights and digital readouts that resembled the HAL 9000 computer of 2001: A Space Odyssey fame hunkering inside 900-year-old walls.

“This was the first of its kind in the region,” explained Michael Falchini. “It allows us to monitor and keep precise control over both the fermentation temperature as well as the aging temperature of our wines.”

Over a delicious lunch at the Ristorante La Mandragola, partially built right into the edifice of the old city, we tasted the results of the Falchini family’s fruit, labour and love and listened to Michael’s father Riccardo talk about the past, present and possible future of the Falchini estate and of San Gimignano. Yet for all his experience, he admitted there is still much to understand. “This is my 44th vintage, and you would think I should know everything. But every day I am still learning.”

In fact, I was repeatedly taken aback by the humility of people who were obvious masters of their craft, and by the hospitality shown us at this extremely busy time of the year. Take Fontodi’s Giovanni Manetti, for example. Considering the international accolades his wines have won, the importance of his family in Tuscan business and his job of running a Chianti estate in the midst of harvesting and crushing, I would have thought Manetti would have simply been too “in demand” to entertain a pair of harried visitors.

Yet there we were, on the patio of Osteria le Panzanelle on a glorious Tuscan afternoon. While we tucked into wild boar stew and tasted some stellar Fontodi wines, Manetti told us the whimsical story of Chianti Classico’s “Gallo Nero” logo and how the region’s boundary dispute between Florence and Siena was finally settled (a story for a future Tidings, perhaps).

His winery overlooks vineyards situated in the heart of the Chianti Classico zone (one of Chianti’s seven sub-appellations) in the south-facing “Conca d’Oro” — a natural amphitheatre of vines. His herd of 24 white Chianina cattle graze freely nearby, and the perimeter of the vineyard is encircled by … electrified wire? “To keep out the wild boars,” Manetti explained. Seems the boars in Tuscany are as much of a nuisance as raccoons in Canadian cities (though better eating, to be sure). He showed us evidence of a boar’s assault on bunches of grapes, not eaten so much as sucked dry.

In light of his achievements, you might expect Manetti to be content to kick back, relax and bask in his success. Nothing could be further from reality, and tomorrow brings new challenges. “I try to work for the future, not for today,” he confessed as we prepared to bid farewell. But before we left his office, we couldn’t help but ask about the Jamie Oliver cookbook resting among technical works on winemaking and historical tomes. “Jamie gave it to me when he was here buying olive oil. He gets his oil from me exclusively.”

Olive oil is the “other” great liquid (besides grappa) of Tuscany. As we drove through the rolling Tuscan “hills” (something of an understatement, as ski lifts wouldn’t seem out of place on most of them), what stretched in every direction, to each far horizon, were vineyards and olive groves. Miles upon miles of iridescent green with the silvery leaves of olive trees shimmering like vast schools of airborne minnows in the wind.

Almost every estate we visited produced olive oil. To many, it’s a labour of love, as the work is intense and the profits, if even realized, are scant. Though his oil is some of the best I’ve tasted, Michael Falchini admitted he’d sell his groves if a buyer could be found. But like an orphaned puppy that shows up on your door step, you can’t just send it packing, so you might as well treat it the best you can. And so it was with his groves.