In the third instalment of our summer series of of highlights from The World of Fine Wine’s extensive archive of travel writing from the world’s wine regions, we go back to a piece first published in WFW70, in which Robin Lee makes her way across the cosmopolitan lands of Friuli-Venezia Giulia.
The Quattro Stati (Four States) is more of an orchard than a vineyard. It is cultivated in the old way: Peach trees, plums, quince, and cherries grow among the ancient ungrafted vines, which are mostly Malvasia d’Istria. When the vineyard was planted in 1909, the entire Karst plateau, which now spans Slovenia and Italy’s northeastern region of Friuli-Venezia Giulia, was part of the Habsburg Empire. The vines never moved, but the ground where they are planted has gone from being in Austria, to Italy, to Yugoslavia, to Slovenia.
It is hard to imagine a landscape more serene than Friuli today, but between 1915 and 1917, 11 battles were fought across the Isonzo River and the Carso, where it is estimated the Italian army lost at least 800,000 men; the total loss of life was never calculated. After World War II, the border city of Gorizia was divided in two. More than a million Friulani emigrated abroad. Nature heals physical wounds, but this region is scarred by history.
The name Friuli derives from Forum Iulii, the Forum of Julius Caesar, built at what is now the medieval Renaissance town of Cividale del Friuli, a UNESCO World Heritage site. At Aquileia (also a World Heritage site), where Caesar pitched his winter camp, intricate 4th-century mosaics preserved in the 11th-century Romanesque cathedral bring to life what was once one of the wealthiest, most culturally vibrant cities of the Roman Empire. Aquileia was sacked by Alaric and the Visigoths, then by Attila, and was finally destroyed by the Lombards (whose 8th-century chapel can still be visited in Cividale).
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Venetian and varietal wealth
Venice is unlike other great Italian cities, if only because it did not even exist during Roman times. It did not quite emerge from the sea fully formed, like Venus, but almost; it arose from a lagoon federation that evolved in response to the barbarian invasions during the so-called Dark Ages, and it was the refuge of Aquileia. Friuli, therefore, is not just the rural hinterlands of the lagoon city, it is its progenitor.
An amphibious, mercantile city, espoused to the sea and physically detached from the exigencies of agriculture, Venice took as its emblem the winged lion of St Mark, famously depicted by Vittore Carpaccio with his hindlegs in the lagoon and forepaws on the verdant wooded mainland. Venice became the gateway, linking the eastern Mediterranean by sea to the west, and by land to the north of Europe, making it the commercial center of the wine world, much like London today. Venice has a saying: coltivar el mar, e lassar star la tera (cultivate the sea, and leave the land be). Venice was not an agrarian economy. Venetian nobility were merchants who did not subsist from the produce of their estates, and in particular they traded in wine.
A climate-change crisis at the end of the 14th century, known as the Little Ice Age, boosted what was already a valuable trade. Wines from the Levant, which were stable and high in alcohol, became much more costly as viticulture retreated to the south, while northern Europe experienced extreme winter freezes. Sweet wines were luxury items for a newly emergent bourgeoisie. It was no coincidence that it was the vintner Sir Henry Picard who was granted the honor of entertaining five kings at his legendary banquet at Vintners’ Hall in the City of London in 1363. No one else (including the king of England, Edward III) could have afforded to pay for the wines that were served on that memorable occasion.
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In 1453, England lost Bordeaux. In the same year, Venice, eager to supply this rich market, sent eight tuns (7,632 liters) of Malvasia to the court of Henry VI. The Malvasia marketing push was a notorious success, so much so that the unfortunate Duke of Clarence was infamously drowned in “a butt of Malmsey wine” on the orders of his reprehensible brother, Richard, Duke of Gloucester (or at least so Shakespeare would have us believe).
Named after the fortressed Venetian trading port of Monemvasia on the Pelopennese, Malvasia became a status symbol. Tintoretto’s Presentation of the Virgin for the Basilica dei Frari cost 5 scudi and a barrel of Malvasia. In Venice, local wines were sold in ordinary taverns, but the highest-quality imported wines were sold at the specially licensed malvasie recalled in the names of the many calli, ponti, and the Fondamenta della Malvasia, still to be stumbled across throughout Venice today. But after the Battle of Lepanto in 1571, Venice lost access to the vineyards that had been the source of Malvasia wines.
According to Professor Attilio Scienza, Venice preserved its valuable trade by encouraging vineyards to be planted for production of sweet, aromatic wines, sometimes with imported Greek vines, but more often using entirely unrelated vine varieties. The resulting wine was still referred to as Malvasia. Unusually, the vines took their name from the wine, rather than the other way around, which is why there are so many different varieties of Malvasia, many of which are unrelated to each other genetically. In Native Wine Grapes of Italy, Ian d’Agata enumerates 18 distinct Malvasia varieties still grown in the country. The legacy from this is Friuli’s high-quality grape varieties including Ribolla Gialla, Vitovska, Glera, and Malvasia d’Istria, all of which were used together in field blends, and which provide the raw material for some of Italy’s most distinctive dry white wines. In the Carso, Edi Kante, for example, makes an outstanding modern dry Malvasia with flavors of yellow plum, chamomile, and mace.
Prized Picolit
In the heart of what was the mainland territory of Venice, the old winemaking traditions have also survived. The appassimento method for making Amarone, Recioto della Valpolicella, and Recioto di Soave is a relic, as is Friuli’s own extraordinary late-harvest sweet wine Picolit. Made famous in the 18th century by the indefatigable agronomist Count Fabio Asquini, Picolit was one of Europe’s most celebrated wines, prized at the courts of Savoy, the Habsburgs, and the Romanovs.
Picolit is still produced today, albeit in tiny quantities, mainly in Friuli Colli Orientali by small-scale, family-owned and run, meticulous organic producers such as Marco Sara in Povoletto and Ronchi di Cialla in Prepotto. Picolit is “the prince of Friuli wines,” according to Italian wine authority Walter Filiputti: “A wine of golden or amber hue, whose aroma enchants you. […] Enjoyed with oyster and sea truffles, it is divine; with pumpkin gnocchi and truffles, sublime; with melting Gorgonzola or Carnia Formadi Frant cheese, almost disturbing. Foie gras marinated in Picolit can be matched by nothing on earth, while marcundele [a traditional type of Friulian sausage] eaten with Picolit is astonishing.”
Udine, near the heart of the Colli Orientali del Friuli, is a Renaissance jewel with a pink marble 15th-century Venetian loggia reminiscent of the Doge’s Palace, a Baroque cathedral, and a vibrant buzzing atmosphere at the hour of the aperitivo. Despite being about halfway between Rome and Vienna, it is unquestionably, incontrovertibly, and in its own unique way quintessentially Italy. Perhaps it is something to do with the light, which is exceptional. Udine’s limpid skies resemble the Tiepolo frescoes that they inspired. Although he was from Venice, it was during the time he lived in Udine that Giambattista Tiepolo discovered his trademark light-infused and airy style. Tiepolo’s name is synonymous with the heavenly blue and glorious pink of the Baroque and he is widely considered to be the last of the Old Masters. His early masterpieces, such as Banishment of the Rebel Angels, can be seen in their original context in Udine, which calls itself the Città di Tiepolo.
Friuli-born Ludovico Manin had the dubious distinction of being the last doge of Venice. Without a battle, he handed over the corno ducale to Napoleon, who then ceded the fallen Venice to Austria as part of the Treaty of Campo Formio, a small town in Friuli where the monumental Villa Manin still presides. The Austrians by then already held much of what is now Friuli, including Gorizia, Gradisca, and Trieste, a free port since 1719. The construction of the railways in the 1850s linked Trieste even more closely to Vienna, which became the main market for all the produce of the region, including wine, along with the coffee and other fashionable goods that came through the bustling port to supply the Viennese “cafe society” of the belle epoque.
Wine’s political dimension
For Italy, Trieste is the north, but for Austria, it was the south. Consequently, the area remained a region primarily for white wines. In the 19th century, the Adriatic coast around Trieste was the Austrian Riviera. Miramare Castle was built for the Habsburgs. The ancient Duino Castle nearby became the residence of the princes of Thurn und Taxis, where the poet Rainer Maria Rilke resided as a guest and composed the Duino Elegies. By the beginning of the 20th century, Trieste was one of Europe’s most sophisticated cities, with elegant wood-paneled cafes, some of which are still there today, filled with artists, philosophers, and writers, including James Joyce in self-imposed exile. Trieste was one of the most tolerant and cosmopolitan cities in Europe, a status that sadly came to an end when the Italian Fascists took over in the 1920s.
The Austrians had a profound effect on viticulture. Whereas the Venetians had a mercantile mentality, the Austrians were congenitally more scientific in their approach. Interestingly, Rudolf Steiner, who was Austrian, developed anthroposophy, the basis of biodynamics, which of course was not applied to viticulture until much later, in response to the overly scientific fixations of this time. Austrian viticulture built upon a tradition developed over centuries, in particular at the ancient abbey in Corno di Rosazzo, consisting of detailed analysis of vineyard soils and aspect to determine the best place for planting every grape variety. Rather than classifying vineyards according to a hierarchy, as in France, the belief was that the highest possible wine quality could be obtained from every vineyard if the appropriate variety was planted in the correct way. After the phylloxera crisis, great care was taken over the replanting of vineyards according to these principles, often with newly imported varieties, including Pinot Blanc, Chardonnay, Pinot Gris, Pinot Noir, Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Sauvignon Blanc. Sauvignonasse, a minor player in Sauternes, found popularity for the first time in its own right as a light, dry wine. A major reason for its success was its new name: Tocai Friulano.
There is a political dimension to wine that might seem surprising to anyone who thinks of wine as nothing more than a nice drink. Today, “foreign” non-indigenous grape varieties have lost prestige and are even despised, which amounts to a form of grape fascism. There is also a parallel new orthodoxy that contends that place names cannot be used outside their original context, such as “Tocai” as a local name for Sauvignonasse—despite the long-standing, legitimate historical tradition of doing so—because this apparently infringes on the rights of Tokaji in Hungary. Friuli is a region with a complex history, like a palimpsest marked by different cultures. This prevailing ethos denies that imported grape varieties can become naturalized over time. Friuli’s “foreign” grape varieties should be cherished, in my view, especially if they have done honorable service in their adopted homeland.
Since 2008, when it was stripped of its “Tocai” name, plantings of the renamed Friulano grape variety have been in decline, but excellent examples to try are Radikon’s structured and skin-macerated dry Jakot (Tokaj spelled backward) and the more classic old-vine Friulano from Vignai da Duline, which is delightful, with fresh aromas of dandelion and a hint of crystallized ginger. Damijan Podversic is an up-and-coming producer whose Prelit (70/30 Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon) will shatter any negative preconceived ideas. It is carmine red, bittersweet with autumn fruits, and delicious served around 59°F (15°C) to accompany grilled radicchio. Vignai da Duline Merlot from the celebrated Ronco Pitotti vineyard has a captivating nose of roses and lilac followed by smoky black cherry and blond tobacco. Vignai da Duline also makes an old-vine Pinot Grigio from a 1940s massal selection that tastes more like Pinot Noir than Gris. Edi Kante makes a layered, complex Chardonnay that he claims is his favorite from his whole range. Captivating and terroir-specific single-vineyard Sauvignon Blancs are made by Vie de Romans.
The best place to try these and all the other great wines of Friuli is a wonderful little restaurant in the Collio called Devetak in San Michele del Carso, which is run by a fifth-generation proprietor, his wife, and four daughters. Everything is homemade, traditional, and delicious; the wine list is comprehensive, deep, and modestly priced; and the restaurant has comfortable well-appointed rooms as well, so there is no need to foolishly attempt driving off anywhere afterward. Breakfast, with a selection of different honeys collected by one of the daughters, bread and cakes made by another daughter, fresh ricotta from the local farm, every other local cheese and every kind of ham product ever dreamed of or imagined, will be enough to satisfy even the most penny-pinching and belt-loosening gourmand.
From Gravner to Glera et al
In the mid-1990s, a group of wine producers met for dinner after Vinitaly at a famous fish restaurant in Venice. There was Joško Gravner, Stanko Radikon, and both of the Conternos—Giovanni the father and Roberto the son. Gianfranco Soldera was there, and apparently it was he who raised the point, addressing the Friulani, asking why white-wine makers remove the skins from their grapes before making their wine when the one thing that everyone knows is that the skin has all the flavor and it is the skin that makes a wine, and a wine made without its skin just tastes of nothing, or maybe just tastes of the receptacle it is made in. That got everyone thinking.
When hail tragically destroyed most of the 1996 vintage, Gravner decided to risk all with the small amount of Ribolla remaining and ferment it on the skins, just like a red wine. Turning away from the influence of France, he next became curious about other older traditions, especially from the East. Gravner traveled to Georgia looking for traditional qvevri for making wine, but at that time (in the year 2000) almost no one was making qvevri in Georgia, and no one was selling them. Eventually he found someone to help him source enough qvevri to ferment all his white wines. One thing to be clear about is that Gravner’s wine is not oxidized. Its distinctive golden color is from the grape skins, not oxidation. Gravner buries his amphorae in the ground so there can be no oxygen ingress; and in any case, the wines, which undergo further élevage in large Slavonian oak botti, are sulfured to protect them from oxidation and other faults.
The influence of Gravner on the region and beyond has been unimaginable. His wine is a modern classic, imitated all over the world, including Georgia itself. There is now a worldwide market clamoring for traditional Georgian qvevri wines, which, it must be remembered, were scarcely produced in Georgia—and not on a commercial basis—before Gravner. The wines he produces continue to be controversial. Many people do not like them, and there are knowledgeable wine lovers who claim wines like these should not even be considered wine. Nevertheless, they are gradually gaining wider acceptance. Gravner’s Ribolla Gialla has a cult following for its tea-like flavors and complex, unfolding, saline minerality. It is one of the best wines in Italy.
At the same time that it was decided that the name Tocai could no longer be used in Friuli, a similar legislative measure was introduced for the lucrative word Prosecco. Since the name Prosecco was the name of the wine grape, it could not be given protected status unless it was the name of a place. The solution to the conundrum was found in the town of Prosecco, in Friuli, 80 miles (130km) away from the sparkling Charmat-method heartland of Conegliano and Valdobbiadene in the Veneto. At the same time, the decision was made to use the local Friuli word, Glera, as the international name of The Grape Formerly Known as Prosecco.
Today, some of the young Friuli producers are becoming interested in the local traditions for Glera. Sandi Skerk, whose winery is a ten-minute drive from the town of Prosecco has acquired an old terraced Glera vineyard overlooking the sea here and is making a bottle-fermented macerated white sparkling wine, due to be released in 2020. Since it will not be allowed for him to use the name Prosecco for this local style, the wine will be labeled Glera 10/18 (referring to the date of the vintage and the date of disgorgement).
As for red grape varieties, the once neglected Refosco dal Peduncolo Rosso, Pignolo, and Schioppettino are lately back in fashion. Teran, the most prized, favors the red clay soils of the Carso, which are sparse; it can only grow where there is enough soil, which, unusually, is the main limiting factor for wine production here. Marko Fon, the owner of the Quattro Stati vineyard in Slovenia, also makes the best Teran, which looks and tastes like blood, with blue fruits such as damson and bilberry, nutmeg, and spicy lily-floral aromas.
The sense of connection across the Slovenia–Friuli border is strong. The diverse peoples who live here are linked by a common history spanning at least a thousand years, even though they, and their wines, may speak different languages (and often more than one). Laws and regulations, politics and governments are all part of the story of wine, but happily the soil and the wine and the Tiepolo-pink light do not allow political borders to define them.
Private tours and excursions to Friuli, with wine tastings and visits to producers, can be arranged by William Goodacre of Tastes of Italy Ltd, London; info@tastesofitaly.co.uk
