Andrew Jefford
Forty years: it’s been a long relationship. Moments of intense enjoyment have punctuated tracts of tedium. Perhaps, though, all that is behind us now: a new and exciting phase beckons for me and Soave. Maybe for you and Soave, too. The Veneto’s soft-contoured yet mouthfilling white wine grows in the lush green hills near Verona. Drive east from the city, and as you reach Lavagno, Illasi and Montecchia di Crosara, a strange gear-shift occurs: red grapes for Valpolicella suddenly give way to white Garganega grapes for Soave. In the BPG (Before Pinot Grigio) era, this was Italy’s biggest white seller: unambitious and easygoing. Despite the efforts down the years of producers such as Pieropan, Inama, Gini and Prà, the difficult work of growing vines on the steep hills hereabouts, as opposed to the flat plain, remains barely recompensed. In an attempt to win the acclaim that the finest Valpolicella enjoys, the region has bought itself a Ferrari.
A Ferrari among vineyard-classification systems, that is. I looked through the details of this a month or two ago with some astonishment. Every one of the 33 new UGAs (Unità Geografica Aggiuntiva) within the Soave zone – 38% of the total area – has been minutely analysed: topography, slope, soil, training system, individual vineyard, with the landholdings of the largest owners assigned. There are historical notes and local vineyard names, altitude figures, hectares classified and planted, GPS coordinates – the data is better than Burgundy’s. All that is missing
(as so often in Europe) are heat summation figures. The photographs show that many hills here are planted to the very summit, creating an intricate cultural landscape of Middle-Earth beauty, hundreds of years in the making. A video file shows the region’s 50 million-year geological evolution, complete with undersea volcanoes, limestone deposition and faulting; it puts each new UGA in its topographical context.
And then – this was during lockdown – I tasted a small selection of wines (sent to me,
‘An intricate cultural landscape of MiddleEarth beauty’
since I couldn’t go to Soave) representative of some of these new UGAs in the 2017 and 2018 vintages, prior to the scheme’s launch in 2019. (In that first year, 29 of the 33
UGAs were claimed by someone or other, grown on 270ha.)
The wines were, with two exceptions, disappointing. One of the samples was corked; others were pleasant but lacked character, concentration and distinction, or were raw and simple in constitution. The bottles and labels were undistinguished.
Then we learned that the retail price is often no more than €6 or €7. It’s a beautiful Ferrari, but it’s being driven around the supermarket car park.
I have some sympathy for the producers’ predicament. If the market won’t reward your efforts, what can you do? Economics can’t be circumvented, and the first duty of a business is survival. Perhaps, too, the use of Garganega makes it hard for quality to sing out: it makes wines of harmony, balance and drinkability (the gentleness or ‘suavity’ of the name) – though these can be a little sweet and soap-suddy, without the vitality and incision of classic cool-climate varieties, or the flamboyance, exoticism and unction of warm-climate favourites. The best wine of the set – Cantina Franchetto’s La Capelina 2018, produced on volcanic basalt soils above 200m in the hills (little planted as yet) of Roncà-Monte Calvarina – did have that vitality, stoniness and zest, with intriguing aromas of forest plants, peat moss and almond paste.
The challenge for producers is to live up to the promises such a scheme makes, which is that Soave is capable of aromatic finesse, poise and character; that Garganega can express nuanced differences of site; and that the wines can go to market in elegant and memorable packaging formats which tell the terroir story and create heightened expectations. At that point... the Ferrari will pull out onto the open road.