I have been reading and enjoying Anya von Bremzen’s new book, National Dish. In it, she travels the world investigating the origins of a foodstuff famously linked to a country. So far, I have read through France (pot-au-feu), Italy (pizza and pasta), and Japan (ramen and white rice). And so far von Bremen has entertainingly uncovered a great deal of invented tradition.
Like most food and wine writers, von Bremzen is keenly aware that authenticity makes for great marketing. One of the most successful marketed products of all time, Coca-Cola, calls itself The Real Thing. More recent emphasis on food and drink authenticity has moved away from industrialized products, like Coke, to focus on traditional ingredients, techniques, or recipes.
While von Bremzen demolishes the myths that send tourists for authentic dishes, like pizza in Napoli, or even Japonica rice in Japan, it doesn’t stop her from enjoying them. And frankly, since truth is almost always stranger than fiction, the real stories or theories of the origins of her national dishes are more interesting than the marketing.
I thought of von Bremen’s book when I tried a new Italian wine this week: Selezionato da Gordon Ramsay Intenso Rosso 2020. It’s an unusual wine in that neither its production nor its marketing pays any heed to concepts of authenticity. Except, of course, for the celebrity name on the bottle.
About the red wine, which is part of a series that also includes a white and a rosé, the back label says about the celebrity chef:
“[Gordon Ramsay] has worked in partnership with renowned Italian winemaker Alberto Antonini to source these unique blends. This contemporary range of table wines from some of Italy’s best growing regions, combines Gordon’s passion with the heart and soul of Italian winemaking.”
I have watched him on TV, and I have no doubt Ramsay is full of passion. I know Senor Antonino’s winemaking pedigree, which in Tuscany alone includes his family’s estate at Poggiotondo, Frescobaldi, Col d’Orcia, and Antinori. If anyone knows about the heart and soul of Italian winemaking, he does. But I’m not sure that’s exactly what’s happening here.
If I were going to describe the heart and soul of Italian winemaking, as described to me by winemakers from Alto Adige in the Dolomite Alps to Mount Etna in Sicily, I might use a French term “terroir.” Terroir is the place from which and in which the grapes of a wine are made. It includes things like soil type, weather and climate, elevation, proximity to the sea, angle of light, length of season, and anything and everything that Mother Nature could possibly contribute to a bottle of wine.
The thing about Gordon Ramsay’s intense selection of red wine is that it doesn’t come from someplace, it comes from at least two. Further digging reveals that the 2020 Intenso Rosso is made from a blend of Sangiovese grapes from Tuscany and Montepulciano and Merlot grapes from Abruzzo. This is why it carries only the most basic classification, the humble designation of Wine of Italy.
Wines of Italy that blend grapes from more than one region are usually cheap, mass-produced bulk wines. Big producers in Canada do this kind of thing all the time since they are allowed to blend up to 75 percent foreign wine into products, what’s called Cellared in Canada. What’s in the blend typically depends on the time of year switching between sources in the Northern and Southern Hemispheres like Spain and Chile.
Cuvée is a fancier French term for a wine made with grapes from more than one place. But the practice, whether it’s declared or not, usually means a blend of grapes from more than one vineyard in proximity to each other. The Ontario winemaker Norman Hardie stretches it with some of his highest-end wine, Cuvée L, which is made only in some years from a blend of grapes from sites in Niagara and Prince Edward County. He justifies the distance between the two regions as being quite small, the distance, as the crow flies, across Lake Ontario.
For Ramsay and Antonini to make a cuvée with grapes from Abruzzo, though, is a particularly ballsy move, considering the history of the region. Like much of the production of wine in the Mezzogiorno, Italy’s south, wines from Abruzzo regularly trucked up to more prestigious regions to be blended quietly into wines posing as all Northern.
Much of the modern history of the Abruzzo DOC has been about reversing this practice and marketing Abruzzo wines for their own qualities and terroir. Antonini knows this. He also knows that Tuscan producers, like those in Chianti Classico, are passing new classification rules that lean heavily on terroir, by naming the village closest to the winery, or on grape variety, by requiring increasing percentages of indigenous grape varieties (never mind ones from another region altogether).
I suspect the Selezionato da Gordon Ramsay Intenso Rosso 2020 has made a lot of people angry in both Abruzzo and Tuscany. So what? It’s actually pretty good, especially for a wine that retails for $17 even.
The fruit on the wine is big and forward: black cherry from the Sangiovese (50 percent) and Blackberry from the Montepulciano (30 percent), and Merlot (20 percent). There’s a mineral seasoning of flint or graphite on the finish and a healthy acidity. It’s an uncomplicated drink built for food, as one would expect from a wine made by a chef. I shared the rest of my bottle over a dinner of grilled salty Italian sausages, which worked brilliantly. I speculate this wine would do even better with a cheeseburger.
I am not giving up on the wino religion of terroir. There is something fascinating about how a particular place and time affect what’s in a glass of wine. But I’m OK with a little blasphemy now and again if it tastes good.