Campania

           I have been to a few weddings outside the U.K. The first was in San Francisco, twenty years ago. It was a small affair in a lovely hotel downtown. I remember that an American guest referred to me as a ‘ne’er-do-well’, which I considered particularly harsh as I was helping to foot the bill for the festivities!

          Many years later, I went to another wedding in Campania, the reception for which was held in a winery. Here I was merely a guest and my presence was very welcome, for I had helped the Italian couple to discover the venue the previous year.

That was my first visit to the interior of Campania. I was already a big fan of the Aglianico grape and I had asked my Italian friend Davide if we could visit the area where the vineyards were located and Taurasi was made. I couldn’t quite believe my eyes as he drove us from the coast into the mountainous interior, where the temperature plunged by about ten degrees compared to sunny Salerno. When I was told later that spring frosts were an issue at the estate, I was not at all surprised.

When we reached the winery, we found that it was perched above a valley with a dramatic mountain in the background. Vines bearing the white grape Fiano spread down the slope in front of us. Fiano, I learned, was the first of the big name grapes to be harvested. The owner observed that it was more aromatic than Greco, the other white Campanian grape with DOCG status, giving wines with a citrus and white fruit character, and was still good twenty years after the harvest. As was the case with the other whites made at the estate, they preferred not to mature the Fiano in oak.

Despite the fact that I was a devotee of red wine, I was very interested to learn about the white grapes of Campania. They all had high acidity, I was informed. According to my notes, the Greco we tasted was full-bodied and mineral, with a tinge of grapefruit. It was outstanding. (I can’t recall if that was my judgement or the owner’s – perhaps both!) The downsides were that it gave low yields and was hard to grow.

          The main draw for me was of course the red wines made from Aglianico. I discovered that the harvest for this grape could extend into November, which probably explains why the one Sicilian Aglianico I have tried in the U.K. was awful. Evidently the grape needs the altitude and continental climate of inland Campania, where vines are planted between 300 and 650 metres above sea level and the diurnal variation can be as much as 18 degrees in the summer, if it is to ripen properly.

          I’d already had a lot of Aglianico by that point in my life, and my conclusions were confirmed by the owner of the estate. It was a food wine, he said, owing to its high tannins and searing acidity, with flavours of cherry, strawberry and blueberry. It was also very ageworthy, he continued. He lamented, however, that Taurasi was not an easy sell, owing to a lack of name recognition and the high cost of production, the latter challenge reflecting the terrain and the remoteness of the vineyards. Still, relative to other excellent wines from Italy, I’d say the cost of a bottle of Taurasi really isn’t prohibitive.

          To return to my friend’s wedding, the final part of the reception unfolded in the fermentation room. We ate cheese accompanied by the winery’s Taurasi, danced in front of the towering steel fermentation vats, and had Fernet Branca as a digestivo. As we departed, each guest was handed a bottle of Aglianico, which we’d already consumed great quantities of over dinner.

          I briefly flirted with learning Italian after that wedding, but gave up when I kept confusing it with Spanish and French. One thing is for sure, though: I will remember the Italian toast brindisi for the rest of my life. 

             Published in The Wine Merchant, March 2025.