Book Review: Italianity

 

   

     The excellent final chapter of Italianity consists of a series of short articles by people in the trade, mostly North Americans, explaining why they love Italian wine. As I read it, I thought I could have contributed a good one.

     I would have written about the time I attended the wedding reception of my Moto GP-loving Italian former student in a winery in Campania. It left a confused memory of bottles of sparkling Fiano shared on a terrace, silly amounts of Aglianico drunk over dinner, and an excited man repeatedly rising to his feet and toasting the newlyweds. It was the best wedding I’ve ever been to – even better than my own.

 

     I'd also have told the story of the bottle of Barbaresco I drank out of a plastic mug in my flat in Tokyo, just because I really wanted a great wine and couldn't be bothered to buy a glass. 

     Italianity could be the best book about wine that I've ever read, and Italy isn’t even one of my favourite countries for wine. It was so good, in fact, that I put to one side a novel by the American thriller writer Douglas Preston, author of the stunning true crime story The Monster of Florence, after I’d started it.

     Italianity is largely the work of two people, Andrea Lonardi, a Master of Wine, and Jessica Dupuy. More than half of the book is devoted to a discussion of what the writers call the red wine spine of Italy, comprising Piedmont’s Nebbiolo, Alpine grapes like Corvina, Sangiovese in Tuscany and Nerello Mascalese on Mount Etna. There's a chapter about whites, another which deals with the future of Italian wine, and the aforementioned final section written by lovers of Italy.

     Lonardi and Dupuy are both very good writers and, importantly, they have a talent for storytelling. There are many entertaining anecdotes about Italian winemakers, producers and restaurateurs, including some very big cheeses, such as Angelo Gaja. The structure of the book, which consists mostly of one-or-two-page essays on a theme, helps. There's no chance to get bored. You read a story about the old-timer Lonardi struggled to win over in Sicily, then it’s on to the tale of his friendship with two Italians with whom he did the MW course. Italianity is therefore unlike many books about wine, which lack the human element.

 

     There are some surprising pieces of information. Dolcetto was an easy sell in Piedmont in the past. Barbaresco, on the other hand, used to be an ‘afterthought’, and ‘was given away for free’ by producers ‘as an incentive for a minimum purchase’. Perhaps my caper with the plastic mug in Tokyo was not such a faux-pas, after all.

     The book has a few flaws. I don't like the title, for one thing. The word ‘Italianity’ is taken from the Italian word Italianità, which is ‘Italian-ness’. ‘Italianity’ is supposed to mean the culture of Italian wine, but I don’t think it sounds right in English. It’s a made-up word that recalls a spell in Harry Potter. Close your eyes and you can hear Hermione saying it as she waves her wand.

     Half of the book is written in Italian, which is only really a good thing if you speak or are studying that language. I thought the section about whites didn’t quite attain the heights of the chapters on red wine, although it could just be that I prefer drinking reds, as reflected by the fact that Italianity inspired me to buy a bottle of Chianti Classico.

 

     I read Italianity twice, so it must be pretty great. It contains many pictures, which are always a welcome addition to any book about wine, and some of the writing shows real flair. It’s rather well-priced too. Give the quality of the publication, I’m even willing to overlook the fact that Andrea Lonardi doesn’t consider the flavour of cherries to be one of the defining characteristics of Italian reds.

 Published in The Wine Merchant, September 2026.

Tasting Victory: A Review

           A very long time ago, one of England’s greatest cricketers was a man called C.B. Fry. He was astonishingly talented. In addition to playing cricket for England, he was also a professional footballer and the holder of the world long-jump record. Bizarrely enough, he was even offered the chance to be King of Albania at one point. Later in his life he wrote an autobiography called Life Worth Living.

        I thought of C.B. Fry, who I imagine is long-forgotten even by most cricket fans, while I was reading Tasting Victory by Gérard Basset. It’s a pretty good title, but I think Basset should have purloined the name of Fry’s book for his own autobiography. For although Basset died an early death, he accomplished an awful lot: he was a Master Sommelier, a Master of Wine, the winner of innumerable sommelier titles, including Best Sommelier in the World, and the co-founder of the Hotel du Vin group. It was a life worth living.

        As someone who writes about travel, I enjoyed the early chapters in which he describes his upbringing in Saint-Étienne (“nothing special about the place”) and “beautiful” Aix-en-Provence. He paints a vivid picture of France at the time. I was surprised to learn that “in the late sixties and early seventies, sport in France was not taken that seriously”, although his father viewed cyclists in the Tour de France as “superheroes with supernatural powers”. It was clearly a more innocent time. Travel itself was evidently a more pleasurable and relaxed affair too. Returning to France after his first visit to England, Basset recounts that “the Marseille customs officer did not even bother to check anyone”.

        There are many amusing anecdotes in Basset’s story. He recalls being “mystified” by an “aloof” diner in Hampshire who had been very genial the previous time he had served him. The reason eventually dawned on Basset: “I realised the woman he was dining with was not the same one he had been with three weeks ago. This lady, no doubt, was his wife.” Sir Edward Heath, at the time a former prime minister, would visit the same restaurant and have whisky as an apéritif before moving on to wine. Not good for the palate, perhaps, but worthy of respect.

        Best of all is the tale of the high-rolling bankers who descended on the place and proceeded to drink Dom Pérignon, Grand Cru Chablis, Château Lafite, Château Latour and Château d’Yquem. They wanted to finish the night with some Krug, but Basset told them it was sadly impossible as it was past midnight and they were not staying in the hotel. One of the bankers simply paid for a room, ‘didn’t bother to take the key’, and they kept on drinking. The bankers eventually departed, after settling up and leaving “a generous tip”. Basset writes that he “felt very proud…for having played my part in such a successful arrangement.”

Basset had an appealingly old school mindset. He was competitive and worked hard to achieve success. When describing difficult periods, he does so in a matter-of-fact way. Although he had a rough childhood, there’s no suggestion that he was plagued by mental health troubles as a consequence. When he was diagnosed with cancer, he was phlegmatic: “To my surprise I did not panic or have a meltdown. I was sixty years old and I thought, ‘Well, if my time is up, then so be it.’”

There are many useful lessons for life in Basset’s book. Readers of this publication will not be surprised by his remark that “there was an assumption that being French made me a wine expert.” Many of his valid observations are not related to wine, though. He encountered troubles in business towards the end of his life, leading to this comment: “It turned out that just as we had no experience with con men, so we had no real experience with lawyers either – but we were about to get it.” Words for the ages.

I liked Tasting Victory a lot. It’s short and very readable, and Basset comes across well. He was a hard-working man who made the most of his abilities and opportunities and had considerable success. In words of which C.B. Fry would have approved, he had this to say about his life: “I have had a good innings.”

Published in The Wine Merchant, April 2026.

Pressing Matters: A Review

            Many books about wine have a problem: they're expensive. A case in point is a recent book about Beaujolais. You might think that as a wine lover and former resident of Japan, the last redoubt of Beaujolais Nouveau, I was part of the target market for this work. Was I willing to spend £35 on it, though? No, I was not. 

     At £20, Alan Ramey’s Pressing Matters is therefore a relative bargain. The writer covers eight issues of importance, or at least matters of interest, within the wine world.

Ramey is American, and the co-owner of Ramey Wine Cellars in California. He writes in an academic style, and is not afraid of using footnotes, which is to be respected. He's also to be commended for not using annoying buzzwords like ‘intentionality’ and ‘wellness’.

        The significance of some of the subjects Ramey addresses is debatable. For instance, he spends a lot of time on the issue of terroir, outlining arguments about whether the climate or the soil is more important. Does it matter, though? Perhaps to vine growers, but to the average wine enthusiast I don’t think it’s worth spending much time on.

        The best part of the book is a thought-provoking chapter on the issue of taste, and the extent to which it’s possible to determine the quality of a wine in an objective fashion. This may seem esoteric, but it should matter to drinkers as many are willing to buy based on a recommendation or a score.

Ramey notes that balance is typically accepted as a sign of quality, but points out that some grapes which have lofty reputations give unbalanced wines. Riesling, for example, often has off-the-scale acidity. Length and intensity are dubious indicators of quality too, according to Ramey, as the wine just might not taste good.

        These means of judging a wine will be familiar to anyone who’s studied for the WSET Diploma. What about complexity? Ramey writes that it's often seen as part of quality because the opposite - something 'monolithic' - 'is decidedly not good'. I'm not convinced, though. Red Rioja Reservas and Gran Reservas are wonderful, in my opinion, because they have a ton of oak. For what it’s worth, I think length is the key to quality, as long as the wine tastes good, of course.

        The chapters on organics, biodynamics and natural wine are useful, as the topics are fashionable. Still, these sections, like the book in general, would be more enjoyable if the reader got to the bottom of what Ramey believes. I wanted to know if he feels that the whole idea of a natural wine is flimflam, or if he thinks biodynamics is hokum. His goal was clearly to make the reader think, but the end result is like a PhD thesis in which the candidate never reaches a conclusion.

That said, Pressing Matters does have another thing going for it: it’s short. Books about wine have taken the same path as Hollywood films in recent times: the longer, the better, apparently. Many could do with having a hundred pages lopped off. Perhaps then they would be cheaper.

 Published in The Wine Merchant, March 2026.