(Manfred Klimek / animated pic: runwayml)
Wines that we drink and review regularly. Ornellaia is one such case for me. A wine with which I have never had a truly relaxed relationship. Too expensive, too driven by the market, too much a symbol of those years in which the so-called Supertuscans were more than just great wines – they were promises, blank canvases for projection, and sometimes, often in fact, objects of speculation. Whereas with Sassicaia I always sense a certain self-evidence, a quiet knowledge of its own greatness, with Ornellaia I long had the feeling: too much prestige is being narrated here, and not enough wine.
And yet I find myself sitting in front of it again, with two vintages in the glass, 2012 and 2018, and I realise straight away: It is not quite that simple.
The 2012, now well matured, is showing itself in a form one perhaps would not have expected from this wine after drinking it young. The fruit is restrained: dark cherry, a little plum, along with tobacco, leather and a hint of dried herbs. Nothing shouts, nothing pushes. On the palate, I immediately notice once again this interplay of acidity, which distinguishes Ornellaia from many other Supertuscans. It is not a broad, opulent wine, but one defined by tension. The tannins have been polished smooth, but are still present; the wine seems self-contained without being heavy. And yet a quiet doubt remains: Is this all there is? Or is it missing that final depth, that dramatic development one expects from truly great, long-lived wines?
The 2018, by contrast, is still at the beginning. And yet it already shows very clearly where things are heading. The fruit is precise and cool in style, with a surprising amount of blackcurrant, some redcurrant, and very cleanly integrated oak, which provides structure rather than aroma. Here too there is that almost disconcerting freshness, that acidity which carries the wine and gives it a slenderness rarely found at this price level. No display of muscle, no pressure, but control. Elegance as a concept. You can already understand why this wine has so many followers.
And this is exactly where the dilemma begins. Because when you compare Ornellaia with other great names – Antinori’s Solaia, for example, which to me is the most complete and dramatic of the Supertuscans – Ornellaia lacks something of that epic quality. Solaia builds over decades, gaining depth, complexity and gravitas. Ornellaia, by contrast, seems to reach its peak earlier. It seduces more quickly, is more accessible, perhaps also more modern in its structure. But after many years, my impression is that its development remains more limited.
Am I doing it an injustice by saying that? Perhaps. Because one must not expect every great wine to possess the same kind of greatness. Ornellaia is not a long-distance runner in the classic sense, nor a monument that unfolds over fifty years. It is a wine of precise balance, calculated elegance and the perfect moment. And in that moment it can be almost irresistible.
This very interplay of acidity, this cool line that runs through all the vintages, is among the finest things one can find in the world of red wine. It is a quality that is often underestimated because it is less spectacular than power or concentration. But it is what carries the wine, keeps it alive and makes it interesting from the first sip to the last.
The question of price remains. And here I remain sceptical. If you understand Ornellaia as what it is – a great, elegant, accessible-from-an-early-stage cult wine with a lifespan of perhaps thirty years in very good vintages – then it is priced at a level at which one ought really to expect more. More depth, more development, more infinity.
The market decided otherwise. And the market vindicated Ornellaia. Over years, over decades. Perhaps that is the real point: that a wine has prevailed here which is not maximal, but precise. Not monumental, but controlled. Not infinite, but finite in the best possible sense.