(Manfred Klimek / animated image: runwayml)
Wines that we drink and review regularly. Ornellaia is one such example for me. A wine with which I’ve never really felt entirely at ease. Too expensive, too heavily influenced by the market, and too much of a symbol of those years when the so-called Super Tuscans were more than just great wines – they were promises, a canvas for projections, and sometimes, often even, objects of speculation. Whilst with Sassicaia I always sense a certain air of naturalness, a quiet awareness of its own greatness, with Ornellaia I’ve long had the feeling: there’s too much talk of prestige here, not just wine.
And yet here I am again, with two vintages in my glass – 2012 and 2018 – and I realise straight away: it’s not quite that simple.
The 2012, now well matured, reveals itself in a way one might not have expected from this wine had one drunk it young. The fruit is restrained – dark cherry, a hint of plum – accompanied by tobacco, leather and a touch of dried herbs. Nothing is overpowering; nothing pushes itself to the fore. On the palate, I’m immediately struck once again by that interplay of acidity that sets Ornellaia apart from many other Super Tuscans. This is not a broad, opulent wine, but one defined by its tension. The tannins are polished but still present; the wine feels cohesive without being heavy. And yet a faint doubt remains: is that all there is to it? Or is it lacking that final depth, that dramatic development one expects from truly great, long-lived wines?
The 2018, on the other hand, is still in its infancy. And yet it already shows very clearly where the journey is headed. The fruit is precise, kept cool, with a surprising amount of blackcurrant and a touch of redcurrant, accompanied by very cleanly integrated oak that lends structure rather than aroma. Here, too, is that almost unsettling freshness, that acidity which carries the wine and lends it a slenderness rarely found in this price bracket. No show of muscle, no excess force, but control. Elegance as a concept. It’s easy to see why this wine has so many devotees.
And this is precisely where the dilemma begins. For when one compares Ornellaia with other great names – such as Antinori’s Solaia, which for me is the most complete and dramatic of the Super Tuscans – Ornellaia lacks some of that epic scope. Solaia builds up over decades, gaining depth, complexity and gravitas. Ornellaia, on the other hand, seems to reach its peak earlier. It seduces more quickly, is more accessible, and perhaps also more modern in its character. But, in my view after many years, its development remains more limited.
Am I doing it an injustice? Perhaps. For one must not expect every great wine to possess the same kind of greatness. Ornellaia is not a long-distance runner in the classical 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.
It is precisely this interplay of acidity, this cool, crisp character that runs through all the vintages, that ranks amongst the very best one can find in red wine. It is a quality that is often underestimated because it is less spectacular than power or concentration. But it is this quality that carries the wine, keeps it alive, and makes it interesting from the first to the last sip.
That leaves the question of price. And here I remain sceptical. If one understands Ornellaia for what it is – a great, elegant, early-drinking cult wine with a lifespan of perhaps thirty years in very good vintages – then it is priced at a level at which one might actually expect more. More depth, more development, more timelessness.
The market has decided otherwise. And the market has proved Ornellaia right. Year after year, decade after decade. Perhaps that is the real point: that a wine has prevailed here that is not maximalist, but precise. Not monumental, but controlled. Not infinite, but finite in the best sense of the word.