(Leo Quarda / photo: Manfred Klimek)
Whenever time allows – or sometimes simply when everything in Vienna gets on my nerves – I hop on a plane and fly to Cyprus. To meet friends, sit on the terrace, live a different life for a few days, and my luggage almost always contains a few bottles of wine. Not that there’s a shortage of good wine on the island – quite the opposite, in fact – but the wine cellar at home does need to be lightened every now and then, and bottles shared amongst friends make better use of their journey than those left standing alone on the shelf.
This time, I took a wine with me with which I’ve had a long – and by no means always harmonious – relationship. It takes me back to the late seventies, when we’d still buy our party supplies at the petrol station, when Italo hits were playing in the disco, and we’d cobble together an Italian way of life for a few hours – a bottle of Lambrusco being an absolute must. It was usually sweet, almost always cheap, and back then we cared little about grape varieties, origin or quality. Lambrusco was part of those first evenings out with girls, of lipstick marks on the glass, of dancing, cuddling and, eventually, the more or less orderly journey home on foot or on the last tram. It was a time when nobody analysed the wine, as long as there was still enough of it.
The reputation Lambrusco built up over those decades lasted surprisingly long. Cheaper, sweeter, industrially produced red sparkling wine flooded the export markets and tarnished the name of an entire wine culture, even though quite different Lambruscos had long been produced in Emilia. I myself had completely written off the category at some point, until I was served another glass in 2014. My scepticism was considerable, but the effect was all the more immediate. Since then, Corte Manzini’s L’Acino has been a regular feature in my cellar.
That evening in Cyprus, I was therefore less interested in my own reaction than in that of my friends. I poured the wine blind, said nothing and waited. First they sniffed it, then tasted it, sniffed it again and tasted it once more; eventually, the first broad grins began to appear on their faces. ‘What on earth is this?’ was more or less the general consensus. The bottle didn’t last long.
L’Acino is made from Lambrusco Grasparossa, an indigenous variety from the large Lambrusco family, which is primarily found around Castelvetro, south of Modena. The grape itself has a slight botanical quirk: shortly before harvest, the stem structure and stalks turn reddish, which is where the name Grasparossa comes from. The variety produces dark, full-bodied, spicy Lambruscos, has a good amount of tannin and yields that almost black-violet colour which, at first glance in the glass, doesn’t look at all like an uncomplicated frizzante. At Corte Manzini, grapes from vines around seventy years old, amongst others, are used for L’Acino; it is matured in stainless steel, with secondary fermentation taking place using the Charmat or Martinotti method. The result has an alcohol content of 11.5 per cent and is bottled dry.
Castelvetro is situated in a region where people already know quite precisely why Lambrusco is supposed to taste the way it does. Modena and Parma are closely linked in culinary terms; Parmigiano Reggiano, prosciutto, mortadella and the rich cuisine of Emilia call for a wine with freshness, carbonation, fruit and a certain tart structure. Here, Lambrusco has never been merely party plonk, but rather part of a regional food culture, and the renaissance of dry, meticulously crafted versions in recent years – particularly outside Italy – has brought back into focus what had almost been lost amongst all the sweet export bottles.
L’Acino offers aromas of raspberries, cherries and dark berries, complemented by spice, a tart freshness and that gentle effervescence which carries the wine across the palate with astonishing speed. It is dry, juicy, dark, fruit-driven and has enough structure to prevent it from becoming boring after the second glass. Above all, however, it is an immense pleasure to drink. Drunk well chilled on a lawn, a terrace or anywhere else, it requires neither reverence nor large glasses, and certainly no lengthy explanation. It’s meant to be swallowed, and that’s exactly what happened that evening in Cyprus with remarkable consistency.
In the end, my friends’ only criticism was that I’d only brought one bottle. Then came the inevitable question of where to buy the stuff, and that very evening I resolved to order another case. Because the next trip to the island is bound to happen, as is the next evening on the terrace, and this time I won’t make the same mistake again.
One bottle of L’Acino is clearly not enough.
Source:
K&U – Die Weinhalle
Gebr. Kössler & Ulbricht GmbH & Co. KG
Nordostpark 78
90411 Nuremberg