The Orecchiette Wars and the Search for Authenticity

Made in Italy is a label that still attracts attention, and buyers. Italy has been very protective of its country’s indigenous food products, and we’re not talking just wine here.

A recent article on the front page of a daily Rome newspaper, Il Messaggero, brought this point home to us as it proclaimed that the authenticity of orecchiette, the “little ear” pasta form, was at risk. Orecchiette, as we learned, should be a product of Puglia. Moreover, the “nonne della pasta” (“pasta grandmothers”) of the region are accused of making it only partly by hand—"ma loro negano”—“they deny it.”

In Bari, according to the Messaggero article, which was based on a UK Guardian article, there’s been a “blitz” of authorities going after the pasta makers. I like the Guardian headline: “Barricades in Bari: why the city’s ‘pasta grannies’ are under scrutiny. Sellers of fresh orecchiette in southern Italy are fighting back after being accused of tricking tourists with bought wares.”

The blitz, which started in January and has continued, includes the local prosecutor, the local police, the national Guardia di Finanza (tax police), and the Carabinieri (national police force). Says the Guardian, “Authorities said the most conspicuous evidence was piles of cardboard boxes for factory-made pasta found dumped in wheelie bins on the outskirts of the old town.”

The full article on the inside of Il Messaggero started with a typical—and enticing—yellow journalism approach:

“Not everything that ends up on your plate is truly Italian. From Parmigiano Dop* that hides foreign milk, to wine labeled from Tuscany but produced elsewhere to mozzarella ‘made by hand: sold as ‘artigianale’: the risk of being cheated is around every corner, and it doesn’t hit just tourists. Olives, salami, dried tomatoes, fresh pasta. The “made in Italy” label at times is corrupted by deceptive brand labelling, in stores in the center of Rome that are tourist traps, and on packages both in windows and on tables. And the case of the ‘orecchiette wars’ in the oldtown of Bari [in Puglia] is just one vivid example.”

The full newspaper page, which had an overall headline of “Add Doubt to the Table,” also featured wine from Pantelleria (an Italian island about halfway between Sicily and Tunisia) that was in fact made in Germany. And a third piece on adulteration of cheese products—Mozzarella and scamorza in Barletta (also in Puglia)—another blitz by Carabinieri, in this case specifically by their Nas division. We were unaware of this division of the national police force (we knew about their division that finds stolen art, and have appreciated and written about it). Nas, or Nucleo Antisofisticazioni Sanità, is the department of the Carabinieri responsible for controls of foodstuff, drinks, medicine etc. from adulteration, impurities, and fraudulent labelling. We couldn’t tell whether the Nas division of the Carabinieri was involved in the orecchiette wars, but they were involved in this cheese product adulteration.

It seems the cautionary tale is to watch what you eat, or don’t believe everything you’re told. It would be hard for the Italian authorities to keep up with the counterfeit products, we think. That won’t stop us from eating what we like here in Rome. Though maybe we’ll pay more attention to the recommendations of food experts like Katie Parla. Unfortunately, learning about these scams, while entertaining, adds a bit of cynicism to the table. 

Dianne 

*”DOP stands for Denominazione di Origine Protetta (literally “Protected Designation of Origin”). As the the name suggests, this certification ensures that products are locally grown and packaged.” Walks in Italy, a tour provider with a rich website, has a good piece on Dop here. (Italians tend not to use upper case for all the letters in their acronyms.)

Enjoying Rome--with a Campari Spritz

We arrived in Rome in mid-April ready to imbibe (no doubt from the Latin for "drink"—bibere) a lot of Campari,  the somewhat bitter liqueur that we had first experienced decades ago, and immediately disliked. The bars in San Lorenzo, Piazza Bologna, and elsewhere in the city were ready to oblige the evolution in our tastebuds. The Campari Spritz (Campari and Prosecco with a twist of orange peel) is ubiquitous, exceeded in popularity only by its counterpart, the Aperol Spritz—sweeter, not to our liking.

The classic Negroni—made with equal parts Campari, sweet vermouth, and gin, is also very popular, as is the Milano-Torino (Campari and sweet vermouth, no mixer), known familiarly as the Mi-To (pronounced Me-Toe), the name derived from the origin of the ingredients: Campari is made in Milano, sweet vermouth [by Martini and Rossi] in Torino (mito also is "myth" in Italian). 

In the city center, across from Piazza Venezia, a busy bar filled with tourists had as its centerpiece over-sized bottles of Campari and Aperol.

High-up, center: Campari featured prominently at the local bar, "My Way," we frequented in
the Piazza Bologna area (it was our favorite morning coffee bar in the neighborhood).
 And 5 bottles Campari to 1 Aperol.

In Rome, the "spritz" is almost always served in a large wine glass with plenty of ice. 

Nothing like a spritz (pronounced "spreetz") to put a 
smile on your face.

You can also get a "spritz" to go. At this place—at a Liberation Day celebration—the price was E6 (about $6.60).

The spritz has also reached London, but only in the trendier areas, like Soho in the photo below. The Brits will have trouble giving up their beer.

London

The standard price in Rome for a Campari Spritz is E5 (the Happy Hour price) to E6/7, and the price sometimes includes potato chips, olives, and peanuts. The price was E10 at Satyrus—no chips, no nothing—but it's a trendy, seasonal bar, on the edge of Villa Borghese, across the street from the National Gallery of Modern Art (with free admission that day, so we could afford the pricey spritzes, and the Euro is currently a beguiling $1.10).

Dianne at Satyrus—

—overlooking the gallery

Enjoying a "spritz" at Tree Bar on via Flaminia—note the hand-cut chips and other goodies.

Of course, the grocery stores carry Campari Soda, in those cute one-portion triangular bottles designed by Futurist artist Fortunato Depero in 1934, shown here in an all-Depero exhibit currently at Rhinoceros Gallery in the Hotel Rhinoceros. The gallery is just steps from the Bocca della Verità and down the street from the Campidoglio. 

Curiously, it proved difficult to find our own bottle of Campari, for home consumption (mostly by our guests, we claim). Rome's grocery stores all carry copious amounts of wine, spirits, and liqueurs, but Campari was never on the shelf. In one store, a cashier who appeared to be knowledgeable told us that the Campari was under lock and key in storage, because it was a frequently stolen item. He sent an employee to the back room—he was sure it was there—but the employee came up empty, twice, as did the cashier on his own expedition. Then we noticed that some bars had what looked like Campari, but the label was somewhat different; we wondered what was going on. 

Finally, we found our Campari, in of all places—a mini-market just down the street from our Piazza Bologna apartment. Mission accomplished!

Mini-market to the rescue! An ample supply of Campari. Aperol, too. Sweet vermouth to the right.

We later became aware that over the last decade or so, Campari—made only by one company—has now and then been in short supply. Given that some young folks have abandoned wine for beer and cocktails, and given that Campari is a widely favored cocktail ingredient, the shortage that we experienced makes sense.

Just a few years ago, a sign for "cocktails" would have been a rare sighting in Rome. Not today. We have since learned from a teacher friend that Italians are not particularly good with the apostrophe—even in their own language, let alone English (nor are Americans, we've noticed).

 

Bill

The Price is Right: What's More Expensive?

Q. What costs more in Rome? 

              A small box of wooden matches?  Or a bottle of very drinkable white wine from the southern Tuscan town of Pitigliano? 

A. They cost the same: 2.5 Euros, or about $3.00

VIno B? Vino R?

The abbreviations Vino B and Vino R, for vino bianco (white) and vino rosso (red) were new to us when we saw them at a Rome cafe.

Italian White Wines: Our Favorites

Preparing for cocktail hour in Buffalo.  Dianne prefers the
small, fluted Italian glass.

Not the least of the customs we’ve inherited is the “cocktail hour.” Not the sort of ongoing, all-day, workplace cocktail hour practiced in the 1950s ad biz, at least according to Mad Men. Rather, the end-of-day, conversational, finally-get-to-talk-to-your-wife, cocktail hour. Our parents’ version meant Bloody Marys on one side, Rob Roys on the other. For us it’s white wine, usually Italian.

Italian white wines are easier to understand—easier than their French counterparts, that is. That’s because the French insist on labeling wines only by region and place—Burgundy and Sancere, for example—so that the grapes used to make their wines are obscured (a Burgundy is a Pinot Noir, a Sancerre a [fine and relatively expensive] Sauvignon Blanc).

Although Italians care very much about where wines come from, most—but not all—Italian white wines are known by the grape each is made from, often followed by the place of origin. Hence Greco di Tufo is a wine made from the Greco (a name that refers to the origins of the grape in Greek antiquity) grape and is from the area around the town of Tufo, just east of Naples.

Working against tradition, we’ll begin in the Italian South and move northward toward the Alps.

Sicily

Most of the grapes grown in Sicily are either Trebbiano or Catarratto, both “boring” according to David Gleave’s The Wines of Italy (1989)—excellent but out of print and hard to find--which we’ll quote from liberally. It’s well known that the best white grapes of Sicily are the Inzolia (also the name of the wine) and Grillo, a current favorite. Grillo is native to Sicily and prone to oxidation, so don’t let it sit. According to Gleave it’s got “hints of green,” “elegant floral bouquet,” and a “unique taste of exotic and citrus fruits.” Just what we were thinking. BTW, it’s also known as Riddu, though we’ve never seen that name on a label.

Sardinia

For a while last year, our local Rome grocery store had a large supply of Vermentino di Gallura. Over a few weeks we bought it all. Gallura is a zone or area of Sardinia, and the grape is Vermentino. But it’s not the Vermentino you’ll get up north in Liguria. A different grape with the same name. Not an elegant wine, but substantial and drinkable. We wouldn’t call it exotic. Goes good with pizza.

Naples

We’ve already introduced Greco di Tufo, which is from the town of Greco (NOT!!!!). It can be “dry and elegant” as one of our sources says, and we used to buy it frequently when invited to dinner by our Roman friends. Our current thinking is that it’s a dependable dry wine, but not so interesting. Most of Calabria’s white wines are built on a Greco base.

We prefer another Naples-area wine, Fiano. Most of it comes from around the town of Avellino, also near Naples, hence Fiano di Avellino. In a recent New York Times piece extolling the virtues of Fiano, Eric Asimov called it “vivacious” and noted its “smoky, nutlike, spicy quality,” perhaps a result of new techniques, including “lees-stirring,” which involves using detritus from the fermentation process. Fiano is an ancient vine, known to the Romans as Apianum, because it tempted the bees. Lots of good bottles for under $20 in the US, if you can find a store that carries it. The other white mainstay of the Campania region is Falanghina—not an especially distinguished or dry wine, but seconda noi absolutely Italian in taste.

Rome Environs

Make sure it's "Superiore"

Much (too much) of the wine served in Rome restaurants is Frascati.  Frascati’s one of our exceptions, because it’s not a grape but the name of a town in the Colli Albani (Alban Hills), about 25 kilometers from the city. Writing in 1989, Gleave described it as having “little or no character,” a conclusion based on the fact that most Frascati was made from the Trebbiano grape—easy to grow but not the stuff of which great wines are born. Today, there’s more Malvasia in Frascati, and that, and real focus on quality, means that some Frascati is very good. Look for Frascati Superiore.

West of Rome in the Abruzzi mountains the basic white wine is Trebbiano d’Abruzzo. That would suggest that it’s made from the Trebbiano grape, but that isn’t so. Trebbiano d’Abruzzo is made from the Bombino Bianco grape. A rose by any other name. Drink this wine if you’re in Abruzzo.

Umbria

There was a time when Grechetto was widely planted in the land-locked province of Umbria, to the north of Rome. But the low-yielding grape proved frustrating, and most of it died out, save for a few villages—around Todi and Foligno—where growers apparently have more patience or deeper pockets. The grape is the same as the Greco. Gleave labels it “rich, nutty, appley.” Not so dry. It gets a “B” on our report card.

The Marches

The Marches’ white wine of note is Verdicchio. It’s easily spotted in the stores, with its amphora-shaped (and now not so hip) bottle. It’s sometimes called the Adriatic Muscadet, which means it’s a bit sweeter than some. Tasty but seldom elegant, Verdicchio is meant for lunch with a panino.

North from Rome, into Tuscany


Another exception to our rule is Orvieto, named after a lovely hilltop town. Another lunch wine, only occasionally suitable for the elevated space of the “cocktail hour,” but serviceable nonetheless. A “neutral wine,” according to most accounts, its relative mediocrity traceable to large amounts of Trebbiano (again). The best of it is mixed with a healthy portion of Grechetto. Please! Please! Please! avoid the best-known brand of Orvieto: Est! Est! Est!, which is 80% (that is, too much) Trebbiano. Trebbiano is also grown in quantity in the hills south of Bologna, where it makes a “neutral” wine, sometimes and dry and freshing but “seldom distinguished.”

Vernaccia di San Gimignano is an old favorite of ours, as dry, light and flinty a wine as you’ll find it Italy—something like the New Zealand sauvignon blancs, though with more flavor. What’s the grape? Where’s it made? The best-known producer is San Quirico. We drank a lot of this wine for years, and we still do. It’s surprising that the grape hasn’t migrated.

The North

We’ve skipped Emilia Romagna (Bologna, Parma, etc.—the Northern Appenines). As you can sense, we’re not Trebbiano admirers, and that seems to be the hegemonic white grape of the region. Further north and to the east, Pino Grigio dominates. It’s good enough, Hillary, and we’ve certainly had our share, but we’ve come to think of it as a simple, rather ordinary wine, the lowest-common denominator if you will, of fine wine and good taste. A “trainer” wine. So we’ll skip it.

The northeast is also known for Tocai, a native grape that can result is truly excellent wines. A recent dispute between Hungary and Italy over the right to label a wine simply “Tocai” had Hungary emerge the winner, so exactly what the Italian version is now called remains a mystery, to us. Still, if it’s on the menu, try it; it’s always good.

We used to say that about Gavi, too. Another exception to the naming rule, it’s made in the hills near the town of Gavi in the SE Piedmont, and it’s from the Cortese grape. It’s referred to as a “Gavi” and you’ll often see “Gavi di Gavi,” which to us makes no sense. Gleave describes it as “dry, neutral and acid,” “at best a decent fresh white wine” but very “fashionable.” We couldn’t have said it better. Always presentable but never exceptional. Probably overpriced.

We were once also fans of Muller-Thurgau, another SE Piedmont wine. Light and perfumed, it’s made from Riesling and Sylvaner grapes. Then we read that it was a rather pedestrian white and, not wanting to consider ourselves pedestrian, we stopped drinking it. Not a great wine, but pleasant enough.

Our current favorite is also from Piedmont, but it has a French name, from the grape: Arneis. Native to the region, Arneis is low-yielding and in other ways problematic, a characteristic reflected not only in its price, but in the name: in dialect, Arneis means “little difficult one.” Some of the best are from the Roero region, though the one we're drinking appears to be from Langhe.  According to Gleave, Arneis is light and dry, powerful yet delicate. We’ve never seen it in Rome, but then we haven’t looked; it’s that new to us. A great wine to take for dinner with friends; chances are they’ll never have heard of it—always good—and it’s a sublime wine.

Bill
P.S. See photos and info below on wine shops selling a good variety of Italian whites in Buffalo and Los Angeles (where else?).  And when in Rome, check out the "wine bar" section of Rome the Second Time, plus one or two of our wine bar posts.



City Wine Merchant, where many of the wines mentioned in this post can (and have been) purchased.  Corner of Main and Tupper, Buffalo, New York.  http://citywinemerchant.com/ .   Dave Cosentino, the proprietor at Vino Aroma, on Main Street in Williamsville, has first-hand knowledge of Italian whites, and the store carries an ample selection--as well as copies of Rome the Second Time.  Vino Aroma is 2 doors west of Trattoria Aroma.

In Los Angeles,
our source for Italian whites is Domaine LA, at 6801 Melrose (don't miss the ceiling; photo below).