9 January 2025
Leaving Catania airport up towards Linguaglossa, the sea behind you, the rugged, barren, grey, rocky outcrops tell of recent lava flows visible on either side of the hastily mended road. Wild flowers, yellow with flashes of pink, mix with what resembles giant fennel.
Etna seems to buzz. Perhaps living on the edge of a volcano adds a certain heightened, vibrant energy. Even the lush green vineyards seemed more alive. The often ungrafted, ancient alberello vines looked like inverted octopuses with outstretched tentacles and suckers where previous growth has been cut. And above, glimpses of brooding Etna, streaked black and white still with snow.
Terroir is super complicated and ever changing. One Contrada – roughly speaking a ‘Cru’ – can have different soils and characteristics – it is never wise to make generalisations – although they all seem to be blessed with antimicrobial properties from the ash and few chemicals are needed in the vineyard. Here the age of the lava flow is discussed rather than the age of the soil; and the crescent like shape which makes up the Etna DOC is divided into Versanti (Sides/Aspect).
On the Versante Est is Milo, the heartland of Etna Bianco, where the wind blows in a funnel down the volcano to meet the moisture-laden ocean breeze. More rain falls on this side, yet the fast-draining lavic soil means that the wines still maintain admirable concentration and health. No dilution here where it is too cold and high for Nerello Mascalese to ripen. Milo is the only place on Etna allowed to call its wines Etna Bianco Superiore. From their vineyards overlooking the sea just outside in Sant’Alfio, Fabio and Nuna from Tenute di Nuna make a substantial Etna Bianco and a Superiore, the latter with a touch of oak and malolactic, but both with the salinity, savoury character brought by the proximity to the sea.
Over to the warmer, drier, sunnier Versante Nord, famed for its reds where between Randazzo and Passopisciaro, DBGitalia stalwarts, SRC Vini, make wild, expressive wines with minimal intervention from their contrade. Roberto Abbate has vineyards in Feudo di Mezzo, tiny quantities of both Etna Rosso, Bianco and an exquisite Rosato. Feudo di Mezzo is the largest Etna contrada and the soil here is less rocky, deeper and more earthy, suffering less in hot years from the heat radiating from the rocks.
And what of these Etna grapes? Captivating Nerello Mascalese with its unmistakable, orange-tinged wines, seductive like Pinot Noir with its sweet red fruit, sometimes more like Nebbiolo (especially on the Versante Nord), more herbal, structured or vertical but often all of the above, but mostly like itself. Showing an affinity for oak from botti to barrique ma non troppo. Then playful chameleon-like Carricante, with its many characters, from steely Chenin/Chablis minerality, through a miriad of honeyed citrus/pineapple fruits, weighty yet so often balanced, via the tanginess of Jurançon through to petrolly Riesling aromas with bottle age. These wines have energy.
We need a trip back next year in order to continue to explore the South but for now we have a taste of the South West in the historic estate Castello Solicchiata, where classically well made, fine, Bordeaux-style blends grown on terraces surrounding the castle are found. This was an absolute surprise, but again perhaps that is Etna, full of surprises.
From my impression of the wines of the Contrade, I felt that the wine making on Etna has not yet settled down entirely, both innovation and enthusiasm erupting in a slightly unconstrained wild manner. Etna’s lava flows ironically are mostly slow and controlled. For the Rosso in particular there was the question of oak. Nerello Mascalese in my mind is a seductive grape which can wear it well but should be coaxed rather than smothered. I would prefer exuberant to gaudy – this is not Nero d’Avola after all. As for the whites, maceration at the Contrade was à la mode but was at times overdone, adding unnecessary background noise and even a tannic finish.
But finally, back to the giant ‘fennel’ with its huge stalks, feathery fronds and bright yellow orbs of flowers. One producer explained that the plant was ‘finta’ (fake), called Ferula, and not to be confused with its much smaller edible cousin which also grew wild in the same spots along roads. Ferula is mildly poisonous, and fortunately has none of fennel’s unmistakeable aniseed perfume from its crushed leaves. According to Greek mythology, when Prometheus gave mortals fire, he stole it from Mount Olympus and hid it in the stalk of the Ferula plant which contains slow burning fibres and was often used to transport fire. Dionysus, the Greek God of wine, was often depicted carrying a stalk of the giant plant topped with a pinecone as a sceptre. All in all a most fitting plant to cover a volcano where the vineyards are littered with sherds of ancient Greek pottery.