J. Petrucci & Son: Joe and Michael in their barrel house near Wirra Wirra ... all photos Philip White
J. Petrucci & Son puts on weight
Chianti's Colorino moves to Vale
and settles on old Riesling roots
by PHILIP WHITE
"I put on fourteen kilos in a few weeks in my
village," Joe Petruccio says of his recent trip to Castellino, in Molise, near Abbruzzi.
"The food is always there. In Ireland, I lost twelve
kilos. They only bring one plate."
Greg Trott introduced me to his neighbour Joe in about
1980. "In the Barossa," Trott sagely explained, "they have Germans. McLaren
Vale has Italians."
One got the feeling Trott preferred Italians. He loved
the influences they had on his beloved McLaren Vale, and particularly admired
their attitude to tucker. He refused to put a fence between his Wirra Wirra Winery
and the Petrucci vineyards next door.
Twenty-two years later, when Trott was dying of cancer,
and I was editing his book, McLaren Vale
- Trott's View, he insisted I included as many photographs as possible of
his Italian neighbours. He would scour the rejects box for any image I may have
discarded.
"You can't leave this one out," he'd say.
"That's Joe Petrucci."
Petrooch had his own waltz with Jimmy Dancer last year,
but the treatments, backed up by a touch of familial feeding in the old home
town, have put the zizz back in his demeanour.
Once again, Joe has both fusto
and gusto a-plenty.
"I wasn't ready," he murmured of his visit to
the departure lounge.
Now, with his winemaking son Michael, he's making some
brilliant new wines. J. Petrucci & Son is the bargain brand to seek. These
dudes overdeliver.
Colorino is certainly new to McLaren Vale, but it's
hardly new in Chianti, where it seems to have run its race. For centuries it
was used to add colour and weight to the red blends of that ancient vignoble.
In recent years, with modern science and new trellises and whatnot, the Chianti
makers have learned to get the colour and character they need from their
beloved Sangiovese, so Colorino is not top of the pops.
Many are uprooting it.
So Joe grafted some onto some mature Riesling roots in
his sandy slope at McLaren Vale and Michael made a stunning wine.
I first drank it a few weeks back at the Willunga
Farmers' Market, where Joe always has a little tasting stall. For a while I
thought it would suck all the water out of my eyes; it certainly sucked quite a
lot of light outa the sky. It's like a big damp perfumed velvet stage curtain
has descended on you.
J. Petrucci & Son McLaren Vale Colorino 2013 reminds me
a little of Petit verdot, the very late-ripening grape of Bordeaux, used for
tannin and colour in those great French blends. I hear that global warming has seen many
French replacing Merlot with Petit verdot, as the early-ripening Merlot gets
too ripe and gloopy far too quickly in this new heat. The Colorino also reminds
me too of Carmenere, which served a similar role in Bordeaux but survives mainly
in Chile, although underground goss says some radical Bordeaux growers are
playing with it again.
Mainly, the Petrucci Colorino reminds me of Saperavi, the
Caucasian red grape which is distinguished by its red sap and red juice. While
nearly all the other red grapes have white juice, leaving the winemaker to
extract the colour and flavour from the skins and pips, Saperavi actually has
black juice and sap the colour of beetroot juice, so intense levels of flavour
and colour can be achieved without pressing too hard, leaving the tannins
softer and more welcoming.
Also, surprise, surprise, full character can be gotten
without too much alcohol. This wine's a dainty 13.8%.
"I put 14.5% on the label because that seems to be
what people still expect," Michael laughs. He's well within the strange law
about alcohol labelling: the permitted margin is 1.5% either side of the
claimed figure in Australian wine. Most makers bend their label number the
other way, so the wine appears lower in alcohol.
This drink sure feels and tastes like it's stronger than 13.8%! Customer reassurance, see?
This drink sure feels and tastes like it's stronger than 13.8%! Customer reassurance, see?
It's a deep dark thing, I tell you. It smells of black
coffee and tea tin and aniseed. It glowers. It's sinister. But as a young wine,
it smells harmonious and tidy. It's slightly syrupy, but the velvet tannins
remove any illusion of sweetness and the acid creeps up and draws the whole
thing out real long and slow and dry.
That finish is as dry and fine as ground-up bone china.
I've had it straight from the freshly-opened bottle. I've
tried it over days. I've had it roughly decanted and smooth; nothing seems to
make much difference to it. It's as confident and stoic as the giant stone
faces on Easter Island.
Yet it's the damned thing's straightout intensity of
character that gets you, not alcohol. I don't want to mention the gooey black
Pedro ximénes sauces they cook and fortify in Jerez, but in truth it's almost
one of them, lite.
The idea of your actual fruits doesn't seem to arise
until well into the aftertaste when the drinker suddenly wonders why. If
anything, it leaves flavours of soft-dried figs, dates, quince paste and fresh
juniper pulp.
It doesn't quite smell like panforte, but it's so much in
that direction that I reckon it'd accompany one perfectly. With thick fresh
cream. Otherwise, I keep dreaming of big dark wild mushrooms. Morels. 94++
points.
Before I scare you off, there's an antidote to luxury so
intense. In counterpoint, it's luxurious in a wicked cheeky way. Under their
bargain-bargain Sabella label, Michael's made a slightly frizzante moscato from
Joe's Muscat of Alexandria.
Just as the mystery of the Colorino is its modest
alcohol, the mystery here lies in the wine's sweetness number: it's drier than
the lollypop fairy-floss ones. And it's only 7% alcohol.
"It makes me laugh," I said, showing unseemly
thirst.
"That's why we called it Allegria," Joe shot
back, bringing my attention to the bottle in hand.
This baby doesn't have the rubbery aroma that spoils
moscatos made from the wrong muscats in places too hot. It's rather just grapy,
with the gentlest cordite edge. Slurp the bugger, and you're laughing.
And what do you drink it with? Joe suggests another
bottle. "But Philip," he clarified, "I take another from the
fridge, and I try to do things ... " At which point he finished with a
perfectly Latinate shrug.
If you're safe at home and not driving, pop your
skateboard armour on and try it with Absolut vodka on the rocks with a bruised mint
leaf.
The Petruccis showed me a Shiraz which is serious Bushing
King quality, and exciting wanderings through Mourvèdre, Nero d'Avola and
Aglianico which are still on the cooker.
Wait for those, but don't wait for the two I'm pumping:
the Sabella of McLaren Vale Allegria Moscato is $18 (85 points); the J.
Petrucci & Son reds are a meek $25. Unless you bump into Joe at the Prospect
market or the Willunga one, where they are several dollars cheaper.
They are indeed delightful things to be on the end of.
Especially considering there's more to come.
It's a long time since Joe's father Michael brought his
kids from Melbourne and bought 120 acres of the best vineyard land in the
south. Right beside Greg Trott. Then Michael Snr. died falling from the roof
when he tried to fix the tv antenna, leaving Joe, John and Vicky 40 acres each.
That was 1976.
Michael Snr. and Trott would be delighted to see what
hard work, persistence, and acute gastronomic intelligence has done.
And being Italian.
Take note, Jamie Oliver.
