The Italian wine scene is fascinating and paradoxical. Or fascinating because it's paradoxical. Tradition and innovation, "natural" and technological, the devotion to native terroir and the drive to carve out global markets -- these dynamic tensions are at the heart of both Italy's amazing comeback after the deadly methanol scandal of 1986 and the Italian wine sector's on-going war with itself.
Marco Caprai himself embodies these paradoxes. The entrepreneurial son of an entrepreneurial father -- Arnaldo Caprai is a respected textile manufacturer, the king of lace in Italy -- Marco took over the family's wine business in 1988. And proceeded to transform it.
"After the methanol scandal, we had a wine revolution," he said last week. "We had to. Otherwise we wouldn't survive." Like so many of Italy's younger generation of vineyard owners and winemakers, Marco embraced the post-methanol movement toward higher quality and the importance of the clear provenance of wine, re-emphasizing locality as a major component of trust. As domestic consumption declined after the scandal, it was obvious to him that export markets were essential for the financial well-being of the firm and all the people who depended on its production for a living.
This element of social responsibility was a natural outgrowth of the tight local bonds that Caprai had with the local community, especially in his hometown of Foligno. (These bonds transcend oceans; his New York haunt is Il Buco, where his boyhood pal, Roberto Paris, is sommelier. The restaurant is owned by another Umbrian friend.) 
This thinking also shaped his commitment to explore what would best express the territory and provide a distinctive market advantage. As has been done by other deeply-rooted winemakers around the country, like Mustilli with Falanghina in Campania and Albino Armani with casetta in Trentino, Caprai zeroed in on an obscure local grape -- in this case the Sagrantino -- and crafted powerful red wines that changed the oenological landscape in Umbria, previously best known for its rather pallid whites.
Il Buco, NoHo, New York
Perhaps more to the point, he gave the family firm a solid identity with the top-of-the-line Sagrantino 25 Anni, awarded Gambero Rosso's Tre Bicchieri time and again, then consolidated it by evangelizing incessantly in the US and other markets.
But as they love to say in Italy, “Non c’è rosa senza spina.” No rose is without its thorn.
Italy is a country of 60 million people. Sometimes, though, it feels like Ireland. Small, quarrelsome and jealous. Entrepreneurs are all about taking risks and reinventing things, which the Italians have been good at for centuries. It's revealing, though, that Italian doesn't have a word expressing the positive aspects of this -- no equivalent of "go-getter." 
"Wheeler-dealer", yes (intrallazzatore); a pejorative always in both languages. This is, I suppose, the down side of a strong communal culture, which social critics are always lamenting is absent in America.
<--Not a go-getter
To someone observing from the other side of the Atlantic, the clashes over tradition and innovation, of technology and definitions of "naturalness," seem petty and not a little disingenuous. There are camps where only local or "autochthonous" grapes are tolerated, despite (because of?) the success of international varieties and blends in several regions of the country. This is a logical development of the desire for authenticity in the wake of the 1986 scandal; I applaud the resurrection of grapes that were headed for oblivion. But I also admire many a Cabernet Sauvignon and Pinot Noir made in Italy. Some people are extremely dogmatic about this. Certainly Marco Caprai would be in their good graces for his rescue of Sagrantino and use of other local varieties like Grechetto.
Then there was the announcement last year that Caprai was working with Milan University to develop a white Sagrantino. I was intrigued by the research collaboration, guessing (correctly, as Marco told me) that it was unusual in Italy. "Actually," he said, "we work with three universities on different projects." Interesting, too, was the largely negative reaction to the white Sagrantino. Once again the division between the "why-nots" and the traditional "of-course-nots" was sharp. It makes sense from a market point of view -- consider the character of the whites in Umbria -- especially if you want to leverage your flagship product. It's a line extension, not an assault on a higher truth.
But then there are many who just as dogmatically oppose the use of small oak (barriques) to impart what is supposed to be a "Parkerish," international (read: American) smoothness to the wine. And as many who are dismissive of big, concentrated wines in the same style. These objections often have a political subtext, I think. A foolish conflation.
Barriques and concentration are hallmarks of Caprai's Sagrantinos, both the Collepiano and the 25 Anni lines. Marco Caprai's wines are big and luscious, but they evolve beautifully in the glass and finish long and subtle with fruit and herbal notes. They taste alive and specific to their time and place. Despite (because of?) the Caprais' constant investments in new equipment and adoption of modern techniques, Marco and his team have created beautiful wines of strong character. They brought Sagrantino into the modern world and made a success out of it.
I dislike hyperoaked wines that are all up-front pow! and a fading finish. I tasted more than my share of those last week at the Puck Building, including some with very big names and very big prices. But I also know good stuff when I taste it, even if it does spend time in barriques.
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