Who is Afraid of the Barrique?

 I frequently think how the world of wine has changed over the last twenty years, in some cases, very quickly. It is unavoidable not to think about how certain “fads” were born, raised and exalted to the extreme, and then began their decline, therefore disowned, no less, considered as phenomena that it is good to keep hidden, even when they are part of the winemaking process used. These behaviours practically occur in every wine-growing country in the world, however, in Italy it seems to me this is a recurring phenomenon and changing with the fads, indeed, opportunities, of the moment. When a new enological fad or trend appears, I always think it is going to be a phenomenon waiting to fall into oblivion with a lot of fierce hostility. When this happens – that is, the occurrence of the more or less inglorious end – the old Latin saying always comes to my mind: sic transit gloria mundi (Thus passes the glory of the world).

 One of these “phenomena” is undeniably the barrique. Do you remember when, in the 1990s, this magical word was enough to sell a wine, even of dubious quality? In Italy, many bottles showed off, prominently on the labels, even the abominable neologism barriccato – or barricato (meaning “aged in barrique”) – to emphasize that divine nectar promised heavenly emotions for having being kissed by the barrique. Grape composition? It wasn't important: it's barriccato, everything else is irrelevant and insignificant. Every winery, in case it wanted to enter the enological heaven, had to show off the barriques, both in the aging rooms and on the labels. In those days, when visiting the wineries of certain producers, the sight of the magical Bordeaux-style casks was followed by the solemn announcement of the number of barriques owned. Moreover, in some wineries the barrique was the only type of barrel used. Any wooden container with a volume greater than 225 liters had been sacrificed in favor of the magic barrique.

 There was also a sort of competition in showing off the number of months spent by the wine inside the barrique, so much so that – in many cases – the poor wine succumbed under the weight of so much wood that erased its identity and quality. Who cares about that, it is barriccato. Indeed, in some cases, the producer – while tasting his or her wines – triumphantly and with a quite high pride emphasized the aroma and the flavor of the barrique in the wines. It was a praise, unquestionable proof of the highest quality. A sort of competition which inevitably led to the exasperation of organoleptic homologation as, in many cases, the wine was almost indistinguishable from the aromas transferred from the barrique. All the wines were the same, all proudly barriccato with the noble and cumbersome oak smell. There seemed to be no break from the barrique rush and producers, in order not to be outdone by others, cheerfully poured the most disparate and unfortunate wines into the small Bordeaux barrels looking forward in the coveted enological miracle.

 As a consequence, a huge quantity of grapes, slender and thin wines ended up being poured in the barrique, totally crushed by the weight and personality of the new and well-toasted oak, with the result of producing an alcoholic infusion with a wood flavor and which were soon called “carpenter's wines”. At the beginning – let's admit it – these wines were also “fun” to taste, despite the outrageous enological result, and soon they ended up boring and exasperating everyone, producers included. I remember, in those days, every time I tasted a wine strongly marked by what the barrique had copiously given the wine, to my mind always came the famous quote of Émile Peynaud, the great French winemaker, one of the most influential and important of the last century, which has left us – not least – a rich and important enological bibliography. The great French winemaker, among the many things he said about the use of wood in enology, said «the best wine aged in wood is the one where you cannot perceive the wood». He also said «the wood had to be used in the wines the way aromatic herbs are used in cooking, to help the other aromas stand out better».

 Following these quotes by Émile Peynaud, another famous saying of the French winemaker promptly came to my mind: «It is you (consumers) who in a certain sense make quality. If there are bad wines it is because there are bad drinkers. Taste conforms to the crudeness of the intellect: everyone drinks the wine he or she deserves.» Evidently, in those days, the taste of wine drinkers – good or bad – greatly appreciated the taste of wood. When a product is liked and sold, of course, it continues to be produced, with all due respect to Émile Peynaud and his teachings. The fad for carpenter's wines – this is how wood-flavored wines were jokingly called in those days – regarded not only Italy, but also other wine-producing countries of the world, such as the United States of America, Australia, Chile and Spain. In some cases, even France – which is the homeland of the Barrique – was not saved by this fad and it happened to have in the glass some French wines unexpectedly slaughtered by the barrique.

 This phenomenon, like I was saying, has progressively led to the organoleptic exasperation of the wines, so much so that from the enthusiasm we progressively passed to the indignant refusal. Since the beginning of the 2000s the “barrique fad” was heading towards its sunset as well as the horrendous term “barriccato” disappeared from the labels. The barrique, blamed of being the primary culprit of the sensorial homologation of wines, had to somehow disappear from the consumers' imagination. But not in that of the producers who, despite the infamous accusation of homologation, have continued – and continue – to use it. Of course, not in the way they did in the past, they have probably and finally understood the real role of the barrique, which certainly is not that of obscenely altering the sensorial characteristics of wine. Producers, today, continue to use the barrique but, in many cases, they are even afraid to admit it, to such an extent that, often, they even avoid mentioning it in the production sheets of a wine.

 In order not to disturb the serenity of enthusiasts who, in the meantime, have developed a repulsion and aversion to the barrique, who still believe it is the absolute evil, many producers prefer to call it with more acceptable names. On the back labels of the wines and in the relative production sheets, we can see an interesting and flourishing use, often even imaginative, not least, misleading, of alternative terms alluding to the barrique without ever expressly mentioning it. Small wood, small barrels, oak barrels, carato barrels, small oak and so on. In the case of carato – the typical small Italian barrel – the term is clearly inappropriate and misleading, both for the volume and for the use when compared to the barrique. In any case, this is always better than mentioning the dreaded 225 liter Bordeaux barrel and arousing the indignation of the wine “purists” who only dream of uncontaminated and “true” nectars in their glasses, in accordance with the most rigorous and orthodox of traditions.

 Whenever I read these “acrobatic” attempts to sugar the pill, avoiding the word barrique but alluding directly to it, this always makes me smile. It is just like what happens on the labels of certain food preparations in which monosodium glutamate is present – an ingredient added to the black list of true connoisseurs of good food since quite long time – and everyone is happy and reassured when they don't read it on the labels but find, for example, yeast extract. Happy and reassured, they celebrate the good news with a tasty chip of aged Parmesan cheese, in which monosodium glutamate is notoriously and naturally contained and not added. I think it is superfluous to remember the barrique – in itself – is not at fault, rather the fault goes to the responsibility of the ones who used it, or continues to use it, in an inappropriate or excessive way. The barrique is neither good nor bad: it is simply a wine making tool, I would add, very important and useful, and when used in an appropriate and correct way, it is – for certain wines – fundamental and essential. Even when it is affectionately called small cask, small oak or small barrel, “it six of one, half a dozen of the other”.