Aglianico, the “Barolo of the South” that doesn’t need Piedmont

Sooner or later, every southern Italian wine with a bit of tannin and the patience to age gets told it is “the Barolo of somewhere”. Aglianico has been handed the most demanding title of them all: the Barolo of the South. A compliment, of course. But also a convenient way of explaining a wine without really having to understand it, by measuring it with someone else’s yardstick. And Aglianico, looked at up close, has more than enough character to deserve a name of its own.

Where the comparison comes from

The nickname didn’t come out of nowhere. Like Nebbiolo, Aglianico is a late-ripening grape that reaches the winery with high acidity and serious tannin, and in its early years it can be downright surly. Like Barolo, its best wines need time: in bottle they unwind, lose their rough edges and gain depth. And like Nebbiolo, it gives its best on hillsides, where the cold autumn nights keep freshness locked into the grapes while the sugars climb.

So far the likeness holds. The problem is that the comparison was born mainly to sell: it helped a wine little known outside Campania and Basilicata get taken seriously by people who only knew the Langhe and Tuscany. It worked. But repeat it often enough and you risk forgetting that the two grapes speak different languages. Nebbiolo is transparency, pale colour, ethereal aromas; Aglianico is deep colour, dark fruit, a denser substance and a tannin that tends to be rougher, more earthy. They are kindred in temperament, not in blood.

The name itself, for that matter, has a less tidy history than is often told. The most widespread version derives it from “Hellenico”, a nod to the Greek colonists of Magna Graecia. It’s an evocative hypothesis but an unproven one, and several scholars consider it more legend than etymology. Best to take it for what it is: a good story, not a fact.

Taurasi, the first to rise

If Aglianico has a capital, it is Irpinia, in the province of Avellino. Here Taurasi became a DOC in 1970 and a DOCG in 1993: it was the first red of the Mezzogiorno to earn the controlled and guaranteed designation of origin, at a time when Italy’s winemaking prestige seemed to stop a little way south of Florence.

The production rules require at least 85% Aglianico, though many producers make it as a single varietal. Minimum ageing is three years, at least one of them in wood; for the Riserva it rises to four years, with at least eighteen months in wood. Figures that already say a lot about the nature of the wine: these aren’t rules put there to add a touch of nobility, but an acknowledgement of reality. A young Taurasi is often a wall.

For decades the denomination had practically a single name: until the 1990s Mastroberardino was effectively the only estate exporting Taurasi in any significant way, and keeping its reputation alive beyond Irpinia. The number of producers has since grown a great deal, and with it the range of styles, from the more classic, austere wines to softer, more modern interpretations.

The vineyards generally lie between 400 and 700 metres, on mixed soils of clay, limestone and sand with a volcanic component linked to ancient Campanian eruptions. The swing between day and night temperatures is marked, and the harvest comes late, usually between the end of October and November: in some vintages picking happens when wineries elsewhere finished weeks ago.

Vulture, the volcano as wet nurse

Move into Basilicata and the landscape changes, and so does the wine. Aglianico del Vulture grows on the slopes of Monte Vulture, a volcano whose last activity dates back more than a hundred thousand years. Extinct, people say, though geologists prefer to call it dormant.

Here volcanic soil is not a detail for the label. The ash has consolidated into tuff, a porous rock that soaks up water in winter and releases it slowly to the roots in summer. In a region where summer can be long and dry, it acts as a kind of natural reservoir, and locally some describe it as the earth that “suckles” the vine.

Aglianico del Vulture has been a DOC since 1971; in 2010 the Superiore version became a DOCG, with 100% Aglianico. The rules require at least three years of ageing, twelve months of them in wood and twelve in bottle; the Riserva goes up to five years, with twenty-four months in wood. Compared with Irpinia, Vulture wines often tend to show darker fruit and a certain mineral note, although generalising between two areas so full of exceptions is always a risky business.

Taburno, the outsider from Benevento

The third point of the triangle is the least talked about. Aglianico del Taburno, in the Sannio area around Benevento, has been a DOC since 1986 and a DOCG since 2011: it is the only DOCG in the province of Benevento. Here too Aglianico must make up at least 85%, and the Riserva requires three years of ageing, twelve months of them in wood.

The geology is different: the Taburno-Camposauro massif is limestone, and the soils are more clay and marl than volcanic. The vineyards climb between 200 and 650 metres, beneath a mountain that Virgil mentions in the Georgics. The result, in many interpretations, is a somewhat leaner, more lifted Aglianico, in which acidity and the limestone component take a leading role. For anyone who thinks Aglianico is all about power, Taburno is a useful reminder to the contrary.

Tannin, time and patience

What holds the three areas together is the character of the grape. Aglianico has thick skins rich in polyphenols, an acidity that stays high even in hot vintages and a tannin that makes no apologies. It’s this combination that gives it its reputation for longevity: structure and freshness are the two conditions without which no red makes it through the decades.

There is a flip side, though. Precisely because the tannin is so present, the work in the cellar weighs heavily: over-extraction or a heavy hand with new oak can turn it into a wine that is more muscular than elegant. In recent years many producers have sought a different balance, with more measured macerations and larger casks, and the wines have become more readable even when young. Which doesn’t change the substance: a great Aglianico remains a wine that rewards those who wait.

A name of its own

Calling it the “Barolo of the South” helped Aglianico get noticed when nobody was looking. Today, however, the comparison says more about our need for hierarchies than about the wine. Taurasi reached DOCG status more than a decade after Barolo, Vulture and Taburno later still; but the history of a grape isn’t measured by the dates on decrees.

Aglianico is neither a dark Nebbiolo nor its southern stand-in. It is a variety with a geography all its own, made of volcanoes, limestone and harvests that end just as the first fogs roll in. Perhaps it’s time to let it keep its own name, and leave it at that. And if a comparison is really needed, let Barolo be the one that has to call itself “the Aglianico of the North”.

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