More than a century after its unification, Italy still wears its medieval character as a federation of city states, distinguished from each other by climate, diet, dialect and customs, and unified only by the overarching authority of the Bishop of Rome. The other day I was astonished to discover, hanging in the window of the local butcher at Varenna on Lake Como, a stinking, shrivelled pig's shank, which blatantly defied every conceivable edict of the EU commissars. This, I was told, was the famous violino di Varenna, to be boiled with the soup, to which it imparts, we discovered, an aroma somewhere between nettles and cow dung.
The Italian respect for local food is a form of pietas - the Roman virtue that the ecologists are trying to rediscover, but for which they are looking in the wrong place, having failed to see that it is religion, not science, that they need. Local food goes with local saints, local wines and local gossip. Together they produce the Italian character, which may wander far from home like Cristina Odone, but which gives no real credence to customs that have not been followed by la nonna or approved by her special saint.
Wine merchants are now discovering that if Italian wines are to taste as they should, they must be made in complete disregard of the global market. Corney & Barrow's selection for this month's wine club shows what I mean. Not one of the labels carries a word of English, and each is traceable to some tiny estate, where wiry peasants prune the vines with flick-knives, and insalubrious grandmas trample the grapes with their heels.
The Chianti Classico is from the famous estate of Vignamaggio, where Leonardo's Mona Lisa was born, and where the clay soil and Sangiovese grape combine to produce a rich, black-cherry essence. The Pinot Nero from the Friuli region comes from a corner of the small family estate of La Tunella, and is designed to exploit the Burgundian qualities of the local soil. This is a scientific wine with a religious meaning, and lifted the last joint of our pig Napoleon to heights that even his back bacon hadn't reached.
The Sauvignon is from the Val d'Esta, not far from San Gimignano. The Sauvignon grape grows well here, at a thousand feet above sea level, and produces a clean, straw-coloured, fruity wine that is entirely Italian in its cheerful mixture of flavours - everything from raw peppers to fried tomatoes. The Pinot Grigio is a far more sombre affair, coming from an ancient estate, in the Alto Adige, where the cool breezes from Lake Garda bring frequent rains and frowns. It has a pale snail-coloured finish, a whiff of sacristies and cloisters, and una furtiva lagrima in the aftertaste. Delicious.
