The Merry Drinker

We all have our little daydreams. One of mine is that someone mistakenly sells me a bottle of 1961 La Tâche for the price of a supermarket Chianti. I am sad to report that this has yet to happen, but last week, for a short, blissful interval, I thought I had achieved something comparable.

Although Contado is new to me, I have known its makers for many years. Di Majo Norante are the most highly regarded producers of Molise, in southern Italy. The region is something of a backwater. Everyone I have met from there speaks of it in faintly embarrassed tones, expressing astonishment that I should have even heard of its wines, let alone enjoyed them.

Of course this is absurd. Di Majo Norante are not just good, they are very, very good. Indeed they are one of those rare winemakers who seem incapable of producing anything bad. If you think I am exaggerating, try their thick, fruity Prugnolo, or their Don Luigi, a succulent blend of Montepulciano and Tintilia grapes. Their whites are pretty good too.

The house’s slogan is “new wines from old vines.” No Johnny-come-lately Cabernets or Chardonnays for them: Di Majo Norante use ancient varieties such as Aglianico, Falanghina, Trebbianello, Bombino and Primitivo, grapes whose history stretches back to the very earliest days of Mediterranean viticulture. At the same time their production techniques are essentially modern. The resulting wines are charming, robust and of great character.

So when I came across this Contado I knew it would be good. But I had no idea that it would be this good, that it would offer such a rich spectrum of sensations - odours of wet bark, moss and cloves shading imperceptibly into flavours of cigars, stewed prunes and dates.

I looked it up. Contado, I learned, is made entirely from Aglianico, the grape supposedly brought to Italy by the Phoenicians. It is refined partly in barrels and partly in steel vats, after which it is bottle-aged for at least six months. Not suprisingly it has won Italy’s top award, the Gambero Rosso Tre Bicchieri.

And it cost me just under fourteen dollars.

Hence my glow of triumph. The seller had blundered. He had charged me a mere fourteen dollars for something worth forty, fifty, perhaps even sixty. Just for once, the Merry Drinker had scored a small but resounding victory against robber capitalism, puritanical taxation and all the other evil forces that conspire to deprive him of his hard-earned cash.

Of course it was all a happy delusion. The next day I checked on the Internet. There it was: average price $13 dollars in the US, £9 in the UK. I was only mildly saddened. It is the wine that counts, after all, not the money, and by any standards Contado is outstanding. The fact that it is preposterously cheap merely adds to its attraction. They only made 80,000 bottles of it, so I urge you to rush out and try some before I buy it all up.