I first made this wine in 2007. I love rosé. But I never thought I would make one, just not one of those things that came to mind. But it did come to mind, and powerfully so, to my little Elena: everyone knows how strong the attraction for pink is to the fair sex, particularly at the venerable age of three. Painting the cellar pink just wasn’t enough: a pink wine was to be born. And Nerello Mascalese, wonderfully versatile grape, proved to be just the right stuff. Not an easy wine to make, however. In fact all the opposite. In trying to find balance, you walk a thin line. The Platonic ideal, as I see it, would be the rosé that has the body of a white and the soul of a red, if that makes any sense. Anyway, that’s what I’m looking for: a wine that’s joyful without being frivolous; that has tension, but is not austere. And I feel we come close. Our Etna Rosato is bright and vibrant, but never superficial. The joy it delivers has sophistication. I’ve found out that it ages beautifully. Not that there is any reason to age it. But when it does, the complexity is quite unexpected and remarkable in a rosé. Fish, poultry, soups, pasta, prosciutto and cantaloupe, figs and salame, bread and olives and cheese. You name it.
I first made this wine in 2005. I wanted to remove that more or less 5% of white grapes that the local vignerons used to mingle with their red ones, in order to make my Etna Rosso from red grapes alone. The white grapes were a mumbo-jumbo of local varieties: Carricante, Catarratto, Grecanico, Inzolia and Minnella. So that’s what my Etna Bianco was: a field blend of all the above, with Carricante dominating the blend with roughly 65%. And that’s what it still is. All from old vines. And, somehow, it works. A perfectly lovely wine. With the effortless uplift of a dancer, it allows me to let it go freely through life, malo included, without it ever losing its bright demeanor and lively step. Deviously drinkable, still it always clings, leaving one wondering how it delights and where do the goodies come from. In aging, the noblesse of the Etna and its remarkable terroir emerge. And the loveliness turns thoughtful and deepens, still graceful, never redundant. Fish, meat or fowl, all are fine, if very gently cooked. It loves seafood, particularly over pasta: after all, it is Sicilian.