For Vietti, "terroir" needs no translation

Terroir (not "terrior," as so many wine labels proclaim) is one of those magic words that every winery worships.

Briefly, it is a French term that represents the myriad influences of site, soil, sun and climate on the flavor and structure of a wine made from grapes grown in a specific place. Wines that express terroir, we are told, are the best possible wines. Blended wines, manufactured wines, wines flavored with oak products and other additives cannot, by definition, express terroir. Personally, I subscribe to these notions. I believe they are true. What I do not believe is the claims of the great majority of wineries who aspire to terroir. Wines that truly express terroir are rare indeed — the products of a lifelong (and usually multigenerational) quest. Terroir comes from an ongoing process of discovery, stewardship and passionate art.

Luca Currado, whose Vietti winery produces a glorious lineup of terroir-driven barberas and Barolos, works relentlessly to cultivate the unique flavors of his family vineyards. Vietti is headquartered in the Piedmont (properly Piemonte) region of Italy, which is butted up against the Swiss Alps to the north and the French Alps to the west. The wine-making heart of the region is just outside Turin, where the Olympics were held.

Currado farms' vines range from 10 to more than 85 years in age. The oldest, planted by his grandfather, are made into his Vigna Vecchia (old vine) wines. Wines from the 60-year-old vines planted by his father will not be labeled Vigna Vecchia, he insists, as long as the old man is still alive.

In many ways, large and small, Currado cajoles the most elegant and nuanced flavors from his vines. In some vineyards, yields are less than a ton an acre. Wines are punched down by a proprietary process that mimics the human foot. They are aged in large, neutral oak casks, which ever-so-gently soften the tannins and smooth the flavors without imparting any trace of vanilla, cedar, bacon, smoke, chocolate or any of the other components common to expensive red wines. New oak barrels are used sparingly, if at all, and Currado, unlike any winemaker I've ever met, works to keep them from flavoring his wines at all.

Tasting through a lineup of single vineyard and old-vine Vietti wines, Currado proudly described the ways in which he captures the terroir of his family's land. So I asked him, quite innocently, since you have this incredible land which, by your reckoning (and I would agree) expresses itself with a unique (even for Italy) sense of place, why do you fall back on the abused French word terroir? Why isn't there an Italian equivalent?

"That's a big question," he slowly replied. In fact, it was the second or third "big question" I had coughed up in the course of our conversation. So big, in fact, that it was never quite answered. Nor did it need to be. Better to have terroir and search for the word, than to toss the word around for wines that don't come close.

Vietti's single vineyard Barolos and barberas are not inexpensive wines. Prices range from $40 to $100, and production is quite limited. Seattle, in fact, is one of fewer than a half-dozen cities in the U.S. to receive any significant quantities of these wines at all.

But Vietti also makes a handful of more affordable wines that capture some of the elegance and finesse of the high-end bottles. The 2001 and 2003 Nebbiolo Langhe "Perbacco" ($20) were balanced and sturdy — the '01 more delicate and minerally; the '03 more concentrated and tannic. The 2004 Barbera d'Alba "Tre Vigne" ($22) is fresh and floral, with soft cherry and spicy plum flavors, and surprising depth. No new oak here. "I am first a winegrower, then a winemaker," says Currado, "but never a lumberjack!"

Vietti's 2003 Barbera d'Asti "Tre Vigne" ($20) is the more powerful sibling of the Alba wine. Glorious mixed flavors of red fruits, mineral, brown sugar and graphite lead into dusty tannins; it's clearly a wine that will age will for another five years or more.

Most wine writers remain fixated on the Barolos and Barbarescos of the Piedmont, insisting that these nebbiolo-based reds are the only serious, world-class wines that the region produces. But Currado's barberas, some of which are grown in the epicenter of Barolo country, make a compelling case for the grape.

When grown and vinified with the same care and attention as the more famous wines, barbera can achieve a density and compact power that is as compelling, though perhaps not as forceful, as Barolo. I find myself agreeing with writer Tom Stevenson, who believes that barbera has suffered unfairly from a somewhat lowly image. "In fact," he writes, "it is one of Italy's great grapes, and the best barbera from Alba are magnificently rich and full of flavor, and quite capable of challenging Barolo and Barbaresco very closely in terms of intrinsic quality."

Vietti also makes a small amount of a crisp white wine (Roero Arneis) and a fruity Dolcetto d'Alba (also $20). Finally, there is a lovely 2005 Moscato d'Asti ($15), lightly sparkling, citrusy-sweet and a gentle 5.5 percent alcohol. All of these wines are distributed by Unique and are highly recommended.

Paul Gregutt is the author of "Northwest Wines." His column appears weekly in the Wine section. He can be reached by e-mail at wine@seattletimes.com.