Anforgettable
Old restaurants, new wines that aren't all new, and a seriously catchy Italian pop classic.
On Saturday night, a group of us from the British School went somewhere that took me by surprise. Rachel, who recommended it to me, had explained that it is an old Fiaschetteria, a bottle shop (fiasco = flask, so it’s a flask-monger’s, if you think about it), and a restaurant, which has started giving a platform to Italian natural wines, including a number from the surrounding Lazio region.
I had not been prepared for how resolutely ‘old-school’ Fiaschetteria Marini still looks, feels and tastes, despite the new direction it has taken. In the very best way, it is archetypal of the most classical Roman neighbourhood restaurant, perhaps an inch towards the elegant end of the spectrum. As their Instagram post below shows, they have always had a reputation for wine, although back in 1913 they specialised in “truly genuine Tuscan wines at a good price.” They would happily deliver to your home, even back then; Deliveroo didn’t get there first.
By retaining the ambience of a century-old restaurant, Fiaschetteria Marini subverts a recent tradition dictating that all things natural wine must be iconoclastic, in-your-face, new. I admire the DIY ethos of many natural wine producers, when it’s backed up with concrete actions, but that’s not always the case in the world of drinks; spare me the ‘rebel’ aesthetic of the multinational Beer Lads at Brewdog, for example, which appears to run its business in just the same way as any big corporate, but with edgy marketing.
There is very little that is ‘punk’ about the vibe at Fiaschetteria Marini. There are few twists in the food here, either — the carciofi alla romana, the Roman-style artichokes that are at their best at this time of year, are played straight. So too are the gricia, and the tangy, peppery trippa alla romana. This doesn’t feel like somewhere one should stray far from the conventions of the Roman calendar, which dictate that, as sure as fish will be served on Friday, tripe will follow on Saturday. The reasoning I have most commonly heard is that butchers historically prepared their meat on a Saturday, ready to sell the best cuts to the wealthy for their Sunday meal; the less well-off, i.e. the majority of Romans, would buy the cheaper offal, whether at home or in a reasonably-priced local trattoria.
Fiaschetteria Marini feels like is trying to advance beyond the endless (and often tiring) duel between lovers of ‘natural’ and ‘conventional’ wine, which is deeply entrenched by the two sides’ aesthetic identities. It has the air of a restaurant that just so happens to have an extensive list of natural wines, rather than of somewhere that has chosen to overhaul and re-brand as a Natural Wine Place.
We ordered a bottle of Icaro’s marvellous ‘Anforgettable,’ so-called because it’s fermented in a terracotta amphora, but also because it makes a satisfying Anglo-Italian pun. Its nod to the ancient world (both in its producer’s name, Icarus, he who flew too close to the sun, and in its wine-making techniques, the use of the amphora) is a reminder that the new and the revolutionary are only one side of natural wine. Some producers, but by no means all, use techniques that have more in common with older (and ancient) wine-making than conventional methods do. Neither label, natural or conventional, really conveys the nuances and gradations within each world.
Anforgettable is recognisably natural, in its cloudiness and its satisfying minerality, albeit with little of the famous ‘funk’ that divides many drinkers dipping their toes into this oenological ocean. But you don’t always even need to taste the wines to establish who on your table is likely to enjoy what; easier simply to look at the bottles on the shelves.
‘Conventional’ wine is still in plentiful supply at Fiaschetteria Marini. You just have to look for the labels that don’t immediately hit you in the face, and you can be relatively sure of the kind of wine you’re dealing with. The natural wines, on the other hand, can generally be known by their bold typefaces, and designs that would make excellent tattoos. You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but that does not mean the cover is meaningless; it tells us plenty about how authors and publishers see themselves.
Fiaschetteria Marini has far from given up on its historic associations with conventional Tuscan wine, which to my mind is a strength. Tuscany produces some of my favourite wines, and it’s also hard to find a large table of friends who feel equally enthusiastic as I do about the drinks made by a producer like Icaro, unless they were especially curated for their love of natural wine. The wine-drinking public is a broad church, and that’s a good thing. All in its congregation should be able to find something they like to accompany their dinner.
Aside from the company of my new friends at the British School at Rome, the very good execution of the city’s culinary staples, and the feeling of history that only comes from a centenarian restaurant, the thing I took away Fiaschetteria Marini was that everything felt so in sync. The (natural) bottle of Icaro worked perfectly with the gricia, and a Tuscan Sangiovese, as conventional as it gets (organic, not natural, a digression for another day), was just right alongside the trippa alla romana.
The natural and the conventional, the iconoclastic and the proudly traditional, sit alongside one another at Fiaschetteria Marini: not uncomfortably, or in competition, but in something close to harmony.
Back home, the atmosphere of conviviality guided us to the school’s common room, where we sat up talking and listening, among other things, to the Italian singer-songwriter Lucio Battisti. Battisti’s lyrics are the foundation for Richard’s Italian-learning technique (patent pending), which has served him well, and is ripe for venture capital investment. This irresistible song from 1980, one of Battisti’s last big hits, is as good a gateway as any.