The word Sangiovese comes from sanguis jovis, Latin for "the blood of Jove"—the godliest of the gods. Every other red grape must just go green with envy.
It’s a fitting name, too. Sangiovese is as fickle, temperamental and arrogant as its namesake. It’s less the case that any winemaker tells Sangiovese what kind of wine to make, more that it tells any winemaker.
Sangiovese does particularly well in Tuscany, of course, but plant it anywhere else, and you might as well just spin the wheel. After attempts by a dozen or so other nations, Tuscan Sangiovese simply hasn’t yet been equaled anywhere else on the globe.
Sangiovese hardly resembles its common blending partner, the hardy Cabernet Sauvignon, a vine that travels with the ease of a hobo and makes good to great wine seemingly everywhere.
What it needs
Like Pinot Noir, the blood of Jove mutates easily. Estimates of the number of Sangiovese clones range from a low of seven to a high in the 200s. Many people draw distinctions about the several Sangioveses (between, say, the Sangioveses Piccolo and Grosso) but it’s wiser to consider the lot of them like any extensive Italian family—as a spectrum of characters with unclear divisions.
As with any grape that changes so, a fitting match to site and soil matters a great deal. Because Sangiovese is so vigorous a vine, plantings of it on generous soils, say in South America or Australia, often may turn out a poor wine.
Tuscany appears to mix together the right kinds of soils, aspect, warmth and weather to suit Sangiovese famously. To most people, Sangiovese means Tuscan Sangiovese—Brunello di Montalcino, Chianti, Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, not to mention the slew of Sangiovese-based Super Tuscans.
But, just as winemakers attempt to duplicate Burgundian Pinot Noir outside Burgundy, so do they wish to make Tuscan-style Sangiovese outside Tuscany. It isn’t effortless. Exceptions exist, of course, but this grape is not easily tamed.
How it’s grown and made into wine
Sangiovese’s three Achilles’ heels are tannin, acidity and color. It too easily can have a surplus of the first two but little of the latter.
Consequently, the aim in the vineyard is to ripen grapes fully and for as long as possible. As grapes ripen, as any fruit ripens, sugars advance and acids lessen. Also, grape tannins mature and become less rough, green or aggressive. Finally, color pigments set.
Sangiovese, for both historical and climatic reasons, takes well to blending. In the same way—and for the same reasons—that Bordeaux blends its wines, Tuscany blends Sangiovese—especially in Chianti, famously with Canaiolo and other red grapes, infamously with Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot.
How it’s enjoyed
About aging, Sangiovese is fickle, too. Wines such as Brunello di Montalcino and some Super Tuscans can go a great distance (15-20 years), whereas simple Chianti and many New World Sangioveses merely limp into their fourth or fifth year. In between is a raft of other Sangiovese-based wines, such as Vino Nobile or Carmignano, with variable aging options from four to 10 years.
About flavors and structure, Sangiovese is less variable. Across the board, it is replete with aromas and tastes of black or bitter cherries and dried tomatoes. If oak-aged, aromas of vanilla and spice may be more over- than undertones. If married to Cabernet Sauvignon, the stronger mate will be the latter, hence a predominance of scents and tastes of plums and currants.
At table, Sangiovese’s great grace is zippy acidity—sa component that shines with food. Acidity is absolutely essential with foods high in fat, salt or sweet—does this look like a list of ingredients in most American cooking?
Of course, it’s a short leap from the foods traditionally served with Sangiovese—Italian foods such as grilled steak, roast meats, forest mushrooms, pizzas and rich pasta preparations—to the favored list of victuals in the modern kitchen.