It's time Italy stopped comparing its wines to Burgundy – Michaela Morris

If I had a pound for every Italian wine described as ‘Burgundian’, I’d be able to afford a vineyard in Gevrey-Chambertin by now.

Exaggerations aside, the chronic reference to France’s most lauded appellation echoes reverently from top to toe of Italy’s boot. Italy isn’t alone; in other countries, however, the comparison is generally apples to apples, or rather, Pinot Noir to Pinot Noir.

Conversely, Italy boasts an unparalleled roster of distinct native grapes that are benchmarks in and of themselves. Such a declaration begs clarification, with the wine in question inevitably characterised as elegant or finessed. Would it not suffice to simply describe it as such?

Many Italian winemakers have travelled to Burgundy (and beyond) to learn from those they hold in high esteem. This has surely contributed to the soaring quality of Italian wine today, yet there’s a fine line, which Decanter World Wine Awards Co-Chair Michael Hill Smith MW calls ‘inspiration rather than emulation’.

In the Langhe, for instance, debates rage about whether the current fashion toward uber-delicate extractions is making Barolo too soft and more Pinot-esque in structure.

Where Burgundy has inspired is in the greater emphasis on specific place of origin – denominations such as Barbaresco and Barolo, Soave, Chianti Classico and Etna have been carved up into smaller geographical units to highlight their diversity. Still, I question if this makes the actual wines ‘Burgundian’.

Italian-born US importer turned winery owner Marco de Grazia famously dubbed Etna ‘the Burgundy of the Mediterranean’. The catchphrase may very well have helped this previously obscure region gain international attention, but whatever the broad parallels may be, I argue that the analogy distracts from what is so uniquely compelling about Etna.

For starters, vines thrive amid petrified lava flows on the slopes of a regularly spewing, active volcano. I once asked Alberto Graci what was the greatest challenge of working on Etna. The response wasn’t dodging the fallout from eruptions, dealing with the ever-changing weather or managing tiny isolated plots of old vines. Instead, he replied: ‘To make wines that have their own personality, finesse and ability to last over time without copying a style emulated by other zones of the world.’

Not only do comparisons with Burgundy assume a familiarity and admiration that may not even exist among drinkers, they also set up an expectation that a wine may fail to live up to.

This isn’t due to quality: Frappato, Pelaverga Piccolo, Rossese and Corvina are all lovely, light-to-midweight red beauties, but they don’t taste like Pinot Noir. Sangiovese, Nebbiolo and Nerello Mascalese may share Pinot’s exalted ability to translate place, yet their texture and backbone root them firmly in Italy.

And, when prices for Burgundy are so high, why aspire to wines that are virtually inaccessible or have historically broken devotees’ hearts?

At the risk of offending my Italian comrades, the persistent comparison suggests an underlying inferiority complex that is unwarranted and undermines the many virtues of Italian wine.

In his new book Italianity (US$50 Greenleaf, June 2026; co-authored with Jessica Dupuy, and reviewed in Decanter last month), Andrea Lonardi MW describes Italy as ‘a country that is searching for validation in someone else’s standards’.

He charts his own journey as a winemaker to the uncomfortable realisation that he has sacrificed identity in the pursuit of French ideals. ‘Italian wine must not lose itself in someone else’s idea of greatness,’ he concludes.

Beyond elegant, Italian wines can be salivating, succulent, sapid, savoury, seductively raspy, appetisingly bitter and more – all traits worth touting.

Moreover, what’s wrong with the power and vigour of Sagrantino, the richness and generosity of Primitivo, or the charming rusticity of Grignolino?

I drink Italian wines for this thrilling gamut and their unabashed, singular personalities – not because they somehow resemble Burgundy.

In my glass this month

After an extended stay in Rome, my thirst for Lazio’s Cesanese d’Affile grape lingers. Damiano Ciolli’s gloriously unoaked Silene, Olevano Romano 2024 (£22-£24 Bottle Apostle, Les Caves de Pyrene, Sip) is fragrant, juicy, light on its feet, subtly framed and chill-worthy.

Not for a second does it take me to Burgundy. Rather, a slightly amaroesque twist jump-starts the appetite. It is effortlessly characterful, infinitely drinkable and highly affordable – all attributes I prize.

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