Forget tasting notes, ratings and brands. Forget about micro-oxygenation, innoculation and other wine jargon. Forget about fancy glassware and that wine course you did but can’t remember because you were drunk most of the time. Forget about that bottle you had on the hill overlooking the ocean that you thought was the best. Forget what you know or don’t know about Italian wines.
Forget it all. And remember this name: Vietti Barbaresco.
Why? Because it’s fucking fantastic. Stupendous. Not in a “deep plum flavours, hint of cocoa with firm but fine tannins” kind of way (though at the same time it is all that). More like kissing-a-gorgeous-Italian-woman-with-each-sip kind of way. Monica Bellucci in a bottle. A Roman orgy of a red wine. A fucking enlightening moment every time you put your lips to the glass.
I drank it on Sunday to cap off a weekend in Joburg. When it fell a full metre out the boot of the car I had there and landed solidly on the pavement without cracking, it seemed a sure sign from the Gods of Excess I just had to drink it. All of it. Right then and there. On my own. Which made for a very pleasant evening. Every sip had me feeling like I was at the Vietti cellar in Piedmont, barrels of Nebbiolo around me. I was definitely a little drunk on the wine by the end, but I was more drunk on the pleasure such a wine provides.
Yes, a bottle is the price of a meal at a Top 10 restaurant, or a pair of limited editions sneakers or a one-way flight to from Cape Town to Joburg, but you might forget any of those whereas you won’t forget this.
This is the best wine I’ve had this year.
Available via Roberto (email@example.com) from Bottega Family Wine Portfolio.