#storytime! This is last night’s post–almost 24 hrs late because my phone decided on a spa-day between the rear cushions of an UBER.
I went to an Italian resty quite late and eagerly ordered a decently-priced Barolo. Then a Barbaresco, then a Brunello, then a Feudi Aglianico. All out. I stopped short of a seriously pedestrian super-Tuscan. The poor girl was runnin her head off. “I’m sorry sir, all the good imports are gone.” I squinted at the BTG Gabbiano Chianti and the beyond-dreadful list of Paso Robles.
“Let me see if I can find something tucked away,” and shortly returned with this bottle.
“You know what? Let’s do the Valpolicella!” I exclaimed, glancing over the stained, faded label for a second.
“I have no idea what that is,” she said, so I gave her a 2-sentence clif-note on the grapes, region and method which I’m sure she retained 0.0 from. She extracted the cork expertly, something I have to mention because I broke it in 3 pieces later at home. From the first brown splash I knew what to expect. It was toasty, pruney, terribly past-prime and border-line cooked.
“Mmmmm,” I smelled it. “This is perfect, thank you.”
A Frederick Wildman import, non-vintage–not even a DOC seal on capsule. And it was lovely. All acid and grainy nothingness covering toasty memories of fruit. Absolutely perfect. Why? Because contrary to popular opinion: I’m not an insufferable asshole.
NV FOLONARI Valpolicella Veneto Italy 11.0