
Amarone della Valpolicella: it’s not an Italian racing bike, but judging from the price tag, it’s not your regular Valpolicella either.
What’s it made of, and what makes it different? Why is winter the time to splurge for this wine? Marcel will walk us through the charms of the darkly seductive Amarone.
Goes great with: hunting tweeds, braised beast, poached figs, intense aged cheeses.
You may have a friend who invites you to feast on boar or some other holiday bounty with them. When you ask, “What should I bring?”, they answer, “Do you have a pen? This would be perfect: Amarone della Valpolicella.”
Friends, I confess: I am that friend.
You have heard of its cousin, Valpolicella; the della tells you they are from the same region. Valpolicella is made in the Veneto, along the steep hillsides to the north of Verona. Valpolicella is thought to be named after the Latin for “valley of many cellars,” and a trinity of grapes are blended here: Corvina, Rondinella, and Molinara.
It is, however, a specific task to make the rich, dry Amarone: in a vintage year, peak-ripe grapes are painstakingly laid out on straw mats in cool rooms for three to four months, shriveling them and intensifying the sugars and flavors. After crushing, weeks of fermentation achieve a specific dryness, finished with aging in oak barriques.
There is a reason for requesting the labor-intensive Amarone: it is robust and powerful, fantastico and popular in the candle-lit nights of winter. Amaro means ‘bitter’, but here in the sense of tart cherry and coffee in the palate. It is not commonly released until at least five years after harvest, and can age beautifully for years after. A good Amarone will usually be between forty and sixty dollars at the store, so it is to be savored.
A second gentleman from Verona is Recioto della Valpolicella [say Re-CHO-to], made with less fermentation than Amarone and therefore sweeter, sometimes even sparkling. But I promise: if you come with the Amarone, the meal will be magnifique.