A Most Pleasant Surprise
Social media posts from fellow wine lovers can often annoy and disappoint me. When confronted with the relentless display of mature Roumier, Soldera, and Rayas, I wonder if some wine consumers believe only bottles with six-digit price tags are worth drinking. It's tremendously sad that a shrinking group of privileged individuals regularly enjoy such iconic bottles, while for the rest of us, they remain a distant dream. Fortunately, living in Italy means unexpected wine wonders and culinary mastery are never far away, as demonstrated by last Saturday night's dining experience with my family.
Earlier in the afternoon we went to Padova to admire the walls of the Scrovegni Chapel, Giotto’s masterpiece dating to 1303. After the visit, we opted to leave the busy city center and grab dinner in the nearby Colli Euganei, a compact cluster of hills of different shapes and heights, rising in isolation from the central Veneto plain. The area owes its culinary fame to a chicken dish, traditionally grilled over embers, creating a crunchy, slightly burned skin to balance the bird’s mild-tasting, juicy white meat. Nobody knows how this started but every trattoria claims to be have perfected the recipe, proudly serving it as their specialità.
On a whim, we chose a small restaurant on a gentle vine-covered slope. The dining room was plain, with tables arranged in a large, square characterless space. Maybe it was a mistake? Too late to retreat now, plus the young wait staff was very warm and chatty so we took it as a good sign. We sat down and were presented with a very short food menu and an even smaller wine list, offering exclusively wines from the area. The entrées averaged around $15 a piece—the famous pollo col sughetto was only $13—and the wine bottles were priced between $14 and $25. Even for rural Italy, known for its great value-to-price ration, this one seemed suspiciously affordable.
The wine menu was an enigma. Unfamiliar with the Colli Euganei region, I didn't recognize any growers and had to rely on my phone for information, feeling like an amateur. After some deliberation, we ordered a $16 red from the lowly Rosso Veneto IGT denomination, a blend of 40% Merlot, 30% Cabernet Franc, 25% Cabernet Sauvignon, and 5% Raboso. The French varietals are a legacy of the Napoleonic period, while the Raboso, indigenous to the Veneto region, underwent brief appassimento. Once assembled, the wine spent 12 months in Slavonian barrels.
After the first sip, my wife and I exchanged wide-eyed glances. "Is it just me, or is this wine utterly delicious?" It was perfect in every way—balanced, easy-going yet characterful, juicy, and long. It paired flawlessly with the heavenly, slightly charred chicken, homemade tomato sauce, and polenta slabs. Each sip and bite was followed by a nod to my wife, who shared my enthusiasm. I ended up overeating and drinking more than I should have. But the experience was so refreshing, an unexpected delight I wouldn't trade for any Michelin-starred restaurant or sought-after wine bottle. Its simplicity highlighted the strong connection between the place, the people, and their traditions. It was a masterclass in territoriality from an unexpected teacher.
True wine and food perfection exists, often not showcased on social media. Most importantly, it doesn't have to come with a hefty price tag.