(Spoiler alert, sort of! Seek refuge underneath the picture below to avoid such things.)

I always saw Barbera as the Arya Stark to Sansa Stark’s Gamay Noir. It’s neither the king nor the queen of Italy’s Piedmont, which, in effect, belongs to Nebbiolo’s Barolo and Barbaresco, but it’s also not the bourgeois Dolcetto. No: I see Barbera as a trick, a ninja often producing wines unfortunately crafted into expressions that are sour and thin and second or third-rate, when in fact, it can produce wines with such concentration and shrill acidity, you’d swear that your mouth was being deliciously pierced by castle-forged steel. It’s a grape that brings in cash for producers while Nebbiolo unfurls itself in the cellar.

And, when it’s oaked – a style that Giacomo Bologna of Braida pioneered in the 1970s with Bricco dell’Uccellone – you might lose a bit of Barbera’s vibrant mouth-puckering red fruit (read: its identity), but you get more spice, mystery, and complexity.… read more