Barbera

Barbera doesn’t care if you know what you’re doing. It shows up, loud and full of juice, whether you’re ready or not. It’s that mate who turns up uninvited, drinks all your wine, insults your playlist - and somehow, by the end of the night, you’re glad they came.

This grape’s all about red fruit and chaos. Cherries, blackberries, sometimes that weird tart plum skin thing. The acidity hits hard, like it’s been holding something in all week and just let loose. Tannins? Barely there. Barbera isn’t trying to dry your mouth out or flex. It’s here to throw flavour around the room and then ghost before you catch your breath.

Born in Piedmont, Italy, but never one to stay put, Barbera’s been around. It’s the side hustle to Nebbiolo’s corporate job - less polished, more fun, better stories. Where Nebbiolo is all structure and ego, Barbera’s like, screw it, let’s have another glass and see where this goes.

Drink it young, drink it messy, don’t overthink it. If you’re ageing Barbera for ten years and decanting it with white gloves, you’re missing the point. This wine was built for plates of pasta you can’t pronounce and conversations that go off the rails.

It’s the soundtrack to Tuesday nights that feel like Friday. It doesn’t need your respect - but it’ll earn it anyway.

Barbera: low drama, high energy, full send.

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