I've been thinking alot about Prosecco lately, mainly because I am doing some writing for a prosecco producer (whose wines are not available here in the States yet, darnit) and I am re-familiarizing myself with the way those bubbles make everything seem right with the world.  If Pharrell's song had a wine dopelganger it would be prosecco. I submit that it is very difficult to be unhappy while doing either of the two things: eating spaghetti or sipping sparkling wine. Prosecco isn't overly serious, it is rarely overpriced, it never gets old because it isn't too sweet or too dry. Sure, there are some that suck at the low end of the price spectrum, but even when it is cheap mass-produced plonk it's still drinkable, bless its heart.  Just remember to take an advil in case it's one of the cheapies that makes headaches worse. 

Prosecco hails from Veneto and Friuli Venezia Giulia and is made from the recently re-named Glera grape.  It was once called Prosecco, but in Italy's never-ending efforts to confuse American consumers and to keep alive the tradition of naming wines after places rather than grapes Italy has deemed it so andthe name has changed. However, Prosecco the town is over by Trieste. So yeah, I will never understand.  

I digress.

Prosecco also begins with the first four letters of it's best friend on a plate: prosciutto. This is a pairing not to be missed in life.  I don't subscribe to the bucket-list theory as I generally do what I want without waiting- but if you have such a list, throw this on it. Prosecco and prosciutto. Do it.


Mouthfeel, by Julie Glenn