The French Paradox has been mostly debunked, but has anyone figured out the Italian Paradox?
Logic dictates that cheap Italian food and mediocre Italian wine shouldn’t add up to something spectacular. Bad wine usually makes an even worse pairing…but somehow Italy doesn’t have to play by those rules.
You know how it is. You get a bottle of Italian wine–a Montepulciano from the corner store or a rustic Tuscan from somewhere even less reputable. You taste it, decide its okay, start to relegate it to the fridge.
Then you get hungry. You order a pizza or whip up a midnight pasta. Skeptically–begrudgingly–you pour yourself another glass (since it’s already open). You swirl, you sip. It’s still just okay.
The wine’s veil of mediocrity remains until the very moment you get some tomatoes and cheese inside your piehole. And then, Ecco qua! That ugly duckling is a swan.
It happened to me just last night. I opened a bottle I had really been looking forward to, the Lamùri Nero d’Avola from Sicilia DOC.
I poured myself a glass. Loads of ripe black plum, forest fruit, fresh blueberry, and a bit of grape-iness. Unblended wood and spice, medium acidity. A damp leafy flavor combined with a bitter aftertaste, like black tea left brewing too long. In other words, the wine was not flawed–but it was completely ordinary.
I was puzzled. I generally love Sicilian reds. Nero d’Avola is a grape I flip for. Not only that, but I remembered ordering this same wine by the glass a couple months ago and really liking it. (The restaurant was a Maggiano’s–should have been my first clue that the Italian Paradox was at play.)
Meanwhile, the sausage minestrone was simmering on the stove.
About that Minestrone…
A quick aside: My wife says it’s unkind to the world if I don’t share my sausage minestrone soup method here.
I’ve made this a thousand times for weeknight meals (at home) and family meals (in professional kitchens) and it has the best flavor-to-effort ratio of just about anything you can cook. You don’t even need a recipe–just do these things in this order:
Brown a pound of spicy Italian sausage with mirepoix and garlic. Deglaze with a dry wine (any). Add a can of Italian-seasoned tomatoes and a bay leaf, cover with chicken stock and simmer on low. Go watch a TV show for an hour.
Come back. Skim off the fat and discard. Throw in any vegetables that are hanging around in your fridge/freezer, a handful of fresh chopped basil, a Parmesan rind if you have one, and half a can of drained and rinsed beans (chickpeas or cannellini beans are my favorite). Stir. Simmer for another 15-20 minutes.
Taste and adjust the seasoning. Mix in some crushed red pepper or a squeeze of lemon, if it needs it. And if you’re really hungry, ladle the whole thing over cooked small pasta and top with a scoop of seasoned ricotta. Perfection.
Anyway, Back to the Wine
Sitting open for an hour and a half was all this wine needed–that, and dinner. Perfection plus magic.
The tangy, tomato-y broth lent the wine some freshness, and hidden herbal flavors came delicately into focus. The tannic structure of the wine–moments ago too harsh–teased out some creaminess from the beans and ricotta.
Sometimes I’m tempted to ignore the art of wine pairing for being too esoteric or too much trouble. But this humble meal again showed me the error of my ways.
The Lamùri Nero d’Avola is a bold and brusque Mediterranean red. But show it food and it melts. The back label explains that Lamùri means “love” in the Sicilian dialect.
As it turns out, this Nero d’Avola is a hopeless romantic that should never have to go through the world alone. Introduce it to a pasta puttanesca–or even a plate of leftover pizza–and they will live happily ever after.
Bottle: Regaleali Lamuri Nero d’Avola (2021)
Variety: Nero D’Avola (100%)
ABV: 13%
Suggested retail: $23.99
My rating: 6.5 (out of 10) by itself, 9 (out of 10) with dinner.
Review disclosure: I was not compensated or provided any free products for this review. Opinions expressed on The Wine Fairy blog are entirely my own.
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