Italy’s Fiery Soul
Grappa has warmed soldiers, laborers, and Hemingway. Should it be on your dinner table?
Like most people, I swore off grappa the moment the first fiery sip scorched its way down my throat. I coughed and blinked through watery eyes, convinced the heavy, attention-grabbing bottle of what tasted like high-octane moonshine wasn’t for me.
Yet today, years later, I have become a grappa evangelist. I bring bottles as housewarming gifts. I shun restaurants that don’t stock the good stuff. I cajole dinner companions to try a sip or two of the maligned, misunderstood spirit for themselves. If you catch me outside Italy, chances are I’ll have a silver flask of grappa tucked into my backpack.
I’ll be the first to admit it’s not for everyone, and I don’t mind. After all, how many things can you name that everyone likes and that are still worthwhile?1
But why don’t more people enjoy it the way I do? The answer is simple: while it’s true that good grappa can be very, very good, it’s also true that bad grappa can be very, very bad. And most grappa is bad grappa.
Italian bureaucracy deserves a lot of the blame.
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