Glassware

A single glass won't do anywhere in the Veneto. Hardly any other region produces such varied wines: heavy, syrupy Amarone at fifteen percent alcohol, bone-dry Soave at barely twelve, and in between, millions of bottles of Prosecco whose entire character depends on tiny bubbles. Each one needs a different shape.

For Amarone, the rule is: large and rounded, with an opening that narrows back in. The wine needs surface area to let its alcohol evaporate. Beneath that, it releases aromas of raisin, cherry, and tobacco left behind by months of drying the grapes. A glass that's too narrow makes it taste sharp and spirity; one that's too open makes it seem flat.

Soave calls for the opposite: a slimmer, tulip-shaped glass that concentrates its aromas of almond and chamomile instead of losing them across a wide surface. It's served at ten to twelve degrees Celsius — cooler than Amarone, but warmer than most people serve it. In an ice bucket, Garganega quickly turns into a glass of cold water with alcohol.

With Prosecco, the shape determines the bubbles themselves. In a flat coupe glass, the kind you see in old films, the wine loses its carbon dioxide within minutes because the large surface all but sucks it out. A narrow, tall flute, by contrast, holds the pressure and carries the perlage upward as a fine, steady chain, gathering the aroma at the narrower opening.

Temperature makes the final difference. Prosecco belongs in the glass at six to eight degrees Celsius, straight from the fridge. A young Bardolino, on the other hand, already tastes too cold at fourteen degrees and loses its fruit. Anyone serving all three wines in one evening needs three different glasses — and three different start times in the fridge.