Where to turn now the bubble has finally burst for prosecco?
Just in case November isn’t proving to be quite gloomy enough for you, the sobering news that wine-growers’ health is being threatened by our unquenchable thirst for prosecco comes along to provide quite the buzz kill. According to a recent Italian documentary, vineyards are being sprayed more intensively with chemicals than ever before to maximise yields and keep up with demand. And who might be to blame for that? I’m looking at you. Well, us.
We have always been a thirsty nation (if, for a moment, we gloss over the Quakers, Methodists, Plymouth Brethren and various other designated driver denominations), and it seems we can’t get enough of the Italian fizz. Our consumption of it increased by 48 per cent between 2014 and 2015; after the Italians, we are the world’s keenest prosecco drinkers.
It’s true that these days you can barely go through the door of a hairdresser’s without a glass of the stuff being thrust into your hands. Virtually every corner shop and latenight garage has a shelf of workmanlike prosecco somewhere behind the counter. Only last week, the nation’s knitters were shocked to their stitch counters by the news that John Lewis’s new managing director, Paula Nickolds, might squeeze out the haberdashery departments in favour of waxing salons and prosecco bars. It’s everywhere.
It is highly possible that poor old prosecco has become the kiss-me-quick hat, the noise-maker, the party streamer, the cheapo table firework of the fizz world. You open it up, you set it off and it’s fun for a bit, but then you’re left clearing up the mess for days. The ubiquity of prosecco has proceeded hand in diamanté-encrusted glove with the cheap glamour of The Only Way
Is Essex and other boobs-- and-bubbles programming, where no social occasion seems complete without the flashy popping of corks, as though everyone’s a parttime Formula One driver.
But, fortunately for the vineyard workers of Italy, perhaps the acidic, frothy tide is turning? We’ve reached the proseccooh-no flute tipping point. Recently, I’ve noticed that an absence of prosecco has become the hallmark of a smart event. I was at dinner last week where, on being handed our lusciously chilly coupes, another guest whispered: “Oh, it’s not prosecco.” An appreciative murmur went around the group. The host had pushed the boat out and gone for champagne. For a moment, everyone was a Mitford.
Perhaps we can encourage the prosecco pushers to put down the chemical sprayers for a bit if we start flirting with other wines? Of course, there’s champagne, but for most of us a good one is a little wallet-stripping for everyday wear. Happily, there are plenty of other sparklers out there, ready for heady exploration. You can seldom do better than a good Crémant de Bourgogne, or venture further south to Spain, where it’s increasingly easy to find sophisticated and delicious cavas.
And we shouldn’t forget our own excellent sparkling wine producers, such as Camel Valley from Cornwall, Bluebell Vineyard Estates from East Sussex, and Nyetimber from West Sussex. Or you could always tear a page from the Queen’s cellar book and pop a bottle of Ridgeview from the South Downs – so far seldom served in hairdressers, but perfectly suited to presidential visits, jubilee celebrations and other at-home affairs.