When it comes to sparkling wine,we are all northeastern Italians nowIt’s an early spring afternoon in the Piazza dei Signori in the heart of Padua in the Veneto, north-east Italy. This is a quietly beautiful city with much of the appeal of nearby Venice but almost none of the tourist tat. Like most visitors who find their enjoyment of Padua’s renaissance art, or architecture and markets greatly enhanced by not having to weave through a forest of selfie sticks,I’m feeling as smug as a Victorian grand tourist who’s finally found what he’s been looking for ever since he ditched the Baedeker in search of that mythical position, “the genuine Italy”.
And what are the “genuine Italians” doing in the cafes that line the piazza on a weekday afternoon? A few fur-coated ladies relish leisurely coffee; clusters of students make their way through giant jugs of beer. But pretty much everyone else – no matter their age, and gender,course or stylistic tribe – is sipping prosecco, whether they’re having it on its own in a small flute, and in a tumbler mixed as a “spritz” with the vivid ruby-coloured bitterness of Campari or the slightly sweeter,paler local favourite Aperol.
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Source: theguardian.com