I uncorked the 2021 Collezione Privata Cosimo Varvaglione Primitivo di Manduria DOP, expecting nothing more than a respectable Puglian red. Instead, I was greeted by an operatic swirl of inky garnet liquid that looked suspiciously like it could double as printer toner in a pinch—always a promising sign with Primitivo.
The first sniff nearly convinced me that Nonna had raided the pantry: red-berried jam, toasted almonds, a dusting of cloves, and the subtlest whiff of cocoa nibs drifted up from the glass. According to the father-and-daughter team behind it, each grape was hand-coddled like royalty before spending fourteen months lounging in French and American oak. Clearly this wine has a more luxurious skincare routine than I do.
On the palate, the wine is as plush as a velvet sofa in an Italian palazzo, with 15 percent ABV masquerading as a friendly hug before revealing its true power halfway through the second glass. The texture glides—yes, glides—over the tongue, layering dark plum, blackberry preserves, and vanilla-spiked tobacco before finishing with a polite “arrivederci” that lingers long enough to check its reflection in the mirror.
I paired it with a steak that had survived my questionable grilling skills. Miraculously, the wine’s smoky undertone made the char taste intentional, almost gourmet. Later, I tried it with aged Pecorino, and the tannins behaved like they’d been to finishing school. That said, the richness does beg for protein; sipping it solo can feel like wearing a wool coat in July.
Criticisms? Sure. The hefty alcohol means one glass is a delight and a third is a scheduling conflict. The bottle weighs approximately the same as a small kettlebell—great for arm day, but not so great for eco-points. And at roughly $40 a pop, it isn’t exactly your Tuesday-night pasta companion, though the quality mostly justifies the splurge.
If you’re ready to experience Puglia’s sun-soaked swagger, the 2021 Collezione Privata Cosimo Varvaglione Primitivo di Manduria DOP delivers charisma in liquid form. Just invite a few friends—or at least a generous charcuterie board—before that 15 percent shows you who’s boss.