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Eating out alone in Britain can feel like a public confession. But at an Italian wine bar, the solo diner at the counter is a figure of quiet respect. Our writer spent one evening in that chair and came away wondering why we ever made it weird.
The Italian wine list is not your enemy. It just looks like one. If you've been defaulting to Prosecco because everything else seems too complicated, or ordering Chianti because at least you've heard of it, this is the guide that changes the evening. No snobbery, no jargon you can't immediately use, and absolutely no shame about asking what's in the glass.
There's a particular rhythm to talking over wine in an Italian bar — and it has nothing to do with what's in your glass. Whether you're a first-timer at Il Baccarò or a seasoned visitor to Venice's bacari, knowing when to speak, when to listen, and when to simply lean in can make all the difference between a pleasant evening and an unforgettable one.
Something quietly extraordinary is happening in Dublin's Italian wine bars, and word has started to reach the mainland. British visitors are making weekend trips across the Irish Sea not for Guinness or green hills, but for the kind of unhurried, generous Italian hospitality that feels increasingly rare back home.
In Italy, the meal doesn't end when the plates are cleared — it shifts gear. A small glass of amaro or grappa signals something different: a slower, more deliberate kind of pleasure that British dining culture has largely forgotten to make room for.
At Il Baccarò Dublin, the wine list reads like a love letter to Italy's overlooked regions — and the prices will make any British wine lover do a double-take. We sat down with our wine director to find out why the best-value bottles on the shelf almost never come from the places you'd expect.
Something is shifting in Dublin's bar scene, and it smells faintly of orange wine and cicchetti. A new wave of intimate, standing-only wine bars inspired by Venice's legendary bacari is taking root across the city — and once you've experienced it, the old way of drinking feels strangely hollow.
Long before the wine bar became a lifestyle statement, Venetians were perfecting the art of the bacaro — a cramped, convivial corner where a small glass of wine and a bite of something good was all anyone needed. Now, that same unpretentious spirit is quietly finding its footing on Dublin's streets, and the city is better for it.
In Italy, the hour before dinner is treated as something almost sacred — a deliberate pause between the working day and the evening meal. It involves a drink, yes, but the drink is almost beside the point. Dublin's evenings could use a little of this thinking.
Long before natural wine became a talking point in London's trendier postcodes, Dublin was quietly building a love affair with Italy's lesser-known bottles. We trace the remarkable journey of Italian wine culture through the Irish capital — and ask why so many of the country's most exciting vinous discoveries happened here first.