I read the pitch, which is already more than I can say for most of them, because more often than not I skim, register a few keywords, mentally note the familiar arc of promise and delivery, and move on without any real residue. Yet, this one lingered, perhaps because it ended, as they all do, with the offer of samples, tasting sets, limited quantities, and glossy assurances, to which I replied, almost instinctively, that I did not want the wine, only the photographs — a small but telling distinction that usually means I am interested not in the transaction, but in the idea hovering behind it.
The pitch came from Amanda Rumore of The Publicity Collective, polished and professional, aware of where the language of travel, luxury, and lifestyle is drifting as we edge toward 2026. It began, quite sensibly, with Venice, which already shifts the balance of attention, because Venice never needs to persuade, never needs to raise its voice, having long mastered the art of being present without insisting, of existing as atmosphere rather than argument.
The place in question is called Vineria all’ Amarone, a wine bar curated around Amarone and the wines of Valpolicella, not as a trend to be marketed, but as a point of gravity, a philosophy almost, where wine is understood as something that requires time, patience, air, food, and a willingness to remain seated longer than planned, and what complicates the picture — and makes it interesting — is that this bar extends itself beyond Venice through direct-from-Italy delivery and what is described as a boutique, ultra-personalized wine subscription, a phrase that immediately invites both curiosity and skepticism in equal measure.
Argophilia, after all, is based in Germany, while we live in Crete and write primarily about Crete, yet Italy sits just across the sea, close enough to feel familiar, close enough to feel like a relative rather than a destination, and so when someone speaks of shipping Italian wine directly from Venice, I do not hear the usual language of luxury consumption, but something closer to proximity, to continuity, to the quiet truth that travel does not always require movement, and that taste — when taken seriously — can function as a surprisingly precise form of orientation.
Still, the idea of ultra-personalization in wine gives me pause, because taste is not theoretical, nor is it easily abstracted into preferences and profiles, and for a true connoisseur — not the curious beginner, but the experienced drinker whose palate has been shaped by repetition, disappointment, discovery, and contradiction — it is difficult to imagine genuine personalization without tasting, without the physical encounter that precedes judgment, which makes me wonder how such a model actually unfolds in practice: whether it begins with a tasting set before full bottles are sent, whether there is room for refusal, recalibration, or disagreement, whether the process allows for the simple but essential truth that a wine may be excellent and still not be yours.
This question matters even more when Amarone is involved, because Amarone does not tolerate assumption; it is too strong, too structured, too demanding to be approached casually or blindly, and without food it overwhelms, without air it closes, without restraint it becomes tiring, which is why Amarone without pairing is not a stylistic choice but a misunderstanding, and why moderation here is not moral instruction but mechanics — simply how the wine behaves when treated with respect.
What ultimately holds my attention is not the promise of personalization, but the attempt to reframe wine as a journey rather than a product, because if you cannot go to Venice right now — not for a tasting, not for a long lunch that drifts into evening — you can still travel with your senses, allowing a properly chosen bottle to carry with it fragments of place: the logic of dried grapes, the bitterness at the edges, the warmth that arrives late and stays longer than expected.
No, wine does not replace Venice, and anyone who claims otherwise is confusing metaphor with reality. Still, it can hold a fragment of it for an evening. Sometimes, especially now, when movement feels heavier and pauses feel earned, that fragment is enough.
*All images © Vineria all’ Amarone, used with permission.
