I was 28 when I first tasted traditional balsamic vinegar. My husband and I had traveled to Italy on our honeymoon, and our penultimate stop was Modena in the central-northern region of Emilia-Romagna. This area is best known for treasures like Parmigiano-Reggiano, Parma ham, and tortellini. Modena, alongside Reggio Emilia, is also the homeland of balsamic vinegar.
Although, like many Americans I only became aware of the stuff in the early 2000s—the heyday of the spinach, strawberry, and goat cheese salad—balsamic vinegar has ancient origins. Its existence was first recorded in the 11th century.
Today the production of traditional balsamic vinegar, or Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale D.O.P (Denominazione di Origine Protetta), is highly regulated. Whole grapes (typically Trebbiano and Lambrusco) are pressed, cooked down, and fermented. Finally, they are aged in a progression of wooden barrels—each smaller than the last—for a minimum of 12 years. The vinegar is poured into bulb-shaped bottles, sealed with wax, and color-coded according to its age, starting with red (“affinato”; 12 years), then silver (“vecchio”; 15–20 years), and gold (“extravecchio”; 20–25 years).
My husband and I learned about this process as we zigzagged through rows of meticulously numbered barrels at the Acetaia Malagoli Daniele on the outskirts of Modena’s city center. At the end of our tour we finally sat down to taste a few drops of each vintage—both on their own and with a crumbling bite of Parmigiano-Reggiano—and the experience changed everything I thought I knew about balsamic.
These vinegars were velvety and glossy, like chocolate syrup—a complex combination of sweet, smoky, fruity, and tart. This vinegar is not for cooking, we were firmly told. Like the best olive oil, it’s used only for finishing—on fruit, cheese, and even desserts. Our hosts at the acetaia swore it was the best topping for vanilla ice cream. (And they’re not wrong.)
On this side of the Atlantic, balsamic vinegar generally comes in two types: the thin, highly acidic addition to dressings and vinaigrettes, and the thick, sugary balsamic glaze. Both contain additives like wine vinegar and, for the latter, often cornstarch and caramel coloring; and both can vary in age and origin. Neither comes close to the “black gold” you’ll find in Modena. But the varieties in the US are accessible—and affordable—unlike many of their traditional cousins. So when I’m craving the real thing, I’ll make a balsamic reduction.
To call this a recipe would be a stretch. It’s a simple process of cooking down lower-quality balsamic vinegar to concentrate its flavor and texture. The result is sweeter (without being cloying, like most glazes) and the right kind of syrupy. It might not be as rare as true balsamic vinegar, but it definitely hits the spot. I drizzle it over butter-slicked stuffed pastas, roasted vegetables, bitter lettuces, and pretty much any cheese.
Here’s how to make balsamic reduction
Add 1 cup balsamic vinegar to a small saucepan. Bring to a rapid simmer over medium heat, then reduce to medium-low and cook at a low bubble, stirring occasionally, until thickened, about 15 minutes. You’ll know it’s ready when it coats the back of a metal spoon.
Remove from the heat and let cool (it will continue to thicken). The reduction can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 3 months. If it hardens or becomes too thick, gently reheat with a spoonful of water to loosen.
Adapted from ‘Pasta Every Day’ by Meryl Feinstein. Copyright © 2023 by Meryl Feinstein.
Used with permission of Voracious, an imprint of Little, Brown and Company, New York. All rights reserved.
