Marsala Wine: Not Just for Your Nan’s Trifle or a Bad Chicken Recipe

Let’s clear the air.

When most people hear marsala wine, they immediately think of two things: 1) a sticky bottle gathering dust at the back of the cupboard, and 2) that sauce your mate insists on pouring over chicken every time they “try cooking something Italian.”

Which is tragic.

Because real Marsala — the good stuff, not the £3 supermarket cooking wine that tastes like regret — is one of Italy’s most criminally underrated liquids. It’s layered. It’s complex. It’s historical. And it has absolutely nothing to do with your nan’s 1970s dessert trolley.

It also happens to be fortified, misunderstood, and — when made properly — entirely brilliant.

This isn’t about defending Marsala as some quirky retro throwback. This is about reminding everyone that Marsala wine is actual wine, not a marinade, not a baking ingredient, and definitely not something that should only be opened when a recipe tells you to deglaze a pan.

Wait, So What Actually Is Marsala Wine?

Marsala is a fortified wine from Sicily, specifically from the western coastal region around (surprise!) the town of Marsala. It’s made by adding grape spirit (usually brandy) to fermenting or fermented wine to raise the alcohol and stop the fermentation — leaving behind residual sugar, and locking in both flavour and shelf life.

Sound familiar? That’s because it belongs to the same family as Port, Sherry, and Madeira — though for some reason, Marsala never got invited to the cool table.

Proper Marsala can be dry, semi-dry, or sweet, and ranges in colour from amber to golden to ruby. It can also be aged from just a year to decades, and in that time, it can go from simple and serviceable to outrageously complex and weirdly addictive.

The key takeaway: Marsala is not a monolith, and the fact that most of us only know it from supermarket sauces is a wine tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.

Why Marsala Ended Up in the Kitchen (and How to Rescue It)

Let’s not lie: Marsala did this to itself. Sort of.

In the 19th century, Marsala was on top of the world. British merchant types fell in love with it and brought it home by the boatload. But, as with all good things, industrialisation, corner-cutting, and a growing global taste for gin and tonic meant that by the mid-20th century, Marsala wine had become cooking wine in the eyes of most consumers.

And sure — Marsala does taste great in a sauce. But that’s like saying Parmigiano Reggiano is good for grating and forgetting it’s also incredible in chunks with a glass of something strong.

What happened was the rise of mass-produced, low-quality Marsala, sweetened and stabilised and made to last on a shelf for twenty years without anyone noticing. That’s the stuff most of us have tasted — and hated.

The good news? There’s a world of Marsala you’ve probably never tried.

The Marsala Style Cheat Sheet (a.k.a. What the Labels Mean)

If you’ve ever picked up a bottle of Marsala and wondered what on earth Vergine Stravecchio Secco is supposed to taste like — you’re not alone. Here’s a quick, sanity-saving breakdown.

By Colour:

• Oro – golden. Made from white grapes. Think dried fruit, nuts, a bit of citrus.

• Ambra – amber. Same grapes, but caramelised must is added for colour and richness.

• Rubino – ruby. Made with red grapes like Nero d’Avola or Perricone. Rarer. Spicier.

By Sweetness:

• Secco – dry (less than 40g/l sugar). Ignore anyone who tells you all Marsala is sweet.

• Semisecco – semi-dry (41–100g/l sugar). Often the sweet spot (pun intended).

• Dolce – sweet (over 100g/l). Great for sipping after dinner, or replacing your dessert altogether.

By Ageing:

• Fine – minimum 1 year. Basic. Functional. Often used for cooking. (Sorry, Fine.)

• Superiore – minimum 2 years. Now we’re drinking properly.

• Superiore Riserva – 4 years. Getting serious.

• Vergine / Soleras – 5+ years, often much longer. No added must. Drier, more refined.

• Stravecchio / Riserva Vergine – 10+ years. The elder statesmen. Often amazing.

If you see a “Vergine Stravecchio Secco”, you’re holding dry Marsala aged for a decade, likely in oak, made without caramel or must. This is sipping Marsala. The kind that deserves its own chair and a proper glass.

What Proper Marsala Tastes Like (When It’s Not Been Butchered)

Good Marsala is like listening to vinyl in a candlelit room with no phone signal.

It’s warm. Deep. Nutty. Slightly oxidative. You’ll get:

• Toffee, fig, walnut, orange peel, raisin, almond, tobacco, caramel

• Sometimes a salty twang (especially in older ones)

• And a dry finish that keeps things civil

The sweet versions can be lush and rich, but the dry styles are where the magic lives. Pair one with a strong cheese or some roasted nuts and you’ll wonder why you ever wasted this stuff in a saucepan.

Best Marsala Wine to Actually Drink (Not Deglaze)

Let’s name names, shall we?

Cantine Florio

One of the oldest houses. Makes everything from entry-level to long-aged Marsala Vergine. Look for their Targa Riserva for something serious and widely available.

Marco De Bartoli

The rebel. The cult favourite. The winemaker who basically resurrected real Marsala in the ‘80s by refusing to make it boring. Vecchio Samperi is bone-dry, unfortified, solera-aged, and wild. Not cheap — but remarkable.

Pellegrino

Reliable, varied range. Their Marsala Superiore wines are a solid starting point, especially if you’re new to this whole sipping-Marsala-like-a-grown-up business.

Look for:

• Minimum two-year ageing

• Clear sweetness level

• Real producer names, not just “Cooking Wine”

And if it costs £3, it’s not Marsala. It’s pain.

What to Pair with Marsala (Other Than Disappointment)

Sweet Marsala (Dolce or Semisecco):

• Blue cheese

• Chocolate desserts

• Spiced nuts

• Chilly nights and nobody texting you back

Dry Marsala (Secco / Vergine):

• Aged cheddar

• Jamón

• Salted almonds

• Silence, and a chair that creaks slightly

Think of it as the Italian answer to sherry — a proper aperitif or digestif, not a sauce base. And frankly, if you serve a good Vergine Stravecchio in the right glass before dinner, people will start thinking you own art.

Fortified, Forgotten, and Finally Getting Its Moment?

We’re seeing a Marsala renaissance — quietly, slowly, and entirely driven by people who’ve tasted the good stuff and realised they’ve been lied to for decades.

Like sherry, it’s been held back by misuse and misunderstanding. But unlike sherry, it hasn’t yet been rescued by hipsters with tote bags and ironic moustaches. Which means there’s still time to drink it before it becomes cool and overpriced.

The truth? Marsala wine is better than most people deserve. Which is precisely why it belongs in your glass.

Final Thought: If You’ve Only Ever Cooked with Marsala, You’ve Never Had Marsala

Let’s stop pretending Marsala wine is just for sauce. Let’s stop shoving it next to the stock cubes and ignoring its legacy. This is a wine with centuries of pedigree. A wine that was once beloved by empires, and now cowers behind the balsamic vinegar like some guilty secret.

Buy a proper bottle. Open it when no one’s around. Pour a glass. Sit with it. Let it breathe. Take a sip.

You’ll get it.

Then you can go back to cooking — with something far less precious.