Man, I gotta tell you, this whole comparison started because of a stupid argument I got dragged into last week. You know how it is when you’re just trying to relax, and someone starts yelling about something totally unimportant? Well, that was me, standing next to the grill, trying to flip some burgers, while my buddy Marco and my cousin Leo were practically screaming over Italian beer.
Marco, he’s one of those guys who thinks if it costs more, it must be better. He showed up with a six-pack of this stuff he called “Via Roma Beer.” Said it was a proper craft brew, independent, using special hops—the whole nine yards. Leo, bless his heart, had just grabbed a slab of cold Peroni from the gas station on the way over. He just likes what he likes, cheap and cold. Marco started laying into him, calling Peroni “fizzy yellow water” and “mass-produced garbage.” Leo fired back, asking if Marco was actually tasting the beer or just tasting the price tag. They went round and round until I just threw up my hands and decided I had to settle the score myself.
Setting Up the Unofficial Test Kitchen
I wasn’t going to let this nonsense just float around. I told them both to shut up, packed up the leftovers, and the next day, I drove straight to two different stores. I wasn’t just going to rely on Marco’s leftovers; I wanted fresh stock. I bought two full six-packs: one of the Via Roma (I think it was a Pale Ale, but honestly, Marco’s description was so complex I just grabbed the bottle that looked fanciest) and a standard Peroni Nastro Azzurro. Cost difference was massive, nearly three times more for the Via Roma.
I brought them home and immediately chucked both sets deep into the fridge. No fancy cellar temperature here. This is real life; beer gets drunk cold, especially in the summer. I wanted both served at the standard, barely-above-freezing temperature that most people drink them at. I grabbed two identical, clean pint glasses—none of that branded rubbish, just plain glass so the color could really show.
My methodology was simple: a blind taste test, followed by a detailed review of appearance and smell. I even roped my wife into pouring them so I wouldn’t know which was which. She just labeled the bottoms ‘A’ and ‘B’ with a sharpie. Simple, effective, and totally non-negotiable for objectivity.
The Great Italian Beer Showdown: Tasting Notes
I started with the visual inspection first, holding the glasses up to the kitchen light.
- Beer A: Poured very pale, almost straw yellow. The foam—the head—it fizzed up fast and then disappeared almost immediately. It looked light and crispy, like something you’d crush after mowing the lawn.
- Beer B: This one was definitely darker, maybe a light amber. When I poured it, the head was thicker, a little creamy, and it held up way longer. It looked heavier, almost oily compared to Beer A.
Then I moved onto the aroma. I sniffed both, trying to pull out the subtle notes Marco was always yammering about.
Beer A smelled like… well, like beer. Very light grain, a tiny hint of cheap hops, but mostly just that clean, slightly metallic smell you get from a light lager. Beer B immediately hit me with a complex whiff. Definitely citrusy, maybe some pine, and a much richer, almost bready malt foundation. It smelled like someone had actually put effort into selecting the ingredients.
Finally, the moment of truth: the taste.
I took a big gulp of Beer A first. It was clean. Very clean. It went down smooth, ultra-crisp, and barely left a flavor behind. The finish was quick and dry. It’s the definition of a thirst quencher. You could drink six of these easily at a barbecue without thinking twice. It’s light, inoffensive, and reliably consistent.
Next, Beer B. This was totally different. I sipped it slowly, letting it sit on the tongue. It had a definite body to it—a bit heavier, almost chewy. It wasn’t aggressively bitter, but the hop flavor was undeniable, leaning toward that grassy, piney finish. It had a long, lingering aftertaste. It tasted like someone had intentionally layered flavors on top of the malt. It demanded attention.
Revealing the Labels and Drawing Conclusions
After rinsing my mouth and taking a few more sips of each, I made my decision. Beer B was undeniably more interesting, more complex, and frankly, had a better overall flavor profile. Beer A was just incredibly drinkable, designed for zero friction.
I had my wife flip the glasses over.
- Beer A: Peroni Nastro Azzurro. (No surprise here.)
- Beer B: Via Roma Pale Ale. (Marco’s expensive pick.)
So, is the Via Roma truly better? Yes, if you define “better” as having more complexity, better aroma, and a richer brewing pedigree. If you are sitting down trying to savor a pint, Via Roma wins hands down. It delivers exactly what a craft beer should deliver: character.
But here’s the kicker, and this is what Leo was trying to say: Peroni is practically perfect at being Peroni. I realized that Via Roma, while a great tasting brew, is not the one I’d grab when I’m just trying to cool off outside on a hot day, or when I need a massive quantity for a big party. Peroni fills that role perfectly because it’s so light, so cheap, and so universally palatable. It asks nothing of you.
I called up Marco and Leo and told them the verdict. I told Marco that his fancy craft brew tasted superior, but I told Leo that the Peroni was the better session beer. It shuts down the complexity and just focuses on refreshment. The argument didn’t completely stop, of course—these things never do—but I got what I needed. For true flavor, I’m spending the extra cash on the Via Roma. For everything else? I’m sticking with the reliable, icy-cold Peroni.
The whole experience just taught me that sometimes, chasing the “best” means overlooking the value of what is consistently “good enough.” I drained the rest of the Peroni first, because, damn it, it was colder.