As a college student, my wine expertise was limited to the consumption of 1.5-liter jugs of ice-cold Carlo Rossi chablis during urban expeditions on hot summer nights. We held them by one finger over our shoulders like pirates and drank them fast before they got too warm.
In the wintertime, it was a Hungarian red called Egri Bikaver (Bull’s Blood). Paired with too many cigarettes, it attacked our already bone-dry palettes and produced colossal hangovers.
Almost 20 years later, I’ve learned a little more about wine here and there, but my most frequent lesson is this: placed like little benevolent land mines amongst the variety of varietals, producers, brands and the astronomical swing in price and quality, there are countless opportunities to be a fool — and therefore learn something — about wine.
Just two summers ago, my wife and I called (the much-missed) Sam’s Wine Shop to ask if there was something wrong with our bottle of Pavao vinho verde — it was full of tiny bubbles. Thanks to a knowledgeable salesperson, we now know to say “It’s lightly effervescent” as we hand a glass to a guest.
Within those two years, we’ve nurtured a growing wine habit by following what must be the best lesson plan: buy a whole bunch of wine. From the bargain-bin “smash and grab,” to cases of favorite everyday whites, to a few $50 gems for the makeshift cellar, we have dedicated ourselves to the discipline (and visited a handful of wine regions, to boot.)
We learned early to hit the sales, and Haskell’s “nickel sale” is a good one. This spring, there was added incentive to visit; besides the store-full of sale-price wines, Sam Haislet of (the much-missed) Sam’s Wine Shop was lending his expertise in-store at the Haskell’s locations. (By coincidence, I just opened my dusty old Yahoo account to find another email from Sam, advertising a $5 tasting at Haskell’s on Thursday, June 18. In Minneapolis.)
I printed out Sam’s emailed list of “Top 10 wines under $10” featured in the sale and headed out the door. In addition to enthusiastically directing us (me, my wife and Jack Who Likes Real Wine) to many of them (and a two-for-one special on a $75 bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape), Sam graciously lent his ear to my volley of half-informed questions and ponderings.
The conversation settled naturally between my abundant enthusiasm for and lack of knowledge about wine, which brought Sam to an interesting point: The United States is on the verge of becoming the largest consumer of wine, by country, in the world. (He had read it in Wine Business; you can read the press release or order the 322-page study for $1,000 from Vinexpo.)
By the year 2012, Americans are expected to drink 330 million cases, or 3.96 billion bottles of wine, per year. Make note that this is total consumption, not per capita, of which Sam said “we rank 54th or something.
“I can’t name 50 other countries, much less 50 that drink more wine than we do,” he said that day.
There are more interesting details in the data, but the gist of our conversation, and Sam’s point, was this: As the U.S. demands more of the wine market, and that market is in turn directed more toward the U.S. consumer, what will happen to wines? Will our Albariños be oaked like California Chardonnays? (It’s already happening!)
“I’m just afraid that there won’t be anymore …” he was too kind to say it, so I finished the sentence for him:
“Real wines?” I said.
“Real wines!”
Now I don’t claim to know the state, economy and machinations of the worldwide wine market, but I say two things: take heed and take heart. The situation brings both responsibility and opportunity to the average American (what other kind of American is there?) and the people who make our wines.
It’s a dynamic tug-of-war. On the one hand, we’re always being told to follow our tastes (and more and more, our budgets) and drink what we like, and that there are plenty of good wines under $10. If you like the taste, there’s nothing wrong with Trader Joe’s wine, White Zinfandel or Yellowtail.
On the other hand, there is a world of wine to be consumed — whether by the mind or the mouth — that we miss out on by not taking a step out onto a limb (and from there, another, and another…) to taste that $20 bottle; that red Zinfandel (“Wha?!”); or one of the other amazing Australians.
And on the third hand (here, hold this wine glass, please), there are the protectors of the arcane who need to uphold the millennia-old tradition of wine and wine-making — high above us, arms outstretched beyond the reach of the masses, where only those with the most upturned noses are privy to a whiff, if not a quaff.
The truth is, there’s room for all of it. (What besides wine is so fairly stratified, from top to bottom?) Are we doing wine a disservice by tuning it to the American palette, or do we do Americans a disservice by underestimating their love and knowledge of wine? Probably both. I don’t know.
What I know is that I learn something every time open a bottle of wine. Every time I step into a wine shop or order in a restaurant. With wine, there’s an endless spring of knowledge, be it from a $5 bargain-bin bottle or a wine expert or sommelier. Or a free tasting, or a book, or the internet. Or travel to the world’s wine regions.
I think of the waiter at Chez Jean in Paris, to whom we deferred to choose a bottle for our meal last summer. After we nearly knocked over the table twice and were scolded for trying to pour our own water, he responded to our emphatic compliments on the perfect wine pairing with a marvelous French wit I hadn’t experienced before:
“Well, you made an excellent choice, sir.”
I’m still light years from his level but having a great time closing the gap, and I hope to share some of what I learn through the foolish discourse of this blog.
