Wine is quite the rage at the moment. I’m not sure which generation started this trend. Is it the Greatest Generation, Baby Boomers, Millennials, Gen Z or whatever nickname we give to the next group of young people as they start to breach middle age. I don’t think it could be from my generation, the Baby Boomers. The only kind of wine my generation seemed to consume was either Boone’s Farm, Ripple or MD 20/20 (sometimes called Mad Dog 20/20). I can’t recall any of my contemporaries sniffing the wine to see if it was fruit forward or had a floral note, checking its “legs,” or if it has the hint of some specific flavor. With the aformentioned wines, it would probably be a hint of wet shoe leather and old motor oil.
When I was gainfully employed, I worked for a publisher who came from a family of grape growers and he was into wine making. He knew about grapes, so becoming a vintner was a logical next step. As a result, I have helped make wine. One day at work, he told me to wear clothes that I wouldn’t mind throwing away. I was puzzled by his request but I did follow his advice. Thank goodness I did. Instead of working on our magazines, we took the rented pick-up truck, went to one of the many local Southern California wineries and loaded up a bunch of garbage cans full of grapes. From there we went to his backyard, where a rented grape crusher was waiting and I spent the rest of the day crushing grapes. He had hired several day workers to help but they were all about 5’ 4” tall and this 6’ guy who was the only one who could lift the grapes to the top of the 6’ tall crusher to get the process started. We spent the whole day pushing the grapes through the machine and filled several food grade barrels with grape juice. He was right about the clothes. When I was done, it felt like someone had poured a vat of molasses over my head and when I got home, all my clothes ended up in the trash. I was worried that I might get buried in an ant hill. I saw those old west movies where they bury someone up to their neck in sand and spread sweet bait to draw the ants to eat the victim. Yea, I really did think of that. Wouldn’t you?
Over the years what was once his hobby in his garage grew into him buying an old vineyard, revitalizing it and opening a winery that would go on to win a multitude of awards and become quite successful. I was there every step of the way while I worked at the magazine. I crushed grapes, helped design the tasting room, broke caps on the barrels and designed wine labels. All this and I can’t stand wine. For all of you rending your garments and screaming blasphemers, take a deep breath. I wouldn’t know a great glass of wine from a glass of vinegar. It’s just not for me…and from what I can see from all the folks around me, I’m the only one.
My preference for an alcoholic beverage is a good beer. When I say good, I mean anything not made by Budweiser, Miller, Coors or any other giant American Brewing company. I do like the Clydesdales and I tear up at those Christmas “Bud” commercials where the baby horse and puppy reunite when they are grown up. So moving, but the beer still tastes like a can of cleaning fluids.
My beer palate was formed the year I was stationed in Germany. Now there are people who know how to make beer! I learned about the different kinds of beer and learned to appreciate every brand for their unique but great flavor. I also didn’t sit around swirling my beer around the inside of my mug, taking a big whiff of it then gargling with a small mouthful to determine if it was good enough for my discerning palate. I learned if a beer was malty or hoppy (actual ingredients in beer and not two of Santa’s elves). I learned it was not the quantity of beer you drink, it was the quality…but I did consume great quantities of these fine German malted beverages. I consider myself a great sewer…oops…I mean a great connoisseur of beer.
As soon as I returned to the States, my beer drinking days vanished. I could no longer stomach standard American beer and I could no longer afford German beer. It was now “imported” beer and that meant a much higher price tag for the brewed beverage I loved. Damn those tariffs. I didn’t become a tea toddler. I did drink questionable beers with my softball buddies over the years, (Hey, it was a beer league. I think it’s required in the bylaws) and would reluctantly sample a beer when offered at a dinner party. I still didn’t like wine and me and brown liquor just don’t get along. I drank tequila once and discovered I did not become suave, a chick magnet or Superman (that tall building looked like an easier jump than it was). I just stay away from the embarrassment that accompanies drinking the stuff, not to mention the burning sensation in my throat and the horrific hangovers.
Over the years beer brewing in the good Old United States has made great strides. While the big breweries are still pumping out their swill, while getting boycotted for supporting unpopular political stands, micro-breweries have flourished. There are thousands of them around the country and their small batch products rival many of the imported beers I have grown to love. Nowadays when I go out to dinner, I can order a local stout, love it and it doesn’t have to be made by the Irish beer maker, Guinness. Many of these small breweries have restaurants attached to their brewery and you can enjoy a sampler of their fine brews while enjoying a wonderful dinner. This has led to one problem, IPAs,. (Indian Pale Ales, and I don’t think they’re even made in India or on a reservation). These are beers where the brewer adds so many hops, it gives the beer a very sour aftertaste. Kinda like sucking on a lemon. These brewers are so in love with their tart drinks they created the International Bitterness Units (IBU). I have a friend who asks for the IBU rating of the beer he is drinking with the higher number the better. It tastes like unsweetened lemonade to me, yuk!
An example of how useless I am as a wine drinker, my vintner boss once asked me to sample a new blended wine he created. I agreed, took a taste and then pronounced that I loved it. He he immediately scraped his creation and went back to the drawing board. He said my unrefined palate should have hated that version of his new blend.
So what have we learned today? Wine and IPAs are sour and bad, a very heavy, dark malted beverage good. Chocolate malted milkshakes count, right? I have decided to start doing something that wine drinkers do, pair beers with certain foods. What do you think, will this milk stout I’m drinking pair well with my bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos?
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