As I have said in the past, I’m not a wine guy. I have tried wine but never really attained a taste for the fermented juice of the grape. That doesn’t make me a bad guy, does it? At times, I feel like a “red-headed stepchild” when my wife and I go out to dinner with a group of friends, and I’m sitting at the end of the table with my wine glass turned over, sipping on my beer while they are discussing which wine do you pair with your dining choice. My only worry is whether the ketchup I just dropped on my shirt will go with the mustard stains on my pants. Also, will someone open my beer before bringing it over? You know how embarrassing it is to pull out your bottle opener in a public setting, especially since it is on a long, retractable cable mounted on my belt. Hey, you never know when a sealed beer bottle might attack you.
This past weekend, my wife and I were invited to join a group of friends for a wine-tasting trip to the wine-producing are on the central coast in Paso Robles, California. Again, I was the lone non-wine-drinking member of our contingent. I did my part by being the designated driver for many of our winery visits. The designated driver is the guy who sits in the corner and tries to figure out if he has enough time to run out and find a sandwich while my friends are leaning against a bar, tasting a wide variety of wines. I know they won’t miss me. Once, I ran out to the car and took a nap, and they were none the wiser. They were surprised when they saw me snoozing behind the wheel. They must have thought they had driven themselves until they got to the car. It was like I was invisible.
Our group leader was very familiar with the Paso Robles area and created a schedule that ensured we hit as many wineries as possible in the few days we were there. Eating and sleeping were expendable. I didn’t realize there were so many different wineries in the world, not just Paso Robles. The one thing there was no shortage of was people ready to sample the many different varietals of wines the region produces. There were hoards of people swirling their wine in their glass and then sticking their noses into the glass. I was afraid that they were trying to snort their wine selection.
My limited knowledge of wine goes back to the days of those old television commercials promoting Italian Swiss Colony, which always ended with a little, white-haired guy wearing lederhosen and claiming the wine was made “By that little old winemaker, me.” After that, I came into contact with such fine vintages while in the Army, like Boone’s Farm, MD 20/2, Cold Duck and Gallo. I did try each of these fine vintages but never developed the necessary palate to enjoy them. For me, it was like fruit-flavored vinegar or acid. I guess it was an acquired taste.
After hanging out with my group of amateur Somalias, I learned there is a ritual to tasting wine. To begin, you must choose a particular wine to taste. There are as many wines to select from as stars in the heavens. The easiest choice is what color wine you want. Your choices of color are white, rosé and red. They may vary a little in depth of color, but that’s it. As for the kinds of grapes that produce these wines, there are thousands of varietals. How do you choose? This is where your wine knowledge comes in handy. Do you like dry or sweet wines? How about a wine that is fruit-forward or high in acid? Maybe you like a light finish or a bold vintage. It goes on and on. It reminds me of trying to select winning teams for my bracket for the NCAA Basketball Tournament. I think I have a better chance of picking the correct wine for dinner than the winners in March Madness (Appropriately named).
My friends explained what they were doing while tasting their wines. The swirling in the glass was to determine how good the wine’s legs were. Ok, that’s a good one—wine has legs. When I stopped laughing, they explained they wanted to see how the wine grasped the glass and how slowly it trickled down the inside of the glass. While I looked baffled, they stuck their face into the glass. They explained they wanted to find out what kind of nose the vintage had. I didn’t know you had to take an anatomy class to drink wine. They explained they were looking for hints of certain flavors and notes of others. Now we’re into music. After further explanation, I learned they wanted to know what kind of aroma the wine had. People said they smelled flowers, pepper, oak, fruits, chocolate, and raisins. And to think, I thought we were talking about wine.
After several days, everyone started looking at me like I had a second head. We were at these beautiful wineries…and they were spectacular, and I was sitting at the end of the table checking my emails on my phone (When I got a signal. Some of these wineries were in the middle of nowhere). They were trying to figure out why they invited such a Philistine to their high-class wine trip. I had to remind them I was the guy driving so they didn’t end up with a DUI.
I do not fault my friends for enjoying wine. There’s a reason there are so many wineries popping up everywhere. It’s just not for me. It’s hard to believe, considering how my boys say that I whine all the time. I just kill myself.
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