“My dear girl, there are some things that are just not done, such as drinking Dom Perignon ‘53 above the temperature of 38° Fahrenheit.” --- James Bond in “Goldfinger”
“But we're talking about practice, man. What are we talking about? Practice? We’re talking about practice, man. . . . We ain’t talking about the game. We’re talking about practice, man.” --- Allen Iverson
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Sometimes, I wish I could be more like James Bond. Not in the killing people and getting the girls way (I’m not a gun guy, and I’ve already got the girl). I wish I could be more like 007 when it comes to his knowledge of wines and wine vintages. It seems like he always knew what wine to drink, when to drink it, and, as the quote above shows, how a drink is best served (see also “Vodka martini—shaken, not stirred.”). Apparently, like revenge, champagne is best served very cold.
But when it comes to guns and wine, especially picking out which vintage and varietal to drink, I am most certainly not James Bond 007. Instead, I’m much more like #3: Allen Iverson.
Why Iverson, you ask? Simple. In our respective games (basketball and wine), he and I both play bigger than we actually are. If a wine is put in front of me, more times than not, from time to time I’ll be able to pick out a number of different flavors (an occasional 25 point game, if you will). But, in the end, like Iverson, I just haven’t put in enough effort when it isn’t game time. I don’t practice.
Don’t get me wrong. I practice drinking wine all the time, as I’m sure everyone reading this does too! Where I get into trouble is that I don’t practice the wine details—differences in varietals, vintages, etc. I couldn’t tell you whether it’s better to drink a $50 bottle of 2006 Ribera del Duero, a $100 bottle of 2000 California Cabernet or a $45 bottle of 2009 Zinfandel. Though the answer to my three bottle hypothetical is undoubtedly “well, it depends,” I think we can all agree that there are certain rules of vintage, age, and location that exist. For example, it wouldn’t shock anyone’s senses to say that a 1998 Chateauneuf from one winery is undoubtedly better than a 1999 from the same winery, and so on. Similarly, we can all accept as truth that certain wines and grape varietals age more slowly (gracefully?) than others. Sadly, these are the facets of the wine game that elude me. In basketball parlance, I just don’t know the plays very well. And, without a wise sommelier (coach?) around to give me advice on what is drinking well these days, I’m basically a player with a good jumpshot who is not on the same page as his teammates—in this case, my teammates are the wines in my wine cellar.
Never was my lack of practices reps with wine selection on display more than a few weeks ago. Sarah asked me to pick out an everyday bottle of wine from our cellar. Being lazy, I went to our upstairs wine fridge and perused through our “everyday bottles.” I stumbled upon a 2008 Petite Syrah from Carlisle. Sarah and I love Carlisle wines. And we love Petite Syrah. I figured, given that combination, the 2008 would be a nice choice. And, I guess, it was . . . except it wasn’t. The wine didn’t taste like anything except, well, wine. There was no depth. No discernable fruits. Nothing we could hang our palates on except for “wine.” The wine wasn’t corked. When I relayed my story to someone with more knowledge about these hard and fast wine rules, I was told that this was to be expected because most Petite Syrahs take a bit more time to open and develop. My lack of knowledge of this rule turned what could have been a wonderful evening of wine into a disappointment.
Now, I apologize if some of you cringed at reading that last paragraph. You’re clearly better at selecting wines than I am. And you clearly know the rules of the game in a way that I just don’t.
But I assure you, my lack of knowledge of these hard and fast rules is not based out of a lack of desire to know more. I love wine. For me, wine is more than simply an alcoholic beverage or a means to relax after a long day—although it is those things, certainly. Wine is about what it represents on a larger scale. Wine is the drink, but it also is the company and gregarious conversation that accompanies it. It is the discussion about the flavors held inside. And wine is knowing that, whether you taste raspberry and someone else tastes black currant, you’re both right. I love delving into the thought of discovering and characterizing the flavors and scents located deep within its murky red—or, in the case of champagne, golden—hues. I love the discovering that the term “garrigue” means containing the aroma of lavender, sage, rosemary, wild thyme, and juniper—and not smelling of barnyard, as I was initially led to believe. And, I love trying to find the hidden undercurrent of candied lemon peel in a blanc-de-blanc, and the burnt honey toastiness of a rich blanc-de-noirs. These items—these gems of flavor, smell, and knowledge—are what keep me coming back to wine, despite my failings. They are the sweet feel of a jumpshot as it swishes through the net to win the game.
But I guess, as in basketball, success in wine is about more than having the oenophilistic equivalent to a decent jumpshot. I need to spend more time learning the Xs and Os and rules of the wine game, so I can actually put my tastebuds to better use. Otherwise, my win-loss record in selecting wines will continue to be abysmal. I won’t stop trying to play. I’ll just have to practice a bit more. Then maybe—just maybe—I’ll be a bit more Bond, and a bit less AI.
Awesome post. One of the biggest treasures about wine is having a bottle at the right time and at the right place. Alas, one of the biggest disappointments is any bottle at the wrong time/place.
ReplyDeleteBut as they say, "Practice makes perfect", so onward we drink!