Tuesday Afternoon Wino

Went to a wine tasting today.

Job related.

This is how they educate us about wine. I tasted 24 wines today.

Know what wine tastes like at assembly line tastings?

The same.

You get a spit cup. They make a big deal about making sure you spit because you are on the clock. No swallowing.

Which makes for clichéd easy jokes with the ladies. Do you spit or swallow?

Unoriginal. Not funny. Boring.

And unavoidable. If you are going to get sexual funny, please be original.

But I digress.

Wine brokers are there to present their wines and tell you all about them. Many times they are pretentious and condescending. Today's trio was good. Witty, informative and alive.

Here is one description from a handout: "Medium-weight and linear, exuding mineral and spice flavors, with a hint of lemon underneath, this bright white finishes long and spicy."

And another: "Pink grapefruit, key lime, frangipani, and pineapple tempt your senses. An exuberant wine packed with flavor, balanced by mouth-watering acidity and a fresh, zesty, lingering finish."

One more: "Almost sweet with blackberry essence, it evolves into a plush, mouth filling compote of black fruit, beautifully integrated with woodsy and mineral notes, mocha, tobacco and clove."

I tried really hard today. Tried hard to experience the wine the way it was being presented. Typically I pay no attention. Dismissing the whole thing as an exercise in pretentiousness. Today I swirled the wine carefully in my mouth, paid attention while it was in there, spit it out and concentrated on what my mouth did after exit. After carefully reading each description.

Almost nothing. No pink grapefruit, no frangipani (whatever the hell that is), no mineral notes and definitely no tobacco.

Tobacco. I love that. Another one that pops up regularly is leather. I have erotic dreams involving fetishistic uses of leather. I don't dream about tasting it in my wine.

I said almost nothing because at one point, as I was furiously concentrating on the wine in my mouth, trying to identify specific influences, I thought I tasted cherry.

As the woman asked: "Do you get a cherry taste in there?"

Boom. I'm a fucking expert.

There is a lot to it. I dig that. Wine is mysterious, it is sensual, it delivers romance. But there is a lot of bullshit built into the mythology. The expertise.

If I described wines to customers in The Asylum the way they were presented to me today, I would be driven crying to my knees through howling gales of customer laughter.

So yeah, you spit. Until you get to the last six wines. Then, if you taste one you like, swallow. Why not? You're out the door in the next fifteen minutes. Early on a Tuesday afternoon. Why not take a taste?

If you're lucky, maybe all six taste good. Maybe you don't care. Maybe you're looking for a free buzz to accompany the free lunch

They must anticipate this. Or maybe they assume that even if you spit, there is still some wine trickling down your throat. It is unavoidable.

We are forbidden to return to work after a tasting.

Works for me. I was home by three.

Not a bad way to spend an afternoon really. Free lunch, a little brain and palate stimulation, an early exit into sunshine.

Just cut down on the pretentiousness.

"To preserve the delicate fruit and silky texture of this Pinot Noir, we gently fermented it in open-top fermentors. The wine then underwent a secondary malolactic fermentation before aging for 10 months in small oak barrels."

Malolactic?

Give me a break.