Wine-o-phile

Admitedly, I've realized that my love of eating has begun to have tertiary effects. Weight and bad complexion aside, I realize that so much of the food world is driven by a simple fermented juice of grapes known around the world as wine.

I'm trying my dear hardest to immerse myself in this vast world, where connoisseurs, amateurs, publishers, experts, and critics battle to determine which of the millions of glass bottles made in the world are worth drinking. To me, there's no coincidence that Jesus turned water to wine or that the great analogy of discipleship in Christ is associated with fruit on the vine (read: grapes). And Jesus himself says at the last supper that he would not drink of the fruit of the vine until he redeems his people in eternity in heaven. There's obviously somethere different about this drink.

Today's world of wine is an absolutely staggering subculture of those in the know and those who are relatively clueless. The cognoscenti laud the special cuvees and vintages and chateaus that elevate the palate to divine heights. The average American consumer who once drank the jug of "burgundy" now steps into a gourmet market or wine shop looking to see what famed critic Robert Parker scored highly.



I remember when Andy and I took our first trip to Napa, back in 2006. We were dastardly enough to barge into Beaulieu Vineyard (aka BV Winery) and have a few tastings. Our barbaric palates could scarce tell the difference between a Zinfandel or Cabernet. Everytime we got a pour it was like, "yummmm...this is good..." In our plucky abandon, we purchased a case - yes, an entire 12 bottle box, of Rutherford House wine from BV, at around $100. We split the case and decided to have one with some burgers at the adjacent Rutherford Grill. The Houston's restaurant copy (it's actually owned by Houston's) provided us some amazing burgers with our free-corkage bottle of BV Rutherford wine. It was a revelation, that a dark purple substance could open the meaty taste of a patty into something extraordinary. Each swig of the un-adeptedly swilled Zinfandel cleared the palate and made it hungry for another bite of hamburgery goodness. The crisp shredded lettuce and creamy mustard made for a perfect rainy afternoon in Napa. I have one bottle left of this wine, a bottle I will keep for the rest of my life (hopefully). I don't care that it's probably relatively pedestrian in the grand world of wine. It was the first time I decided to throw judgment out of the window and immerse myself into the proverbial oak cask.

Lately, I've been reading my subscription of Wine Spectator, as well as frequently numerous local wine shops, such as Rosso in Montrose, Colorado Wine Company in Eagle Rock, and Silverlake Wine in Silver Lake. I've yet to return to Wally's in West LA or better yet, visit Wine House or K&L Merchants in Hollywood.

Part of me searches for this excellent wine because I love good flavor and taste. But the other part of me just wants to see what the big fuss is about, why people devote their lives to this sometimes fruity, sometimes minerally substance. What is it about wine that drives people on a relentless pursuit? How is wine affecting, and affected by our already globalized society? When will I finally have the opportunity to visit a French or Italian or Chilean or Oregonian winery? I'm still extremely young compared to other wine afficionados - I probably have ten years or more to catch up in age to the average wine drinker. While my friends down their AMF's, Long Islands, and Cosmos, I'm busy trying to find out why Opus One is a terrible ripoff, instead settling for a sweet Riesling or bubbly champagne. Yes, I'm surprised, almost glad that almost every discerning beer drinker has developed a taste for good beer. But most (not to say I'm that far ahead) are newbies when it comes to wine. That's not a bad thing; in fact it's quite understandable considering our age.

Whenver I begin to immerse myself in these sub-cultures, especially the ones that torture people into desiring better, greater, or the best, I get excited. I wonder how well this particular endeavor will satisfy my unending desire for pleasure. Foie gras, truffles, and lobster aside, food does have its limitations. You eventually get full. Even with wine, I know that you will eventually get drunk (which I don't ever get). With cars, you will eventually crash. With computers, they'll eventually crash. With art, you'll eventually get depressed (or insane). With film, you'll eventually get burned out from the papparazzi. With money, you'll eventually realize how little you have. With fashion, you'll eventually stop caring about why pieces of fabric make a big difference. And with politics, you'll eventually realize people are beyond the government's power to become good.

Perhaps it's the aging, the humanity that develops in each bottle of wine. The characteristics of its flavor that come from where it was grown, how it was cultured, when it was picked, how it was stored. Some bottles come from prestigious areas or wineries; others are humble, but develop into wonderful wines with age. Finally there are those wines that defy convention, set new boundaries, or reinvigorate even the most jaded palate. Kermit Lynch, a well known wine purveyor, often writes in his monthly newsletter of wine descriptions that go a lot like describing your friend: "unflattering, almost candid in its precise presentation, but coupled only after the bouquet of a sweet, mellow countenance with a slight alacrity in the finish".

Hm, that one reminds me of someone I know.



(photos courtesy NY Times)