so much about wine?
Really… the writer wants to know.
so much about wine?
Really… the writer wants to know.
“how” to taste wine. There is no HOW.
There’s YOU, WINE, and the communication between you two.
No wine “expert” or critic knows you like you, and knows your relationship with and curiosities in wine better than you.
You define the how, if there is such a thing.
You are the only one to decide.
here. Here. In this glass. In this room. In this breath and wink. Aware of all around me because of purple puddle, that reflection, how the tasted insinuations couple with the current track. She has me aware and into what I see, feel, sense, want to sing. Bring glass to just below my eyes and the notes appear, narrate their and my fate. Only coherence and collusion, no break.
red wine type?
The more notorious and potentially scattered and volatile of the Wine Road events. But I’m optimistic this go-round. Up early this day, 05:21, not able to fall back into any form of sleep with anticipatory images jabbing at my thoughts. About what. Not quite sure…. How busy it could get in the tasting room, how the barrels will show, how much we’ll sell…. Wine Industry, my thoughts are everywhere. Everywhere. Opened a Napa blend last. One that didn’t want to say much to me, no matter how much a swirl I gave her, or how patient I was. Decided to return cork and let rest her for tonight after what’s more than likely going to be a ten-plus hour day. Still have to shave, find clothes that I don’t care if they get a little tattered, stained. Barrel Tasting. I literally can’t believe it’s here, already. And, the first seasonal party later in day, right after. Going to record everything. My job as the journalist is to be the who what why when where, and maybe a little how, gatherer. Wine story hunter and gatherer.
The last time I worked BT, let me think…. that’s right, 2011. At that shitshow of a Dry Creek winery. Was rather manageable, I remember. But this winery is a different dimension. No sense thinking and overthinking. I’m set on enjoying myself like any of the people with those bracelets, glasses. Just, and a penner, a capturer. Gatherer.
On the couch writing on my phone with a container full of iced coffee. Need to make these words fly faster. Delight and fold myself in this time to myself, wrap self around it. Later, my time belongs to the industry. No, I shouldn’t say that. No… it’s mine I’m just not composed like this, situated at my beckoning. I’ll be here, there, moving quicker, quickly, sped with my pouring abilities and talking about every offering we have to offer. Barrels…. people walking up to them, animated and agape. I wish I could just walk around and talk to people, ask them why they’re here and what they want from the event aside from futures, if they are actually buying futures. Then I understand I don’t have to. They come to me. My notes will have to be more than quick. I won’t have time for full sentences. Just little jots, singular words, if that. Maybe even some sort of symbol set, or wine journalist markings. Just write in between conversations and when I’m done pouring.
Seeing this as my assignment. The one. The one that will send me to others. I’m a soldier on the field with a notebook lashing at the little pages with details and sights, the sounds of people giggling as they get off the bus with their glasses and weird hats, costumes some of them. My assignment, to not just paint a picture of Barrel Tasting, but put myself there over and over every time I read through my notes. I’m Raul Duke, today. Not so much looking for any American Dream, but the ‘why’ to Barrel Tasting. Is it just a party, that show? Or, is there something else both business and consumer realize. My realization in this early early sitting is that wine makes its appearance and then sometimes is forgotten. The people don’t want wine at all, but an excuse to party, or be with no cares, or to be in wine country and forget about where they’re from… pretending this is their home and that every day is perfect, that all you have to do here is watch vines grow and drink wine, and if you work at a winery you do even less than that. Wine becomes only a scenic ingredient, if that. The wine becomes something other than wine with events like these, and I want to know why.
05:42. I’ll be out the door at around 0730. Head to the Windsor coffee shop and write a bit more for about 30 minutes then shoot to the scene. The scene of wine and barrels and those people with their ridiculous getups and bracelets… the groups that come off the bus with their chatter and smirks, giggles and stumbles. I said in a meeting the other night that Barrel Tasting is about buying futures, and education, wine education, after everyone around me after being asked what they think of when they hear Barrel Tasting voiced shit show, and getting drunk, throwing up in the parking lot, college kids, and other doom accounts. I was optimistic, in delusion. Truth is, I don’t care what I see today, long as I see the why. Why do they do this, seek this event principally.
Heater comes on in my house, I sip my coffee again and understand I won’t be back in home like this for well over 12 hours. Today, Barrel Tasting and the party directly after, will demand from me. A test, as a journalist. Not a blogger, today. Not a writer. But journalist. In the trenches of a winery on a wildly busy day, people surrounding me and me the one journaling either using my coded notation system or having to sentence more than so so much to inner board. A test, maybe not so much. I’m a tad of nerves, presently, but more eager to find, and SEE, the why. After they taste wine from a barrel, and even if they buy futures, or one of the bottles or even a case of the featured bottles, then what. I’m not even sure I’ll find an answer today or tomorrow or Sunday. Or next weekend. (Yes, it goes two weeks.). And if I don’t, I hopefully have something to record, report, what they all did tasting from the barrels and asking me the questions they did.
Relax, I tell myself. Have some coffee. Enjoy the quiet. It’s the last you’ll experience for over 12, 13, maybe more hours. Today’s the day, wine “journalist”. You’d better be in your character, tuned and primed and constructed for your composition.
Collecting self before the role, one spot with a storm of thoughts and songs. All wine-riled.
Tasting new wines last night and I had expectations that I found hard to shed, on a Petite Sirah. I forced myself to sip and pretend I didn’t know what it was at all. I had to convince myself of this, and it worked. I saw more in the PS, and was educated in the varietal. I feel that too often we are locked into our perceptions and set understandings when it comes to varietals. It tasted better, actually, with this mind I assumed, and I felt more of what the wine was trying to say. I felt closer to the wine, the act of sipping it.