California Wine Snob
May 16, 1999
I make no claims to being a connoisseur of fine wines. But maybe I know a little bit about wine snobbery. Please let me explain.
Paso Robles, CA puts on a wine festival May 15 and 16. Pat and I decided to attend. Thought maybe I could find a wine that I really enjoy that also has some snob appeal. You know, when you mention this wine over the dinner table, your sophisticated and wine-wise guests will ooh and ahh over your selection. This one statement will establish you as a world-class wine expert in their eyes forever. Soon you will have more friends and admirers than you can imagine.
Paso Robles wine country offers a choice of 26 wineries. Could we possibly visit them all in one day? Assuming that each winery offered ten wines to taste, then it would be necessary for us to taste and remember about 126 wines. It would be a severe test of our taste memories. Not knowing the reputations of any of these wineries, we haphazardly selected a few to visit. Usually, the lawns and gardens were manicured and a small band or musical group performed outside. The weather was especially cooperative – upper 70's and a cool breeze blowing from the ocean and over the foothills to Paso Robles. Some wineries offered free tasting, one charged $3, another $5 and another $10. I decided that I preferred to pay for tasting after I returned to taste a second wine at the Aciero Vineyards. An old fellow behind the bar said, “Are you back again? Buy, buy, buy!” Guess he thought I was taking advantage of the free wine -- which, of course, I was. Usually with the cost of tasting, the winery included a cold wine glass with the winery logo on the side. One logo offered that we should “Sin with zin” (Zinfandel). Another suggested that we might enjoy “cardinal zin.”
The obvious goal was to convince us that their distinctive and high-quality wines were worth the cost of from $8 to more than $25 a bottle. The Bonny Doon Vineyard claimed that they were “open for tasting and knee-deep wading in the stream-of-consciousness” -- whatever that means. Knowing that I could not handle much of the wine where the alcohol content approaches 30%, I carefully sipped each wine and threw out the remainder. Pat quickly bored with the tasting and preferred to peruse the sales shops for next years’ Christmas presents, gourmet foods or something. She also carefully checked me out after each visit for evidence of slurred speech or erratic driving. Guess I mostly passed her tests, but a couple of times she asked if I wanted her to drive.
Almost all the wineries offered tri-tip beef steaks, sandwiches or bar-b-que. Unfortunately, none of the food was free. Evidently tri-tip beef is really cool in California these days. We ate lunch on the lawn of Aceiro Vineyards, where we enjoyed an elevated view from their hilltop location, across the vineyards and the soothing, verdant, hill country of San Luis Obispo County. But maybe the greatest pleasure during the meal occurred when the reggae band decided to take a break for lunch. The relative quiet from the loud, tinny sound of drums was delicious -- even as the crowd seemed to grow happier, dopier and noisier by the minute. The larger wineries usually offered a tour of their cellars, where we could sometimes obtain a taste directly from the oak barrel of a developing wine.
Upon emerging from the Eberle tasting room, Pat spied a small, yellow bird on a branch just outside the door. It was a very tame Wilson’s warbler, which was acting a little odd. It was very close to the door where wine fumes were emanating from the tasting room door. It seemed unconcerned with the throng of reasonably sober tasters noisily passing by within a few feet. Never having come so close to a Wilson’s warbler without disturbing it, I wondered about the possibility of warbler intoxication -- it was even singing.
Having heard a recent news report that red wines, taken in moderation, are healthy – I focused on the reds on the dry side of the spectrum. At nearly every winery, I tried the Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and others. Actually, I have been trying to develop a taste for these wines since I was first exposed to them in the Barrosa Valley near Sydney, Australia nearly thirty years ago. (With our three preteen kids, I managed to irritate Pat by allowing the kids to taste the wines.) I found the red wines palatable, but generally uninspiring to my taste buds -- which had been weaned on Lone Star Beer during my rebellious youth.
I remember obtaining wine lectures in the all-men’s Gourmet Club of Brisbane, Australia, where frankly, I understood little of what was being said about “tastes clinging to the palate” and such. Over the years, I have had many dinners with various Californians who were quite willing to exhibit their mastery of the subject. I especially remember one dinner, with a group of distinguished entomologists, where we were all being subjected to an extended discourse on California wines. Our expert (Vern Stern) ordered the wines, then explained the vintage, the grape variety that produced it, and more details, such as the fact that the wine yeast, Saccharomyces cerevisae, was added in pure form to convert the grape sugar to carbon monoxide, water and ethyl alcohol -- how the length of the fermentation period was extended to produce this drier wine that contains a higher alcohol content and fewer sugars than the fruitier wines. He knew the exact year that his favorite California wine was produced and the soil type in which it was grown and explained that he could identify the vintage by the distinctive bouquet and taste. He carefully swirled the wine in the glass before sniffing its bouquet with his educated nose. Then he took a sip, rolled it around in his mouth, and finally -- after deliberating several minutes through this elaborate ritual -- proclaimed the wine fit to drink. It was only after we had finished the wine and the discourse was ended, that Perry Adkisson (a Texas Aggie) explained that when he had excused himself from the table, prior to the beginning of the dinner, he had cornered the wine steward and persuaded him to change the wine order. Our expert was mortified when the towel was removed from one of the empty bottles. The label read: “Made in New York.” I remember that Vern was completely humiliated and dejected at being fooled by the dirty little trick played on him. He was silent for the remainder of the evening.
As a simple, country boy from south Texas, I never could completely understand the social importance of wines as evidence of sophistication, class, and couth. I revealed the full extent of my ignorance on the subject when I was invited to dinner with the Dean of Agriculture, Harry Kunkel and a distinguished lecturer from San Francisco, who had been invited to our campus. Kunkel was attempting to convince our guest that wines grown in west Texas were comparable to any Californian or European wines. Feeling a little left out of the conversation, I interjected the notion that Texas cactus wines were the envy of the world. I thought that they would understand my attempt at levity, but instead, I received only a cold stare from them both. I remained quiet for the remainder of the dinner. I learned that in the company of elites, one does not jest about such an important subject as wine.
Anyway, back at Paso Robles, the wine tasting continued. I made notes of some of the least objectionable wines for possible purchase later. But I purchased no wine that day. None met my uneducated standards for wine and I found no good cactus wine. I still prefer a good house red or white wine to the more expensive ones. I remain convinced that -- as much as anything -- wines offer an appeal to snobbery that often lies hidden below the surface in us all. If I were given a grade for my knowledge of and interest in wines, something below a C- might be appropriate. But maybe I can blame my ancestors. Maybe the selection pressure for their survival was not based on their ability to tolerate the tannins in red wine. My ancestors probably evolved to withstand and enjoy good Scotch Whiskey or warm, dark, moldy, English beer.
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