The whys and wherefores

I must admit right at the start that I’m no wine critic. I’ll venture even further and reveal that I don’t even like the taste of wine. So this Critique will surely be for the ages. I wouldn’t mind, however, coming around on the taste part, and because of it might even pen some lines that look as if a connoisseur had written them. I assure you it will have been by chance, or less admirably, by tried-and-true plagiarism. The latter will be made more difficult by the mere fact that, though I fancy myself quite widely read, I’ve never read a wine critique with an eye toward remembering any part of it. Through the tasting of and writing about wines I will surely venture to some third-party reviews, but I’ll start with the vocabulary, knowledge and refinements I currently possess. My condolences, in this case, to my readers.

And who would my readers be? Me, at this point. My wife every now and then, and my daughter when she’s able to read. I figure with her I’ll get about a year of her being able to read, before she finds out that she’d rather read just about anything else. Those will be cherished moments. I’ll note that I have belatedly decided to post this on the Internet, as well, which, after the first few issues, should nearly double my readership.

Why start a wine critique, though, when I don’t even like the taste of wine? Health reasons. I’m told that resveratol is healthy, and that it’s found in copious proportions in red wine because the wine has stayed in contact with the skin of the grape for some time. Since I’m only going to drink roughly one or two glasses a day, and I’ll surely average less than that, the benefits of the resveratol will outweigh any possible health risks. Add to that the fact that I don’t drink any other alcohol, and you’ll see I’m just in it for the good stuff.

Let me talk about the format of the Critique. Since I have no sense of how a wine critique should go, I’ll be taking stabs at what I feel ought to be included. In general, I know that professional wine critics smell wine. I know they comment on how the wine looks, possibly assessing the wine’s clarity. I think they spit the wine out after they’ve tasted it, and then report on how the wine “finishes.” Writing this Critique while not being a wine drinker clearly finds me adrift in a world where not only do I not have an anchor, but I wouldn’t even know one if I saw it. Yet I’ll slog on.

Date: I include the date that I write the entry, which should correspond to roughly when I’m on the last glass of the wine. It would also allow those analytical souls among us to note the various entry dates and scoff at how long it takes me to get through a simple bottle of wine. Or be alarmed at how rapidly.

Name: Even here I’m a novice. Of all the words on a wine bottle, just what refers to the wine’s name? When does it refer to the winery? To the process? The genre? The grape, region, award? I won’t sweat details too much in this Critique, but I do want to stay safely above “idiot.” The reader will have to make that assessment.

Vintage: I’m embarrassed to say that as I started copying the name down from my first bottle, for my first Critique, I noticed a date. Glumly I remembered that small detail that those wine folks like to discuss, and decided there really should be an entry for the vintage. Glum, indeed.

Copy: Someone spent some time conjuring up flowery, suggestive words that may or may not have anything to do with the wine in question, arranged them in the most eye-pleasing manner their faculties allowed, and then plastered them on the sides of an otherwise fine-looking piece of glass art. I might as well read them. I might as well let you read them. In the process I’ll no doubt come across words that are new to me, regions that I never knew existed, and awards from contests too numerous to take seriously. You’ll see them as I do.

Price: Look, I’m cheap. I can tell you right now that I’m starting right at the bottom and working my way up. If I can’t tell the difference between cheap purple-stained water and its more expensive cousin, award-winning wine, then I’m staying at the bottom. Quite cheerfully, I might add.

Appearance: Really, I have no idea. If it looks purple, I’ll say it looks purple. Cloudy, I’ll report the same. With experience and some reading my descriptions will become less dilettantish.

Smell: Ditto. I’m sure that even the word “smell” is not used in wine circles. Maybe it’s “nose,” or something to do with olfaction. It seems I’ve much to learn.

Taste: You’ll get a description, but I wouldn’t rush out and buy based on what you read. I’ve nothing of note to compare the wine I’m straining to find a word for against. Sure, I’ve seen “peaty” and “fruity” and “round” used and abused in shocking ways. I doubt I could call anything “peaty,” though, and be close to what “peaty” is supposed to mean. Here again I’ll slog on and hope the gentle reader remains so.

Tellings: This is just a repository for any anecdotal information that might be pertinent to the wine in question. Or that might not be. Read at your own peril.

Those that do not know me well often think I come off as pretentious, know-it-all, sarcastic and generally hard to be around. It’s because I am all those things. Most of the time, however, I’m poking fun at myself. The very title, “Being a Critique of the Wine,” should be the reader’s first clue. Anyone that writes that title in earnest needs to be committed. Anyone that uses the word “critique” instead of the more appropriate “review” needs to be assigned an editor. But this is all in fun, and “critique” sounds so stuffy that I had to run with it. So please have fun, don’t let anything ruffle your feathers, and when in doubt, have mercy.