About twenty years ago or so I ordered wine from restaurant wine stewards and retail liquor store clerks in about the same manner: clueless and uninformed. At the restaurant, typically French, for they were the culinary wizards at the time, I dealt with the Sommelier, or as they’re now referred to, the Wine Steward. Formally dressed with a silver tasting cup dangling on a chain from around his neck, he handed me a multi-page wine binder and then dutifully edged away while I nervously flipped through the pages. I could not understand a thing. It was unsettling. What did it all mean? Bordeaux ? Burgundy? Weren’t they the same? They’re both in France, aren’t they? And the years … did it really matter what year one drank? Anyway, aren’t the younger ones fresher and tastier? Who pays for old wines, anyway?
Nevertheless, overcoming all those uncertainties, I assembled all my critical thinking skills and typically selected a wine that had the following important qualities: 1) easy to pronounce, and 2) one of the cheapest on the list. Inevitably the steward advised “Excellent choice,” and I sighed in relief that I pulled it off again. I made a shrewd choice. Well, as you can readily imagine, it was not shrewd at all. While the price may have fit my wallet, the wine didn’t fit my palate.
Similarly, when buying wine at the retail liquor store, I walked up and down the aisles, avoiding any assistance from Gomer Pyle behind the counter, and methodically stared at all the bottles. I waited for a subliminal message, some hidden persuader, to be emitted that would reveal the perfect wine to me. I studied Marketing in college and knew that companies spent millions of dollars on creative packaging. The wine label, which is the most creative of packaging, was designed to hint at the essence of what’s inside the bottle, just as the book cover insinuated at what’s inside the book.
After bottle-staring intently for long periods of time, I eliminated those that didn’t have the prettiest labels or those that didn’t evoke a warm, fuzzy vinous response. Finally, I made my choice and carried it to Gomer. I was very systematic, and I knew that my combination of intense bottle-staring, wishful thinking, educated marketing insights and my usual perceptive price comparison yielded a wine that would dazzle our dinner guests. Well, sometimes it did, and at other times it didn’t, and I was getting the feeling that wine wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Where did the fault lie? In my technique? Was there some other approach I should try? Or did the problem lie with the wines? Stay tuned.
— Tom Barras