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Wine Stupid

The Source

I’m wine-stupid, and that’s okay. Lots of people are wine-smart and although they don’t seem to hold any particular advantage on the rest of us, I admire their knowledge of the fermented grape. I’ve lived a good many years without any real knowledge about wine. I knew white from red because of the color, and knew that sweet was the opposite of dry. When they offer wine I do my best John Wayne imitation and say, “Dry as you’ve got,” for fear of appearing girlie. Then I spend the rest of the meal choking on the stuff. For the first twenty years of my life the only wine I ever saw was on Christmas Eve when my parents would each drink a glass of Mogan David. Presbyterians always drank Kosher wines, I guess. One Christmas Eve I begged Mom loudly enough that she gave me a sip of the stuff cut half-and-half with 7-Up. I was not impressed. It tasted like the stuff she gave me to stop coughing. You can exist a non-winer in a wine-drinking world. You simply listen to what your friends are ordering, compliment them on their exquisite taste, and order the same. Only once has a waiter poured a dollop into my glass for me to taste before he poured. I’d only seen this in movies and for the life of my I couldn’t remember the proper response. I said, “Tastes like wine!” The sommelier was not impressed. So what’s he going to do, cork it back up and go get another bottle? I know that you’re supposed to swirl it around in your glass, close your eyes, sniff it and smile, but I’d have felt silly. Besides, I have nasal congestion. All my wine smells like Vicks. Every month or so a new report comes out saying that a glass of wine a day will stave off heart disease, cancer, arthritis, and vacuum cleaner salesmen, so I often seek out of advice from those who know their grapes. My current expert is Tom Glossop, the manager at County Market. He’s a rather recent convert to the world of wine, but his position as the head honcho of the firm has caused him to do a bit of tasting. Unfortunately, Tom’s knowledge of wine is more extensive than my memory. He’ll tell me what to buy, but by the time I reach the back aisle I’ve forgotten the name, so I started asking him the color of the bottle and he’d say, “green.” Heck, they’re all green. No luck. He then sees me at the checkout counter with the wrong brand and he’ll ask, “You didn’t like my suggestion?” “Uh…this is for my grandmother at Knollwood.” So my paltry knowledge of wine had been no great disadvantage until I took the piano job on the Peoria riverboat and it came time for the “Wine and Cheese” party. Every afternoon we serve complimentary wine and snacks to our passengers, and it’s up to us on the entertainment crew to serve as bartenders. My fellow musicians are kind enough to line up the wines from right to left, sweet to dry. They know that my knowledge of the stuff is right up there with my dexterity at brain surgery, and I do okay when an equally dumb wine drinker comes to the bar and says, “I don’t know much about wine.” This is my chance to show off and say, “This Pino-Rose-Zinfadel-Merlot is vastly superior to this Sangiovise-Cabernet-Sauvignon. Of course if you want something a bit bolder you might prefer the Shriaz-Chardonay-Riesling.” For reasons beyond my knowing, they believe me and sip their stuff with the confidence that they’ve been informed by a real expert. I’ve managed to convince myself that this is not actual lying. They’ve paid for a luxury crusie and they think they’ve been guided by a real professional. Actually, I do the same thing when I play the piano for them. Of course sometimes I run into a real wine snob on the boat. One lady from New Jersey asked me to the date of the vintage. I shrugged and told her not to worry. It was all fresh because we picked it up in Peoria that very morning. One burly fellow asked if I could give him something from Australia. When I broke into a chorus of, “Tie Me Kangagoo down, Mate!” he was not impressed. I fear I’m a lost cause when it comes to ever knowing much about wine. I’ve yet to taste one that I enjoy as much as a glass of iced tea ,and I’ve certainly never sipped a wine that compared to a great cup of coffee. In an effort to bring a little class to my Arenzville dinner table, I snuck an empty wine bottle off the boat and brought it home to fill with Diet Pepsi. After two meals it blew the cork out of the bottle.