There’s no good reason a person like me should know anything about wine. I’m not generally interested in drinking wine. I’m never in the mood for an Oregon-made Pinot, or a Napa Cabernet, or a French whatever. I don’t factor in wine pairings when I eat at restaurants, or when I cook for people. I do prefer wine over every other alcoholic drink, but I never really crave wine and I rarely feel the need to unwind at the end of a long day with a glass of anything, though I’ve been known on occasion to indulge myself with a Martinelli’s apple juice.
But despite my best efforts, one of my oldest and closest friends is bonafide, professional wine critic Jonathan Cristaldi, and by virtue of my being friends with him, working with him, and simply knowing him, I’ve been exposed to more about the beauty and arcana of wine than I ever should have. I sometimes catch myself in group settings where I’m the one dispensing wine wisdom, wondering to myself, Why do I know all of that?
Now, before I say any more nice things about Jonathan and how he’s opened my world to the pleasures of wine, I understand that this article is content for Jonathan’s own wine website and any fealty should be viewed suspiciously. So let me just take a moment to point out that he does have faults: I saw him wear socks with sandals once and he still hasn’t apologized.
Faux pas aside, the reality is that if it weren’t for Jonathan, I may never have known that drinking wine can actually be a pleasurable experience. I think of all the times I’ve had wine at some function like a theater opening night party, holding a plastic cup of something off the shelf from Trader Joe’s just to give the appearance that I’m having a good time. It’s hard to drink that stuff after my wine critic friend, on more than a few occasions, has let me in on a glass of something he knew to be special. He’s a dowsing rod for the good stuff.
Through trying new wines, I didn’t just get something to taste; I got an education. Beyond the taste of wine, there’s something to be said about understanding how good wine is produced. It helps you to enjoy and appreciate what you’re drinking.
The winemaking process is a mix of agricultural science, viticultural knowledge, and creative ingenuity. When you taste a wine you truly love, take the time to learn a little more about it. Remember, these features and a pattern of preferences will emerge. Maybe it’s the grape variety, or the appellation where it was grown, the vintage, the terroir, or the winemaker. Start from there, and you’re on your way to developing your own personal taste.
Now, not everyone has a friend who’s a wine critic, or a vineyard owner, or a master sommelier, and for those people, too bad for you. But I can recommend a book: The Wine Folly Master Guide by Madeline Puckette and Justin Hammack. Every inside-baseball aspect of wine is explained, often with easy-to-understand illustrated charts and graphics. The book has explanations for how to pair your food with wine (chicken pairs with pretty much anything!) and why that wine I tried in Valle de Guadalupe, Mexico smelled like Band-Aids (a yeast called Brettanomyces!). This book has been a helpful plan B for those times when I’ve tried calling Jonathan with a wine question, but he was too busy “writing up tasting notes,” or “cooking dinner for his family,” or “in the middle of a funeral.”
There’s still so much I don’t know about wine, but allowing myself over time to be exposed to little lessons on the intricacies of winemaking provides the same gratification as learning a musical instrument or picking up a new language. It’s also helped me figure out the best wine for myself: Port.
Because I drink wine so infrequently, I like to keep a bottle of Port in my cupboard. Sure, it’s a dessert wine—not so unlike a Martinelli’s apple juice—but because it’s a fortified wine, I don’t have to rush to finish the whole bottle before it spoils within a week of popping the cork. And remember, all Port is from Portugal’s Douro Valley, so if someone tries to sell you a bottle of Port and it doesn’t have the official “Selo de Garantia” stamp over the neck, tell that quack to hit the road.
See? Why do I know all of that?
