Thinking about wine

Do you ever think about wine?  I got to thinking about it today. You might assume that it  popped into my mind because I just published a post about the Babich Winery, but that's not why. It's really because of some recent experiences that I've had with wine. And because of my present stage of life; I have plenty of time. I find myself thinking about a great many things I've known over the years. Today it just happens to be wine.  

Besides, I think it's an interesting item to think about.  If you like wine that is. If you're not a fan for some reason of your own, maybe you won't care to read my musings about it that follow. Your choice.

As I sit here and try to order my thoughts, I have my favorite glass positioned next to my keyboard and filled with some red wine. I intend to sip as I type. I think it will help stimulate my 'little grey cells.' But let's talk first about my choice of glassware.

I just Googled wine glasses and found a site that listed 18 styles of glasses, and each was intended for a specific sort of wine. Wow, think of the pressure (and expense) I'd endure if I tried to always match my glasses to the wine I was drinking. 

My favorite glass wasn't on the list. I didn't think it would be. My favorite is not a wine glass at all, I know that. It's what's known as an Old-Fashioned glass or a whiskey-on-the-rocks glass. And it's a rather small Old-Fashioned glass at that. It stands just under three inches tall. Odd choice maybe, but I don't think so. I'll get into the reason for it later.

Let's now consider the wine I'm drinking. I think I know what's expected at this point in my narrative. I'm supposed to tell you about the kind(s) of grapes that were used to make it, the winery, it's country of origin, and maybe some tasting notes at the very least. You're supposed to care about all that. Or pretend that you do. To be honest, I'm sure neither of us really gives a hoot.  

I did drink a wine not long ago whose label claimed, among other things, that it 'pairs synergistically with meat. Its tannins mingle with the proteins of great cuts of meat.'

Clearly, that wine thinks a lot of itself if its label is to be believed. If I were to give you any tasting notes about that stuff, I'd also have to add that it's 'bossy,' because where does it get off telling me what kind of meat to eat with it?  Ooh, I better not pair this with a lowly hamburger. Steaks and prime ribs only need apply, huh?  Well, maybe I'd be forgiven if the burger was of wagyu beef?  No, forget it.  I snacked on part of a salt pretzel as I drank it and that wine mingled with it just fine.  

I find myself getting tired of all the hoopla and pretense that I think comes along with wine these days.  Actually, I know that I am really tired of many things. All things Covid try my patience, but worst of all are the politicians and the legions of battling minor demons (the press) that surround them.  Don't worry, I won't go there. I am trying to 'set my face against them,' but with admittedly less than perfect success. But, back to the wine... 

Jeanne and I have enjoyed a lot of wine over the years. One of our earliest experiences was in 1972 at the Northwoods Supper Club outside Marquette, Michigan. We considered it one of the best restaurants in the area at the time and went there for dinner one night for some special occasion.  We got our first lesson in wine pretense there. I had ordered a bottle of wine with our meal and our waiter, a guy not much older than we were, working his way through N.M.U. no doubt, brought the bottle. He opened it dramatically, and poured a portion into my stemmed glassware. (I don't remember if I had a burgandy or shiraz-shaped glass) I knew I was expected to taste it, consider it thoughtfully and give him the okay to serve us, if it satisfied my discriminating palate.  

Now, I'm sure he knew very well that I wouldn't know a good wine from a bad one. Like most kids in college at the time, I had more experience with Boone's Farm Apple Wine at $2 a bottle, than I did with whatever vintage was in my glass that night. Still, I felt I had to play the part, even as I felt slightly foolish to be doing so.  

In the years since then, I have had innumerable opportunities to pretend I knew something about the wine I was ordering. As I mentioned earlier, I have become a little tired of it in the 'twilight of my years.'  

There have only been a couple of times that I have seen wine presented and served honestly.  One, I've already told you about. It was in Madrid at El Abuelo.  

https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/398866872025297364/94759441724243347

There was no pretense about the wine at this little 'hole in the wall.' You ordered red (tinto) or white (blanco) and that was that.   

The other was at the pension (apartment with meals) we lived in while in Madrid. Dona Macrina, our hostess, once ran out of the wine she served us every day at both lunch and dinner. Since we had been there at that point for some time and she felt she could ask, she sent me down to the wine shop that was located just two doors away from her establishment at 65 Calle de Las Huertas. I carried an enormous jug and was instructed to tell the wine guy to fill it and put it on her bill.  Inside the shop were two huge vats with spigots. I told him I wanted tinto and soon returned with it brimming to our landlady. 

Jeanne and I had commented to each other several times on the wine she served. We could tell for example one day that the wine in the wine store's vat must have been getting toward the bottom of the barrel because it was starting to taste 'different.'  That was when we would add lots more of the soda water than we usually did to the wine in our glasses.  These days, people make all sorts of fancy wine spritzers with soda water or other mixers, but back there in 1973 in Madrid, our 'spritzers' were a defense mechanism for wine of somewhat lesser quality and noticable sediment.  I also remember that we all but cheered when the wine improved markedly and we knew that the wine guy had received a new shipment delivered into his vats.  

I used to think of the wine in those vats around Madrid as 'vino de Madrid.'** They weren't pretentious, or full of nuances or tasting notes. They were good (mostly) solid wines that were delivered probably by the tanker, not the bottle. 

I nostalgically miss them. I'd like to walk into a cafe here some day and be given the choice of red or white if I asked for wine. 

Agatha Christie's character Hercule Poirot, made a face in the movie I watched recently when the man he was dining with ordered glasses of 'the house red' for their meal. I can certainly understand his reaction. He is a world-class detective at the height of his career. He expects the best. 

But I don't feel that way today. I have tried the best (or at least the pretty darn good) many times during my life but no longer require the services of a sommalier. I find myself rather relishing the ordinary. That is why I was delighted when I discovered an on-line deal for some red wine recently. It is definitely a 'vino de Madrid' judging from its bargain price. I ordered a bottle, and after trying it, smiled and ordered a full case. It is not remarkable; it will provoke no discussions regarding its nuances or finish, and will never be boasted about. But I can pour three fingers of it into my favorite glass, which looks very much like the glasses used at El Abuelo so long ago, and be comfortable. And did I mention that it was cheap as?  I just wish I could see the vat it was drawn from. I'll bet it's a big one...      

** My term of 'vino de Madrid.' for the wine we enjoyed while in Spain, came about after our first experience while having dinner in a Chinese restaurant there. The restaurant we chose was a 'modest' one. As students with a given amount of money that had to last us during our more than four months in Europe, we wanted to splurge now and then by dining out, but it had to be somewhere we could afford. That night, after we ordered, our waiter asked what we'd like to drink with our meal. The menu listed a number of both mineral (carbonated) and still (not carbonated) bottles of waters, but they all added to the price of the meal. He saw us hesitating to spend additional money. He smiled then knowingly at us, and suggested that we might like, "agua de Madrid, (Water of Madrid - tap water) We smiled back at his suggestion and have ever afterwards remembered that meal, and the kind waiter, by referring to 'agua de Marquette' or Carney or Wilson.    

It was a natural progression then to refer to any common wine we enjoyed in Spain by the term of 'vino de Madrid.'  When you think about it, it makes sense because the vinos de Madrid didn't come out of bottles either, they came out of spigots or taps, just like the water did.     -djf