Prologue
If I'm completely honest, I'm not actually a fan of wine.
Don't get me wrong, I will happily knock back a glass on a night out with the girls or sip one appreciatively over dinner with the family. I even know the names of some wines (or is that wine grapes?). Chardonnay, Merlot, Pinot etc. I know that red wine is supposed to go with meat and white wine is supposed to go with chicken or fish. I am pretty certain that the whole process of wine-making involves growing grapes and then squishing them in big vats to release the juices (juices?) and then somehow alcohol is added (yeast maybe?). I'm confident that one has to spend at least £5 in a supermarket to get a decent bottle of wine (£6.99 if it is a special occasion). However, if I am really being honest with myself, I've always been more of a spirits girl. I mean, the whole wine issue is just fraught with pitfalls and potentials for embarrassment. Seriously, go up to a bar and ask for a vodka and orange juice and you can be damn sure what you will be getting and it's guaranteed to always taste the same.
Order wine and suddenly you are entering a realm of intricacies and judgements that are, for some reason, deemed to be of incredible importance. To start with, you have to run the obstacle course of "how on Earth do you pronounce it?" You can always play safe and go for the well-worn options (see wine names above) but that's not always possible, particularly if you go to some fancy French restaurant. That then leaves you with two choices.
1. Just go for it and secretly curse yourself for not having paid more attention in G.C.S.E French.
2. Pretend to be engrossed in conversation with your dinner partner and discreetly point to the wine on the menu, ignoring the condensing look now being thrown to you by the waiter.
Once you have ordered the wine, you then have the trial of "tasting the wine". In what other situation would this be deemed acceptable? You have to check that the wine is ok? Surely someone should already have down that in this wine’s life? Apart from this moral issue, it also seems somewhat bizarre that a person with no reasonable knowledge of wine is suddenly expected to play the role of Wine-Quality-Control-Officer. You know you don't know what you are talking about, the waiter knows you don't know what you are talking about, yet you still go through the same dance every time.
"Would you like to try the wine madam."
"Yes, thank you."
Waiter pours minuscule amount of wine into wine glass.
Take small sip of minuscule amount of wine.
"That's fine thank you." (has anyone ever said anything different in this situation?)
Ok, so it does appear that I have some issues with wine, but really when you think about it, it's perfectly justified. It's an example of one of those worlds where some people just 'belong' and others, well, don't. Like modern art, people strolling around vast warehouses-come-art-galleries, uhming and arhing at tin foil wrapped around baby grows that symbolises the materialism of youth today and uttering their made-up words, sure in the knowledge that they are in 'the club' and could confidently spot someone who was not in the club by their imbecilic questions such as 'yes, but what actually is it?' (Ok, I possibly also have some issues with modern art).
How you become a member of these secret worlds is never articulated to the people outside of it. Maybe you are just born into it. Or some shadowy figure pulls you aside in secondary school and mumbles in a sinister sounding voice "do you want to be a member of a secret world?" before depositing a small briefcase containing your new identify as Insert-Secret-World-Here member and disappearing in a cloud of smoke.
It's with some wonder then that I contemplate my current predicament. Squeezed into a Ryan air seat that appears to have been designed for a species of tiny humans whilst through my headphones the BBC 'Introduction to Italian' (that I stopped listening to ages ago) continues to plod along-we seem to be in a department store at the moment. (Seriously, who goes to a department store on holiday?)
Yes, here I am. Non-lover of wine and non-member of secret wine world jetting across Europe on route to my new vineyard.
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