You might be wondering how it is I get off writing about the same topic literally every. single. day. Or at least, 5 out of the 7 days of the week as we currently define it. I always like to remind myself that there is no such thing as a day. The earth has no fucking idea what day it is. We made that up. That's why I decided not to put a table of contents or page numbers in my book. Sure, it's a privilege to forget about what day it is. I get that. I'm still subject to it. The point here, though, is to think outside the frame for a hot minute. How the hell do I write about the same thing every day? Why is this related to days not really existing? Why was this article called "Certified Badass of Wine"?
Great question. And I'm glad you asked, as prospective CEO candidates in banking might say during an interview. (OK, I just stole that from Season 5 of Billions, so you know it's legit).
If you love something as broad and as global as wine like I do, to not have material to write about is to make an excuse. Perhaps the irony (and perhaps the first sign of narcissistic tendencies...) is that I rarely need to look outside my own head to figure out what the hell to talk about. And the beauty of it all is, that if I've got nothing coming to my mind, I just start writing about that, and inevitably, within a few characters, I'm off and running. The double irony is that in this case, I started with clear and present purpose. It probably does not seem like that. Though.
Maybe it's just me, but when I get tipsy while deeply enjoying wine, food, company, and human existence, I feel fucking fantastic. Even when drunkenly splashing water on my face at the end of the night, I feel really good. I feel like life was lived. I feel like the work of many people was truly appreciated. I feel like too many people who put work into what I consumed went under-appreciated by those they work for. I'm having this epiphany now, that, shit, we gotta do more as a society to recognize and appreciate the people who actually made the shit we're consuming. We're gonna work on that.
And who is the badass of wine? It reminds me of a book you'd find in an airport News Shop. Along with Fiji™, Evian™, Dasani™, the latest edition of Cigar Aficionado™, and Malcolm Gladwell's most recent book.
You are. You fucking are.
If you're reading this (very few of you, but I see you, and I appreciate you), you know what my M.O. is. This is not a spoon-feeding website. This is not a fact-shovelling website. I am not exposing the intricacies of individual wines. I love the individual wines, yes. But you don't need my help with what they taste like. You need a lot of help learning how to enjoy them when they are presented to you. You need help giving up control. You need help having fun when the Little Penguin Merlot is your only option. You need help having fun when the restaurant serves decent Amarone in stemless tumbler. You need help seeing that wine is there to be fucked with, not to be perfected. It is there to be appreciated. YES, all lives should matter (fuck you for saying it, though), and great wine should be enjoyed with appropriate food in appropriate stemware at the table, and the Canucks should have won a Stanley Cup by now (fuck. me.), but if you believe all this shit, you're not living in the real world.
If you believe all this shit, you're living in a world that's overrun by idealism. You're living in a world that you're trying too hard to make sense of. The news I bring you today is that the world is not ideal. And it doesn't make a whole hell of a lot of sense. I still think we can try to make it make more sense. And I do try. But, guess what? Wine is pretty far down that list of things that should start making sense sooner than later. I'd rather crack a 2005 Haut-Brion, share a glass with a newbie, and hear them say, "that's fuckin' tasty!" than hear a sommelier complain that it shouldn't even have been opened, should be served with something different, that its "closed" and "tight", and that it would have been better in 5 years or 10 years or 20 years or with fucking coq-au-vin. All the sommelier created was another useless opinion. But the rookie. With that one glass, a lover of wine was created.
And if you can appreciate each and every new wine you taste with the same vigour of someone who just tasted an intergenerational classic like Château Haut-Brion for the first time, you're a fucking badass of wine.