Inaugural Post

I am not an authority on wine. Far from it.

In fact, I'm not an authority on anything. Jack of all trades, master of none, I think is how the saying goes. I like to be good at things. Really good, if I can. But I'm so fickle, you see. I have diverse interests, I am distracted by shiny things, and I love having a good time. It's so hard, you see, to settle down on any one thing for any length of time. I probably have adult-ADD, but please don't cure me; it's my enthusiastic flakiness that keeps my husband interested in me.

And yet, something is changing in my pie-crust persona. Perhaps it's that I'm getting older (40 is only a few years away) and have less energy to throw myself into various pursuits (although I think this can be as much attributed to my nocturnally-active children and dogs, who all find their way to mummy's bed at some point or another during the course of a night). Maybe it's because I was very stern with myself, and forced myself to stick with my photography project, ultimately turning it into a business. Lord knows there's been many times I've wanted to throw in the towel there, but I made a vow to see it through, and as a result I get to enjoy--perhaps for the first time in my life--the satisfaction of being thoroughly good and successful at something I love to do.

"What on earth does this have to do with wine?" you wonder. Perhaps a lengthy investigation into the world of wine isn't a suitable pursuit for a scatterbrain like me (alcohol and a single-minded-pursuit-of-knowledge-and-excellence don't seem like a well-matched pair). But I can't help it; once the bug is in my ear, I have to play it out to the fullest, or I'll never be satisfied. And I have definately caught the wine bug.

Why wine? I have no experience with it. Dad liked good beer rather than wine. My husband drinks rarely. Mom drinks never. Lately my sister and Dad have been interested in better wines, but on the whole wine at family occasions was never something to get excited about; just a vinegary little glass of something you were served with turkey and mashed potatoes. Somewhere along the line I developed a preference for two red wines--both merlot--and stoutly declared that I hated all white wine. This has been my stance for years.

I found myself in the LCBO a while ago, looking for wine to serve company at dinner. Our small-town liquor store is nothing special and in dire need of an expansion/makeover; even so, I found myself amongst the shiny bottles and glossy advertising and found that I just wanted more. I was bored of my regular picks. I wanted something else. It was as simple as that, really. I just yearned for something different and exciting. So I reached for a bottle of Pinot Noir from the same winery that made my 'favourite' merlot--and a bottle of the old standby as well--and away I went.

Well, from me to you, that Pinot Noir was yuck. Seriously yuck. The half full bottle is still sitting on my cabinet. I felt a bit vexed with myself for putting absolutely no effort into selecting a wine. The very least I could have done was gone to the Vintages section of the store and selected something there. The LCBO Vintages wines are supposed to be the best the store has to offer. Perhaps I'd better have a do-over and start there. The next week I went back and picked two bottles, both from Louis Jadot: the Beaujolais-Villages 2008 and the Chardonnay 2008. I had a friend over and we cracked the Beaujolais first. Good Lord! It was like a glass of sex! I couldn't believe that wine could be that wonderful! Sadly unlike good sex, we finished in no time. On to the Chardonnay. I was skeptical. Not only did I 'not like white wine', I couldn't believe anything could be better than the wine we'd just had. But knock me over with a feather, it was. I didn't like it--I loved it. It was totally unlike those vinegary wines of my past. It was like a summer day in a glass.

The following week I enthusiastically bought another bottle of the same Beaujolais and brought it to a friend's house. I was barely in the door before I ripped it open. We greedily poured our glasses and sipped and...Harumph. This wasn't the same. I mean, it was the same wine, it just wasn't the same experience. How can that be? I sulkily nursed my glass, feeling let down like the girl at prom no one will dance with. And an hour later, as I tasted the remaining half of the same glass, there wasn't something different again. It didn't taste the same as the first time. I didn't taste the same as the first sip of the glass. It was altogether different again, and in a good way. I got to dance after all.

Since then I've tried a few other wines, all of which came highly recommended (some of which disappointed). They've all been a sensory experience that evokes the strangest descriptions. I've tried wine that reminds me of a barn! Wine that tastes gassy! Wine that made me think of my grandparent's house when I was growing up! I don't know why, I don't know how, but I think it bears investigating, don't you?

Until next time,

B.

P.s. My photography site, if you're interested: www.wordstockphoto.com