I have discovered the secret to being a wine snob...
The trick is to sound like you know an incredible amount about wine to the layperson. Fortunately, this is easy. Wine seems to be a stupidly complicated thing, with the different labels, countries and grapes all contributing something to the confusion. I have discovered a few tricks though, that make it sound as if I've really studied this and invested money in being a wino.
I have discovered that I can accomplish this easily by declaring myself to be a fan of a particular grape. Once you learn to appreciate this grape, you too can start sounding smart and sophisticated at holiday gatherings. This magical grape? Carmenere.
This is fantastic stuff. No one has ever heard of this. Most people are still stuck on remembering whether or not you can drink red wine with fish or not (Hint: No one cares anymore! Get smashed!). But if you can say you prefer carmenere grapes over the others, then you sound super swanky.
Here's the deal with carmenere. Back in the 1800's, European winemakers started exporting their vines to the New World so they could enjoy fancy wines while colonizing the fuck out of everything. They exported merlot, pinot noir and the magical carmenere among others. While these vines thrived and grew strong, an insect infestation started destroying the vines back in Europe. In fact, there's very few pure European vines left anymore. Much of that fancy French wine everyone holds in such esteem comes from grapes grafted onto American root stocks. Carmenere, being fickle and difficult to grow did not survive the infestation. As far as anyone knew, it was now extinct.
Except in Chile. In Chile, the carmenere grapes got mixed up with merlot grapes. Everyone knew there was something subtly different about chilean merlots, but no one knew why. Until some enterprising and possibly drunk geneticist came along and proved it was the "Lost grape".
Carmenere is a beautiful wine to drink. I hate reds, usually, unless they are hella expensive. The tannins are like scraping a woodfile against my tongue. But a simple five dollar bottle of carmenere from Trader Joe's goes down like a good burgundy at five times the cost.
Imagine it, now. You're out at dinner, scanning the wine list. You mutter about it missing carmenere, since this wine isn't typically on the menu at your local Chili's or Outback. Now you must explain about the history of the lost, noble grape while you make a different selection. Your dinner companions are amazed at your knowledge and sophistication. You sigh and pretend to settle for something more well known, content that all your friends now think of you as a true wine snob.
Kick ass.
I have discovered that I can accomplish this easily by declaring myself to be a fan of a particular grape. Once you learn to appreciate this grape, you too can start sounding smart and sophisticated at holiday gatherings. This magical grape? Carmenere.
This is fantastic stuff. No one has ever heard of this. Most people are still stuck on remembering whether or not you can drink red wine with fish or not (Hint: No one cares anymore! Get smashed!). But if you can say you prefer carmenere grapes over the others, then you sound super swanky.
Here's the deal with carmenere. Back in the 1800's, European winemakers started exporting their vines to the New World so they could enjoy fancy wines while colonizing the fuck out of everything. They exported merlot, pinot noir and the magical carmenere among others. While these vines thrived and grew strong, an insect infestation started destroying the vines back in Europe. In fact, there's very few pure European vines left anymore. Much of that fancy French wine everyone holds in such esteem comes from grapes grafted onto American root stocks. Carmenere, being fickle and difficult to grow did not survive the infestation. As far as anyone knew, it was now extinct.
Except in Chile. In Chile, the carmenere grapes got mixed up with merlot grapes. Everyone knew there was something subtly different about chilean merlots, but no one knew why. Until some enterprising and possibly drunk geneticist came along and proved it was the "Lost grape".
Carmenere is a beautiful wine to drink. I hate reds, usually, unless they are hella expensive. The tannins are like scraping a woodfile against my tongue. But a simple five dollar bottle of carmenere from Trader Joe's goes down like a good burgundy at five times the cost.
Imagine it, now. You're out at dinner, scanning the wine list. You mutter about it missing carmenere, since this wine isn't typically on the menu at your local Chili's or Outback. Now you must explain about the history of the lost, noble grape while you make a different selection. Your dinner companions are amazed at your knowledge and sophistication. You sigh and pretend to settle for something more well known, content that all your friends now think of you as a true wine snob.
Kick ass.