of snobs & assholes

In honour of Halloween, let’s talk about what scares you – and more importantly, why it shouldn’t.

The Wine Snob. (BOO!)

Yes, we all know this guy: the one who all too willingly elaborates on how the volcanic soil on which the vines were planted truly comes through in the glass; he is utterly incapable of hiding his disdain at the mention of any Italian white; he swirls, sniffs, swishes the stuff round his mouth, and pronounces it “Chablisean” or “unctuous” or “mere child’s play compared to the 1945”; he says “Jerez” – pronounced “Jereth” – instead of sherry, and scoffs at the thought of an adolescent ten-year Tawny.

And why does he scare you?

Because all his grand gestures and pretension imply that he knows something that you don’t, and consequently you should be ashamed for your ignorance. His statements may not be entirely devoid of value, but they are made in a deliberately exclusive way. He seems to forget that wine is a social drink, and as such should be used to include rather than alienate. But in any case you should probably not open your mouth. Just nod in agreement. God forbid you look foolish.

Why shouldn’t you be afraid of this character?

Let me put it this way: are you still afraid of the monsters under your bed? How about the boogeyman hiding in your closet?

No. You grew up and realized it’s all a crock of shit.

The boogeyman doesn’t exist. And neither does this sort of Wine Snob. Perhaps he used to, when wine knowledge was the privileged domain of a privileged few. But we don’t live in that world anymore. There’s more (and generally better) wine out there today than ever. Perhaps more significantly, more people are drinking it and writing about it, thanks to a slew of wine-for-dummies style publications and even more blogs (of varying quality.) Everyone fancies themselves an expert, as they have the requisite amount of base knowledge and inflated sense of self-worth to feign mastery. While a few wine snobs may still exist, they are a dying breed and you’re unlikely to encounter them in day-to-day interactions. If you do, you ought to seriously reconsider your social circle.

So if fewer Wine Snobs exist, who has filled their void?

Easy. A whole bunch of assholes.

The Snob understands what he talks about, but is too eager to show it off; his crippling need for superiority is his Achilles’ heel. While such conduct is inexcusable, it’s not nearly as offensive as the Asshole, who fails on both the knowledge and communication fronts. He thinks he knows what’s he’s talking about, but it’s all hot air.

And I think we can all agree that while snobs or experts may be intimidating, assholes are not. They’re just a fucking pain.

I bring up this distinction because I’m sick of people telling me they don’t know what they want because they’re “not a wine expert.”

Very few people are. But that’s now what I asked you. I just want to know what you’d like to drink tonight. And unless you’re choosing a bottle for your boss or a chick you’d like to impress, the only person that needs to enjoy what you’re drinking is you.

(A caveat: I generally despise the notion that one’s personal taste trumps all. I don’t mean to suggest that the Inherently, Indisputably, and Immutably Good or Beautiful or Delicious exists – but don’t tell me that a well-made manzanilla jereth is not good because you don’t like it. Acknowledge that your palate can’t handle it and that you’d prefer something more approachable.)

So don’t use the Wine Snob or even the Asshole as a scapegoat for your laziness and indecisiveness. It’s a poor excuse, and as equal parts Snob & Asshole I’ll call you out every time.

let’s call a spade a spade

Expensive lambrusco is the biggest scam ever propagated on American drinkers.

Yea, I said it.

Lambrusco, it seems, is cool again. Or cool, for once. How did that happen, and who are the fucktards shelling out at least twenty bucks for a bottle?

Much like handlebar mustaches, lambrusco is no longer the butt of the joke. Instead, it has been embraced by the hip and young, a revival which has led to an unfortunate distortion of this favourite fizzy drink of Emilia-Romagna. Its ubiquity has become offensive, and I’m calling shenanigans.

Every region in Italy (you needn’t wikipedia this – there are twenty) produces wine. Very few other countries can say that about themselves, and that’s pretty fucking cool.

But that doesn’t mean that every region produces great wine. The Po River Valley dominates Emilia-Romagna, making it better suited for agriculture rather than viticulture. Imagine Iowa famers offering you their local bubbles. Sure, you’d take it, taste it, and maybe drink it on a warm day – but you’d laugh in their faces if they charged you more than a nickel for it.

I’m waxing hyperbolic. But you get the point.

Lambrusco is a sparkling red wine. Sparkling may be a bit generous. Let’s call it “effervescent.” Forget the sweet shit your parents guzzled in college- lambrusco these days is generally crisp, dry, and refreshing. It’s a drink that doesn’t ask anything of you, so why do you ask anything of it? It’s not nebbiolo, and it’s never going to nebbiolo. So love it for what it is. Drink it as it’s meant to be drunk. It’s entirely glug-glugable, which is more than okay: it’s fucking fantastic.

And there’s the rub.

Most Americans would rather guzzle brewskies than sparkling Italian red wine.

Lambrusco is one of those context-specific wines. If you’re not on vacation and it’s not over eighty degrees, would you opt for rosé? Probably not.

Lambrusco has similarly restricted parameters within which it can be enjoyed. Of course, well-made (and dare I say interesting?) lambrusco and rosé are to be found. But I’m talking about the run-of-the-mill shit that somehow passes as refined or complex. Most lambrusco doesn’t even offer a bouquet of red fruits and [fill in the blank.] It smells grapey and slightly stinky, and upon inspection is likely to cause the same expression that a five year old has when he smells his grandfather’s prune juice.

Instead, lambrusco is eminently quaffable and pairs exceptionally well with the best of salty snacks (prosciutto and parmigiano reggiano, I’m looking at you.) It’s the sort of drink – and likely the only one – that you can legitimately drink whilst clutching the wine glass by the bowl. Fuck the stem. Drink it out of the bottle for all I care. That’s how it’s supposed to be enjoyed– like water, but a hell of a lot more fun.

Unfortunately that sort of “conspicuous” wine drinking is frowned upon in the States. Yes, you can import the wine, but you can’t import the (ostensibly) carefree lifestyle in which the wine is meant to be drunk. Instead, expensive lambrusco is not only allowed but accepted. Sure, import duties and restaurant mark-ups are a bitch. But the real culprit is the warped mentality of the average New Yorker who expects to pay at least ten dollars for a glass of Italian wine.

If my reasoning has failed to convince you, then consider this:

Not even Italians take lambrusco seriously, and they elected Berlusconi.

Twice.