If you’re tired of people looking at you strangely every time you buy a wine, order a wine or give your opinion about one, this article is for you
In 1958, They Wanted to Know What People Would Drink in the Future
In 1958, people wanted to find out what the future would hold for drinking habits. Using a time machine, they discovered that in 2010, the rich would drink beer, while the working class would sip on wine. Their conclusion was as follows: “The snobbery surrounding wine is spreading further and further: people drink wine because they believe it gives them a certain status. The wrong people, with no class at all, are starting to drink wine, while pubs and beer are beginning to be seen as a way to distinguish oneself from the common folk,” says the protagonist of this story.
Because this is not true—it’s actually a story written by Kingsley Amis in the mid-20th century, parodying just how ridiculous the fuss around wine could get. But are we sure it’s not true? At what point did wine stop being just another drink on the table and become a cult object, a status symbol, a product around which only the chosen few—the self-proclaimed connoisseurs—can dance? “I know about wine.” Those who know about wine… that closed club you have to earn your stripes to join.
The Pressure of the Scores
“The problem started when we winemakers began to make wine for points, guides, and the press, turning our backs on the consumer. This permeated everything, including the language and the way we communicate,” a winemaker told me, who prefers not to be cited to avoid upsetting those who assign scores, edit guides, and write for the press.
There’s a scene in the series Futurama where Bender, a robot who uses alcohol as fuel and has a tendency to demand that others kiss a certain part of his shiny anatomy, orders the three most expensive wines from the list. The sommelier nods proudly and responds, “Excellent choice, sir.” To which Bender replies, “And mix them all in a pitcher.” Good for Bender—I can’t think of any sector of the leisure world where its ambassadors are more eager to show off what they know than to help you choose a product.
You order a wine, and you’re lucky if you don’t get lost in the sommelier’s explanations and airs—some are brilliant, of course, but others should be taken to Got Talent to see if they really know that much—or if someone at the table doesn’t correct you for holding the glass the wrong way or give you a dirty look if you ask for an ice bucket because you want to chill your red wine.
What You Really Want to Do When a Wine Snob Shows Up
Accessing a wine tasting or enology course has never been so easy—there are thousands online—and there are more and more consumers eager to put their knowledge to use by dominating the table conversation. They’re the wine police, but with a decanter instead of a baton. The wine police aren’t there to help you pick a good wine or enjoy it more: they only want to correct you to show off how much they know. And not everyone wants (or needs) to be a wine expert to drink wine.
I talked about this with Toni Massanés, who runs the Alicia Foundation, dedicated to helping us eat better, and he shared his thoughts on how “wine has reached a level of exclusivity that excludes.” “It has generated dynamics that, if you don’t understand them, make you uncomfortable. Certain things are prohibited. If every time someone drinks wine, they’re expected to detect the tertiary aromas, this is what will happen. Why would you spend a lot on a bottle just to have someone tell you you’re not good enough?”
Here’s a little guide to help you spot the wine police. They’re everywhere, but sometimes they’re harder to detect than the replicants in Blade Runner.
Clues to Unmask Wine Police
A good way to identify them is by noting the kinds of corrections they make. A wine cop will correct you if:
- You don’t care about knowing how to taste
Demanding that someone knows how to taste wine to enjoy it is as unnecessary as expecting them to understand musical notation to enjoy a concert. - You chill red wines
Wine is meant to be consumed at room temperature, but this refers to cellar temperature, not the heat of Seville in August. If you need to put red wine in the fridge or ice bucket, do so without worry. - You use Ikea glasses (or those from the local bazaar)
Few people can actually tell the difference between drinking wine from one glass or another. Even some who claim to notice it, don’t really notice. - You prefer a $10 wine over a $30 one
The price of wine is subjective and often depends more on marketing than quality. - You fill your glass a bit too much
Leaving space in the glass is for better aroma, but there’s no big mystery here. Pour yourself what you want and don’t mind the judgment (as long as you’re not driving afterward or doing any dangerous work). - You use a pitcher instead of a decanter
They serve the same purpose, and the pitcher came first, has a handle, is easier to clean, and looks lovely on the shelf. All pluses. - You add ice to your white wine
Yes, it waters it down a bit, but it’s better than drinking warm wine. - And especially if you do this with red wine
Don’t drink warm wine—it really spoils it. If the only way to cool it is by adding ice, ignore the critics. - You buy wine because you liked the label
A wine isn’t better because of a pretty label or worse because of an ugly one, and you can’t know until you try it. But if it’s pretty, it shows the winemaker’s attention to detail. - You choose it because the winemaker is from your hometown or because you last drank it with someone special
The reasons why someone chooses one wine over another rarely have much to do with the wine itself and instead follow reasons beyond understanding. And this is something the wine police will never understand.
In summary: They can’t handle it if you don’t like what they say you should like. Nick Hornby captured this well in his novel High Fidelity: “I’ve been around when wine tasting turns into wine guzzling, although occasionally I see someone savor it, take their time, and then say something pretentious. Most people are just knocking it back. And tomorrow, my father will be unbearable. Not from the hangover or the stench of booze, but from all the nonsense he’ll have absorbed. He’ll spend half the day telling people things they have no desire to hear.”
Kingsley Amis passed away in 1995, never to see whether his 2010 dystopia came true. He can be thankful, as not only did it come true, but reality has far exceeded what he imagined in his story sixty years ago.