A Single Drop and the End of Pleasure?

There is so much to say in this Substack.

After work tonight, I ran to my car--trying to sprint between the cold pellets of hail and heavy teardrops of rain--and thought: there’s so much to say.

By the way, it never hails in Napa Valley. Almost never anyway. But the world is now turned upside down in so many ways—climatologically of course, but also for me, personally.

So let me start there: I am worried about my future.

Not my future alone. But the future of writers like me who write about wine, and frankly, the future of wine writing itself. Here’s my piece Nothing Left to Say? The End of Wine Writing which appeared last week as a Blog in WineSpeed and which I gave as a speech a couple of weeks ago at the Mondavi Center at the University of California at Davis.

The decline in wine writing tracks with an alarming rise in the  anti-alcohol movement. Wine—so special, so emotionally moving, so captivating, so communal, so pleasurable in moderation, so historic, so important culturally and religiously—is now being marginalized worldwide as an illicit drug not a single drop of which, according to new guidelines by the World Health Organization, is safe. Not a single drop of wine is safe, they say.

Right in front of our eyes, moderate wine drinking is becoming de-normalized. The virtue signaling is everywhere: be cool; don’t drink wine in Dry January; don’t drink wine in Sober October. Define yourself by what you denounce.

Is “denounce” too strong a word? Maybe. But if abstaining from wine is just an individual decision, why does anyone need an institutionalized month devoted to what you’re not going to do?

The fact is a new insidious form of Prohibition has begun to take shape. I used to brush off this idea as too extreme. But recent pieces by the top-notch investigative reporter Felicity Carter have been nothing if not eye-opening. Her piece How Neo-Prohibitionists Came to Shape Alcohol Policy in Wine Business Monthly should give every wine drinker pause.  

There is, I believe, a goodness to wine. The way it intimately reveals nature. The way it can bind us together in friendship. The way it inspires generosity.  The way it captivates our intellect as well as our emotions.

To lose all that will be more than sad.

An idea that once seemed so innocent—sharing plates of food and glasses of wine—is increasingly wrapped in dark connotations. The societal terrain is already shifting.  What can any of us do?

I have one idea about what we who love wine in moderation can do. And I’ll share it soon—I promise. Watch this space.

On to other subjects.

In my office, we taste wine usually three times a week. We sit at the same table, use the same glasses, talk about--sometimes argue over--every wine, and take notes. (Even the two office dogs—Max and Fig—settle into their beds and know to stay quiet so we can concentrate). We don’t get too geeky. No one shows off. But we are pretty serious.

Which is how we conducted several tastings this week of about 50 canned wines. Whatever I thought about canned wines up to now went out the window. I was impressed. It felt a little funny pouring wine from a can into a wineglass, but I wanted to be able to smell the wines and you can’t smell much with your nose positioned ever-so-carefully over a pull tab hole. (Plus you look ludicrous).

It also felt weird to rate canned wines on the 100 point scale. So as you’ll see in my upcoming article, I created a new rating system for the wines we tasted: the flip flop scale. Each canned wine was ranked from 0 to 5 flip flops, with the best canned wines scoring 5 flip flops. (The thumbs up emoji was already taken; and a middle finger emoji didn’t seem very politic or polite).

My piece on The Best Canned Wines will appear in WineSpeed on April 19, and you can also join us that evening at 5pm PT and 8pm ET,  @karenmacneilco for our Instagram Live on The Best Canned Wines.

Switching gears again, I realize that I don’t taste wine quite the same way as I used to. I used to follow the standard Mass-in-Latin approach: look at the color (tilting the glass just so), swirl the wine, smell it (nose tucked just into the glass) then taste, then write. 

Finally, after decades, I wondered why? A sip of wine can light up the brain, trigger emotions, and course through the nervous system in what I imagine are thousands of intricate and individual ways. 

So now, I taste the wine and try not to think according to a plan. I wait to see what the wine does first. What sense does it spark? What is it trying to “say?” How does it “move?” If I imagine myself dancing with the wine, I want to be the one who follows, not the one who leads.

And anyway, I have always felt that you don’t drink a great wine. A great wine drinks you.

That was definitely the case with this wine—a 1959 Charles Krug Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa Valley. The back label was signed by Cesare Mondavi (the late Robert and late Peter Mondavi’s father).

In 1959, the Napa Valley was something of a backwater. Cabernet wasn’t even close to being the valley’s main red grape at the time. (I believe Petite Syrah was). I am sure this 1959 Charles Krug cost less than $5 when it was released.

I brought it to Easter dinner a few weeks ago with Beth Novak (Spottswoode), Jancis Robinson and her husband Nick Lander, and Mindy Kearney (Lorenza wine company), plus several friends.

We all sat back and just let the finesse and deliciousness of this 65 year old wine wash over us.  It was one of the best Napa Valley wines I’ve ever tasted.

Lastly, April gives us the gift of Spring, and so we decided to give you a gift. If you’re not already a subscriber to my digital newsletter WineSpeed (full of fascinating intel about wine, videos, wine recommendations, my blog, plus our much-in-demand weekly Wine Quiz), then please accept our gift of 20% off a subscription. And if you are already a subscriber, you can buy a gift subscription for a friend (also 20% off). Simply follow this link and use the code SPRING20 at checkout. 

If you haven’t already, give us a follow on Facebook and Instagram.

Got a thought about this Substack post? I’d love to hear it. So, write me!         -- Karen