Make no mistake: I am not a connoisseur of fine wine. That is not to say I know nothing about wine. I know most wines are fermented from grapes, except for some specialty wines, which are not, including one wine I know of made in Hawaii, from pineapples. I live in Hawaii, and I like wine, and I like pineapples, so I was confident that I would like pineapple wine. I was wrong. As I remember, it had a pleasant fruity “nose,” but a less pleasant, reminiscent-of-turpentine “finish.”
I also know that wines are classified as red or white, depending on the color of the grapes from which they are fermented, except not necessarily, because red grapes can be, and often are, made into white wines. Red, of course, isn’t necessarily red red. It might also be Rose (pink to us nonconnoisseurs), or amber, or Burgundy, or Ox blood, or Sangria, or even gray. White, of course, isn’t ever white, as in white like milk. It isn’t even ever white, as in clear like water. It’s usually yellow, but may be orange, or straw, or vin Rose, or juane, or even gray.
I know that wine usually comes in bottles: Glass bottles, not plastic bottles, although I don’t know why not plastic bottles, as wine also comes in boxes, with plastic liners. I don’t think fine wine comes in boxes, although I once had a box of Zinfandel (named I believe after one’s inclination after consuming copious amounts thereof) that tasted really quite fine to me. I’m pretty sure wine doesn’t come in cans, but it should if for no other reason than allowing us Hawaii dwellers to bring wine to the beach. Bottles being disallowed on Hawaii public beaches, an icecold can of Chardonnay would be a perfect compliment to a snack of spam musubi.
Yes, Chardonnay is my wine of choice: always served very cold, preferably with lots of ice, and in an insulated plastic cup. Winery and vintage are optional; temperature is not. You might say that my preference confirms that I am less than a connoisseur, but I contend that wine is to be enjoyed, not judged, and I thoroughly enjoy a big glass of Chardonnay, icy cold, served in a cup guaranteed to keep it icy cold until the very last icy drop.
Fortunately, as much as I enjoy my Chardonnay, I never overindulge: not so much by conviction as physiology. One glass of wine and I’m cheerful. Two glasses and I’m conversational; some would say obnoxious, but I prefer conversational. Three glasses and I’m asleep. So unless I start to take my Chardonnay intravenously, three glasses will always be my limit. Granted three, or even two, glasses of wine might make it inadvisable to drive after a night out, but as I have no friends, to night out with or otherwise, it isn’t really a problem.
At one time I fancied myself a wine collector. Being a bit of a computer nerd, I created an elaborate database to track the qualities of the Chardonnay labels and vintages I might try over the years. I had several rating categories, with a 10-point scale for each category. I’ve since forgotten what the categories were, though I’m sure “nose” and “finish” were among them. It didn’t really matter, as whenever I would decide to rate a particular selection, I would fail to do so. Always with the best of intentions, I would drink one glass of the subject wine, only to determine that one glass was not sufficient to reach any conclusions. Therefore, I would drink another glass, reach several conclusions, and expound on them at length. Then, to confirm those conclusions before recording them, I would drink one more glass, and subsequently fall asleep. Inevitably, the next day, what with the hangover and the fuzzy recollections, I would never get around to documenting the research.
01/20/12
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