More Wine Stories

 Last month's editorial has caught a certain amount of interest from consumers and producers, so much so that many have decided – in much greater number than usually happens – to send emails with their comments and thoughts on what I have written. With each incoming email, I expected to read reactions of disapproval from those who, perhaps hurt in their pride, legitimately wished to express their dissent. Of course there have been many emails disagreeing with my opinion, most of them from producers, however the majority – far more conspicuous than the minority – have expressed total agreement with what I have written. Among these, there are also many producers who, while not appreciating the fairytale and storytelling narrative of wine, find themselves having to suffer it in spite of themselves due to “unclear situations or conditions” and solely to satisfy a certain category of consumers and the commercial, cultural and social contexts to which they refer or belong to.

 I must also point out, with pleasure, that the majority of our readers have expressed comments of total agreement and approval, many also pointing out how in some cases certain narratives become ridiculous. Needless to say, I agree. Furthermore, I am pleased that I am not the only one who thinks that, very often, they exaggerate with this type of communication that excludes, in an all too evident way, wine, relegated to a marginal position compared to the exciting story of archaic fairies and extraordinary places blessed by a benevolent, unique and magical fate. To be fair, we have also received emails from our readers who appreciate this type of narration about wine, although they represent the minority. Even some producers, from what we read in their comments, seem to appreciate this communication expedient in presenting their wines, or rather, their company and production context.

 In last month's editorial, as a matter of fact, I would have liked to talk about another case in which disinhibited use is made of wine stories. Due to lack of space, I decided not to cover it on that occasion but – given the interest it has aroused, for better or for worse – I will do it in this month's editorial. I am referring to the vast category of restaurants, wine bars and wine shops, more generally, in places where wine is sold at retail. Perhaps it is the spread of storytellers, not least and as I have been able to personally observe, that certain consumers are more interested in wines with a story rather than the wine itself, often in restaurants, wine bars and wine shops this phenomenon is increasingly frequent. The narration and presentation of wines in these sales outlets sometimes borders on the ridiculous because of the way in which the amazing deeds of the producer or the winery are magnified, deliberately neglecting – perhaps to poorly conceal an embarrassing ignorance or lack of competence – the specific qualities of the wine.

 Tangible proof of how mistreated wine is in many restaurants can also be clearly seen in their wine lists. Vintages generally absent, denominations and names of wines approximate or incorrect, organization of categories carried out in a questionable and confusing way, names of producers combined with those of the wine, even incorrectly, sometimes omitted as well. The wine list is a working tool that undeniably facilitates and encourages sales, provided it is made and compiled in an appropriate and effective way. As I have already written in the past on this subject, I personally never order wine in restaurants where the wine list is clearly disorganized, approximate, confused or incomplete. Experience teaches me that the wine will be served with exactly the same disorder, approximation and confusion. Of course, not all restaurants are like this – there are obviously praiseworthy and admirable exceptions, not only in haute cuisine restaurants – but the majority, as far as I am concerned, have embarrassingly useless wine lists.

 Then there is the exciting category of restaurateurs, waiters and sommelier storytellers who usually perform on the improvised stage in front of the table of the unfortunate customer, especially when the wine list is not available or compiled in a whimsical way, not least, with extravagant creativity. Very often, the monologue begins without even asking what has been ordered from the kitchen or what one intends to order, starting to briefly list the wines available or to be proposed, mainly focusing the story on what the producer does, where he or she does it, the vision and philosophy of wine and, not least, the privilege he or she has had in life to live in such an enchanted place. If you try to ask specifically for information about the wines, the answer is often elusive and brief, then skillfully returning to the story of the producer, what he does, where he lives and how he lives, with such maniacal enthusiasm that you think it will surely also be revealed which political party he votes for, his religion and his zodiac sign. Maybe even his magical divine power to be able to speak to the birds, butterflies and lizards that live blissfully and happily in his enchanted vineyard.

 If you insist on the wine further, you see them change expressions and, with disappointment, they mumble something just to please you. If you then ask about the vintage of the wine, it is not uncommon to hear the answer “I don't know, I have to ask, I need to check, I'm not sure”. To this category, then, is added that of the winemaking talent scout who, triumphantly, tell how exciting it was to discover that producer that no one knew and that, by supreme and divine privilege, the customer at the table has the extraordinary luck of tasting his wines. It does not matter then if the wine is of an embarrassing mediocrity and full of faults: it is a very small and unknown producer, no less stoic defender of sacred winemaking – a staunch bulwark in a world of brutes and shady characters – underlining the unrepeatable luck of tasting, comfortably seated at the table, his masterpieces. Moreover, they invariably point out the fact that no other restaurant or wine shop offers the wines from that producer and, more often than not, tasting them makes you inexorably understand, in an all too simple way, why.

 Am I too polemical and sarcastic? Yes, certainly, and I know it all too well. But I am also convinced that listening to certain stories, or tales if you will, seems to me to be the appropriate way to comment. As I already wrote in the last month's editorial, when I want to immerse myself in the emotion of a story, I do it by reading a book or going to the theater. When I pour a wine into the glass, I want to listen to and taste that wine and that's it. The fact that its producer lives like a hermit, observing archaic lifestyles, having breakfast in the company of a jokester blue tit and in the evening, after dinner, playing cards with a grizzly bear, does not add or take anything away from the wine. Indeed, it is a crude attempt at emotional and psychological manipulation, an annoying expedient to turn the mind elsewhere and not where it should be, that is, on the wine in the glass. Above all, when this happens, I always end up having the same feeling, that is, that the storyteller on duty knows little or nothing about wine in general, hoping to hide his ignorance and incompetence with nice stories that tell everything except wine.