One of my classes this semester is titled: the Science and Romance of Wine. It's basically a survey of the wines of the world, starting with what a grape is, covering a brief history of wine, discussing wine production and classifications, and finally different wine regions. We just finished a 4-lecture unit of French wines.
I don't particularly like wine. I don't enjoy drinking wines. I can't really tell the difference between one wine and the next. But I think I should. I think that I ought to enjoy drinking wine. And my hopes were that by knowing more about it, I would come to a deeper appreciation of wine. Just took the midterm tonight. Can't say I appreciate it any more or less than before. But I do know a little more today than I did seven weeks ago.
And I know enough now to know that my ex is full of it.
Two summers ago, the bunch of us decided to go wine tasting. It may have been my idea, I don't remember anymore, but somehow, we got our act together and the eight of us drove out to a Long Island winery. Over the course of the afternoon, we tasted 6-8 wines, basking in the warm summer sun under an umbrella, taking in the scents of cigar smoke from the next table over, and awkwardly not interacting with my ex. Well, I was the only one not interacting with him. Anyway, he and our friend, Tony, had taken a wine class sometime during undergrad, and they were going on and on about the flavors and the streaks, the age and the process by which it was produced. I remember he asked our server if one of the cabernets had its second fermentation in an oak barrel, because he tasted vanilla, grapefruit and raspberries. She said yes, and the group was very impressed, in awe that he could determine that from the two sips he took.
What a load of bull.
Almost all red wines have their second fermentation in an oak barrel. At the time, I thought he was trying to be so impressive with his crazy wine-tasting skills. I thought he was a joke.
Now I know that he was.
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