I’m a problem for vintners, but I’m here to help.
The problem I represent is my own lack of sophistication, but that’s just the start. Not only am I unsophisticated, but I’m also decidedly satisfied with that state of affairs. I can hardly match my shirt to my pants. The last thing I need to be worrying about is matching liquid to solid food.
Caffeine-free Diet Coke goes with everything. So does water. So does Kiwi Strawberry Snapple. At least they do in my mouth.
Wine is a different story. You mix white wine with beef, and some guy named David J. Esoterica will come up behind you, shake his head vigorously and explain that, no no no no no, this just won’t do. Or is it white wine and chicken that presents the problem? And what goes with Blue Nun? Blueberry pie? (An aside: Have you noticed there’s no blue food? Artificial coloring doesn’t count, and blueberries are actually purple. But I digress.)
I don’t want to drink anything I have to understand. People talk about the “aroma” of wine. I smell fruit. People talk about the “texture” of wine. It’s been a while, but I seem to recall it feeling somewhat liquid. People talk about the “character” of wine. Run an FBI background check and let me know what you find.
Earlier this year, Ray’s Station Vineyards of Sonoma County launched a marketing campaign designed to make wine more appealing to manly men. Its marketing director explained the company wants to reach out to men who haven’t yet found it necessary to “force themselves to become knowledgeable” about the stuff.
OK. I’ll try. Enter “www.wikipedia.com”…search “wine”…read: “Wine is an alcoholic beverage produced by the fermentation of the juice of fruits…” kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkjdaj;kldfj;lkjf…
Oh. Sorry. Fell asleep on my keyboard again. Looks like I didn’t do a very good job of forcing myself to be knowledgeable about wine.
This is all my fault. But every cloud has a silver lining, just as every silver lining has a cloud, and every bin has a liner.
How are vintners supposed to get guys like me to integrate wine into our lives? If you can’t persuade us to care about the aroma, texture and character of your fruity liquid, it’s up to us to show you how to bring it down to our level.
Let’s start with some simple steps. First, name your wines after stuff we can recognize. What is Cabernet? What is Garnacha? What is Merlot? The question is hypothetical! Please don’t give me a constructive answer. If I really wanted to know, I would find out on my own. The point is, guys like me can’t relate to stuff with names like that.
Name your wine something like “Wrench.” Or “Fifty Yard Line.” Or “Punching Bag.” At least I know what those are. It gives me something to wrap my mind around.
Next, think primary colors and simple type faces. If the label looks like a wedding invitation, it’s hard for us simpletons to read. I think I remember this from elementary school as “cursive.” Those swirly letters that run together? Granted, Coke uses this too, but they also put block letters on the other side of the can for people who don’t like girly swirly.
Basic blue or red. White letters. Block font. WRENCH WINE.
As far as containers and corks are concerned, I realize this is a sensitive subject and that there are wines available in plastic bottles with screw caps. These are known as “cheap” wines and are generally drunk by drunks. So feel free to be creative in crafting a solution but just keep in mind that we simpletons would rather not go to the trouble of opening a container of liquid if we need to use a tool that, in the dark, looks like a mechanism from “Star Wars.”
Finally, figure out a way to help us match your wine to our food without “wine connoisseurs” giving us a hard time. Remember Garanimals? Children’s clothing with different animals on the labels? All the rugrats had to do was pick a shirt with a giraffe and pants with a giraffe, and wham, their clothes matched. We clods could use a system like that. Maybe you put Bessie the Cow on the one that goes with beef. Foghorn Leghorn goes on the chicken-friendly wine.
Better yet, just make one flavor and declare it a match for everything. We won’t know the difference. And even if we did, we wouldn’t care.
This is all I ask from my beverage: good taste, easy-to-read label. No learning. No understanding. (No alcohol would be enormously appealing to this columnist, but they tell me I’m weird.) David J. Esoterica is convinced I’m gauche because I don’t pick up a glass of liquid, swirl it around and then rub my chin. That’s me. Mr. Gauche. Making life difficult for vintners everywhere.
I won’t be offended if vintners think it’s not worth the trouble to come down to my level. It’s pretty unsophisticated down here. But it seems only fair I provide a road map in case they do want to come. Don’t bring the Beemers, though. They’ll get dirty on the back roads out this way.
