My good friend Nancy convinced her husband and me to watch a movie based on an Elizabeth Gilbert book. The three of us sat in the TV room and watched what Bill — Nancy’s husband — and I would later call, “Just, Kill, Me.” Whatever accolades the book may have gotten, the movie, “Eat, Pray, Love” did not work for the men in the basement. For some people — Cro Magnons, for example — the kind of delayed gratification inherent in a leisurely meal experience puts too much elapsed time between the drinker and the juice.
On a recent visit to my Florida friend Lisa, I was having coffee with her and her male friend, who had introduced her to exotic coffees and “good wines.” We had Panamanian coffee and a “fair trade arabaca” and some beans that were grown near volcanoes. They mentioned that the coffee had changed in taste because the beans had grown old. I used to buy coffee beans when my large coffemaker’s grinder was still working, but I buy ground coffee now. But when I was buying beans, I never noticed when the taste had changed because of the age of the beans. I do not have the refined palate that she and her friend share. I’ve always known Lisa to be a magnificent cook, and she has apparently added coffee and wine appreciation to her skills.
When we lived in the San Joaquin Valley in California, my first bride worked at a winery. We took advantage of employee discounts on cases of wine, but I never learned why one wine was “good,” and another, not so much. I was not that far from my high school experimentations with cheap wine. I did grow to appreciate the brandy the winery produced, and learned that brandy is a byproduct of wine sludge. That knowledge did not slow my consumption of the brew, however, and cases of wine never lasted long enough to fill a wine cellar. My approach to “tasty beverage” appreciation was make sure it entered my bloodstream as promptly as possible.
Lisa’s friend’s comments about the wine we drank that weekend in Florida reminded me of some of the scenes from one of my favorite movies. In Sideways, wine connoisseur Miles is teaching his friend Jack how to appreciate the grape. He tells him to put his nose deep into the red wine goblet, and spits out words and phrases like “quaffable,” and “too much alcohol; overwhelms the fruit.” Jack nods and listens patiently, then asks, “When do we drink it?” When given the OK, he does not sip, but slurps up the entire goblet. Miles does not approve. He waxes on about the quality of a pinot grape, which he calls “a hard grape to grow,” that is “not a survivor, like a cabernet.” All the while, Miles is interested only in the moment he can put the wine down his throat.
We have entered a season of feasting and celebration and many of us will be partaking of comestibles and drink. I may not have a “fine palate,” but I do have an appreciation for fine liquors and good beer. I like to drink Irish whiskey and single malt Scotch. I appreciate the artistry of craft beer brewers, though I have not developed a taste for Beowulf’s mead. I’ll try to remember what “pairs well,” wine-wise, with foods I plan to consume. I will also be remembering the main purpose of the beverage, and I will pour, drink and grin.
Pour, drink and grin.