Some Wine Basics
“We also have a Barbera, and a Gigondas,” said the server, as she stood next to the table, offering my friend the full roster of available red wines by the glass. The curse of the American wine drinker rears its ugly head, I thought to myself. Nowhere in the world do lay wine drinkers feel so squeamish around a question so seemingly simple and mundane as “What would you like to drink?” In Piemonte, where most of the world’s Barbera is grown, you could take a seat in 100 cafés or restaurants before you’d be offered a glass of French wine, let alone a glass of Gigondas. Conversely, in and around the French city of Avignon, which is not far from the little village of Gigondas in the southern section of the Rhone Valley, you’d be just as likely to be offered a shot of mezcal as you would a glass of Barbera.
In America, we are offered everything. The more wine-curious the establishment — restaurant or retail shop — the broader, more expansive and more variously dangerous the chasm that awaits innocent drinkers. I know, because I was once a sommelier who delighted in offering, simultaneously, Austrian Blaufrankisch, Pinot Noir from New Zealand, Carménère from Chile, Cabernet Franc from the North Fork of Long Island. I reveled in my global panache. Given the gifts of the American wine market, where all wines from every corner of world are available, made in a million different styles, why not present great examples from as many places as possible?
The motivation seems harmless enough, but the overwhelming majority of American wine drinkers have borne the brunt. For one thing, most of us didn’t grow up in agricultural areas, or in very close proximity to the growing of anything. Our parents didn’t carry jugs of the neighbors’ wine to the dinner table. Wine isn’t in our bones, agriculturally speaking. Also, there is the inundation of information about wine, like an avalanche that never stops coming. American wine drinkers can hardly help but feel buried under all of the different languages, grape varieties, terms, classifications, bottle shapes, the names of vineyards; the list could go on forever.
If I could offer one piece of advice, to anyone hoping to gain more clarity, and potentially expand their pleasure with wine exponentially, it is to start small. Pick a book about wine basics (my favorite has always been Karen MacNeil’s The Wine Bible), and begin by starting to understand the differences between different grapes (Pinot Noir, Chardonnay, Barbera, etc.) and different places (Burgundy, Chablis, Gigondas, etc.). One of the first things you’ll learn is that restaurants regularly mix the names of grapes with the names of places in their offerings, which is like someone at a rental car counter offering you the choice of a mid-size car or a Chevy. It isn’t intentional; they surely wish they could help guests understand more about the wines they’re serving.
Imagine the enjoyment that will come from just the beginnings of a foundation of understanding about wine, from the confidence of knowing that Barbera is one of the most important red grapes of the region called Piemonte, in northern Italy. You might know just a thing or two about it: that it is rarely considered a “noble” grape, or one that is used to make the finest wines of the region, but that it ripens dependably, and that it is usually harvested with low to medium acidity. You might know that the vineyards in the little village of Gigondas in southern France are planted almost entirely with the grape called Grenache; which often has a red, cherry-like flavor profile, and which produces wines of elevated alcohol levels, on account of how hot the growing seasons there are increasingly becoming.
Even when armed with little bits of knowledge like these, without any insight to a particular grower, or vintage or a particular cuvée, there will still be surprises. Some wines made with Barbera are lithe and lively, and were perhaps made from fruit harvested earlier in the season. Some are made with the use of very few oak barrels, or of none at all. Still others, made from the same grape but by a different grower and from a different location, are rich, alcoholic and ponderous. The distinctions are nothing to fear, especially for someone armed with a basic understanding, and better yet, curiosity about wine. To the contrary, with a little investment and familiarity, these distinctions tend to offer endless supplies of intrigue and exhilaration, and ultimately, some serious enjoyment.
