I love my family, but I hate wine. Thus began my quandary. My sister was organizing a group to go on a wine train excursion to celebrate her birthday. Her friends are fun-loving people who are easy to like, and of course, my family would be there. Saying yes to the invite was easy, but still there would be wine. I don’t just dislike the taste of wine, I despise the smell of it. There would be a winery tour, and it was safe to assume I would be trapped in room that smelled strongly of rotting fruit. One will endure a lot for the love of family. I could certainly breathe in some noxious fumes for a little while. One thing I wouldn’t be doing, was putting that rotten brew in my mouth, or so I thought.
The day began with perfect weather, a drive to a quaint New Jersey town, a scenic train ride along the Delaware River, and excellent company. The winery had stunning views and a homey feel. The owner and guide did an excellent job of teaching us about the wine making process from the well ventilated safety of the outdoors. Unfortunately, things were about to change. The first step towards my downfall was the wine making area. The first whiff had me reconsidering my decision to enter into a building that looked like every television news report of some kidnapped child found in shed at the back of a hidden lot. I immediately began checking for points of exit. My husband asked if I was going to be okay as my lungs filled with the fumes of rotten fruit and what reminded me of cleaning solutions. I had wondered if I might be nauseated, but luckily I my olfactory sense wasn’t engaging my gag reflex. I did wander near the door at one point to check on the air quality closer to my escape route, but alas, it was sealed tight. I was baffled by the comments of my fellow participants who mentioned how lovely the aroma was. This must be how Stockholm Syndrome begins. Clearly, these are people don’t know you shouldn’t eat things that have spoiled. Poor souls. Thankfully, our imprisonment was short lived, and I was soon able to breath in fresh air. Good thing I wasn’t going to be tasting the devil’s grape juice, because unlike smells, tastes linger.
Stepping into the tasting room, I initially rejected the glass handed to me by the cheerful young woman who probably wondered who attended a wine tasting and wasn’t going to be tasting anything. I returned a moment later, because, hey, free glass. I awaited the hors devours with every intention of sharing my wine with my less discerning spouse. I shouldn’t have brought him honestly, because he was my downfall. With a bite of potato puff pastry in my mouth, I heard my husband say, “I think you’d like this one.” I’ve heard this lie before. It’s come in other forms like my best friend telling me that homemade kale chips were delicious or sporty friends trying to fool me into believing there is such a thing as a runners high if I will only push myself past the point of wanting to die. My husband has even tried to get me to taste a wine or two by first encouraging me to bypass my nose and just taste it. Nope. If I need to hold my breath before I put something in my mouth, it doesn’t belong there. But, I decided to humor him. I brought the wine glass to my nose. It’s mild scent disarmed my resolve, and I gave in to the first sip of the five wines to be sampled. Fast forward, and I shall now review all the wines for my fellow non-wine drinkers. (All wine names have been changed to protect the innocent wine makers who were just doing their job and had no idea a wine hater like me was in their midst.)
Bandit, a white wine
The first wine, which I will call, Bandit, was a white wine whose descriptions include words like delicate, subtle, and sweet. I named it Bandit, because that was my husband’s childhood dog. Tales of that dog’s loyalty, which I am sure have been greatly exaggerated, and the rose-colored glasses of childhood, led my husband to believe owning a dog would make our family life better. Several horrible dog experiences have not convinced him otherwise. Bandit was the gateway dog, much like this wine was the gateway to my future tasting.
My first sip entered my mouth with a sense of pleasant surprise. This was by far the least disgusting wine I had ever tasted. It was like rubbing alcohol and sugar. I didn’t have an overwhelming desire to guzzle something to clear away the taste. I even went back for another taste. While I wouldn’t go as far as to call it enjoyable, I survived it with only one bite of my pastry to clear away the memory.
I recommend pairing it with a nice sharp cheddar cheese and apple slices. If you’re a wine drinker, you probably already eat fancy foods like this when you drink.
Letdown, a white wine
The next wine up was paired with a parmesan panetini. It was described with the phrase perfumed notes. Have you ever tasted perfume? No? Perfume, like wine, contains alcohol. And like wine, it shouldn’t be drunk. While not the worst taste I had ever had in my mouth, this was a far cry from the best. I cleansed my palette with my remaining toasted cheese bread, because I’m not fancy enough to be drinking wine or calling cheese toast “panetini.”
I recommend you pair this option with your retirement account, because like this wine, your hopes of what if could one day be will inevitably let you down.
Deceit, a blush wine
The third wine was described as crisp and dry. Blush is an appropriate term for this wine which completely lacked integrity. It should do more than blush for the lies it told. The first sip was typical for the wines of the day, less horrible than I had predicted. But moments later, like a bad boyfriend, it turned. It morphed inside my mouth from one thing on my lips to a completely different thing as it crossed my tastebuds. A completely awful, horrible, liar of a beverage. It evoked a flashback of my freshman year in college kissing a drunk guy whose pickup lines were far sweeter than the stale beer on his lips. The pig in a blanket they paired it with seemed an appropriate parallel for both bad dates and this wine.
I recommend you pair it with a presidential debate or a very bad break-up.
Persistence, a red wine
The fourth wine was a full-bodied dry red wine. Honestly, I’ve had a full body, and I enjoyed my fat rolls a whole lot more than this wine. It was paired with beef triangles, and a hint of my patience running out. By this point my facial expressions were becoming more entertaining to our party than the wine. My husband’s discomfort over my vocal descriptions probably had him wishing the tasting was over even more than I did.
I recommend pairing this wine with a Friday night after a long week when you have nothing left to give, including any consideration for your tastebuds.
Finality, a red wine
The final wine on this tour of fermentation was classified as oak aged and almost sweet. I couldn’t discern the hints of wood, but I think chewing on an oak stick might have been preferable to this entire wine tasting experience. I knew right away that the single Hershey kiss they offered to pair with this wine wasn’t going to be enough to wipe it’s lingering taste from my memory. I was right. The fact that the tasting was finally over may have tainted my opinion a little more favorably towards this wine, giving it a rank of third place amongst this rotten line-up.
I recommend pairing it with a scalding cup of hot coffee to singe the taste buds off your tongue.
Drink responsibly.
