Bad Verse Is Wine’s Worst Curse

I do not condone the use of alcohol, but you may actually need a drink during these difficult days. Rather than drink anything as outmoded as hard liquor, though, you should stick to wine. But with so many wines to choose from and wine doggerel running rampant at every Pop’s Market and Trader Joe’s, how do you know what to pick?

There is a language the wino-scenti use that has been guarded for centuries. But ever since America went chic, lessons in winespeak are no farther away than the liquor store.

I assume that some liquor stores are the leading employers of bad poets in the postmodern world. Who else could write that flowery stuff you find on little cards next to the wine displays?

Somewhere in an industrial park, modern-day Sara Teasdales and Rudyard Kiplings are swilling down goblets of grapes and writing such things as “A tightly structured Chardonnay . . . . A discreet choice . . . . Surprisingly Rhone-like . . . . Quiet complexity . . . . Married to rich fruit and oak flavors,” and the ever-popular: “The 1985 has a bouquet similar to apple blossoms. . . .”

You can’t even go into the neighborhood drugstore without confronting bad free verse. “This dark-colored Gigondas has a subdued nose that is faintly perfumed with a hint of cassis-like fruit and a touch of vanilla. Quite a big, rich fruity wine. . . .” Say that too loudly in certain bars and some big guy will subdue your nose.

Imagine: You’re just looking for a little something to go with a grilled chicken and you have to deal with such wild appeals as: “It’s rich and racy!” or “A rich seductive mix of toasty oak and ripe apple!”

Blatant appeals to snobbery sing out from other sections of the store. There’s the sign, for instance, that heralds, in great curlicues of lettering, “Bottled under the auspices of the Baronne De Philippe Rothschild,” although he becomes simply Baron Philippe de Rothschild on the bottle’s label. A couple of swigs of Bordeaux and you can’t tell a baronne from a baron anyway.

A Cakebread Cabernet is described as “the true King Cab. The finish is classic with cherry and cigar box essences. Ideal for immediate consumption and an absolute must for the wine cellar.”

Who are these people who want to drink something that smells like a cigar box? What do they do for a finish?

I also can’t understand the command to “drink over the next four to six years.” I’ve heard of nursing a drink, but somewhere around 1995 even Florence Nightingale would start belting it down.

Weirdest of all are the anti- snob messages. There actually is something called Lytton Springs Wineburger, which purports to be “perfect with beef, pasta, stews, and, yes, burgers!”

But how will it wash with Spam?

And I’m not going to touch anything described as an “everyday wine.” I’ll stick to unleaded, thank you.

Nor will I go near a wine with a card that asks, “Remember when Zinfandels were red, fruity and ultimately fun to drink?” Because I ultimately don’t.

Finally, I question all those winners. First Place, Siskiyou County Fair! Bronze Medal Palm Springs Bono Festival! Gold Medal, Barstow Wine and Wienie Roast!

Makes you kind of wonder what’s in all those losers.

So pour yourself a glass of wine. But don’t read the critical comments or you’ll end up drinking a piquant bouquet. And that can leave you with a brut of a hangover.