Wine is for Lovers

I’m not going to dive down some rabbit hole and conjecture some mysterious connection between St. Valentine’s Day and Roman bacchanalian rites to support my topic. Nor am I going to attempt to wax poetically on the alleged romantic virtues of red or sparkling wine. And, let’s just get it out there…wine is no more an aphrodisiac than any other alcoholic beverage when consumed in moderation.

So, why then, is wine for lovers?

Because good wine invites contemplation.

Good wine is neither simple nor bombastic. Rather, it’s often quixotic, understated and complex. Good wine is not hedonistic nor is it quaffable. Good wine is meant to be shared, savored, discussed, and admired. Its consumed in sips rather than gulps. Its best enjoyed using more than one sense. Good wine is meant to be lingered over, allowed to change, to mature, to breathe.

Good wine asks you to slow down, pause, consider and respect.

Good wine is not scorable, cannot be quantified, and is unknowable to the critic. It’s simple, yet mysterious, both savory and sweet, fruity yet tart. It’s been the lifeblood of mankind, both the maker and taker of fortunes, exalted by the classes yet created by the masses. Farmers make wine, not aristocrats.

Grape vines are weeds that will grow nearly anywhere and thrive in unlikely locations. They are independent, gnarly, often persnickety and stubborn. They brave frigid winters, are nearly impervious to fire, hardy in drought, long-lived and adaptable. They mutate easily yet always maintain a core component. The beauty of the grape vine is never perceived in its youth, rather its best work is accomplished in its dotage, after years of acclimation to its surroundings and acceptance of its circumstance.

Good wine isn’t made in a hurry. Wine is not better because of the loveliness of the vineyard or the architecture of the winery. The well-to-do make poor wines, loved merely for their price and notoriety. The poor make good wines that are barely touched, redolent of the soil and the weeds that sustain it, tasting of the sun and wind.

Love is like the grapevine and good wine. Humble, seemingly fraught, but stronger and more resilient than can ever be explained.