Last night I attended a wine tasting. It wasn’t my first, and I doubt it will be my last. But as is so often the case, I found that I didn’t especially like any of the seven wines I sampled.
Friends tell me I just have to keep trying until I find what I like. And it’s not as though I can’t drink the occasional glass with dinner. I’ve attempted that, on and off, over the past six years. I’ve attended wine tastings at a variety of venues and sampled wines my friends love. I’ve even enjoyed a wine weekend at a resort, including a five-course meal with a different wine (or two!) paired with each dish. Some of those were rare bottles, all carefully selected my a wine expert to complement the food. But I didn’t care for more than a sip of each, just to see how the food brought out the drink’s subtleties.
So last night, as I tasted my way through sauvignon blanc, chardonnay, rose, cabernet and others, I declared what probably should be my final word on the subject: Maybe I’m just not a wine person. My palette doesn’t seem to be developed in that particular way. And what am I missing, really? A glass of wine may appear more elegant than a pint of beer… but who doesn’t love the contrast of a girl in a prissy dress drinking a manly stout?