On Wine. A tragedy.
Ryan Opaz

As someone who comes from a family of grape growers, I love this article. I was raised on wine. I’ve met people who want to talk wine with me, or they get embarrassed about a wine they brought or have, and I’m just, “Do you like it? Then who cares? My mom sometimes throws ice cubes and Squirt soda into her white wine.” Yes, I believe I can “taste” wine, but I’ll be damned if you ask me what those “7 S’s” are. Are there 7? 6? And people are shocked that I don’t know them and don’t care to know them. They are shocked to see that my dad (THE VINTNER) and the rest of us will use a red, plastic cup available at a party for wine instead of request a wine glass like others did. So what? We just like wine. That’s why we grow grapes. I have had wines that I really don’t like. I’ve had wines I actually can’t drink, though rarely. I’ve had $2 wines and $2,000 wines. I’ve had wines that taste like juice, grass, butter, or like an artichoke in a cave (see previous sentence). I’ve had wines that each sip tastes somehow different from the last, and we are so intrigued that the wine dominates the table conversation. But when I’m presented with a wine, and someone watches me, anticipating my reaction and opinion, I simply say, “It’s good. I like it. Thanks. Cheers!” <clink>

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