The wine tragedy of snobbery is closely linked to its Siamese Twin: The Mango Principle, which states that a wine can’t be a wine, can’t taste like a wine, can’t taste like a season or a slope or just a Veltliner or a Grauburgunder or a Dorle or a Cabernet Franc but must taste like mango, passion fruit, licorice or blackberry, maybe with hints of cigar smoke (or green apple, or kumquats) and, mmm, chocolate or slate, and before you take a sip in the proverbial wine shop they will tell you what to taste, and, lo, you will taste it. They could have said, “this will taste like 1945,” and it would have. They could have said, “this will taste like lettuce from your fridge drawer after week 3,” and it would have. So, it’s not just about finding new customers, because that does find new customers … it just does so with great disrespect. I always ask them to talk about where the wine grew instead, to stop them from manipulating my head. Some can. We have great conversations. Most can’t. That’s so disappointing. Those conversations are great.