All too many times I have gone on dates with men who have said they love wine, and have been brutally disappointed when they order a bottle of some mundane California Cabernet like Silver Oak. I’m sorry, but I thought you were trying to impress me? Did you do your homework? Didn’t I mention that my cats are named Monte after Batard-Montrachet—the crème de la crème of white Burgundy—and Pinot Noir after, well, the Holy Grail of wines? You’d think a guy would have enough common sense at least to order French wine, if not something from the Burgundy region. Go directly to foodie jail. Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200. And, do not expect a second date!
Invariably when a man says he likes wine, he doesn’t know jack shit about it. Rather, he is just enchanted by the marketing and hype of the wine—or, as I call it the air around the bottle instead of the juice inside it. Like judging a book by its cover, like judging a woman by the size of her rack, looks may be skin deep, but quality is not. A woman can alter her appearance injecting a little Botox into her forehead, plumping up her cheeks and lips with Juvederm, and adorning herself in Gucci and Chanel, but eventually the real woman behind the surgery and the fancy clothes will be revealed. Just because she sparkles like a DeBeers diamond, does not mean she’s a quality babe. She’s more likely ersatz. A winery can slap a cute label and a catchy title on a bottle (eg: The Prisoner and Papillon) and fool you long enough to get that bottle home and into your bed… I mean, wine glass.
I must admit that I take great pleasure in intimidating the hell out of my dates when they are superficial label-whores. It’s so much fun to be seated at a table and have the sommelier recognize me, bring me a glass of Champagne, and dive right into a conversation with me about some obscure bottle of Rioja, from a vintage of only 350 cases, that he wants me to try at some point during the meal.
Some day I’m going to meet a man who is either honest about his wine ignorance and/or lack of palate, or who knocks my socks off with his knowledge without being a pompous, pretentious ass like so many wine enthusiasts. Whether a man knows about wine or not doesn’t matter. What’s important is his level of enthusiasm, his ability to see beyond the hype, and his willingness to dig deeper than the skin of the grape. A beautiful blond California Chardonnay may look like its more distinguished sister from Burgundy, she may smell and taste similar, and she may even come from the same grape, but her heart and soul is different. The same can be said for women. Even though I reside in California and look like your average American woman, I am fluent in French, I am saucy and sophisticated, my passion for life runs deeper than my shoe closet, and I'm definitely more expensive.
The man of my dreams will go to great lengths to please me, to impress me, to show me he cares—like buying me the last bottle of 2007 Raveneau Chablis Les Clos for $399 without thinking twice about the price. He is thinking about the quality—of the wine and the woman.