Beyond mysticism: embracing wine’s practical allure
My grandparents were impoverished; as was commonplace in Northern England, all had pursued physical labour. Aspirations notwithstanding, my parents were working-class too—culturally and economically, my father had been the first from either family to attend university, albeit as an adult. My upbringing was profoundly industrious. Though both my parents valued education, there was no place for romanticism, myth or fanciful thought. Unsurprisingly, I grew to be a fiercely objective adult, a tenacious learner concerned with understanding the physical world. I had not tasted wine until my mid-20s; neither of my parents had any particular interest. First, I had enjoyed simply tasting wine. Then, I became interested in how wine was grown and made, followed by wanting to understand why some wines tasted so much better than others. Despite a ferocious reading of contemporary wine literature, I felt no more learned. Much of what I read struck me as received wisdom; I found magic, myth and pseudoscience littering popular commentary. As Richard Quandt observes, the wine industry clearly ‘lent itself to bullshit’. It quickly became apparent that accepting myth and mysticism were tantamount to baptism, while challenge constituted blasphemy. Author James Wilson laments doubters of terroir, puzzling at their ‘real appreciation of wine’; meanwhile, Alice Feirring coins challengers as ‘reductionist thinkers’. Producers and journalists alike gleefully propagate shibboleth. Wine need not be magical, though. For many, its allure is wholly practical, and this is sufficient. The rest is superfluous. Perhaps—as the industry contends with a ‘communication crisis’—valorising wines practical appeal might open new doors, inviting pluralist thought and ranging personalities.