If we are what we drink, then I am an aromatic, cherry-fruited, violet-scented, highly tart, transparent, seemingly easy yet actually nuanced, tannic and long-lived glass of Barolo; served in a pinot noir bowl, thank you very much. It's my go-to comfort wine when I put on my old jeans and flop on the couch at the end of the day. Give me a grilled steak and a ballgame and you have a happy man.
What we drink, why and when, tells a lot about who we are. Many of my wine-drinking friends would shy away from a glass of Barolo, or would say — if I forced it on them — that they don't get it. It's too acidic or too astringent, makes their mouth pucker and salivate. That's OK, though, because it only means more Barolo for me.
My dad liked a highball of Beefeaters gin at the end of his day, a triple with two wedges of lemon. Slipping into his well-worn khaki pants, white work shirt pulled out after a long day at work, he liked to slide down in the easy chair and watch television until he fell asleep. God bless you, old man.
Most of my friends are wine drinkers. And like the photo series of people who look like their dogs, their personalities seem to match what wine they drink. My friend "A" who owns a New Mexican restaurant and loves his cabernet; not just any cabernet — Napa cabernet. Powerful, bold and exuberant, just like my friend "A," Napa cab struts its stuff and tells you straight out of the gate what it is. Lots of oak here is the comforting factor, and the thick-skinned cabernet grape carries it well. Like a lot of older wine drinkers, friend "A" was a scotch drinker before he turned to wine. According to his palate, if he is not tasting oak in his wine, he is not tasting wine. I often kid him that if he could pour Napa cab on his breakfast cereal he would. He says, "Why not?"
My friend "L," who owns a French restaurant, loves Burgundy. He used to say he would never drink pinot noir, but it slowly lured him in. When he discovered he loved it, he loved it more than anything. First it was California pinot, rich and ripe. Then he moved onto Oregon pinot, sappy and bright; then he moved onto Burgundy, nuanced and finessed. Burgundy, I warned him, is a trap door, once you go in, you will never come out. He fell hard, and I haven't seen him resurface since. Like my friend "L," Burgundy is a compelling yet neurotic wine. Sometimes mean and reticent, other times open and generous. If "L" isn't sipping a red-fruited, silky smooth Grand Cru Burgundy with forest-floor scents and rich supple tannins — he is not drinking wine.
My wine-writer friend "J" is a bit easier to describe. For the 10 years or so I have been reading his column, he has only written about three different wines: Champagne, Amarone or any wine imported by Kermit Lynch. I appreciate his palate, much like my own, and admire his writing skills greatly. He talks about much more than wine in his column. "J" usually writes about art, marriage, politics or money, and only in the last paragraph or two does he ever reference wine. An engaging intellectual with a soft heart, he likes the dialogue, and he likes his wines to not reveal to him who they are — at least not right away.
My friends "JJ" and "JC," who have known each other for as long as I have been alive, both love cabernet, but unlike my friend "A," who only drinks cab from Napa, they must have their cabernet from Bordeaux — namely classified Bordeaux that has been properly aged for 15 to 40 years: smooth, tobacco- and cassis-scented with medicine cabinet, cigar-box and pencil-shaving aromas. I have had the great pleasure of drinking more perfectly aged Bordeaux at the table of these fun-loving, hard-working intellects than any wine lover deserves. More gracious wines — and likewise hosts — I cannot imagine.
My British neighbors "J" and "T" are retired, and similar to their friendly personalities, they like their wines easygoing. Provence rosé and California chardonnay are their go-to wines. However, like all proper wine drinkers, they are happy with whatever is in their glass. They don't overthink wine like a lot of my wine-geek friends; they simply seem to live that timeless statesman's mantra: "Wine is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."
My friend "E" owns a salad bistro and loves her wine — like her life — high-strung. Like her tangy and healthy cuisine (and as an enemy of oak), she likes her wines aromatic, fresh, zippy and with proper acidity. Racy, flamboyant and mouth-puckering light and fruity reds, rosés and mostly white wines partner with her food and personality. Not a white wine drinker myself, I appreciate and understand her palate and have become a disciple. Lighter foods like salads with grilled meats call for chilled wines with less alcohol and oak. This time of year our dry bodies crave lighter beverages with crisper acids that will satisfy our thirst. That means unoaked, aromatic wines like sauvignon blancs from New Zealand, Soave Classico from Italy, Torrentes from Argentina, rosés, gamays and lower alcohol, zippy rieslings from Germany.
Wine, like us, has a personality. And try as we might to drink diversely from around the globe, we gravitate toward what suits us best. I like to think that the wine in my glass changes with the seasons, and it usually does. But in the middle of summer, if I am feeling I need to treat myself after a long day, then I will trot out that bottle of Barolo and pair it with maybe a grilled ribeye — and a ballgame on the telly.
Greg O'Byrne is executive director of the Santa Fe Wine & Chile Fiesta. Contact him at vinevents@aol.com.
