On Not Very Good Wines

A friend recently noted that I've only been writing about wines I like, wines that are noteworthy particularly with respect to cost. That evening, I was reading a Bukowski poem given to me by a close friend and found the following lines relevant:

... as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry.

It's a beautiful thought, and I'd venture a guess that everyone would believe it if they replaced "poetry" with whatever it is they care deeply about. So, personally, I find it a terrible state of affairs that there should be so many winemakers and so few wines. There are just so many wines that are... well, that aren't very good.

When we speak of these wines, as we do poems or music of similar quality, we use phrases that are quasi-positive yet mostly hateful: "quaffable", "yeah, it's okay but", "well, yeah, have you tried {something else}".

The Di Stefano Sauvignon Blanc, from Washington (the state, not the political wasteland), is a strange and ugly beast. With it being essentially 14% alcohol, I didn't expect a cloying, sugary nasty mouthfeel yet that is exactly what I was given. You've got to love it when the bottle uses the word Bordeaux; Bukowski says that wrong poets use the word 'cicada', I say that wrong wines have the word 'Bordeaux' on them (unless, naturally, the wine is from Bordeaux!). Call a spade a spade, they say, and it may be cliche...

Like poems, some wines can be tricky on accident. The Steel Creek Pinot Noir is exactly that, in my opinion: its appearance says, "yes, I may look weak but try me out anyway -- I'm full of promise!" It's lying. The wine is exactly what you'd think when you see it in a glass. It's exceedlingly flat, unbalanced, and lacking in aroma. It isn't offensive, mind you, but it won't light anyone's face up with excitement. It's like eating wine-flavored paper.