Wine Wars

Fun for Everyone, Until It’s Not

I love looking for, finding and reading online forums on controversial wine topics because I truly enjoy reading when people make severely harsh arguments—even if I don’t understand why they feel the need to be so impassioned. Wine has always been such a tremendous source of pleasure for me, so I just don’t understand the commotion. I find it all endlessly amusing to read how people become hostile debating hot wine topics like oak, closure, Robert Parker, or the advantages of Old World over New World wine production. However, as much as I enjoy a spirited debate, at some point my previously enjoyable reading has begun to feel rather unpleasant. I had to consider what was bothering me.

Take the topic of cork, for example. There are long-winded arguments that go into copious detail about the tradition of cork or the technical benefits of Stelvin, the screw-cap wine closure of most producers’ choice. To be honest, I really have no major stake in either closure. While I’m sure there are compelling reasons for both corks and Stelvin, I really only care which one will deliver the wine in better condition. There are those who would argue for the beauty and the ceremony of opening a bottle, but I have always been more interested in the enjoyment of drinking the wine. If the wine is good, I’ll unscrew a cap—I’d even poke a hole like a juice box, pop a cap like a beer bottle or flip a lid like a milk container. The point to me is the quality of the wine, not the perfection of the delivery system.

It’s not just corks; the topic of Old World vs. New World has begun to feel as inane to me as Brunettes vs. Blondes or Yankees vs. Red Sox. Today we can surely say there are wonderful wines made in many places, and I don’t know that one has to be better than the other. To attempt to answer this challenge is futile because there are so many compelling reasons to enjoy both. Certainly, if there’s one area in our lives that doesn’t demand monogamy, it’s our devotion to the beverage industry. It’s fair—and laudable—to sample many kinds of wines from many places.

Reading these many debates, I suspect the single greatest improvement in the industry has been in the people who represent it. Where wine experts were often accurately portrayed as snobs years ago, today there are an inordinate number of down-to-earth, socially graceful people who characterize our profession. The days of over- opinionated blowhards have passed. Now we enjoy affable individuals who can appreciate a broad array of perspectives, opinions and values. I love knowing that I’m part of a group I’d want to share a drink with.

And yet, reading these debates, feeling suspiciously uncomfortable at the ire they raise, and sensing a level of minutia too great even for a wine geek like me, I suspect I am more inclined to foster the enjoyment of wine than to argue about the superior intellectual execution of it. Indeed, I’ll drink to that.

Wine Wars

Fun for the whole family (crowd)

This past Saturday evening, a group of friends gathered at my apartment for what we thought would be merely an evening of cheese fondue and wine. The night began in a fairly standard fashion—the opening of wines of varied origins, the streaming of a balanced mix of Frank Sinatra and The Rolling Stones, and the scrambling to find anything that could serve as a chair for the guests. The gruyere and emmental melted together flawlessly as the Tempranillo and Grenache lent their fruit to the experience. Everyone was smiling, laughing and enjoying themselves.

Then Wine Wars appeared.

Wine Wars is, essentially, the oenophile’s version of Trivial Pursuit, a game complete with categories such as Vine to Vino (growing grapes, making wine, and world production), Wine Cellar (selecting, storing, and tasting wine), and Cork Culture (wine people, business, arts and science, and trivia). I have always enjoyed Trivial Pursuit and loved wine, so I was on cloud nine the day my roommate returned from Christmas gripping the Wine Wars box in her hand. In playing, I’ve found that the game is a lot more than just fun—it does a wonderful job of not only boosting the confidence of novices, but also challenging self-proclaimed experts.

We played in teams that had a novice and an expert on each team. The first round was tame; everyone was fairly confident that Pinot Gris and Pinot Grigio were the same grape variety; Bordeaux was a place-named wine (rather than grape-named wine); and that standard wine bottles held 750 milliliters. However, as the game continued, teams spent more and more time deliberating before giving their final answers. Some of us were surprised to learn that the same Tempranillo swirling in our glasses got its name from temprano, meaning “early,” for its young-maturing nature. Others were baffled by the fact that Zinfandel vines are not native to California, but are related to the primitivo grape of Italy. I myself was intrigued to learn that the trade name of the person that makes and repairs barrels or casks is a “cooper.” With every correct answer, we earned small wooden game pieces to add to our mini wine lists. And in the end, only one glass of wine was knocked over in one player’s fit of rage, and a wonderful time was had by all.

The battle piqued my interest in other wine games on the market. A few hours of Google-searching provided one title over and over that is next on my list—Winerd, an interactive board game that incorporates a blind tasting of sorts. But I wonder if I will find other wine games that, like Wine Wars, can suit a crowd with diverse wine backgrounds. Have you found any you like?