How Are Tastes in Wine Shaped?

Insight from three generations

I started thinking the other day about people’s relationship with wine. Clearly everyone is different, and there are a number of different variables, but what is it that shapes our tastes and habits in the world of wine? It looks to me as if our tastes in wine are shaped much as our tastes in just about everything: by genetics, culture, family tradition and, as I witnessed this past week, generation.

I was eating dinner with my grandparents, who spend most of the year in London and a few months in New York. Upon arrival, my grandmother handed me a glass of Bordeaux. As I sipped it, I discreetly perused their bar and noticed that every bottle of wine stored there was from Bordeaux. I remembered how often I’d drunk this wine in their presence. I continued pondering the Bordeaux connection, and I realized that Bordeaux is all they ever drink—in restaurants and in their home. In fact, it’s a taste that I associate with my grandparents. And I can’t help but think that they’re not the only wine drinkers their age who practice that sort of discrimination.

One school of thought would then be that this predilection for Bordeaux would have been passed on to my mother, and then on to me. However, it’s quite the opposite—my mom’s red of choice is Zinfandel and we rarely drink Bordeaux at family meals. So what is it that drives my mom’s relationship with wine? Could it be that because she is a baby boomer she has the cultural drive to try something different, to redefine traditional values? Does her choice of wine constitute a subtle act of rebellion? Is my mother’s Zinfandel the sign of an infidel? Or does she merely like it better?

I then started to think about my friends from California. While they’ll try anything new and different that they can get their mouths on, when push comes to shove, they’ll show their hometown pride in opting for a big Napa Cab any day of the week. This choice seems to fall clearly into the culture camp. To drink otherwise is not to support the home team.

And then I tried to decipher my own relationship with wine. Although I do have my everyday favorites and some wines that I crave above all others, I am like many people of Generation Y: I’m always searching for the new. Novelty may be the standard in my relationship with drinking wine, a habit I was allowed to develop early on because of my parents’ European love of always having a glass of wine with dinner. However, as much as I love pushing my oenophile envelope, I cannot credit any one thing for shaping my relationship with wine. But then, I’m still young. Maybe by the time I’m my grandparents’ age I too will have found my Bordeaux. (Though I doubt it.)

I’m curious about all of you. What would you say shapes your love of wine? Culture? Tradition? Taste buds? Generation? Or some combination thereof?

All A-twitter for Thanksgiving

On the Way to an Orphan’s Gathering, Discovery and Quintarelli

The fall: it’s my time of year. After the frivolity of Halloween and the folk tradition of Dia de los Muertos, Thanksgiving always stands out as a holiday for home cooks, serious foodies, homespun eaters and wine lovers of all persuasions to join together in celebration. What could be better than a riot of flavors, a house full of friends and family, and a few days of rest? Not a lot, to my thinking.

In the past, after settling on the finer details of basting methods (overnight, halve salt = moisture retention and crispy skin) and after resolving upon my stuffing options (chorizo + apple), I’d turn to what I enjoy most: selecting the various wines to meet the Thanksgiving meal. My selections aimed to complement, to uncover contrasts, or to unfold a surprise or two.

In 2006, I chose Zinfandel as the go-to varietal because of its affinity for the meal (not to mention its crowd-friendly personality) and its heritage in American viticulture (despite it Adriatic Coast provenance). Some great Zins from that feast included Robert Biale’s Black Chicken, Hartford Russian River Valley, and Saxon Brown’s Parmalee-Hill Vineyard. While ’06 featured a complementary all-Zin line-up, other years I was intrigued by contrast. Take Thanksgiving 2008, for example, a year that was all about white varietals, aromatics and acidity. That year I chose H. Lun’s Gewurztraminer; Qupe’s Marsanne, a St. Innocent Pinot Blanc from Washington State; and the charming, deliciously, offbeat Domaine des Huards Cour-Cheverny of the Loire Valley, a wine made exclusively of the rare varietal Romaratin.

These memories of past Thanksgivings seem to blend imperceptibly into each other, almost like the flavors of the table itself, but like all good things, they never drift too far from recollection. This year, I’m all a-twitter to partake in an orphan’s gathering at my dear friend Courtney’s. While I’d typically be orchestrating the entire mise-en-place, I’ll be leaving Thanksgiving 2009 in other, capable hands. I imagine this Thanksgiving will reveal new discoveries in food, wine and friendship—all the singularly significant parts of Thanksgiving. After all, isn’t Thanksgiving’s mythology equal parts discovery, togetherness and food?

Discovery is in the air, it seems to me. The spring and its holidays have the traditional connotation of rebirth and beginning, and yet my dear friend Lettie reminds me that in the world of wine new beginnings occur in the fall. I don’t see why this can’t be true for all of life. A new beginning this fall—and therefore something to be extra thankful for—it’s an idea that seems especially valid when I have good friends surrounding me, a delicious meal to look forward to, and a magnum of Giuseppe Quintarelli’s Primofiore in tow.