I’ve been privileged enough to eat lunch with my uncle this past while, and while doing so have taken up the snobbish characteristic of having, at each meal, at least a half a glass of wine, for fear of disrespect for allowing my uncle to drink alone, because, as it goes, no man should ever, unless alone, drink alone.
Now, I’ve heard, throughout my juvenile life in gastronomica that wine should always be paired with food- though I’ve no semblance of what that means. I might assume it means particular wines are made to go with particular flavours, but this holds no truck with me. Because, as I’ve been drinking different wines I’ve realized that they do a better job of juxtaposing the dishes I eat them with. Maybe I’ve been drinking wrongfully, but I think it works in my favour. The meals I eat, or am fed, are so decadent and rich, that to drink something of the same quality seems, at least for me, too overbearing. In fact, I’ve come to the realization that it’s better to drink wine that cleanses the palette, or gives the diner some perspective. That is, when you eat a meal and drink your wine, the wine should allow you a short break from the punch in the face that is your meal- it should give you some perspective, it should allow you to distance yourself from your food so you may not be too overwhelmed and over-satiated by the things you are eating, which can be very very rich (like goat’s brains, or onions in a Gorgonzola sauce). Wine itself can be a potent thing, astringent and lip puckering at times, but I find that balance is welcomed when I eat something so savoury and salty. I’m reminded in these instances of Chinese culinary theory, when balance in all flavours is necessary for every dish, or sought after, anyway. Wine does this for me. If I can continue the metaphor, I would dare liken it to eating a piece of pickled ginger between pieces of sashimi to get the full effect of each piece of fish, and not be distracted by whatever previous flavours linger on the tongue. So too with wine. Wine may linger, but when I put food to my mouth, it goes mute. Contrarily, when I drink a glass of wine, it quenches whatever overbearing flavour I just saturated my poor palette with, like a friend giving you a slap in the face to snap you out of some kind of love sickness. I don’t think this is how wine is conventionally drank, but I like to drink it this way. It works for me. I don’t want earthy lamb with earthy wine. I’m not a hamster, I can’t eat the same thing all the time. It’s too much, I’m too spoiled by my culinary researches. But I ain’t sayin’ I’m right. What does it matter anyway? What good is wine for a fella if it don’t get him laid, am I right? Why all this smug connoisseurship if not to keep others out of some charmed circle that elevates a chosen few to a level of social sophistication that arbitrarily makes them seem that they are, by some act of providence, better than the rest? Boy, howdy, I tell ya.
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