German Catalog 2006 USE THIS ONE.qxp - Michael Skurnik Wines

ized, is entitled at least to know it.
Pigott went on to claim that any wine anyone
likes is ipso-facto “good” wine, and this is just the
slippery slope we can’t help sliding down when we
try to be “democratic”. It is manifestly impossible to
support a definition of “good” as “wine that someone,
regardless of who they are, finds to taste good.” This
is irresponsible, it ducks the question. Once at a presentation
I was terribly busy and opened bottles without
a chance to screen them. A punter remarked that
a particular wine was “fantastic; I never had anything
that tasted like this, wow, how was this made . . . ?”
and his enthusiasm infected me and I poured myself
a taste. CORKED! What should I have done, based on
Pigott’s definition of “good”? The gentleman liked a
patently flawed wine. He has every “right” to like it;
no one disputes this. But I felt honor-bound to (discreetly
and tactfully!) correct him.
Thus I can’t endorse a definition of “good” that
is as “inclusive and democratic” as some desire. I do
not believe nature has any use for our democracies;
she is in essence heirarchal. Some things are better
than others, and one of our functions is gently to
guide our readers toward appreciation of these distinctions.
If we take these democratic principles and apply
them to any other thing about which aesthetic or cultural
criticism is warranted, do they stand up? Shall
we endorse a statement such as “All art is good art as
long as someone likes it”? Does this sentiment apply
equally to architecture, poetry, cuisine? Or is wine
somehow “special” because too few people drink it?
And should we pander to every sort of unformed or
misguided taste because we’re trying to get more
people to drink wine?
Let me be clear: no one has to like wine the way
I like it, or the way any “expert” likes it. If wine is a
casual beverage for you, then the discussion ends.
Wine is complicated and therefore intimidating to
people, but I’ll make you a deal: you promise not to
lash out at me for what I know because you feel
intimidated, and I’ll promise not to guilt-trip you
into acquiring “expertise” over a subject you don’t
care that much about. Deal?
The truest reason to write humanely is because
it is good to be humane. Any professional who uses
words does well to shade them so as not to deliver
gratuitous insults to people with dubious or uneducated
taste. But that doesn’t mean he abrogates his
entire judgmental faculties — which by the way are
why we hired him — in search of some romance about
inclusion or democracy.
There are no “invalid” moments of pleasure in
wine. But, there are higher and lower pleasures.
Once you have graduated from the low you can
always return. It’s fun to return! If you’re somewhere
in the process of honing your wine taste and
you want to continue, no one helps you if he fails to
delineate the distinctions between inadequate, ordinary,
good, fine and great — or between “industrial’
and “agricultural” wines. Maybe there is a thin line
between this and Pigott’s “attach[ing] an imperative”
but the way through involves nurturing one’s
own kindness and honing one’s craft with words.
I feel it is indeed unkind to flatten all taste to a
specious equality, made even more pernicious by
encouraging the philistines to set the level.
Me, I have a powerful aversion to wines that
gush and scream, they annoy me, and I tell you why,
and you make up your own mind. MY imperative
isn’t everyone’s, self-evidently: but I strive to send
clear signals, to advocate what I think is worthy and
to identify and explain what I think is unworthy, and
if my tone is “superior, even dictatorial” then the
fault lies with ME. I have failed to communicate my
point. But, the POINT remains.
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