What is it about wine writing that seems to bring out the bodice ripper in some wine writers?
There's a fine line between many wine reviews and practically anything Anastasia Steele mumbles to herself in "50 Shades of Grey."
Words like "sexy," "musky," "racy" and "heady" get bandied about like a tennis ball in a baseline rally between Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic in both you-cannot-be-serious, over-the-top genres. In fact, that might explain why Christian Grey ("50 Shades" other main character in the record-setting, spankfest) is a wine aficionado. It gives the author, E.L. James, the opportunity to use a lot of the same language to describe their choices of wine as their shenanigans in the 'Red Room of Pain.'
None of this hyperbolic language should come as any surprise to anyone who reads racy romance novels. (And for the record, I'm not a fan of romance novels - not that there's anything wrong with it, as Seinfeld would say.)
But what is it about wine writing that seems to bring out the bodice ripper in some wine writers? And why do certain words or phrases that no one ever seems to be use in the real world somehow seem to creep their way into way too many wine reviews?
Seriously. Can you imagine going out to eat with someone and hearing them describe their steak as having a "barnyard" smell to it - or a "cat pee" taste? You'd think the chef left rancid meat out on the counter for the past week. And yet those words are commonly used to describe certain wines by wine writers around the world.
But there are certain words that just seem to needle their way into so many wine articles, sort of like "that guy" at a bar or a party who keeps interrupting your conversation with someone else to tell you something you honestly don't even really care about. Sort of like a really annoying version of Keith Olbermann - and that's saying a lot!
That's why I'm agreeing to take a pledge to not use the following five words or phrases to describe wines for the rest of this calendar year. I know that might not seem like a long time. And hopefully I can abstain from using them for much longer. Because most of us can agree that these phrases and many others have grown so tiresome, not even Sprockets wants to dance to them.
And I'm not talking everyday words like "complex" or "smooth" or "fruity" which have definitely been beaten to death again and again in one wine review after another. I'm talking about those words and phrases that make you just roll your eyes and think, "Who does this guy think he is? Ricardo Montalban trying to sell us a 1975 Chysler Cordoba with 'Corinthian leather'?"
So what are the five most overused, over-the-top words used to describe wine? Which words are on the banned list? Let me name names - starting with the fifth most overused word and working our way up to number one, Casey Kasem style.
5) Licorice - Don't get me wrong. I love licorice. But there's something so annoying about this word being used to describe so many different wines. It's also one of those overused words meant to signal to the reader that the Great Wine Writer can discern subtle tastes with their refined palate that us mere mortals are too ignorant to notice as we slug down our wine.
I debated whether to give "jammy" the fifth spot. But there's something sort of playful about a word that brings to mind pajamas or jammies being used to describe wine. Whereas licorice just has that forced playful quality to it. Sort of like an overbearing camp counselor or beauty pageant mom making her daughter wear a smile plastered on her face whether she likes it or not while uttering uplifting, encouraging phrases like, "Mary Catherine, so help me God, don't make me pull this car over or you will regret it!" Ah yes, there's nothing like family car trips in the heat of the summer - without air conditioning. And yet I'd gladly get back in a car before I read another review about wine with hints of licorice.
4) Flabby - Does this mean that this wine gets picked last in dodgeball? That it often wears loose fitting clothing? Or that it's bottle has all the right curves in all the right places? Who knows.
When I see wine writers using words like flabby, my first thought is lazy - and let me state for the record that I'm talking about the wine writers, not the wine or overweight people. I'm frankly a bit too bountiful around the waist right now myself to throw stones. And I will confess to using this word on occasion to describe a wine that has a vague, somewhat boring finish.
Not anymore. From now on, wines that taste flabby will be "lazy" or "couch potato worthy" or "Homer Simpsonish" or maybe even "voluptuous." Anything but flabby!
3) (Tie) Luscious and Seductive - "50 Shades of Grey" returns. Yes, these overripe adjectives reached their "Sell by" date sometime around 1979. I feel like a need to take a shower after I read some wine writers purring on about luscious, seductive red wines (almost always red wines). You know, sentences like... "I never believed most of the stories I've read here before in Winehouse Forum, until one day, after choir practice, on my way home, I became instantly intoxicated with the luscious, seductive aromas of that red-headed temptress from Northern California I will always lovingly call Plungerhead."
Luscious wines are... what? Tart? Spicy? And don't be shocked, shocked! if you happen to notice this word thrown around to describe Italian, Spanish or South American wines. Same goes for seductive. You'd think you were reading a review of a movie starring Penelope Cruz or Sophia Loren. Seriously. Just try to find a wine writer who uses these words to describe a wine from Germany or South Africa. Some stereotypes die hard.
It's a wine, not a woman. Put down the wine glass and write with both hands.
2) Smoky - Call the fire department! We got a scorcher here. This wine is burning up, Whoo Haa, Al Pacino Style. Or maybe it's lunch time with that bleach-haired bimbo Guy Fieri, owner of the one of the 'best' restaurants in New York. Confused? Not anymore than when you read about a wine that's "smoky" or some other non-descriptive hackneyed word.
Many wine books talk about wines having a tobacco-like flavor. I can buy that. That's a certain taste - sort of like licorice. (Aagh!!! Enough!) But smoke's more elusive, more vague. One minute, the wine's on the tip of your tongue. The next moment, it goes all Keyser Soze on you and vanishes into thin air.
Unless the wine bottle survived a fire, don't let the smoke get in your eyes - or your writing. Leave this word to Noir writers and insurance adjusters.
1) Full-bodied - The king of kings, the top of the peak. Yes, nothing says so little about a wine without seeming to say so much. And I should know. I plead guilty to using this phrase way too many times to describe wines that exhibit a wide range of characteristics.
Full-bodied wines often have a multitude of flavors. They might be smooth and velvety to start. Then rush in like a tidal wave a few seconds later and wash across your tongue like a tsunami of black currants, moldy cheese and the sweet aromatic scent of fresh picked lilacs.
Ah yes, these full-bodied wines. I can't resist them as they burst into my mouth and ravage my taste buds, these luscious, seductive sirens plucked from the vines and eager to be devoured, one detectible sip at a time, Anna mumbles to herself as Christian runs his twitching hands through his Corinthian leather hair again and again and again.
See what I mean? It's just too easy - and too much fun to resist... sometimes. But I'll do my best to keep my palate clear of hyperbole - at least for the next three and a half months.
Cheers!