Stages of Wine Drinking 

[Dan Berger, a writer for the California Grapevine, is at it again. This time, he has written an interesting piece about the evolution of the wine drinker from the “ignorance is bliss” stage to the fanaticism stage of wine appreciation. The following is an edited version:]

We are all, to one degree or another, creatures of habit. Although sometimes adventuresome, we still feel greater comfort in the familiar. This applies to our preferences in wine as well as to more mundane topics as the type of chocolate we like, our choice of favorite color and other favorite things. As we move along life’s pathways, we experience many different sensory moments. Some are memorable on a conscious level. Others we experience subliminally.

Take, for instance, soap, a rather mundane product. Or is it? On first glance, you would think that soap is soap, period. But no. The marketers tell us that this one is for hands, this one for faces, this one for feet, that one is antibacterial, this one is all-purpose, that one is gentle and mild, this one softens cuticles, ad nauseum. Doesn’t all soap cleanse? So why such an emphasis on layered positioning and multi-tiered marketing?

Yet when we first experienced soap, as infants, we downloaded into our recognition centers the part of the experience worth remembering: the fragrance. We remember the soft, gentle hands of a parent, the warm, slippery water and we imprinted a sense of the aroma. If it was the faintly medicinal smell of Lever Bros. soap, then for the rest of our lives we would have some wake up call when a similar aroma was presented to us. When I smelled Lever 2000 soon after it was released about a decade ago, I noted the faint yet distinct resemblance to some of the soaps I used as a child in the 1940’s. It was the smell of cleanliness. And it was fine for then. Now we sell soap based on other things: beauty, attractiveness, personality.

So I imagine a bunch of flavor-and-fragrance chemists in their white lab coats at Lever Bros. trying to figure out how to make a soap aroma for the Next Century that would still have a trace of that old scent of “clean.” They have to make an aroma that will appeal to old fogies like me who grew up when Ivory was king. Yet, they want to add to it enough new “beauty” aromas (floral, perfumey smells) to make today’s young, hip, with-it, anorexic super models look like they are having an orgasmic experience when taking a shower with this soap. Does it work? It does with me. I use Lever 2000. The aroma psychologists did good.

Wine isn’t quite as subliminal as all that since we don’t (legally, at least) consume it until we’re of a thinking and remembering age. In our first experiences with wine, we typically find it “sour” or some other term indicating that it’s not gulpable. Nor, for that matter are gin, beer, coffee or a host of other drinks that require getting used to, or “acquiring a taste for.”

It takes time, years for some people, decades for others (some never get it), before people actually enjoy wine and even longer before they can appreciate the subtleties and gain an appreciation of its smaller, almost transparent nuances. Wine is difficult to understand, since it is composed of an endless stream of related and unrelated components, some of them easy to perceive, others nearly impossible to see, and all of them changing, transmogrifying, sometimes revealing themselves and then going into hiding (sometimes reappearing, sometimes not). Thus wine is not only hard to understand fully, but damn near impossible to write about with cogency and clarity.

Wine is not only hard to understand fully, but damn near impossible to write about with cogency and clarity. When I describe a wine as having a certain lemon-mint character, someone else would say, no that’s lemon peel, others would say Lemon Pledge, yet another would say lemon basil, someone else would argue for dried tarragon or anise.

We’d all be right. For in describing wine, we try to translate a sensory experience into a verbal, and there are no words that do this with precision. The best we can do is approximate with words that are similar and, we hope, within the framework of experience of our audience. A key point is that this exercise in conveying wine’s sensory elements involves our previous experiences. It would do little good to describe the above lemon-mint smell as the rind of esren (even if that descriptor is the most accurate one) when not one person in ten has even heard of esren.

So we get to the human factors. Creatures of habit/comfort that we are, we place positive and negative recollections on certain components we find in wine. Oddly, a negative component (one negative enough to evoke epithets of disgust when found in high enough concentrations) can be seen as positive and indeed quite desirable when found in smaller concentrations!

Aside from preferences in wine, we are motivated by varied pressures, many so subtle and ingrained that they are part of a subconscious that only a thorough psychoanalysis could uncover. To do so with a therapist would be time consuming and expensive and probably money not well spent. I’d rather spend my money on great wine and remain ignorant of my neuroses!

A Ranking of wine people
So it was with a degree of amusement about a decade ago when a psychology student called and asked if I could tell her my beliefs about the motives and psychological factors in the makeup of the typical wine drinker. She explained that she wanted to get at the core of the wine lover, not the person who only drank wine once in a while. I was intrigued. I had never before thought there was a “typical wine lover,” or even a typical persona that led to a dedicated wine drinker.

Over the next few weeks, I mused about this conundrum, with all its myriad implications, and I finally realized that there is no single mind-set that led a person into this life of perdition (and potential financial ruin) with wine and its attendant lifestyle. I began to see, however, that a person from any walk of life could get hooked on the taste of wine the way my 10 year old son is hooked on Star Trek in all of its incarnations, incantations and vestments.

There is no personality of a typical wine lover, but I perceived five stages in the development of this person, be he or she young or old, rich or poor. Alas, this discussion only affects about half of the adult U.S. population. One third (85 million Americans!) consume no alcoholic beverages at all. Nothing. Never have, never will, probably. Perhaps another 40 million consume beer or hard liquor, but no wine. A pity.

Stage One: The Beverage Consumer Discovers a Non-Sweet Liquid
In Stage One we are not a wine lover at all. It is that natal stage through which most of us pass on the way toward an appreciation of fine, aged red wine, an appreciation of subtle nuances in white wine, and toward complexity as well as fruit in all wine. This first stage has embedded in it an anchor that retains a huge percentage of the populace who never escape it.

Stage One is the sheer discovery of wine, dry or at least off-dry wine, that we serve with food, not really caring about vintages, origin, or much else except price. Most Americans who drink wine reside here, paying scant attention to what’s in the bottle. They stick with jug wine, despite its declining character, only because it provides a light, delicate, pleasant amnesiant buzz to blot out the care of the day. It makes life’s irritations easier to take and makes food (as well as the spouse and kids) much more acceptable than either would be without that sublime liquid.

Stage One, therefore, is a formative stage, one where we explore, grope and discover. Where we find some things we like, but much we don’t; where we have our share of consumption-to-excess just to imbibe; where we find some majestic experiences only to have a wine snob tell us we are drinking battery acid.

Stage One is a formative stage, one where we explore and discover. Where we find some things we like, but much we don’t; where we often just imbibe; where we find some majestic experiences only to have a wine snob tell us we are drinking battery acid.

The mystical transition between Stage One and Stage Two is varied. For some, it is the entertaining yet formal wine course that ratchets the Stage One drinker up to Stage Two fairly quickly. For others, it’s boredom with mediocrity. Sometimes it is serendipity - the chance taste of a truly great wine at a moment when it’s paired with the right foods and the right people.

Stage Two: Blissful Ignorance and Wine Consumption
Stage Two is one of the finest stages of wine consumption. Interestingly, it is at a level of consciousness that is most appealing: general unawareness of the individual’s persona. There are no real wine snobs at this level, but it is here that the early stages of snobdom are first seen. At this stage, we know we like wine more than at the jug-wine stage, but there is no pretense about it. We try a lot of different wines, thinking we will remember this one as a Sancerre, that as a Chardonnay. But more than anything, we love the endless variety.

We buy by the color of the label or the sound of the name more than on a knowledge of anything in particular. We gain some insights into what we like, we develop some favorite tastes, and we start to accumulate knowledge of wine styles. One of my first wines was Wente’s Blanc de Blanc, a sweeter style that I soon found didn’t go with a wide variety of foods. Then I discovered Wente Chablis and Heitz Chablis, and moved on to drier wines. It was here that I began to move into Stage Two, a stage where brand names start to mean something, a stage in which we begin to realize some of the subtle differences in wine.

In some ways, Stage Two along with Stage Four are the two most enjoyable stages, for they are replete with the joys of discovery without the bother of learning details. I knew only that Wente was south of San Francisco, somewhere, and that Heitz was in the Napa Valley. I had no idea what grapes were used in the white wines I was buying regularly for $1.79 per bottle. The red wine of choice at the time was the same price: Simi Burgundy (Today, the wines would probably be $6 - $7 varietals).

It was at this stage that I was prepared to experiment. One evening the sign on the shelf said the Muscadet was a seafood wine: I was making seafood that evening, so I tried it. The wine wasn’t bad, but I learned two things: there are varying degrees of dryness in dry wines, and some of the more tart wines tasted rather neutral when they are well chilled.

Stage Two is where most people either find comfort and remain for a lifetime, or move on to Stage Four. Many remain here, exploring and finding a “great” wine this month, none the next. This stage that pleases many people because it allows some adventuresome dining and pairing different wines with foods without spending lots of money. It doesn’t require knowing a lot of unnecessary details. It does, however, call for an open mind or palate along with the desire to learn just a bit about new wines that you hear about from a merchant or friend.

The really nice thing about this stage is that most of the wines people buy here are under $10 and they are often not as well known or as widely recognized as some brands. Moreover, folks in Stage Two are less critical, so they become very excited when a $6 bottle they discover tastes great, and they recommend it to everyone in sight.

Even wealthy folks who could afford to pay a lot more for wine love remaining in this buying niche, even though they may stray now and then into a more expensive category. Last year I gave a luncheon speech to a group of high-powered LA executives. I had prepared a sober talk about winery and vineyard ownership, the costs of doing business, and a bit about starting and maintaining a wine collection. As I chatted before lunch with some successful bankers, stock brokerage executives and business leaders, it became clear that many of them relished the idea of finding great values in wine that they could enjoy on a daily basis, and that price was an object. They had experienced and enjoyed great Bordeaux and Burgundies, yet found more pleasure in paying $5 for a Chilean Cabernet!

Needless to say, I changed my prepared talk to an impromptu one on the glories of discovering wine at lower price points. It was clear that despite their incomes, most of the execs were happy to be at Stage Two. The wines they were buying were satisfactory and satisfying, so was the price. Now and then their favorite wine would be out of stock and they’d have to choose something else. A bit of adventure amid the habitual buying patterns.

As I said, remaining here at the second stage of wine development offers a comfort factor to those who like wine, drink it fairly regularly, and don’t want to get involved with reading books about it (maybe a wine column in a newspaper, but rarely, if ever, a wine magazine).

I met a few men at that luncheon who had moved on in their wine appreciation, for whom the quest for an inexpensive bottle was still a joy, but for whom there was now a higher calling. This is the beginning of Stage Three, where the price of a bottle isn’t necessarily a barrier to purchase, where the buyer is now seeking “an experience,” a taste sensation that he or she perceives can only be obtained now and then by buying a special wine.

Learning about the special wines that mark the beginning of Stage Three isn’t easy for the resident of Stage Two who wants to move on, but it can be done in a number of ways. I did it 20 years ago by connecting with friends who I discovered were also in Stage Two and sharing our discoveries.

Stage Three: A Transition or Temporary Resting Point
This stage of wine development is not one at which most people remain for a lifetime. It reminds me of the second Star Wars movie, which I felt was a feature length coming attraction for the third Star Wars movie.

My own move into Stage Three occurred about 1975. I was buying Zinfandel ($4.50) and Chardonnay ($6) at a wine store in Woodland Hills. An intelligent, wine-loving gentleman who worked there and a witty woman who shopped there and I often wiled away afternoons perusing the shelves, chatting about wine. Soon we formed, with three others, a small, very informal monthly wine tasting society. We bought wines, bagged up so we could serve them blind, and we brought our own wine glasses, some cheese and crackers to the community room at the local bank. We swapped stories about wines we had tasted in the last month.

This sharing of discoveries and staging of tastings helped us all gain knowledge about the wine, about people’s reactions to great and not-so-great wine, and gave us insight into our own likes and dislikes.

At about the same time, I began attending wine tastings staged by a premium wine shop. This also boosted my confidence in learning more about wine and the people who made it. But, as I said, this stage of my development was temporary. Either one hasn’t got the time, interest or expendable income to continue this quest and is happy to drop back to Stage Two, or you move forward to what may be the best stage of all: Four.

Stage Four is a wonderful place to live. We start knowing more about wine than 95% of everyone else in the U.S., and this means we can often find bargains no one else could imagine. I recall my first bargain: the now defunct Oakville Vineyards was closing out every wine it had ever made. This was wine made from grapes growing about where Opus One now sits!

As we progress in this stage, we may also discover great wines, almost by accident, such as the time in 1976 when I was touring Napa and visited Franciscan Vineyards, met Justin Meyer and spent an hour with him, well past closing time, sipping on a new wine, 1972 Silver Oak Cellars Cabernet Sauvignon, which at that point hadn’t been announced.

Soon, my small cellar was filling with things like Heitz Martha’s Vineyard, Stag’s Leap, Chappellet, Freemark Abbey “Bosche”, Chateau Montelena, Hanzell, Burgess and Stony Hill - all the names that meant anything at the time.

This niche is a good one except for the pitfalls, and there are a few. In fact, they are all of the pitfalls that befall anyone who isn’t cautious, and thus falls into the pit known as Stage Five.

The Costs of Moving to Stage Four
In Stage Four, wine lovers formally become collectors, always seeking a bargain and always looking for great wines. But, unlike Stage Three, the Stage Four buyer is prepared to spend a considerable sum to acquire wines that are recommended by a reputable merchant, even if the buyer has never heard of the wine before.

The trick is to amass a nice, sizable collection of wine, and not to overdo it. The trap lands you half way into Stage Five, where you have a wine collection that has you thinking of mortgaging the homestead. In Stage Four, you now select the wine before you choose the main course for a dinner you’re doing for friends. You buy special glassware, decanters, cork pullers, and myriad gadgets, most of which you will never need.

You buy wine racks and wine posters; you insulate part of the garage or basement and think about buying an air-conditioning unit; you subscribe to a wine publication; you go on-line; you spend parts of Saturdays in a wine shop; you attend wine tastings and wine-dinners; you begin to remember which vintages are good and which are not. You may plan vacations around winery tours. You read wine books and winery and privately published newsletters.

In Stage Four, wine lovers formally become collectors and spend a lot of time and money on things like special glassware, wine books, newsletters, wine tastings, etc. But this game is a little like shuffleboard, where your quoit is pushed down toward the scoring table of the court at the far end. If you are a little short (Stage 4), don’t fear; another quoit could bump yours onto the scoring table. But once you’re too far, past the scoring table, you’re out of the game.

Wine is like that. If you get to Stage 5, you’re out of the game. I don’t know anyone who has successfully negotiated his way back from Stage 5 to the comfort and joy of Stage 4. I use “his” deliberately because in all the years I’ve been doing this, I’ve only known 2 or 3 women who fit this almost obsessive profile.

Humorist Mike Lynch and cartoonist Bob Johnson have caricatured these Stage 5 people in the past. One cartoon in particular shows a fellow standing by the fireplace, glass in hand, pon-tificating about wines from his cellar while around him lie three others (presumably including his wife) who died long ago and are now mere skeletons covered in cobwebs!

Stage 5 is a trap, a hole out of which it is nearly impossible to climb. I know of people whose incomes were once substantial enough to support “the habit”, who later were financially and otherwise “down-sized” and could no longer afford to play the game. Yet still these people persisted. Once a snob, always a snob. It’s nearly impossible to back up into Stage Four and simply enjoy wine again as a beverage.

The Stage 5 arrivee is self-assured to the point of arrogance; he memorizes vintage charts and numerical ranking scores, buys only the best wines (at least those reputed to be the best) and then alibis when those wines don’t turn out to be great. He bores everyone with endless tales of conquests and wines tasted; brags about cases of great vintages residing in the cellar, and generally takes the fun out of drinking wine.

True, there are some Stage 4 residents with characteristics of Stage 5, but that’s only the early warning sign. Once that fever is seen, it’s possible to take a few vitamin C pills (humbling experiences can help), and resist the temptation to become one of the world’s great bores.

Guarding against Stage 5 requires a 12-step approach: Participate in a dinner where you don’t say a word about the wine being served. Don’t moan about every wine list you get in a restaurant. Don’t denigrate a wine served by someone else. Don’t mumble irritably over inaccurate information you get from a wine steward or waiter. Be charitable if someone pours too much wine in your glass. Don’t fret if a white wine is served too cold. Don’t read a wine book looking only for the errors. When a Cabernet is barely drinkable and a Zinfandel is too oaky, don’t be above blending them together to make a more palatable wine. Don’t go into a blue funk if you miss out on getting any Grange this vintage. Go a day without having a glass of wine. Don’t feel as if you’re being tested when a friend from another table in a restaurant offers you a glass of something; it might be a simple, friendly gesture, not a test. Above all, don’t take wine so seriously that it ends up ruling you.

In general, lighten up. Wine is just a drink!

Is every one who has a serious wine cellar a resident in Stage 5? Of course not!

Is it possible to be in two stages at once? Yes, and here is where this analysis falls apart. For example, you can be a true wine lover of one type of wine, for example Napa Cabernet, but know nothing about sherry and port. Moreover, being on the cusp between Stage 3 and Stage 4 is a common place to reside, since most people don’t have the time or interest to actively participate in the pursuit of wine knowledge. By reading this publication, however, you are already ahead of the game, and on your way to pure wine enjoyment in Stage 4. Just be wary: it’s possible to slip and fall into Stage 5, possible to be drawn in like a riptide, before you know what’s happening to you.

If that occurs, run right out and buy a $10 Cabernet and try to enjoy it. If you can, you may be saved from a life of pursuit of the unattainable.

E-Mail: beekman@conversent.net

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