QotD: Wine Tasting

I went to the liquor store for a bottle of wine. As usual there was a fellow demonstrating this week's specials. I tasted two. Horrible. One spread out all over the back of your palate in an ominous fashion that recalled the WW2 cartoons showing Nazi advances over Europe; the other was a chianti that tasted like glue. With some clerks I'll discuss the wine, because I know it just makes their day when they have to nod and smile and agree with the assessment of some guy whose palate is slightly more diserning than the pads on a dog's foot, but with this clerk I said nothing. Because he never says anything. You say "that's good," he nods and wears a half-smile: whatever. You say "that's been strained through an inch-thick woven mat of underarm hair," and he nods wears a half-smile. So this time I said "I don't like either of them," which earned me a nod and a half-smile. I thanked him and moved on.

And bought what I always buy. Sometimes I get the specials. Once I bought a very confusing red — a blend of three varieties, it was suspicious and aggressive, and you felt like you'd have to drink three bottles before it trusted you.

James Lileks, The Bleat, 2007-02-26