The Vines That Bind

Flat-Out Frost

The asphalt was unforgiving on his skull and elbows and ass, but the late March sun was warm on his face, and a slight breeze brought the pleasant smell of melting off the few remaining patches of snow along the pathway leading to the monument. Monument was a strange word for it he thought, but that was its designation, made official in 1906 as the t-shirts in the gift shop at the entrance to the park declared, as if the 65 million years since the rock that forms it was thrust up through the earth’s surface never happened. Vincent Frost was prone at the base of Devil’s Tower, Wyoming, while his kids ran one more time along the trail that circles the curious giant nipple of rock. He preferred closing his eyes in situations like this and imagining he was part of the landscape, an otherwise forgettable collection of flesh and hair and clothing, of lesser interest than the trees, or cars, or buildings, or whatever else happened to be around him during his supine dalliances. But no matter how much he tried to disappear, there were always those who saw him and broke his spells with their inquiries.

“Are you okay?” was the most common query.

Often he would hear “I think we should call an ambulance,” or “I wonder if he was hit by a car,” or “He probably had a heart attack.”

Sometimes children were warned to stay away from “That drunk.”

Once, a woman, convinced that he had collapsed and knocked himself cold, called out for a cell phone and then urged her husband not to touch Frost lest he was “Infected with Aids or something.”

As a result of these interruptions he had taken to flexing his arms as if curling imaginary dumbbells, or lifting his legs as if walking a secret invisible path to the clouds above—clouds that he alone acknowledged. The would-be good Samaritans or nosey nellies often thought him odd, or even insane, but if he moved he was most often left alone, on his back, on the ground. If someone insisted on quizzing him he had a number of responses at the ready, “No, really I’m okay,” or “I have a bad back, I’ll be up in a minute.” The response mattered little, as long as he was left to perform his horizontal asana.

Airports were a good place for back lying. A few weeks ago in Vancouver he found a spot by a pillar and stretched out like a starfish. Maybe he was on a long layover; maybe he found an outlet to charge his blackberry or laptop; maybe he had been stranded for days by another tits-up airline. No matter, he was left to lay and listen and think, but mostly to sink away. At one point a curious toddler staggered over and bopped him on the nose with a stuffed animal. He knew the rules of civility required him to sit up, tell the tot’s parents that he was okay, laugh, and comment on how “cute” the child was, but he didn’t have the strength. And besides, the carpet was really holding now, like Velcro. He could be “Velcro-Vince,” or “Flat-out Frost,” or “the Human Floor-mat.”

Something was shining onto his face now and flickering; the intense light was illuminating the blood vessels in his eyelids, turning everything pink and warm. Vince rolled slightly, shielded his eyes with his hand, and spotted the source of the light. It was a wine bottle, standing upright beside a garbage container next to the Devil’s Tower pathway. The sun was glinting off the bottle’s shoulder at just the right angle and a breeze sent an overhead tree branch slowly back and forth, filtering the sunlight through the leaves, and sending the reflected light pulsing toward Vince like Morse code. Somewhere there was a message in those dots and dashes of light, but it was time to sit up and brush off; he could hear the kids coming. Soon he would be back in the car with his exhausted children buckled in their seats, heading back to the hotel. In the week that followed he would sign another lease on his downtown apartment, and meet with his lawyer to finalize a divorce with his children’s mother. Lots to think about. But for now, as he drove out through the monument’s gate, Vince couldn’t get that Morse code wine bottle out of his mind. The pulses of light were likely still reflecting off the dark green glass.

Alone With the Buzz

For Olivia, Vince Frost’s soon to be ex-wife, wine was a solitary pursuit. At least most of the time it was, like tonight, when she poured another glass from the screw-top bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc that had been tucked up against a carton of milk in her fridge. Her house in Calgary’s northern suburbs was unusually quiet. The kids were with Vince on a spring-break road trip in the States, and she was left alone with her thoughts and her wine. The wine was good: Crisp, with just the right sweetness and the perfect amount of acidity. It smelled and tasted like apricots, and brought back memories from her childhood of the family road trips through B.C.’s Okanagan, and the roadside fruit stands that offered a welcome escape from the back seat of the cigarette smoke-filled Oldsmobile. But that original assessment of the wine’s characteristics was made two evenings ago. Tonight the leftover fridge wine was too cold, and she knew it, but it was something to wash down her dinner.

Her fridge, like most things in her life, was perfectly organized. The jars of yogurt and little plastic baskets of berries were all in perfect rows on one side. On the other side were a container of milk, a jar of antipasto, some olives, and a spot where the wine used to be. The shelves were lined with jars of jams and mustards—all the labels turned perfectly to face the front. Olivia took pride in her sense of order and skills of organization. It helped her feel in control of her life. Only occasionally did she let herself consider the possibility that her obsessive organizing helped her compensate for the things in her life that she had no control over.

The wine was giving her a buzz now, and she was finishing the last few sips as she sat in a rocking chair by the window, contemplating life without Vince. The couple had been separated for more than two years, and other than living in different homes it hadn’t seemed much different than the last few years of their marriage. Somehow they had completely lost interest in being a couple. They had found excuses to not be around one another, and for the past two summers their family vacations had been anything but. Olivia had taken the kids to her parents’ place on the lake, and Vince went golfing with some friends from work. It wasn’t as if they hated each other. It was just becoming too exhausting to pretend that they liked being together.

She was enjoying the quiet now, rocking back and forth in her chair. Normally Olivia would have music playing, but not tonight. Instead she felt a need to sit and reflect on why things hadn’t turned out the way she had imagined. Strangely, she missed Vince’s smell most of all. The day he moved out she gathered up his laundry and washed everything but a flannel shirt, which still hung from a hook beside the washing machine. Sometimes, when she was feeling especially lonely, she would catch herself holding the shirt up to her face, and there were times when Vince was picking up or dropping off the children that she imagined herself hugging him and smelling the skin on his neck. But she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. A sniff was all she wanted, nothing more. Olivia put down her empty glass and remembered she had agreed to go to a wine tasting event on the weekend with the new guy in human resources. But for now she was content to sit alone, feel the wine humming in her brain, and listen to the chair creaking rhythmically underneath her.

Ascot and Hoodie

The wine tasting was at a giant liquor store, not far from Olivia’s home. She had been many times to buy wine, and always admired the big Tuscan style kitchen in the corner. There was a long horseshoe shaped bar with a granite countertop and enough seats to accommodate a couple of dozen tasters. Olivia had always wanted to attend one of those events, but Vince never seemed all that interested. So, when the human resources guy asked her she said yes. She spotted him right away. He was sitting in the middle of the horseshoe, examining the label of one of the bottles on the bar, and adjusting an ascot. She had only ever seen an ascot worn by some stuffy character in an old mystery movie, or the rich patriarch in a soap opera. But now, here in the wine store, her coworker wore one, and she felt embarrassed to be sitting beside him. She was even more embarrassed when she looked across the horseshoe and saw Vince. He was holding a wine glass up to each eye and buzzing like a bumblebee, as the much younger woman beside him giggled. She wasn’t embarrassed for Vince, or that she used to be married to him. She was embarrassed that he, and his date, and everyone else at the wine tasting, might think that Ascot was her man.

After sample seven, Olivia didn’t really care what anyone thought about Ascot. He had asked some stuffy questions about tannins and sulphites, and whether the barrels were made from American or European oak, but he also got a laugh out of everyone with a joke about why Canadians like wine so much: “Cabern-EH, Chardon-EH…”

When Vince’s date went to the bathroom, Olivia walked over. “What’s with Hoodie?” Olivia had noticed the woman was wearing designer jeans and a tight hooded sweatshirt.

Vince laughed, “Her apartment is just down the hall. But really, Hoodie? What’s the deal with Scarfy over there?”

It was Olivia’s turn to laugh, “I never took you for a wine lover.”

“It was Hoodie’s idea,” replied Vince, just as the younger woman returned.

Hoodie smiled broadly, “Oh hi! You’re Vince’s Ex. It’s so nice to meet you! Aren’t you just loving this wine?”

“Some of them I like, but I get the feeling this store is just pushing the wines they are overstocked on, or the ones they make the most profit from.”

“I agree,” added Ascot who appeared suddenly and put a hand awkwardly on Olivia’s shoulder.

After introductions Olivia explained her idea for a more “independent” wine tasting. “That new wine bar on 4th Street, you can buy wine an ounce or two at a time, and they have an amazing selection. We go, try as many as we can handle, and then come up with our own list of favorites. It will be a great learning experience. Next weekend, the four of us, what do say?” But before anyone could answer they were being ordered back to their seats.

“You’ve tasted a lot of wines tonight,” said the host. “ I hope you found some that you like, and if you want to take something home I can help you find it on the shelf. Now, are there any last questions?”

Hoodie put up her hand, “You keep talking about these flavors of ‘blackberries,’ and ‘coffee’ and ‘lemon-grass.’ When is that stuff added to the wine? Like, is the coffee and all that stuff put into the barrel, or the bottle, or what?” Ascot shielded his face with his hands to hide his astonishment.

Olivia leaned over to him, “It’s not such a stupid question.” She was holding up her glass, “It took me a while to realize that the only thing in here is grapes. That’s one of the things that makes wine so special.”

Vince caught her attention. He was mouthing the words, “This weekend. We’re in.”

Olivia’s Symposium

At the wine bar, Olivia explained how the evening would proceed, “I’m gonna choose the wines. Yeah, just me—get over it. We’ll start with whites and then move on to reds. After each tasting we’ll hash it out, you know—have a discussion. And we won’t move on until we’ve all agreed on what makes each wine tick. It’s gonna be democratic, everyone will have a vote, but we all have to agree on each wine, and then I will decide when we are done.” She gently pulled on the edge of her scarf so that the two ends were perfectly in line at the top of her blouse.

Ascot leaned forward and said sarcastically, “Have you scheduled some bathroom breaks in there?”

Vince chuckled; he’d seen this side of Olivia before. “But what are we trying to decide, which wine is best, or which wine has a particular flavor we can all agree on?”

“I dunno, both—and neither,” answered Olivia. “Here’s the deal—we’re trying to get inside the brains of these wines.”

Hoodie flashed her big smile, “This is gonna be fun.” She was wearing another hooded sweatshirt. This one was tight blue, unzipped to expose a white tank top, and a bit too much cleavage. What she didn’t want to expose—at least not yet—were her tattoos: A yin-yang symbol on one arm, just above the wrist, and an ankh on the other. Hoodie considered herself a spiritual person, but didn’t want to appear too flakey to her new friends. She looked up at the ceiling as if to invite the others to look her over without the risk of awkward eye contact.

“Oh, and between each sample have a glass of water,” added Olivia. “We’re gonna be drinking a lot of wine, and we can’t be getting all dehydrated, and if at any point you feel like you’ve had too much to drink, you can stop.” ¹

The first wine was a California Chardonnay. They all gave approving “hmms” but no one wanted to be the first to speak. Finally Ascot declared, “This is a typical citrusy new world Chardonnay. You get more of the green apple and pear flavors in these wines from Burgundy.”

“I thought Burgundy was a red wine,” said Hoodie.

“Yeah, well the reds from Burgundy are from Pinot Noir grapes. The whites are Chardonnay,” responded Ascot, who wasn’t wearing an ascot, but rather a silk puff tucked into the breast pocket of his blazer.

“But Chablis and Beaujolais are also produced in Burgundy,” added Vince. Olivia was impressed. “What?” asked Vince defensively, “I did a little homework.”

Olivia swirled the wine and scrunched up her lips, “All I taste and smell is oak.”

“Me too,” said Hoodie.

“Yup, too much oak,” agreed Vince. “Does that mean too much time in the barrel?” Ascot was about to respond but he was too late.

“It might,” responded Hoodie. “But it’s more likely the wine was soaked in oak chips. It saves on barrel costs and it can mask the wine’s flaws.” This time everyone was impressed. “I did a little homework too.” ²

The tasting was repeated several times with Olivia providing a brief explanation of each offering. Vince hated the Gewürztraminer, but begrudgingly agreed it might be okay with the proper food pairing; Hoodie was a fan of the Beaujolais; Ascot thought the Barolo was a perfect expression of Piedmont; all four were astonished that the B.C. Pinot Noir and the Vosne-Romanée Les Suchots were produced from the same variety of grape. But it was the Chateauneuf Du Pape that stopped them cold.

Vince’s Epiphany

They all agreed the Clos Des Brusquieres was something very special.

“It just seems genuine to me,” said Hoodie, “It’s pure flavor, and authentic in a way. It seems to know what it’s supposed to be, and that’s what it is.” Olivia remarked on the silkiness and the intense red berry fruit that seemed to last forever.

Ascot agreed with Olivia on the berries, “Yeah, strawberries or raspberries, or both. And a bit spicy on the finish.” For the first time that evening he googled the wine on his blackberry. “It rates pretty high. Silky, supple, berries, blah, blah, blah. And ‘garrigue’.” Even Ascot had to admit he was out of his depth. “What the hell is garrigue?”

Hoodie grabbed Ascot’s bicep, “Here’s what I don’t get. We all stopped after the first sip and didn’t say a word, right? Because we realized this is a fucking great wine. And my level of enjoyment is probably the same as everyone’s. But words like ‘silky’ and ‘finish’ don’t mean shit to me, and definitely not ‘garrigue!’ So how do I describe this wine and recommend it to a friend? Because even if I knew the vocabulary, I wouldn’t use those words.”

“Good point,” said Olivia. “And what about the 100 point scale that the wine writers use?” She held up her glass, “how do I reduce this—something we all agree is pretty special—to a number. 88 or 94? It doesn’t seem adequate.” Olivia was reflecting on how her too-cold fridge wine from a week ago had made her feel so very lonely. Tonight was different. As she sat on the bar stool, and leaned on the table, she felt a surge in her arm—a burst of electricity that tingled through her fingers and into the wine in her glass. Or was it coming from the wine and into her? It was impossible to tell, but it was clear she wasn’t the only one who was experiencing it. Vince and Hoodie and Ascot, and everyone else in the wine bar were in on it too. It was as if invisible ribbons of electricity draped from bottle to glass, and from person to person, connecting everyone. Olivia closed her eyes and held a gulp of wine in her mouth before swallowing slowly. The voices in the room seemed to snap into a perfect harmony with the music throbbing the background. She felt perfectly content to be where she was—in that very place, at that very moment, and more alive than she had in a very long time.

Ascot broke the silence, “We’ve been trying to nail this wine down for 15 minutes and we still haven’t done it.” He put his hand on Hoodie’s forearm.

Olivia didn’t seem to mind, “You two make a cute couple.”

Hoodie seemed happy to hear that, “You know this wine is making me feel all tingly.” Her inhibitions were melting away. Hoodie turned to Ascot and blurted out, “Maybe we should take a bottle home and you can pour it all over me and lick it off.”

“As long as you have a nice chunk of Gruyere in your mouth so I can have a bite when I get up there!”

She felt her nipples harden with the thought of Ascot’s tongue and lips slurping wine off her breasts. ³

They paused and turned to Vince for his input, and discovered him lying on the floor. His feet were splayed out, his hands were palms-up beside him, and his chin pointed straight up. Vince was allowing the Chateauneuf Du Pape to take control of all of his senses. He swallowed slowly and the juice in his mouth seemed to change flavors, and then change again, as it swished from the tip of his tongue to his tonsils and down his throat. That imaginary staircase that he climbed when prone didn’t lead to a cloud this time, and ascending it seemed effortless, as if he were on an escalator or an elevator. And he wasn’t alone. Instead Vince was with the vineyard workers as they planted the vines decades ago; the pickers who collected the grapes in the fall; the barrel makers; the bottlers; the merchants; the exporters; the importers; the waiters; and Olivia, Ascot and Hoodie who sat around the table above him.

He saw a waiter’s legs and shoes and heard a voice, “He can’t be passed out like that. If the cops come by we’ll be shut down.”

“No, he’s not drunk,” assured Olivia—who had witnessed Vince like this more times than she could remember, “Well he might be a little drunk, but that’s not why he’s down there. He’s just thinking. He’s deep in thought.”

“Okay well he’s gonna have to think in a chair, or go home.”

But it didn’t matter. Vince was pulling himself up and he had a Hoodie-worthy smile on his face—not the smile of a drunk, but of someone who had just been told a bit of juicy gossip.

“We’ve all been trying to get our heads around this wine, which has been a challenge, and fun, but maybe we’ve been missing the point. I mean how can I possibly know if my experience is anything like yours, or yours, or yours? We can all pick out some flavours that we might agree on. I’m smelling leather, which no one else has mentioned, but so what? We all know there’s no leather in here!”

Everyone looked at Hoodie, who smirked, “Yeah, who would think that?”

Vince went on, “Here’s what I think. The stuff in this glass is special because we can’t actually define it. There’s no graph you can draw, or picture you could take, or list of words that would definitively describe this wine and set it apart from any other glass of wine in this bar. That goes for all of us, including Mr. stick-up-his-ass wine snob here.” Ascot didn’t flinch; he was playing with Hoodie’s hair. “But what’s indisputable is that we are all together, talking about this stuff, and all enjoying it immensely in our own unique ways. So we have been connected by it. And it’s not just us. We are also linked to the winemaker and all the workers at the vineyard, and the soil, and the sun, and the rain. Not only that, but everyone else who pops the cork on this vintage is connected to us. Maybe some business executives in New York; or a couple on a date in Tokyo; or some friends watching the Oscars together at a home in, I dunno, Iceland or somewhere; and maybe a group at the other end of this bar who are also drinking it. There are only a certain number of these bottles produced, and once they are gone that’s it. So we are the privileged few, and it’s something we all share, whether we realize it or not. This stuff has secret magical powers; it’s a friggin’ unifier!” ⁴

Ascot was nodding; he was having his own flash of understanding. “I think we were all meant to be here tonight, drinking this. I mean have a look.” He was holding up the Chateauneuf bottle.

Hoodie’s head was tilted. She was fiddling with her big hoop earing, “At what?”

“This! It’s not a single serving container. A bottle of wine is supposed to be shared.”

Hoodie added her own observation, “And grapes grow in bunches!”

Vince had pulled himself up onto his chair. This time Olivia was smiling, and was looking at her ex-husband as if for the first time. She swirled the last bit of the Chateauneuf in her glass and gulped it. Vince was right, how could she possibly know if her experience was the same as his? But it was enjoyable to talk about it, and watch him as he drained his glass and closed his eyes. She hadn’t really noticed the bit of grey on his temples. That, and his new glasses, made him look wise and distinguished. ⁵

Vince turned and said, “And Olive-oil is right, you two are a perfect match.” Hoodie and Ascot weren’t listening; they were kissing and Ascot’s hand had migrated to Hoodie’s thigh.

Olivia liked hearing her old nickname, “Do you wanna share a cab?”

The Morse Code Streetlights

On their way up Fourth Street Olivia told the cabbie, “Actually we’re both going to my place.” She turned to Vince, “You’re sleeping in the spare room, but the kids will love it if we cook them pancakes in the morning.”

“You know, I saw in this wine magazine that they have these amazing hot air balloon tours of the vineyards in the Barossa Valley in Australia. Let’s tell the cabbie to head to the airport.”

“Nice try. Besides I’ve only just met the new Vince.” She had leaned-in to whisper that in his ear, and was close enough to catch a bit of her Ex’s trademark smell. It was the same as the flannel shirt in her laundry room. Olivia was looking out the window, fixated on the streetlights pulsing by, sending her some coded message. She slid her hand toward Vince, and discovered his hand was already there, waiting, in the space between them.

An Emotional Experience

Scholars have long reflected on the transformative nature of wine. Ferrarini et al. (2010) observed wine is “cognitive and affective” and an emotional experience not confined to the actual moment of consumption (pp. 720-721). Bertuccioli (2010) explains

Different from many other foodstuffs, the attractiveness of wine is not tied to a particular flavour, but rather to a complex of sensations which frequently change, making it difficult to define a wine’s fascination. We can say that a wine producer sells a sensory experience to the consumer. (p. 791)

Explorations of other aesthetic endeavors, including poetry, provide assistance in attempting to define wine. From the perspective of an ethnographer, Brady (2004) explored the sensual and meaning construction in poetry. In another ethnography, Tilley (2006) conducted interviews with 127 gardeners and determined gardening was “actually about cultivating the soul through cultivating the earth” (p. 311). Those studies provide perspective on analyzing the sensual, but it is my position that as an emotional experience drinking wine is impossible to accurately describe. It is the ineffable quaffable.

Identifying and Acknowledging Wine

Studies have attempted to identify and fingerprint the components of wines, which lead to this often-transformative experience. Biasoto, Catharino, Sanvido, Eberlin, and da Silva (2010) employed a new scientific technique: Direct infusion electrospray ionization mass spectrometry (ESI-MS). Their study examined wines from 10 producers. Twelve trained judges generated flavor profiles. The authors determined ESI-MS is a reliable quality control method for wineries, but it is not able to identify the qualities that make certain wines more pleasurable than others. That understanding has also eluded authors who examined sweetness, food pairings, and bottle shape.

Blackman, Saliba, and Schmidtke (2010) recruited 50 wine drinkers and determined that, depending on expertise, there were varying preferences for sweetness. Bastian, Collins, and Johnson (2010) solicited the opinions of 54 wine and cheese consumers and 22 wine experts. The authors explored wine and cheese pairings and determined the quality of the wine was the most significant determinant in preference. Puyares, Ares, and Carrau (2010) surveyed 64 fine wine consumers and observed a clear preference for Bordeaux bottles. Shepard (2004) examined numerous factors, including the structure of the nasal cavity, to determine that in humans the “sense of smell is more important than generally realized” (p. 575). Quandt (2006) studied the tasting and rating of wines, focusing on the famous 1976 competition between American and French Bordeaux wines. Randerson (2001) surveyed the taste preferences of 54 students and determined describing the bouquet and taste of wines is “more an art than a science” (p. 1718). So, essentially wine may be labeled and judged, and taste and smell may be scrutinized, but all of that analysis is of limited use in identifying wine’s mystical appeal.

Sharing Wine

Tasting and appreciating wine is widely considered to be more profound as a shared experience. Hennion’s (2007) personal exploration led to a description of taste as something that “holds us together.” The communal tasting of wine has produced a growing lexicon to help describe it. Lehrer (1975) enlisted the services of 22 tasters. By using questionnaires, quizzes, and blind tastings, the author determined certain words and phrases were more useful in describing wines to one another, and that more knowledgeable tasters had a longer list of descriptive words.

Experts and amateurs use different terminology, but the goal is the same: To connect with one another as wine is consumed. Vannini, Ahluwalia-Lopez, Waskul, and Gottschalk (2010) explored sensual scholarship at wine festivals, which are by definition communal events. The researchers drew upon participant observation, collected at seven locations in California and British Columbia, to explore the social aspects of senses and sensations. Building on observations of about 200 interactions between wine servers and tasters, the article identified several rituals that wine festival participants engage in, and determined those communal activities influenced the perception of wine.

When we consumed wine at a festival, for example, it always felt different than we consumed it later at home. When we consumed it alone, our sensations were also different than when we consumed it around others. And its taste even seemed to change when the people we consumed it with differed. (p. 7)

Building on the works cited above, this inquiry posits drinking wine with others is so different than consuming wine alone, because the very thing that makes wine special is its ability to make connections between people.

The Experts

Along with the challenge of defining wine, academics and reviewers have struggled to find the best method of evaluating or grading wines. Influential American wine critic Robert Parker was the first to use a 100-point scale (Robinson, 2006), a practice that has become highly divisive. There is agreement, however, that “expert” tasters are far better at differentiating wine varietals. Lawless (1984) compared the flavor descriptions of 14 novice wine drinkers and 13 wine experts, and determined the expert group was more adept at identifying previously tasted wines. In a similar study Solomon (1990) examined the ability of 36 wine tasters to match wines with descriptions of them. The author found the experts scored significantly higher in tests. Maitre, Symoneaux, Jourjon, and Mehinagic (2010) analyzed numerous scientific studies and found similarities and differences surrounding how wines are judged on typicality and how they are sorted. Using magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) Castriota-Scanderbeg et al. (2004) examined the brains of seven sommeliers and seven control subjects. The researchers determined wine affected sommeliers’ brains and novice wine drinkers’ brains differently. Edwards and Mort (1993) observed a respected wine expert as he evaluated six Australian wines. The marketing study found “expert tasters have an important role to play as opinion leaders” (p. 11). This research project uses the aforementioned studies to explore the influence and efficacy of wine experts.

Evaluating Wine

It must be understood that the environment in which wine is consumed influences that experience. Wiggins (2002) posits social settings have an enormous affect on taste. Using data taken from tape-recorded mealtimes, involving 10 families, the author examined the role of the “gustatory mmm” in constructing pleasure while eating (p. 315). Melcher and Schooler (1996) assessed the affect of language on recalling the taste of wines. A total of 107 participants, between 21 and 78 years old, were split into two groups. One group used words to try and remember a wine’s characteristics, while the other group did not (pp. 235-236). The research found “of all the sources of memory illusions, our own language may be the most insidious” (p. 231). Mueller and Szolnoki (2010) explored the influence of packaging, labeling, and branding. 521 wine consumers participated in central location tests in three German cities. The study determined young, inexperienced consumers used a mix of various clues; wine-experienced consumers relied on grape variety and blind “liking”; and older, experienced consumers were more influenced by packaging and brand (p. 774). Combris, Lecocq, and Visser (1997) analyzed an experiment in which three 4-person juries evaluated various wines, and the juries’ evaluations where then measured against the wines’ prices. The authors concluded “many variables that are important in explaining quality apparently do not play a role in the determination of the market price” (p. 401). Melo, Colin, Delahunty, Forde, and Cox (2010) scrutinized the role of habit and concluded wine consumption increased linearly over people’s lives, while the consumption of beer and hard liquor decreased. That study measured the lifetime experiences of 51 wine consumers. Thatch and Olsen (2004) studied 20 persons, chosen to represent a cross-section of U.S. wine consumers, who participated in open-ended questionnaires and 60 to 90 min telephone interviews. Their research determined lifestyle choices were of greater influence than age in attracting wine consumers. Studies have also explored the performance of senses when one sense is absent. Using autoethnography, Lee (2009) discovered the therapeutic power of music while recovering from laser eye surgery. These studies indicate the influences on taste, price, appreciation, and enjoyment of wines, are many and complex. This inquiry acknowledges those determinations, and aims to consolidate and build on them.

Theoretical Framework

This inquiry employs dialectics theory: The concept that two or more persons pursue truth by seeking agreement with one another, even though they may hold differing views. Using dialectics, the characters in the story try and find agreement on how to properly describe particular wines. I build on the works of Baxter (2004) who observed, “the core concept in dialectical perspectives is, after all, the contradiction—a unity of opposites” (pp. 182,183); and Ball (1979) who defines dialectics as “the idea of development through conflict” (p. 785). Two works by Plato also have significant influence: The Republic, in which the concept of dialectics is striped to its very essence; and Symposium, in which the setting is a wine drinking party where the participants “come to mutual and democratic decisions” (Hunter, 2004, p.5). Scholars have yet to solve the mystery surrounding wine’s unique power to bring people together. As noted above, there has been significant study of wine’s various aspects, but nothing to explain exactly why wine is so unifying. The ancient Greeks observed, “In wine there is truth.” The goal of this work is to illustrate that there is also truth in fiction about wine.