Planet of the Grapes: When Wine Talk Gets Weird (Planet of the Grapes, Book 2)
Jason Wilson
Language: English
Pages: 27
ISBN: 2:00214955
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
From the author of Boozehound: On The Trail of the Rare, the Obscure, and the Overrated in Spirits
A Planet of the Grapes Extra, When Wine Talk Gets Weird is a 30-page longform article that explores the idea of taste and how one learns it.
Funny, irreverent, poignant and full of insights for anyone who’s ever struggled to learn about wine. When Wine Talk Gets Weird explores the philosophy, and asks many of the questions, behind the entire Planet of the Grapes series. Why is wine important, anyway? How does one learn a topic as vast as wine? All delivered with humor, warmth, and insight.
The second volume of a new generation of digital wine guides from Jason Wilson, award-winning author of Boozehound, which Anthony Bourdain called “superbly informative, entertaining, and yet deeply subversive.”
“Wilson may just be the best virtual drinking buddy you’ve ever had” — The Barnes & Noble Review
“Funny, smart, and just irreverent and critical enough that you trust every word he writes” — Eater.com
Jason Wilson writes about wine for Philly.com and is formerly the spirits columnist for the Washington Post. His columns have won an award for Best Newspaper Food Column from the Association of Food Journalists three out of the past five years. Wilson is editor of TableMatters.com and TheSmartSet.com, and the director of the Center for Cultural Outreach at Drexel University. He is series editor of The Best American Travel Writing, was previously food columnist at the Philadelphia Daily News and restaurant critic at Philadelphia Magazine, and has written for Washington Post Magazine, Travel & Leisure, National Geographic Traveler, Sommelier Journal, Whisky Advocate, and many other publications.
The Cocktail Lab: Unraveling the Mysteries of Flavor and Aroma in Drink, with Recipes
Wine Microbiology: Practical Applications and Procedures
Hooch: Simplified Brewing, Winemaking, and Infusing at Home
noon on a Wednesday. Please don’t misunderstand: I wasn’t sucking down Boone’s Farm or Night Train from a paper bag. I was sober and still gainfully employed. Actually, I was standing there as part of my job as a wine journalist. A half-dozen others stood with me, and they too seemed gainfully employed, or at least employable. “I’m supposed to be in a meeting right now,” said a guy with white hair and trim mustache wearing a pastel golf shirt. Believe it or not, our little group was patiently
you, the general rule is do whatever it takes to get away.” Now, there’s some service journalism for you. But is it any less helpful than so much of the wine advice we get? Not that all of this advice is bad, though much of it is self-evident or common sense or unnecessary. It’s helpful in the same way that, when you lose your keys, it’s helpful for someone to ask, “Now, where did you last leave them?” “Wine,” said Saul Steinberg, “is the only thing that makes us happy as adults for no reason.”
simple subject, and I can understand the desire for shortcuts. But I’m often confounded by people who casually tell me they want to learn a little something about wine. I’ll tentatively ask them if they are sure, and they’ll say yes. Then, inevitably, the moment I start explaining basic points about grapes, or barrel aging, or explaining what a D.O.C. is or whatever, they tune out. To me, it’s like saying you want to understand baseball, but you refuse to learn what the shortstop does. Like any
well-aged riesling that smells like gasoline, a decade-old brunello di Montalcino with aromas of old leather, a cellared Barolo wafting hints of tar and asphalt. But it’s not always aging. I’ve tasted young Bordeaux Superieur and Spanish monastrell with notes of sweet chewing tobacco, and a young, earthy Madiran with a funky whiff of the cow pasture. “Yeah, yeah, OK,” I can still hear my students say. “But why would I want to drink wines like these?” It’s the kind of controversial question
well-aged riesling that smells like gasoline, a decade-old brunello di Montalcino with aromas of old leather, a cellared Barolo wafting hints of tar and asphalt. But it’s not always aging. I’ve tasted young Bordeaux Superieur and Spanish monastrell with notes of sweet chewing tobacco, and a young, earthy Madiran with a funky whiff of the cow pasture. “Yeah, yeah, OK,” I can still hear my students say. “But why would I want to drink wines like these?” It’s the kind of controversial question