HERE’S TO THE GRAPE

They’re harvesting the grapes in the Napa Valley Wine country right now, pulling tons of juicy red and white grapes from the vines that dot the hillsides and nestle in the nooks and crannies of some of the prettiest scenery this side of Paradise (the real one, not the one in Northern California).

The same could be said of the wine country in Central California, the Central Coast, or even in the Gold Country.  Fact is, vineyards are popping up all over the country.  According to TIME MAGAZINE, all 50 states are now growing wine grapes and making wine. 

How about that!  Nebraska Red now means something other than football.  Have a bottle of Grand Silo ‘99…goes real well with that heifer over there.  If you’re having catfish tonight, how about a great white like this ‘Husker ‘01?

It is amazing how wine has become the drink, not just of sophisticates, but of the proletariat.  Wine bars are now the place to go on a Friday or Saturday night, to enjoy glasses of fine wine and exotic cheeses.  The old Martini is stuck in some smelly back room along with the Scotch and cigar smokers.

It hasn’t always been that way.  I can remember times when wine was just some unpronounceable French stuff like Chateauneuf du Pape.  We never bought that. We always relied on Mateus, or Lancer’s or Blue Nun, and we felt we were living the refined life.  And if you sneer at that, consider that it wasn’t Mogen David or Manischewitz.

Wine as an experience began to take hold perhaps in the ‘70’s.  That’s when California and New York started producing wines that got people’s attention.  Before that, the grape producing areas were simply trying to rebound from Prohibition years and the negative attitudes toward alcohol.

Today, wine is ubiquitous.  There are stores devoted to selling wines with aisles and aisles of wines from all over.  California wines have been determined to be every bit as good as French wines, and you can even pronoun most of their names.

It has even gotten to the place where it isn’t unusual to hear your neighbor proclaim that he likes the “nose” of this wine or the “bouquet” of that wine.  To which the writer Joel Stein says, “when wine drinkers tell me they taste notes of cherries, tobacco and rose petals usually all I can detect is a whole lot of jackass.”

I haven’t had a taste of wine in a dozen years, personally, but now that two-buck Chuck is readily available, I might get back in the game.