Most of us turn to wine, if not as a vehicle of relaxation, at least as a gateway to it. If you’ve gone so far as to acquire the apéritif habit, the first glass of the day typically marks the moment you’ve set work aside and begun the slow evening unwind. Later, there’ll be a glass or two at supper. At some point in the exercise of a daily wine routine, one has only to pull the cork to begin to feel the beneficial effects. Your wits have had enough of a workout for one day, wine seems to say.
But then, occasionally, a surprise. Here’s a wine that doesn’t appear content to serve as unobtrusive background music for Instagram scrolling or idly thumbing through a bed linen catalogue. Instead of disengaging our neural gears, we feel it urging them back into motion; calling for attention; posing pesky questions. One can wonder: Is it ever wine’s business to make us think, or merely to calm, comfort and affirm?
Here in the Wine Corner, its our practice to rate the wine we choose to put on our shelves in terms of quality, value and something we call drinkability. This last qualification being rather vague perhaps; having something to do with the readiness of a wine to both please and invite us back for more. Wines with a high drinkability quotient are like amiable people whose company we enjoy and whose conversation we find consistently agreeable.
But there are wines that, while scoring high in the quality and value categories, seem to offer (excuse the neologism) as much thinkability as drinkability — sometimes more. What makes a wine good to think? Well, it might be one that doesn’t limit itself to the usual ranges of scent, flavor, or texture, or one that doesn’t sit comfortably within familiar parameters of alcohol or acidity. It might be that the varietals involved aren’t drawn from among the usual suspects (Chardonnay, Merlot, PInot Noir) or that, if familiar, originate in less commonly encountered regions. Bulgaria maybe, or Barnard, Vermont.
Alternatively, a challenging wine may involve an everyday varietal from a well-known place, but been put together via one or more unorthodox techniques. While some winemakers are Steady Eddies — craftspeople intent either on replicating a tried-and-true-norm or making a cautious tweak or two to an all-too familiar template — others have the air of performance artists, eager to experiment with radical new forms as they chase a vision they may not fully comprehend themselves.
Why would someone choose a thinky wine over a drinky one? For the same reasons that we can’t always be content with breezy beach reads and feel-good movies that always end on a predictably happy note, but do nothing to urge us on to the kind of effort that might improve us morally or intellectually. But character building isn’t really the main point here.
The fact that we draw satisfaction from doing crossword puzzles, immersing ourselves in intricately-plotted whodunnits, and willingly engage in general problem-solving activities should be enough evidence that thinking — even occasionally arduous thinking — is something human beings take genuine pleasure in. Wine, like the people who make it, can be sensual and intuitive or analytical and considered, or any combination of temperaments one can imagine between these poles, but the joy provided by wine’s thinky side is too often overlooked.
At the end of the day, should wine console and cuddle or puzzle and befuddle? I suppose it depends on what kind of day it’s been.