The wine relative
I am in Italy, where I have been invited to judge for ‘the most selective’ wine competition in the world, organised by Vinitaly. The idea of a wine relative in this country amounts to an Uncle Pio, who lives down the road and has made the same red wine that is drunk only at Christmas with the rest of the family, and the rest of the year is used to strip paint off walls, or keep the livestock headilywarm. Far from such, my rant is about the relativity of all the elements that make up wine. Here are a few factors that can influence how one perceives a wine and how, in almost all cases, they shouldn’t.
Racism goes beyond people. How can we let the colour influence our perception of aromas and taste that is yet to come/form? Sure enough wine is art and hence must involve aesthetic but it isn’t exactly a visual form of art or, for that matter, at all. Judging a wine by its colour is likely to spring many a surprise during blind tastings.
I have always maintained that wine or women, such commentary is generally lewd and does nothing to ameliorate ones social position. Legs are the tracks left by wine when, upon swirling, it trickles down the inside surface
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