What have I learned attending a decade-plus worth of wine tastings all over the country and world? Well, I’ve certainly accumulated a lot of knowledge and experience. But I’ve also developed some, shall we say, neurotic tendencies. Here is one circumstance that, at some point, will strike all wine tasters. Both casual and veteran:
I know, it’s so gross. But it even happens to a pro like me who has spit out more wine than he has consumed over a legal drinking lifetime. (Ok, that’s a lie.) I, on numerous occasions, have suffered the indignity that begins when leaning in to expectorate, say, a fine red Burgundy. Concurrently, I anticipate making a pithy and insightful statement on the profundity of Gevrey Chambertin to a wine luminary who made the trip across the pond just to pour this bottle. Actual result? I flee in shame as I coat my glasses with a Burgundy cuvée augmented by the saliva of dozens of strangers and little bits of chewed-up food dislodged by swishing and spitting.
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