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I’ll tell you what it’s not. It’s not a fashion statement, a noncomformist hobby, or an attempt to subtly catch a glimpse of a pretentious lifestyle without actually being pretentious. It’s not about the thrill of its aristocratic dialect or the often-times misguiding back labels or shelf talkers that try and convince us we’re about to embark on a flavor journey dominated by cedar, leather, dirt or all other things inedible or objectionable. And if I’m being perfectly frank, it’s not even primarily about taste (partially because about 70% of what you taste is intrinsic with what you smell).

I love wine because it signifies life. Because of that first realization that occurs when you can discern between two different wines of the same color, and the fact that the complexity only grows deeper thereafter. I love it because of how many generations it has outlived. I love it for the same reasons I love fruits and vegetables (excluding the fact that I rely on them from time to time for survival); because they all taste a certain way based on what crevice of the earth they’re grown in. But even more importantly than that, I love wine for the mere fact that it’s meant to be enjoyed festively, in celebration, accompanying food overseasoned with love and with those we deem worthy of life’s celebrations, be it holidays or the perks of everyday life.

I should state that I’m not writing for anyone’s benefit or to even mildly pose as an encyclopedic resource. I’m writing because it’s healthy and maybe even because I have an optimistic suspicion that there are some other early twenty-somethings out there who are living in the midst of the impossibly small, fleeting window that barely allows for giving quality wine a chance; only if there’s just enough incentive to catch them before they develop a lifelong, unrequited love for White Zinfandel. 

There’s nothing not to love about wine if you’re to see it in my light. We may live very similar lives; only difference between me and you is that wine sought after me. Can’t say I’m not fortunate. 

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One thought on “Prelim

  1. You’re wrong, Troy. White Zinfandel loves me back. Not unrequited. Very requited. BUT YAY for your first post! I loved it!!! More!

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