I’ve never been a wine drinker. I drink beer. I drink whiskey. And I drink margaritas. If someone wanted to make me a cocktail, I’d drink that. But wine? Wine is for old people. Wine is what my Aunt stores in her cellar, then drinks too much of on New Years. Wine is expensive. Or wine is cheap, and it tastes equally so.
I felt this way, more or less, until last August, when I met with a number of winemakers and vineyard managers in California making pinot noir. Post-college, I worked in construction — home remodeling in the Seattle metro area. I met people who worked outside, people who made things, the stringy ligaments of the local economy. I connected with them, not because I was like them (I was just a snooty imposter with a tool belt), but because I liked who they were. Winemakers are of the same ilk. They are farmers. They are artisans. They are makers. And, when I met them last year, I immediately liked them. But I also liked their wine.