A NOTE FROM THE FUTURE: I nearly spit out my coffee as I read this post. Because just yesterday I was re-reading Alice’s book, the very scene that describes spitting. And was I musing over the ridiculousness that every wine book requires such a scene? No I was not. I was wondering, “Hmmmmm…. how would I write about this myself?” So I have either become ridiculous, or there really is something so universally weird about learning how to spit wine that it does warrant a scene in every wine book. (And yes, “both” is a perfectly acceptable answer.)
Originally published on August 25, 2008.
….you just put your lips together and…no no no, that’s whistling. Spitting is a completely different matter – and apparently interesting enough to merit special mention in almost every wine memoir ever written.
I noticed this while working through this summer’s crop of wine-related books. In Reflections of a Wine Merchant, Neal Rosenthal devotes a full paragraph to the etiquette of spitting. Good aim, flair, and self-confidence are good. Drooling, dribbling, and barrel splattering are bad. In The Battle for Wine and Love, Alice Feiring remembers her first time time – especially the backsplash on her glasses.
I dug out a few older books and sure enough, in Red, White, and Drunk All Over, Natalie MacLean goes into great anatomical detail as to the mechanics (seems you can’t just put your lips together and blow). And in Bacchus & Me, Jay McInerney recalls the strangeness of tasting wine without swallowing during an interview with Helen Turely, his first as a newly-minted wine writer.
Apparently, if you write a book about wine, you must have well-defined opinions and memories about spitting. And here, I thought it was something you just did to keep from getting drunk.