Not a PSA, just good think'n...
January 29th, I had the extreme fortune of attending Empson's Barolo and Brunello Tour held at Kaspar's in Seattle. This was a trade show/tasting put on by the importer Empson for wine shops, restaurants and stores. Over a hundered wines from Piedmont and Tuscany were present. My being there came way of a generous invite from Dan Carr (owner/chef) of Visconti's Italian Restaurant in Leavenworth. He couldn't make it. He was to attend a three-day class in Woodinville, learning how to breakdown a Mangalitsa pig. He asked if I would act as his buyer. Wow. Instant pressure. But the need for he and his chef Randy to begin prepping for "our" pig dismantling (for the upcoming March dinner) was all too important. I accepted the assignment. I took my post.
Having spent time on both sides of the tasting room counter, I've grown to appreciate the accumulative effects of those "little sample pours". When I've worked bigger regional events (with tons of wines poured), I've witnessed patrons at the end of the day looking, well... let's say (in nicest terms) hammered!
I saw something at the Empson show that I would like to share with you. A simple idea. And it cries out from a comment made to me years ago by a French winemaker. "We don't taste with our stomachs".
I saw dump buckets.
No, not the little flowery vase things one envisions at your run-of-the-mill tasting room, but bona fied three gallon pails... galvanized with heavy gauge wire handles. And, here's the unsettling part... people were spitting into them. Yes, bent at the waist as if to expel toothpaste from the groggy morning ritual. Women carefully holding their hair back with head slightly turned to one side, as if to suggest that class and grace have always been partners in this custom. Glorious wine, spat right out for all to see. The soundtrack was a cacophony of swooshes and splatters echoing throughout the room evoking the ill-aimed filling of nursing home bedpans. A shame? Of course! Knowing that these wines were from some of the region's top producers, was nerve racking. Then it occurred to me... hey, this was "trade". This was expected. Executed right in front of my eyes was the code of professional conduct. Not to let the effects of alcohol cloud one's perceptions. Clear-headed for the buying decisions one would make, amounting in thousands of dollars being spent. It was all so normal. It was a first-time for me, but soon it felt right. Felt smart. I didn't consume until my very last two ounce sample. And it tasted like heaven. It tasted earned. 2003 Poggio Antico Brunello di Montalcino "Riserva" it was. I will remember you always... (insert childish whimper).
Okay, about now you'd be within your right to ask "...and your point is?". The point is to tackle the stigma of spitting. At bigger events, I think there's no question. Taste Washington, Woodinville Wine Passport, Walla Walla's Spring Release weekend, you name it, at events of this size we all should. But rarely one does. There's a value-driven rationale of "Hey, I got charged to get in here, hell ya, I'm drinking!" Oh, I've been there, so have many of you. Five dollar tasting fee?! More reason to throw back.
From these events (including day trip winery tours), you eventually have to get home. Drive home. Drive with maybe, oh... just a hair over .08 in the system? Not hard to do. With regret, I've done this and so have many of you. Not proud of it. Just being honest for a moment. At forty-six, I've lived long enough to have seen a couple of friends, friends of friends and the like get a DUI. With all its public-safety flag waving, the DUI citation has become a portal into a revenue-collecting industry. A legal spider's web of court dates, loss of privileges, fines, fees, incarceration, mandatory attendance at a faith-based support group (thinly-veiled as a recovery program) at which you will be bullied into recanting your sobriety and, of course, a heavy dose of puritanical guilt thrown in for good measure. On the moral side of this issue, someone can die. And many have. No, I've never received a DUI. Just been a good (horrified) listener to those who have.
Preventable? Sure. Spit! We all should be asking at each winery and event if we can do so.
For the record, I'm no prude. I'm not suggesting a campaign of buzz-kill mania. One of my favorite things on this planet (okay, second favorite) is that red wine "glow". That euphoria just before "buzzed" commandeers your forebrain. The state of mind my friend Johnny P. describes as "being right with the world". But for some of us, there's less distinction between "glow" and "buzz". Fewer warning signs that we're several "little sample pours" past good sense. Almost as if someone maliciously removed the safety-yellow floor striping cautioning our step at the edge of the abyss. The abyss of reckless endangerment, of charges and shame, of fines and fees, of twelve-step programs. The abyss of fatally injuring someone.
Folks, I encourage you to consider the art of spitting.
Ask for it by name.
Take care,
David
