Introduction to "The No Bull$#!+ Wine Book" by Jonathan Elmore
Before we officially begin, I have a confession to make. My name is Jonathan and I am a recovering wine snob. For years, I used fancy words and impossible comparisons to describe wine. Out of a sense of privilege came the snooty behavior. Not to brag, but I’ve been fortunate enough to have held positions in restaurants, retail stores, and wholesale companies that granted me access to all but a few of the best wines in the world. Consequently, my vocabulary began to reflect it. I’ve also tried some terrible wines and the words I used to voice my opinion about them were equally pretentious in a negative way. I fell into a pattern of trying a new wine and immediately coming up with new and “interesting” ways to describe it. The inane shit that would end up in my wine journal was boorish, trite, and unexcitedly academic. It took a fellow salesman to snap me out of the little snob bubble that I had inadvertently built up around myself.
In 2006, I was working for a wine distributor in San Antonio, Texas. As I sat in the sales meeting, we were trying a Chianti Classico that someone had brought in for our team to sample. I smelled it, swirled it, sipped it, swished it, let it sit on my tongue, and swallowed it, letting the lingering esters of the wine settle in my mouth. In my mind, I started to think of how I would write about this wine. “Tart cherry”, “slightly singed oak”, and “faint heather” were all waiting to be written down in a flurry of praise for this wine. I looked at the guy next to me and said, “That was really quite good. What do you think of it?” He looked at me and said, “It’s good shit and it’ll fuck you up.” In that moment, I knew that I had become an insufferable wine snob and I had to change my hoity-toity ways. I had to simplify and eliminate the flowery language so often attributed to wine. Unfortunately, the world needs people to describe wines this way because there are people who demand that type of esoteric minutiae. I just knew that I couldn’t do it anymore. I had seen the light and heard the message. Like Thoreau said, “Our life is frittered away by detail…simplify, simplify.”
In a bold move to redeem my street cred, I started taking words out of my journaling vocabulary. The words are still in my brain, but I reserve them for when there is something really deserving of them. I relearned how to describe wine so that it sounds like something you would want to buy and actually drink. Even though there are some expert wine drinkers that can find hints of “cedar resin”, “leather”, “cigar ash”, “cat pee”, or “bacon grease”, those words will not cross my lips again unless I’m describing a saddle or someone’s kitty litter box. By the way, those were real descriptive words that I’ve read and used in the past. Would you buy Chateau Cat Pee Sauvignon Blanc? I sure as hell wouldn’t. I don’t usually single out any one particular review but this one contains the pinnacle of ill-used adjectives. This Pinot Noir quote comes directly from a website whose name I’ll withhold so you don’t go trolling. [sic]“On the nose the dark fruit is overshadowed by some fecal notes…” Disgusting, right?!
There are always going to be people at both ends of the spectrum when they’re critiquing anything. The lofty describe a wine that has “hints of lazy lemon” or “piquant sloe” while others just let you know that this wine is a sure fire way to get your drunk on. In this book, I hope to fall somewhere in between. I try to write in a style that most people are comfortable reading. For better or worse, I left in all of the curse words. If you know me at all, you wouldn’t believe that I wrote this book unless there were a few sentence enhancers here and there. Keeping all that shit in mind, I hope you enjoy this slightly irreverent look at one of your and my favorite beverages: Wine.
One last thing; I’m not going to BS you and pretend that I know everything about wine. If someone tells you that they do, they’re fucking liars. Simple as that. Even Sommeliers don’t know everything, but they’re the closest ones we have so listen to them every chance you get. I don’t know everything but I know a lot. I've passed every wine test there is except the Sommolier test. That's pretty good, right? So, like most people who want to let the world in on the fact that they know stuff, I have a website. It started off as a kind of antithesis to the reviews that I was reading. They were flush with internet bravado about how they hated one thing or another and wished the producers would die a slow and painful death. Those people would never say those things if they were face-to-face. But, sitting in their underwear in the consequence-free environment of their parents’ basement, they said - and continue to say - whatever horrible things they wanted. The negativity was almost inescapable. There is really only so much of that bullshit you can read without becoming angry and cynical yourself. So, to counter all of that negativity, I started the “Raves Only” website The Talking Simian (www.talkingsimian.com). If I try a beer or wine or hear a stand-up comedian that I don’t like, I just won’t write about it. Why should I waste my energy yakking about something that isn’t worth my time? In turn, why would you want to read a long article about something you won’t want to try? Writing positive reviews about likable things is a quicker way to get us all to the bliss that makes this big ball of dirt we’re riding on a whole lot better. The No Bullshit Wine Book is an extension of that idea. Let’s just get to the good stuff and let the peons worry about being negative. If you’re ready to get on with it, then we’re in agreement. And awaaay we go!
Before we officially begin, I have a confession to make. My name is Jonathan and I am a recovering wine snob. For years, I used fancy words and impossible comparisons to describe wine. Out of a sense of privilege came the snooty behavior. Not to brag, but I’ve been fortunate enough to have held positions in restaurants, retail stores, and wholesale companies that granted me access to all but a few of the best wines in the world. Consequently, my vocabulary began to reflect it. I’ve also tried some terrible wines and the words I used to voice my opinion about them were equally pretentious in a negative way. I fell into a pattern of trying a new wine and immediately coming up with new and “interesting” ways to describe it. The inane shit that would end up in my wine journal was boorish, trite, and unexcitedly academic. It took a fellow salesman to snap me out of the little snob bubble that I had inadvertently built up around myself.
In 2006, I was working for a wine distributor in San Antonio, Texas. As I sat in the sales meeting, we were trying a Chianti Classico that someone had brought in for our team to sample. I smelled it, swirled it, sipped it, swished it, let it sit on my tongue, and swallowed it, letting the lingering esters of the wine settle in my mouth. In my mind, I started to think of how I would write about this wine. “Tart cherry”, “slightly singed oak”, and “faint heather” were all waiting to be written down in a flurry of praise for this wine. I looked at the guy next to me and said, “That was really quite good. What do you think of it?” He looked at me and said, “It’s good shit and it’ll fuck you up.” In that moment, I knew that I had become an insufferable wine snob and I had to change my hoity-toity ways. I had to simplify and eliminate the flowery language so often attributed to wine. Unfortunately, the world needs people to describe wines this way because there are people who demand that type of esoteric minutiae. I just knew that I couldn’t do it anymore. I had seen the light and heard the message. Like Thoreau said, “Our life is frittered away by detail…simplify, simplify.”
In a bold move to redeem my street cred, I started taking words out of my journaling vocabulary. The words are still in my brain, but I reserve them for when there is something really deserving of them. I relearned how to describe wine so that it sounds like something you would want to buy and actually drink. Even though there are some expert wine drinkers that can find hints of “cedar resin”, “leather”, “cigar ash”, “cat pee”, or “bacon grease”, those words will not cross my lips again unless I’m describing a saddle or someone’s kitty litter box. By the way, those were real descriptive words that I’ve read and used in the past. Would you buy Chateau Cat Pee Sauvignon Blanc? I sure as hell wouldn’t. I don’t usually single out any one particular review but this one contains the pinnacle of ill-used adjectives. This Pinot Noir quote comes directly from a website whose name I’ll withhold so you don’t go trolling. [sic]“On the nose the dark fruit is overshadowed by some fecal notes…” Disgusting, right?!
There are always going to be people at both ends of the spectrum when they’re critiquing anything. The lofty describe a wine that has “hints of lazy lemon” or “piquant sloe” while others just let you know that this wine is a sure fire way to get your drunk on. In this book, I hope to fall somewhere in between. I try to write in a style that most people are comfortable reading. For better or worse, I left in all of the curse words. If you know me at all, you wouldn’t believe that I wrote this book unless there were a few sentence enhancers here and there. Keeping all that shit in mind, I hope you enjoy this slightly irreverent look at one of your and my favorite beverages: Wine.
One last thing; I’m not going to BS you and pretend that I know everything about wine. If someone tells you that they do, they’re fucking liars. Simple as that. Even Sommeliers don’t know everything, but they’re the closest ones we have so listen to them every chance you get. I don’t know everything but I know a lot. I've passed every wine test there is except the Sommolier test. That's pretty good, right? So, like most people who want to let the world in on the fact that they know stuff, I have a website. It started off as a kind of antithesis to the reviews that I was reading. They were flush with internet bravado about how they hated one thing or another and wished the producers would die a slow and painful death. Those people would never say those things if they were face-to-face. But, sitting in their underwear in the consequence-free environment of their parents’ basement, they said - and continue to say - whatever horrible things they wanted. The negativity was almost inescapable. There is really only so much of that bullshit you can read without becoming angry and cynical yourself. So, to counter all of that negativity, I started the “Raves Only” website The Talking Simian (www.talkingsimian.com). If I try a beer or wine or hear a stand-up comedian that I don’t like, I just won’t write about it. Why should I waste my energy yakking about something that isn’t worth my time? In turn, why would you want to read a long article about something you won’t want to try? Writing positive reviews about likable things is a quicker way to get us all to the bliss that makes this big ball of dirt we’re riding on a whole lot better. The No Bullshit Wine Book is an extension of that idea. Let’s just get to the good stuff and let the peons worry about being negative. If you’re ready to get on with it, then we’re in agreement. And awaaay we go!