Oftentimes, when I first open a bottle, I’m full of all kinds of nervous anticipation and fluttering excitement. My eyes open wide and pupils dilate, taking in its handsome package. It’s new, and yeah maybe it was cheap, but so what. It still could be great, right? Imagine affordable AND great.
On this particular night, I unscrewed that tight little cap with my own bare hands and poured the liquid libation into my waiting vessel. A little swirl first and then I brought the glass to my nose for the first sniff. It was the first sign something wasn't quite right; did it even smell much like anything at all? I let a small amount of the highly alcoholic fermented juice pass my lips and float across my tongue that was waiting for a taste almost as eagerly as it waited for it’s first French kiss. What my mouth discovered, instead of the combination of warm tenderness and ignitable passion I seek in my wine, was an awkward bite of harsh tannins and fierce acidity that moved me not to indulge again, but to pour the glass down the sink instead.
I gave it way too many chances, hoping it would open up, improve with a little time, show even a hint of its tremendous potential. But finally I realized I'm worth more than plonk wine.
So I dumped it.
I poured that bottle of crappy wine that might have been the greatest disappointment of my life right down the stainless steel drain. And it was gone. Just like that. I wouldn’t have to think of it or taste it ever again. Because ultimately, if a wine just isn’t pleasing you and never will, does it really deserve to be in your glass? It felt good to find the strength to just walk away and wait for the real thing. My advice to you: Dump the plonk, you'll be glad you did. Until we sip again…