Weekly Finalist: Stories from an Incompetent Wine Taster, by Jessica Schmidt
My father was a renowned wine maker in California. Everyone knew him, everyone loved him, he had such a buzz about him, he drew people in, he commanded attention. I did not. I was a bit of a screw-up, I spent half of my college and early adult years showing off my bravado and trying to cajole impressionable young ladies into sleeping with me. I was now 34 and I needed something more in my life and for whatever reason my father was imbued with the idea that I should be a wine taster, a reviewer of fine spirits.
Yeah, ok.
I may have grown up around wine, but thinking I have any sort of knowledge makes me chortle. Dad- you really think this is a good idea, you really think that my taste buds can taste any margin or flavor; you really think I should be dictating how other people are choosing their wines? He was determined and I was intrigued. He gave me books, sent me to classes, forced me to read so much propaganda about wine movements and challenges. I had so many chardonnays and zinfandels poured down my esophagus in these months it felt like wine was becoming a fetter around my ankles tying me to a lifestyle I didn’t understand, let alone thrive in. When I gave my first review it sounded like a tape of cacophony, a reel of garbage, nothing like a professional who had grown up around wine. I was ready to throw the brake and just give up. How would I ever segue from this bumbling idiot to a success? Would anyone ever take me seriously?
