A Layman Explores Wine 17

A Layman Explores Wine

by William Powell

The internet must be bewitched. Or the work of the devil or something. It turns people—otherwise blessed with common sense—into mindless zombies who believe anything. I have no problem with a moderately gifted butcher's shop assistant bending my ear about the healing properties of chia seeds. Or with John from Uganda writing to ask me to take his 50 million dollars off his hands. That might waste a bit of time, but it's not so bad. 

It's not even that bad when people claim the Illuminati exist or that dating platforms are just so romantic.

Things get bad when online experts enter the picture. Girls who have figured out how to operate a camera and now seriously believe they can give relationship advice or explain world politics. Dim-witted unboxing boys convinced that their style expertise could enrich all our lives. I played a professional makeup artist a video of a 15-year-old YouTube star showing the world how to create much prettier smoky eyes than usual. After just 40 seconds, the poor woman burst into such hysterical laughter that I began to worry about her health. After four minutes, I simply stopped the clip because by then she was rolling on the floor laughing and wasn't watching anyway. 

I'm telling you this in my own interest, and for the same reason I'd like to posit the following “truth”: internet experts don't know shit! I know this because I'm something of an internet expert on internet experts. At least on one of them—namely, myself. Anyone who has followed my little column here (and not even particularly closely) will know that I struggle to tell a rosé from a really pale red wine. The term “Oechsle” regularly gives me the giggles, and when I hear “tannin,” my first thought is of European capitals beginning with T rather than “condensed proanthocyanidins” (don't worry—of course I googled that). 

All of that ought to be pretty clear, yet two acquaintances have already asked me for a wine recommendation. Me! At first I thought it was a good joke, but no—they were serious. When I asked whether they had ever actually read the column, I got responses along the lines of “Well, yes—but that's all just an act, isn't it?” And then it came over me—a sort of malignant internet-expert fever—and I shared my wealth of knowledge. Among the whites, I recommended Katzenberger Nacktarsch, Wetterauer Gerümpel and an Imbécile total from Galmont (though it absolutely had to be the 2013 vintage—all the younger ones are corked ... even those with screw caps). 

Since everyone knows that German red wines are simply undrinkable, I turned instead to French, Spanish and Italian wines, recommending to my good friends, for instance, a 2010 Pisser du Sang. Followed by a Sangre en las heces and, of course, the famous Ventosa rosso from Frascati. And what happens? I find myself looking at grateful faces glowing with awe. They're probably searching high and low by now and hopefully won't fire up Google Translate too soon. 

Otherwise they'll get pretty angry—at least as quickly. I'm not entirely sure whether I ought to feel guilty. 

Perhaps I'll ask an internet expert.