You read the little card on the shelf. It says the wine tastes of black cherries and old leather. You do not know what old leather tastes like. You wonder if you are supposed to. You buy the bottle anyway. At home, you drink it. You taste wine. Maybe some fruit. Mostly just wine. The card promised a secret. You feel left out of the secret. The problem is not your tongue. The problem is the card.

The tasting note is not for you. It is for the person who wrote it. It is their memory. Their day. Their leather chair. You were not there. You cannot visit their memory. They are describing a ghost. Your job is not to see their ghost. Your job is to drink your wine.

Think of a burger. You take a bite. You do not think, “I detect toasted sesame, aged cheddar, a hint of smokiness.” You think, “This is good,” or “This is dry.” You know. You trust it. Your gut decides. With wine, they tell you to ignore your gut. They tell you to search for the menu’s poetry instead. This is how you get lost. Your gut was right. The poetry was a distraction.

They use these words to build a fence. The words are the planks. If you cannot name the planks, you are kept outside. The fence has nothing to do with what is in your glass. The fence is about status. It is about who sounds like they know. You just want to drink. You can drink right through the fence. It is made of words. It cannot stop you.

You stand in the aisle. One bottle has a note about “graphite and boysenberry.” One just says “dry red.” You are afraid to pick the wrong one. So you pick the one with the story. You pay more for the story. The story is free. It is printed on a card. The wine is what costs money. You have bought the wrong thing.

Here is the truth. The note is a guess about the past. The wine in your glass is the present. You are living in the present. Your taste is the only fact that matters. Did it taste good to you? Did it go with your food? Did you want another glass? These are the answers. They do not need fancy words. Yes. No. Maybe.

Stop trying to translate. Drink. Swallow. Wait. What do you feel? Refreshed? Do your cheeks pull in? Does it make you think of another bite of steak, or does it make you want to drink water? That is the note. That is your note. It is written in your body, not on a card. It is the only one that counts.

The next time you see the words. Read them if you like. They can be a good story. Then forget them. Your mouth is not a library. It does not need to catalog flavors. It needs to know if it likes what is happening. That decision is quick. It is quiet. It is yours.

You are not failing a test. There is no test. There is a glass. And you. And a simple question. Do you want what is in it? Your answer is complete. It needs no explanation.

The card lies. Your hand on the glass tells the truth.

© Jake Ruse, Austin Texas Wine Society