To Construct Wine Sentences, part uno.

i want this confidence in my wine choice. all. in.

"What kind of white do you like?"

Then I'll pause before answering the person who asked the question, often in a plaid shirt as is the current trend of servers at restaurants, and I'll search my brain files for words I've heard on podcasts that will make me sound informed but probably have little do with any actual enjoyment I get from drinking the wine.

I've said things like: "Minerally. Not too fruity and maybe a little dry. No Sauvignon Blanc."

Because, I've heard that fruity is for pansies and minerals are for the hardcore white wine drinker, and sweet wine? Go back to first grade. And, actually, I've hated most of the Sauvignon Blancs I've tried.

But, I forget if I liked the wine I just described. And thus, the ultimate inquiry of this most important of quests: what kind of white wine do I like?

I can pretend to act cool and invoke minerals into my diction, or I could learn. Essentially, I know a few things, but none are rooted in knowledge, as much as happenstance or recognition. Seeing a familiar sounding grape often confuses me into thinking I've liked it and then I order it. My nose and tongue and some part of my brain have only these memories to speak of: 

• the cat piss stench of Sauvignon Blanc isn't my thing; 
• the words Chenin Blanc flash from the menu because I've recently heard about it on America's Test Kitchen podcast and I bought a $12 bottle at Trader Joe's after hearing about it and I remember a feeling of satisfaction; 
• Chardonnay (from whence it came no one knows) feels reliable; 
• I've had too sweet Reislings and just right Reislings;
• Vino Verde left a good impression on my tongue, what with its little bubbles; 
• Gewurztraminer tangles my lips in knots cause it's very hard to say out loud (22 seconds, after the guy swivels in his chair) and maybe harder to spell, but is associated positively with a satisfying glass in Vienna, (Austria not Virginia);
• Viognier invokes local (Virginia and Maryland) vintners trying to make good wine but almost always falling a little bit short and therefore leaves me depressed.

ENTER: Winc.

Winc Wine: Wonderful.

I joined the wine club Winc in hopes of cementing my opinions or at least having real words to say that represent some semblance of truth to the plaid wrapped humans--words in a sentence, for me to say, which results in me drinking wine I like. 

First up: 2014 Wonderful Wine White Blend. I loved this rubik's cube of a wine. For $13 it was easy to drink but had like multidimensional flavors. Sometimes it was velvety and other times it was tangy; sometimes it was sweetish, but it was also zesty. It was smooth, but with pointy edges. At first I was worried: it was a mix of Sauvignon Blanc (mortal enemy), Muscat (I associate with sweet), Viognier (#depression), and Chenin Blanc (assumed lover).

Smitten, I re-read the description Winc gave me so I could begin thinking of a sentence to approximate the wine when I go out in public. This wine is described as medium body (and according to Winc, the following flavor notes provided by each grape): 

• fruity, zippy, bright, (SB)
• lush, and with notes of lychee, (Muscat)
• white flowers and honeysuckle. (V + CB) 

WINE SENTENCE THE FIRST: "I'd like a medium body white, something that's a mix of lychee and citrus, with some floral notes." 

If I use these words, can I approximate this wine? Will I feel like a douche bag? Will they ask follow up questions that will confuse the fuck out of me? Will I just repeat the sentence ad nauseam until they just bring me any old glass to shut me the fuck up? Will my fellow diners think to themselves: "phew! that's a lady who knows what she WANTS." <--effectively screaming wants in their head voice.

STAY TUNED.*

*This is a bigger cliff hanger than when Sarah Koenig told us something like: "next week we'll hear from Jay."