When Nothing is Working
On Yoko-Salads and the Epiphany that Wasn't
Sometimes things that seem like they should work together don’t.
Welcome to Zero to vino, where each week or so, I—a wine novice—drink a few wines and write about them. Meet this week’s wines:
The Low-Down
Sicilian Wine: Tenuta delle Terre Nere Etna Rosso
Producer: Tenuta delle Terre Nere
Region: Sicily (Mt. Etna)
Varietal: Nerello Mascalese
Vintage: 2024
Price: $25-$35
ABV: 14.5%
Source: Wine-SearcherCalifornian Wine: Seaglass Pinot Noir
Producer: Seaglass
Region: Central Coast, CA
Varietal: Pinot Noir
Vintage: 2023
Price: $10-$20
ABV: 13.5%
Source: Target
I’ve had a few wine-goals this year. First, it was Italian wine. Then Italian and Californian. Then Sicilian and Californian. Then, I felt like studying California and Sicilian wines simultaneously was too ambitious. So, I would just study Sicilian wine.
One thing at a time, right?
And then, I saw a post at The Polished Palate:
Okay. Trust the expert!
I ran to Target, got a bottle of red wine, and told my husband we’d be trying the last of our Etna Rosso along with the Pinot from California.
Thankfully, Pete likes drinking wine with me, so he readily agreed.
The Set Up
It was actually a terrible set up. The Etna Rosso had been open for nearly a week. On the other hand, I opened the Pinot and shoved it into the fridge roughly half an hour before dinner.
I know enough about red wine to know that I, personally, like it open for a while before I drink. I hate when the alcohol overwhelms. Overwhelming alcohol + tannins is an experience that I’m not really into.
Anyway, it was a terrible set up, and I knew it. Whatever. Oh well. I knew that even if the conditions weren’t perfect, I’d at least learn something.
I started making dinner and poured the wine into glasses, then took a sniff.
The Etna Rosso smelled beautiful, but it had the unfair advantage of being open—both literally and “wine-y.” It smelled “earthy” and “like red wine.” (I have a lot to learn when it comes to identifying what I smell).
It was harder for me to identify the way that the Pinot Noir smelled because I couldn’t smell anything beyond alcohol.
I went back and forth.
Sniff, sniff.
Sniff, sniff.
Sniff, sniff.
Sniff, sniff.
Sniff, sniff until I confused myself in a beautiful, ruddy whirlpool.
Etna Rosso - ?
Pinot Noir - ?
I couldn’t award any smell points because I had given up. Oh well.
Lightning Round Pre-Drink Preferences
Color: Tie . I loved the purply hue of the Etna Rosso. And at first, I thought I liked it more than the rusty tint of the Seaglass. But then again. I like that color, too.
Bottle: Seaglass Pinot Noir—Completely subjective decision as I love actual sea glass.
Details: Etna Rosso—Completely subjective decision as I love corks.
An honest-to-goodness tie, fully based on my own subjective biases. I’ve gotten nowhere.
Din-Din, Cin-Cin
For dinner, I made a quick, homemade vodka sauce, and Costco provided breaded-chicken-breast fillets for some simple chicken-parm-esque sandwiches. (Also served: chips and a ready-made salad.)
Houston, We Have A Problem
Some notes from the journal:
Both smell like red wine.
I don’t know if I’d ever be able to smell the difference between these two wines.
Is this [Etna Rosso] thicker?
This [Pinot] tastes like … medicine?
Nothing’s working.
Nothing’s working?
Now, that wasn’t quite true. I did get all sleepy, and I lost at Jeopardy. Otherwise nothing worked. I wanted to compare the wines, via Kinks songs. I wanted witty observations. I wanted to fancy myself a wine writer.
But…I got nuthin. Nothing tasted different. Nothing tasted particularly good. I just drank, and looked at my husband. He drank and looked at me. We shrugged, and tried again and again. Befuddled.
Nothing’s working.
More from the Wine Journal
When I think of my California nature and my Sicilian nature, then maybe it’s the same as these two wines. Hard to distinguish. They’re obviously different, but it’s hard for me to actually make heads or tails of anything.
The Sicilian smells good.
But then, so does the Pinot.
The Pinot looks dark and rusty and beautiful in an elegant way.
The Sicilian is red or purple or both, and I love that.
The California wine is easy to get. (Obtain)
The Sicilian is easy to get. (Drink)The California wine took a bit of work. (Drink)
The Sicilian wine took a bit of work. (Obtain).What they both had in common: destroyed by a stupid, ready-made salad.
Blame it On the Salad, Yeah Yeah
Yes. That’s right. I blame the salad. It was a sweet, ready-made Walmart salad: Sunflower-Bacon crunch or some shit. It made the wines taste terrible.
And, obviously, this isn’t just about the wine. I’m exploring Californian and Sicilian wines for a reason. There’s something I’m looking for—about me. About my heritage. I thought of the California wine, and tried to think of my mom. What was it about the Sicilian wine that told me anything about Jack?
And then…what about that salad?
(A quick note if you’re new here. I didn’t know my father growing up. I was raised Mormon by my mom. When I was in my thirties, I found my Italian-American-wine-importing-biological father on facebook. Ten years later, I left the Mormon church, and now am trying to learn to like wine.)
Obviously, with my Mom and Jack it wasn’t a salad that made everything go blerg. It was something else—maybe disco?
Synergy Gone Wrong
Usually synergy goes something like this: John Lennon, solo - good. Paul McCartney, solo - good. George Harrison, solo - good. Ringo Starr, solo - good.
The four lads all together? “Yesterday,” “I am the Walrus,” “I Get By with a Little Help From my Friends,” “Something.” You get the idea.
The Beatles are exponentially better together. That’s synergy.
Unless..you add something that kind of causes a funk. (Yoko!)
Likewise, on their own, the wines were good.
I had the Etna Rosso on its own the day before. My journal notes:
God…I ❤️ Red wine.
Do I get bloated when I drink wine? Yes. A little. Do I care? Yes. A little. BUT GIVE ME MORE WINE.
I need a wine hymnal.
I had the Pinot Noir the day after. My journal notes:
I ❤️ wine.
Delicate, beautiful smell.
Not my favorite of the Pinot Noirs I’ve had, but better than nothing!
And instead of having these two wines, together, with an elegant meal, instead of experiencing synergy, I skipped the sublime, and I added my yoko-salad. (On the bright side: at least no one was screech-singing during my dinner).
All of the elements of the meal would have been better on their own than paired together.
It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem, it’s me.
(Thank you Taylor.)
In both cases, it was me.
None of you legit Wino-Vinos would have served that salad with those wines. You know better. And Disco - that was magic for my mom and Jack.
It was me.
One little thing, even if sweet, can ruin two wines in one sitting. And this is what I learn from this experiment.
But What Does that Actually Mean?
First things first. End of metaphor because I would never be a fucking ready-made-Walmart Salad. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a rosemary cream sauce. Or an everything bagel. Wait. No. Actually, I’m a little hot-from-the-oven pain-au-chocolat that will burn your mouth because you won’t wait to take a bite.
Okay. Now that that’s out of the way, when I tasted nothing, I wondered, what’s wrong with me? Had I forgotten how to taste wine? What had happened to this Etna Rosso that was so good the night before? What was going on here?
Pete said, “I don’t think this salad is good with the wine.”
And he was right. I hurried to finish my salad. Then I drank my glass of water. I ate several bites of the sandwich, hoping that my palate was cleared enough to taste the wine.
But the experience was soured. I couldn’t get the sunflower crunch out of my mouth or mind. No, the wine wasn’t a total loss, but it was a disappointment. And I knew it was my fucking fault.
And I admit, I was especially upset because I was looking for an epiphany. Not about wine, but about California. Sicily. Me. My blood. My heritage. My identity. I was hoping that I would start this project and think Yes! I love being Californian (ish). I love being Sicilian (ish).
I thought I’d start this project, the choirs would sing, and whatever questions or holes in my heart would have been filled and flowing with wine.
Instead, I had that salad. And everything was shit.
Where There’s a Will
By the next day, I had a sense of humor about it. Really, it was kind of funny if you think about it.
I made that salad because I wanted to have one healthy aspect to the meal. But it was the thing that threw it all off. I laughed and wrote in my journal, trying to decide if I was one of the wines. If I was the sandwich. Was I the salad?
And in the end, I had an epiphany. It was no epiphany. It was keep going. Keep learning. Keep drinking.
It was, What the fuck are you complaining about?! You are Californianish, Sicilianish, you are American, you are Irishish, you are ex-Mormonish. You are whatever you want. You are every rabbit hole, every interest, every thing. You are all of this, you get to explore all of this. And you are doing it through wine!
So, I’m off to order more Sicilian wine. And California wine. I’m off to make more mistakes and fewer-ready made salads.
Amazing what wine can teach you.
When drinking wine to really drill down into its details - especially when comparing wines - it's best to leave food comletely out of it. There's a reason reviewers never eat while tasting (though they also spit everything, so what's in your stomach isn't as critical.) You can try spitting, which is a fascinating experience all its own - there is *always* a difference in how we taste a wwine when we spit vs. swallow. When I ws studying for my WSET I quickly realized I needed to spit to match what my professor was claiming to experience!
Worst case scenario, eat first, 30-60 minutes before. Then use a non-alcoholic mouthwash to reset your palate. THEN drink the wine. There are tricks. But wine with food will forever be a casual, muddled experience of the wine as it can stand on its own. Perfect for actually drinking it as a normal person, but never a good idea if you're trying to figure out the wine as its own thing.