Why do we drink wine?
And the grounding role that wine has played in an otherwise terrifying week
As I sat in the kitchen with my red notebook, jotting down thoughts about a glass of Sicilian wine in my hand, having just packed my bags in order to take an emergency flight home the next morning, the absurdity of drinking wine in a moment of medical crisis was not lost on me. But it had me thinking about some of the reasons I’ve drunk wine (or bought it to drink with other people) in the past.
At its essence, it’s just something to drink. I like the flavour of it, especially when I’m eating, and I like its intoxicating effect. But I’ve also drunk wine:
To relax when I'm stressed
To celebrate when I succeed
To sooth when I fail
To lose my inhibitions
To lose my virginity
To lose myself in the music
To look like a grownup
To pull up my big girl pants
To feel a little less English
To say I'm sorry
To say thank you
To say I need to be honest with you
To bond with my mother-in-law
To impress my dad
To cry with my friends
Once I started thinking about it, the list went on and on. But the last week or so has given me new reasons to add.
About ten days ago, my husband was diagnosed with a very serious (and by serious I mean vision-threatening) corneal infection. I will save any specifics for family and friends, but suffice to say we were (and still are) both very scared, and after a couple of visits to Sicilian hospitals decided the only sensible course of action was to fly home.
Our decision necessitated a huge amount of last-minute admin to rebook flights, cancel car rentals and agriturismos, contact insurance companies and everything else that medical emergencies abroad entail. But by 8 pm the night before the flight, we were as ready as we were going to be and I spotted my bottle of Cerasuolo di Vittoria that I’d bought for a picnic we turned out never to take.
I opened it, sat at the kitchen table, poured myself a glass, and started to note down whatever I could think of about the wine. I’ve written before about wine tasting as an exercise in mindfulness, and I guess that’s what this was. Closely examining the colour, aromas and flavours coming out of my glass, forcing myself to write them down – it was strangely grounding. Of course, I was rocked after one glass and still ended up pouring most of it down the sink. But at least for five minutes, I focused on something other than my fear.
Once back in Amsterdam the next day, a visit to a neighbourhood wine shop played a similar role. We’re staying with friends because (for reasons not worth explaining here) we couldn’t get back into our own apartment right away. These friends picked us up from the airport, drove us straight to the hospital, cooked us dinner (multiple times) and held us in their love and support. Slowly, I’ve started to contribute more around the house, but at first I couldn’t do much more than cry. So I escaped to the wine shop, browsed for bottles that meant something to me or that I thought would go especially well with dinner.
I’m not sure what all this says about my relationship with wine, but I’ve added two more reasons to my list:
To ground myself when everything else feels like fear
To contribute, in whatever small way, to the people who are putting us up and picking up our pieces, cooking for us and catching us in their arms
The wines that have got me through the past ten days:
Cerasuolo di Vittoria by Feudi del Pisciotto, Sicily, Italy 2022 – the Nero d’Avola-Frappato blend I tasted on the night before we flew home. Darker and heavier than I was anticipating – but perhaps I was projecting.
Fitapreta Ancestral by António Maçanita, Alentejo, Portugal 2023 – a Portuguese white blend that was reminiscent of better times in Alentejo. It also tasted exactly like the white version of the Laranja Mecânica that I mentioned last month!
Tandem Inmácula, Navarra, Spain 2021 – a Viura-Viognier blend that reminds me of a white Rioja. I first tasted this at the Wine Professional trade fair in January and had been meaning to track it down ever since. Refreshing yet comfortingly oaky.
Domaine des Raguenières Bourgueil, Loire Valley, France 2022 – light and rustic, it’s exactly what you’d expect from a Loire Cabernet Franc. Good dinner wine.
Quinta da Pedra Alta Tinto, Douro Valley, Portugal 2020 – a big juicy Portuguese red blend to sink into on a Sunday night.
All of the wines above except the Sicilian came from Grape District, which is the closest wine shop to where I’m staying. I’ve been really impressed with their selection and the informativeness of their blurbs and their staff – if you’re in the Netherlands, check out your nearest branch.
I'm so sorry to hear about your husband's infection Vicky. I understand exactly what you're saying about wine too, I feel it as well.
I'm so sorry to hear about your husband.
Your post reminds me of something I just heard. I'm currently listening to Al Pacino's memoir. For what it's worth, I'm not finished. But he talked about how, after his mother and his grandfather passed away, alcohol helped him cope. He said it like it was a good thing - not with apologetics, but that wine helped him through that time.
I found that to be an interesting admission.
Anyway. I am sending good, healing vibes to your husband and you.