Inside the store, it was bustling. Way too many people. I skirted around them and made a path through the wine aisle. There, in front of the Brunello section. were some well-dressed women looking at their cellphones, wines in front of them. Instinctively, I asked them if they needed any help. Yes, they were looking for a particular wine. I found it for them and moved on.
At the egg and olive oil aisle, I got to thinking. In the past, I’d be right up there, filling their basket with all sorts of goodies. But I’m not really invested in the wine trade anymore. Not like when I was engaged in the livelihood aspect of wine. Yes, I’m still interested in wine. But I don’t go to a restaurant and try and find what’s missing on the wine list now. I look for something that will interest me. I don’t care which company sold it to the account anymore.
That said, when I walked past the group of women, a random thought flashed through my monkey brain. “I bet they don’t know they just got a suggestion from an Italian wine expert.” I dispatched the thought as though it were toxic jetsam. Funny, something similar happens when someone asks me to take a picture for them with their smartphone. “Do these people know their picture is being taken by someone who has studied and made photographs for over half a century?” As if it really mattered to them. Again, vanquished to the dumb-ass ego outbox.
But it does bring up something I think about from time to time. And that is the concept of mastery and expertise. Yes, I have a good working knowledge of Italian wine. And yes, I know my way around the darkroom (and Photoshop, along with a good knowledge of analog and digital photography). But that really isn’t of much interest for the outside world, as I now see it. I’m sitting in the balcony, looking at the pageant below me. I’m a spectator, a witness.
And yet, there still seems to be a wealth of emotion that people get tangled up with when it comes to expertise and mastery. Courses of study have become a big business, churning out Italian wine experts all across the globe. Young people looking to spruce up their CV’s, and distinguish themselves from the herd. Admirable in many ways.
But for those well-dressed women, my expertise wasn’t necessary. It might have been momentarily convenient, yes. But not vital.
And that’s where some of us get caught up in the swirl of things, whether it’s about wine, art, music, sex, food, cars, cameras, watches, etc., ad infinitum. And that’s the possession of some thing.
When I read someone is an Italian (or any other) wine expert in a post, my bullshit antenna goes up. “Says who?” I ask myself. And even if they have letters after their name, I can be skeptical, still. It doesn’t necessarily mean a person will know, really know, let’s say Barbera, just because they passed a test informing them that they are now considered an expert. There’s still the matter of the heart. And the soul. What is it about Barbera that speaks to your emotions? Don’t tell me about the pH or the acidity, or the oak regimen. I don’t want to hear a recitation of the past 20 harvests in the Langhe and which ones were better or worse. “There are no great vintages, only great bottles,” is an ancient axiom that rings true on a daily basis.
Open the bottle. Drink the wine. Cut the crap. I’m not impressed with my expertise, why would I be with yours? Oh, because you have a certificate proving you are an expert? Or someone on some obscure wine blog referred to you as one?
All this searching for singularity and uniqueness looks to be nothing more than a dust devil getting in the way of the clear view. Open the bottle. Drink the wine. Cut the crap.
Yeah, I said it again.
Look, to be enthused is a gift. It gives one energy and drive. But don’t let it near the ego. Once you think you’re an expert at anything, there is always someone or something new to knock you down a peg or two. Give it up. Let it go. You want to be an Italian wine expert? Trying not wanting to be one. It’ll get you closer to what it is you are looking for.
Yes, I once was (queuing the b.s. antenna) an Italian wine expert. But, I’m so much lighter now, to have taken off that yoke. I can now enjoy Italian wine, and all that I have learned and experienced about Italy, Italian wine, food and the people. Now it is truly a joyous occasion to open the bottle, drink the wine, and, yes, cut the crap.
