Wine descriptions are time capsules. Dig this progression of it:
“I can’t taste anything specific, either I like it or I don’t”. Will drink whatever is poured in their glass.
The Burgeoning Wine Guy/Gal
Obsesses over the most specific details.
It can’t just be a pear, it has to be a bruised, overripe bosc pear. Or is it Anjou?
"What's the oak program on this?"
The Seasoned Wine Lover
Starts drawing up mental quadrants and categories for future reference, but also now knows that wines are alive, and it’s futile to try to pin them down too closely.
For them, it’s more about identifying orchard fruit vs tropical fruit, or wide vs precise, or is it a teasing funk vs an obvious flaw?
The Limp-Dick Snob
These wine writer / influencer wannabees are only interested in telling you what words you’re not allowed to use when describing wine. Much of their diatribe centers on what they deem over.
“Wine can’t be feminine!!! Did you just misgender it, bigot?! All wines are glorious Eunuchs worshipping at the altar of Baal, until they tell you otherwise.”
The Zen Master
Takes a nugget of the wine at a particular moment, of them at a particular moment, and they bury it as a special little time capsule. Sometimes in a diary, sometimes in an online cataloger, and sometimes just in their mind. It could be categorical to keep themselves aligned. Or, they might dive back into the obsessive super description, but this time with some whimsy -- “bruised overripe bosc pear sitting in the white dish on my Grandma’s counter”. Or, they gloriously return to the warm, womb-like state of the newbie, and simply say, “I love it."
Which one are you?