A few weeks ago in New York I found myself in a neighbourhood off-licence searching for a wine to take to a dinner party.
It took longer than expected because I spent so much time reading the owner's handwritten blurbs taped to various bottles.
These pithy opinions were fascinating. 'From the middle of nowhere in France . . . comes our best-selling merlot. The 1996 Ardeche Merlot. Just US$6.49 [about HK$50.19]. Please take our word for it. It's cheap and it's good.' You just had to believe this guy after reading such a sincere-sounding piece of advice.
He could beg all he wanted but, if you ask me, pure merlot - while currently in the limelight - is not a grape that holds up on its own.
Inoffensive to the point of boredom, it is all bland softness and totally devoid of spunk. It cries out for grapes with more depth or personality for company in the bottle. I moved on.
'We really love this cab,' effused the next review. 'Blended with merlot and malbec to give you a wonderful complexity of flavour. Drink it tonight or keep it. The longer you do, the better it gets.' Now this was more like it. Merlot was put in its rightful place - as an appreciated additive.