For those who heard it on the grapevine
For the longest time I had been feeling inadequate whenever the dinner party conversation turned to the subject of wine. I find myself for example unable to contribute to the discussion on the complexities and characteristics of wine-making regions of France. But I now realise the problem is not that I am ignorant on the topic, but that I am not deluded.
I discovered this halfway through a recent dinner party. The host presented the table with a fresh bottle of red wine, as well as fresh wine glasses. While pouring us each a glass of the new wine he remarked that we would all notice 'the deep blackcurrant and coffee aromas and how much more full-bodied and fragrant this wine was compared to the previous bottle we were drinking from a different year'.
A few minutes were spent by the group issuing appreciative congratulations on the choice of wines and remarking in agreement about how different the two vintages were. At this point, with the aim of topping up our glasses, our host noticed that he couldn't tell which bottle was which. He had accidentally grabbed another bottle of the same vintage. We had all been remarking on the differences between two identical bottles of wine.
It was at this moment my suspicion grew into a full-fledged hypothesis. Professionals aside, anyone who talks at length about a bottle of wine is full of it. The reason you and I can't taste the complexity of the cabernet sauvignon grape or smell the freshly cut grass in the bottle of chardonnay is not because we are unsophisticated. It's because they are not there.
Wine aficionados will no doubt disagree with this point. And I am willing to concede that it is possible to taste the difference between a pinot noir and a merlot or between a sauvignon blanc and a riesling. But I can do without all that talk of grass and lemons and peppercorns and smoke, not to mention tannins, tears, legs and lees. There's a simple test that proves this point, at least to my satisfaction anyway. Buy two bottles of a cheap supermarket wine, and one bottle of something more expensive, preferably French, and in a fancy bottle. Decant the expensive wine and then pour the contents of one of the cheap bottles into the expensive one.
Then serve the two bottles of cheap wine to your dinner guests, but start with the cheap wine in the expensive bottle and then bring out the cheap wine in the cheap wine bottle. Make a fuss about how great the first bottle is and then apologise about how nasty the second bottle is. I don't need to tell you what the response will be. The reason we taste complex mixtures of charcoal, cherries and blackcurrants in a glass of fermented grape juice is that humans are highly susceptible to suggestion. If you believe that your wine is a fabulous French vintage full of complex tannins, a deep-oak bouquet and a subtle hint of blackberries ripening in the summer sun, well that's what you'll taste. And if you believe your beer is appropriately macho and matches your personality, then you'll taste that too.
And that's of course just the tip of the iceberg. Practically every consumer product relies on your suggestibility and your belief in the marketing in order to convince you to buy it. Beauty products and whacky alternative medical treatments all depend on consumers' belief that the products really can change their lives.
If you think the expensive eye cream can make you look younger, then you'll be pleased with the results. And if you can swallow the theory that questionable ingredients dissolved in water to the point that their presence is no longer likely or detectable, then you'll probably feel better when you swallow the homoeopathic remedy.
And when your broker or financial adviser calls you and speaks eloquently and intelligently about what the markets are going to do, you'll probably be ready to believe him about that, too. But although this belief might lead to you feeling good about making your investment, it sure won't have any impact on what the market actually does.
Believing that you are drinking a great glass of wine might enhance the experience, but believing you're making a good investment really won't make any difference. Believing in what you're doing is not really as useful as knowing what you are doing.
So next time you have an important decision to make, pour yourself a nice glass of Bordeaux from 2000 or 2005 and think about how great it is.
