Showing posts with label senses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label senses. Show all posts
Monday, November 22, 2010
Snot Cool. Maybe a Little. But Mostly Not.
I feel like Mr. Mackey.
Or, more specifically, I feel like Charlie's father describing William's head in So I Married an Axe Murderer.
In either case, the bottom line is that my head feels gigantic. I'm stuffed up. Sinus pressure. Clogged nostrils. Post-nasal drip, otherwise known as, "the single most [expletive] annoying thing on the face of [expletive] Earth, or any other [expletive] planets, for that matter."
Yeah, I don't like post-nasal drip. Or other planets, apparently.
A particularly inconvenient side-effect of all this malaise? I can't smell anything. Nothing. Furthermore, having the inability to smell means I can't really taste, either.
Case-in-point: I bit into the crisp juiciness of a nectarine this morning, and realized it was not a nectarine at all, but a human head.* I felt pretty bad about it, but I guess that guy shouldn't have been in my house in the first place. And what was he doing in the fridge's crisper drawer? Shenanigans like that often lead to cranial bite marks from hungry sinusitis-sufferers.
Sounds like a pretty awful scenario, huh? Well, it gets worse. Later that day, I joined Fast Eddie Thralls of Wine Tonite! (and now Vintage Wine Estates) fame for a little soirée to send him off in style to his California dream job. Naturally, as is custom in the Thralls household, there was wine aplenty. Good wine. Great wine. These kids ooze hospitality. Anyway, I arrived at the shindig a little late, and I arrived to find empty bottles of Chateau Montelena Chardonnay, Penner-Ash Pinot Noir, and tiny production Syrah. A good sign.
What Ed was pouring when I stumbled in was a magnum of Pride Mountain Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon. Hot damn. I'd never had anything from Pride, a winery who's products have never been in close proximity to negative comment among all the wine geeks I know. Of course, in my congested state, I knew this wine would offer nothing more than a nip of alcohol on a cool November night. I regrettably declined more than just a taste (hoping some sort of deus ex machina-moment would manifest itself, instantly rendering my olfactory senses reinvigorated), saving the inky goodness for those who were not trapped in my nasal hell.
Yet, all was not lost. Even without the ability to appreciate wine's two greatest virtues, aroma and flavor, my stomach and liver- far less discriminant organs than my nose and tongue- welcomed the alcoholic warmth of the fermented grape, eventually getting my brain and vocal chords into the the mix...that is to say, eliminating the filter between the two that exists in sobriety. What I'm saying is that I did get a little lifted. Why not? My buddy's moving across country and I didn't want to be a wet blanket in the face of celebration. However, I've realized that when one lacks the faculties to stop and immerse in the complex bouquet and savor a mouthful of fine wine, he pretty much just guzzles it down like water. I don't recommend such actions if the next day requires of you anything more than sleeping on the couch with a throbbing skull.
More intriguing than a hangover, though, was the focus of my decimated palate. With no smell, I only had access to sweetness, acidity, bitterness, and mouthfeel. Once all the (admittedly, wonderful) noise- created by esters, phenolics, and other chemical compounds that work with the nose to create thousands of flavors- was eliminated, a wine that was highly acidic, rather tannic, or showed signs of residual sugar stood out.
I actually thought this might be a great way to do an introductory tasting; a methodology to help novices recognize and create a sensory profile of the foundations of wine. I've seen tasting classes where acids and tannins are isolated from the wine (trying lemon juice, tea, etc.), but never where the taster is robbed of the critical- but muddling- sense of smell. Maybe I need to get a group of wine lovers in a room, start sneezing all over the place, and then we reconvene a week later...
...might be a tough sell. Or perhaps you've already experienced what I have. Ever run through a wine tasting with debilitated senses? Was it frustrating, or maybe enlightening?
I'm going with the former. Despite my acid/sugar/tannin epiphany, most of the pleasure of wine is robbed. I just hope my head returns to normal size VERY soon. There's Turkey and Grenache to be had on Thursday.
*couldn't have done this with out "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey"
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Follow Your Nose
I don't really know why I chose a previous post to wail and gnash my teeth about a procedure I had where the inside of my nose was rooted out like that slow drain at your favorite seaside motor inn on the fabulous boardwalk of Myrtle Beach. Could it have been a clever scheme to trick you into visiting another page on my site? Perhaps. I'm that shameless. Irregardless, this subject (the nose) is one of profound importance, especially if your pursuits include an appreciation for wine.Surely we've all had the thought: what's with all the pretension associated with tasting wine? If it's indeed the "tasting" we're after, practical thought would dictate that simply slugging down that glass of Cabernet, swallowing, and determining whether it tastes good or not should suffice. And yet, there's always seems to be this goofy tool- found anywhere a cork is popped or a delicious Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill is gently quaffed from a paper bag on Bourbon Street:
Your author. Goofy tool emeritus.
The holding of the glass up against the light. The swirling. The description of "legs" and "viscosity" and "hue". And the sniffing. Oh, the sniffing. It seems to go on for hours. When is this jerk going to drink the stuff? Certainly he didn't get that impressive double-chin by smelling his way to a life of "relaxed fit" jeans.
For those who feel this way about the consumption of wine, I can understand why many of you don't really care for the stuff. Why pay $20, $30, $50 clams for something that can often taste bitter, acidic, earthy, tannic (the "fuzzy" feeling that sometimes occurs when drinking a particularly heavy red wine), and that has nary a hint of the sweet, fruit-filled flavors you've known when eating a grape? Indeed most wines- especially fine wines- bear little-to-no resemblance to fruit punch.
Perhaps that's why Arbor Mist is so popular. I mean, what better way to wash down the bitter taste of crystal meth? Fruity, boozy Arbor Mist: preferred 2 to 1 by meth-heads everywhere.-With all due respect to pseudo-celebrity Beetlejuice (right), I can't say for sure that he's a meth guy. Probably Arbor Mist, though-
But I digress. The point I'm trying to make is that if you do have ANY interest in learning more about vino, then it's the aromas- far more so than the taste- that I passionately feel will get you hooked. Think about it- the sense of taste can only detect 5 things: salinity (if you get a salty wine, something has gone HORRIBLY wrong), sweetness, bitterness, acidity, and umami- a relatively new flavor profile that can best be described as "savory" or "meaty".
Mmmmm...meaty.
If you rely on these 5 only, you're going to be left very disappointed. However, the olfactory system is able to detect thousands of scents and compounds. In fact, if you ever really "taste" something other than those 5 mentioned, then it's the work of the nose in conjunction with your chewing (or swishing). If you don't believe me, try the old trick where you take a piece of apple and a piece of raw potato, pinch your nose with a closepin, and eat them. I'm telling you: harder to tell apart than a Michael Bay summertime box office crapfest from a Jerry Bruckheimer summertime box office pile of hot garbage.
So, the next time you pour yourself a glass of juice, take a minute to stick your nose in it. Swirl it if you want; this gets some oxygen into the wine, making the volatile aromas airborne, heightening the experience. Yeah, you've heard the pretentious, goofy tools throw out "fuji apple, lychee nut, white peach, honeysuckle, violets, orange blossoms, blah, blah, blah." Now, in their defense, those who really train their nose can pick these subtleties out, and know that a fuji apple smells different than a granny smith.
But if you're starting out, don't get hung up on all this. I often argue that some experts have heard these "key descriptors" so many times that they've tricked themselves into pulling them out of a wine. Believe me- I've done it myself. The most important thing is to trust your nose. If you smell strawberries, then that's what the wine smells like. If you smell poop (which happens!), then that's what the wine smells like. Don't let someone tell you what you need to be smelling. Your nose is your nose. The "expert" might suggest some scents to look for, and that can help you pick them out. The olfactory memory is pretty amazing; you'll be surprised what you can detect with a little sleuthing. And if you want to get to the point where you can detect "white peach" from "plum" or "horse poo" from "sheep poo", then you can certainly train yourself. Don't think you have to be born with a great sense of smell! Here are some great resources if you want to get serious (you're on your own with the horse/sheep poo thing):1. Gary Vaynerchuk: The undisputed king of Web 2.0 runs a great website, winelibrary.tv, with far more than a cult-following. He did a great video on tons of flavors you can use to train the palette. Sure, he's eating instead of smelling, but it gives you a great idea of the flavors that can be found in wine: Episode #148: How to get your palette trained
2. If you've got a bunch of dough to throw around, Le Nez Du Vin makes some great kits that have the concentrated aromas of wine in little bottles: http://www.winearomas.com/
3. The best way: go to the grocery store. Go to the local nursery (plants, not babies). Stick your nose in the fruit. Stick your nose in the vegetables. Stick your nose in the flowers. Yeah, you may look like a freak, but let's be honest: you look like a freak anyway.
Remember: start with your nose, and you're well on your way to a truly greater appreciation of wine. And if you can't smell, I know a good doc who can root you out.
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