Las Vegas Review of Books

Meg Bernhard, Wine (Bloomsbury), 160pp. Paperback, $14.95.

Few liquid refreshments have had the same impact on human history and culture as wine. The ancient Greek poet Homer, lacking a distinct word for what we would call “blue,” described sailors setting out on a “wine-dark sea.” It has long had a connection to divinity, offered as a libation to the gods—or transubstantiated into God’s blood. Perhaps because of its ubiquity, wine has been crucially integrated with power, prestige, and privilege.

In Las Vegas, look no further than the owner of the city’s beloved Golden Knights, Bill Foley. His wine venture, Foley Family Wines, owns many vineyards—in Napa, Sonoma, and the Pacific Northwest, and also in New Zealand, France, and Argentina. For Foley, as for many other American vintners, wine is just one jewel in a crown of many investments, alongside golf courses, resorts, steak houses, and more.

Given its historical and societal weight, it can be easy to forget that wine is indeed a tangible thing that, for some, is part of an everyday interaction. Bloomsbury’s Object Lessons series is marketed as “a series about the hidden lives of ordinary things.” Vegas-based writer Meg Bernhard’s contribution to this series, Wine, delves into both the tactical world of wine production and the complex, sometimes convoluted, world of wine appreciation.

Wine is part memoir and part journalistic narrative. (Those looking for a vinaceous guide for dinner pairings would be better served by the Wine Aroma Wheel.) Its four parts, corresponding with the seasons of the year, primarily follow Bernhard’s time working at a family-owned vineyard in the Castilla–La Mancha region of Spain, though she also spends time at vineyards in California and Oregon. She describes the practical aspects of her education in wine-making: learning to prune carefully to achieve a desired flavor, finding the precise moment when the grapes are most flavorful, and getting knocked off her feet while shoveling fertilizer from the back of a pickup truck.

Having spent time in the weeds, or rather in the vines, Bernhard has much to say about how wine through time has been a signifier of wealth and power. “Once the rich can no longer distinguish themselves from the poor based on what they consume,” Bernhard observes, “they consume something else.”

However, the rich continue to enjoy Cabernet Sauvignon and Pinot Noir despite their increased availability to the masses. The distinction now arises from one’s ability to speak meaningfully, thoughtfully, and confidently about wine. It can be humiliating to haphazardly order a glass of wine from an imposing list and then become painfully self-conscious of a lack of refinement or education regarding the proper appraisal of the flavor. Such an education reflects a socioeconomic stability that can provide the time and expense for what is ultimately a recreational endeavor.

One stinging moment for Bernhard occurs at a wine bar in San Francisco, with the sommelier guiding her through a flight of different varietals—a wholesome scene in which an expert is enthusiastically sharing his knowledge rather than gatekeeping it. However, Bernhard is brought back down to crushing reality when she gets the bill and sees that she has been charged for all the wine that the sommelier kept pushing on her. Wine can seem like an academic, intellectual pursuit that transcends the mundane. But this encounter affirms that not only wine but even its inculcation is just like anything else in a capitalist society: a commodity to be bought and sold.

Wine appreciation and manufacturing are also both prone to the injustices of sexual abuse and gender discrimination. Bernhard observes male laborers making sexist remarks in front the female owner of the Spanish vineyard she worked at and recounts a major sexual harassment scandal within an elite society of wine professionals. “Knowledge was social capital that could be spent on ambitious young women grasping for ways to learn in an industry dominated by men,” Bernhard says.

Given all of this, why not simply say that wine and its surrounding pretensions are nothing more than a silly hobby for the wealthy and obnoxious? One might recall the notorious study by researchers from the University of Bordeaux who presented wine experts with two wines, one red and one white. The experts described various differences between them, only to have it revealed that both of the wines were the same, with the red simply being the white wine colored with a flavorless dye.

A full-blown condemnation would come off as either a polemic or sour grapes, and it seems Bernhard is still determined to take a good faith approach to the world of wine. Her book is not a take-down of the wine industry or its existence as a whole but a reckoning that all must make with their passions, whether in music, film, dining, or in any other crafts or arts. We cannot turn a blind eye to those who abuse their power or status in any field, and we must demand better from the governing bodies of these industries.

“Wine” is about discovery—not through rote study or ingratiation with the elite but by embracing the subjective, the introspective, the self.

As opposed to what various accreditation agents and academics might say, Bernhard asserts that the enjoyment of wine is purely subjective. It’s the connection to memory in particular that wine is able to unlock. Bernhard often refers back to her experiences with alcohol, both fondly and with grief. “Taste is not innate, nor is it sacred. It’s learned, based on our sensory experiences—the food we ate growing up, and the drinks we try as adults.”

Wine ends with Bernhard living in Las Vegas, where she finds a bottle from the very same vineyard she worked at in Spain. The wine’s aroma triggers memories for Bernhard, of forests and falling leaves, of hot days in the Mediterranean and long nights with aimless conversations.

Bernhard remarks that her time in Vegas has revealed to her hidden depths in the seemingly barren desert: “I see a city sprawled across an ancient, living crust of rock, algae, and lichen. I see a valley formed by sandstone mountains, with ridges covered in junipers and pinyons, and cholla and creosote growing at lower elevation.”

Similarly, Wine is about discovery—not through rote study or ingratiation with the elite but by embracing the subjective, the introspective, the self. As an object, a glass of wine is the concentrated result of the precarious balance of artisanship, business, and class. The choice to drink and the sensations that follow originate from that mixture.

Cheers.