Wine for fun and pleasure.
To improve your relationship with wine, drink more wine.
At least, that's what has worked for me.
Bear with me, now, while I explain what I mean. Being a very mature, cultured, and an all-around classy broad, I took longer than many of my peers to develop the appreciation for the taste of wine or beer. Or any alcohol really. When it comes to liquor, I'm currently a vodka tonic girl, because vodka has the quietest flavor of all the liquors, in my opinion.
My first experience with wine was as a wee little tyke when I began taking communion. I grew up Episcopalian. That's how we roll. Just a little sip on Sundays after the little wafer, but I enjoyed the taste. Maybe it was a cerebral love because of all it represented and symbolized of the faith I'd taken on in my own name. Or, it was just really tasty. Or maybe it was both.
But any other clandestine sips of wine were never anywhere near as satisfying. I later found out that the wine we used was ordered from Israel by a local bar especially for our little church. (Again--how we roll.) It wasn't something that could be easily gotten.
As I got older, moved out, and stayed locked in my room studying and working on ways to improve myself as an adult, there's a slight possibility that some Arbor Mist may have crossed my lips. I moved from Arbor Mist to pink. Yes, "pink" is a wine that some know by it's other name (or grape varietal), white zinfandel. I was a pink wine drinker for years, and slowly, over the course of my twenties I gradually moved to whites. Unusual, apparently. Anecdotally I hear most folks start on red. I did mention earlier that I'm a mature, classy broad, right? I think drinking white before red is solid evidence of that.
It wasn't until 3 or 4 years ago that I began to even like beer. Things shifted slowly. The smell wasn't as gag-reflex-inducing, and all that talk about "a cold beer on a hot day" must have weaseled its way into my inner brain. Occasionally, I'd ask for a sip of Patrick's beer. Just one sip. "Huh, not as gross as it used to be." Eventually I worked up to sharing a pitcher with pals. I'd finally made it. I was a big girl! (Yes, drinking alcohol makes you a grown-up: life lessons for the kids. Share it with your children and little cousins, now, ya hear? Maybe give 'em a cigarette, too. It makes you look cooler.)
But wine became my favorite drink of my options between it, beer, and liquor. So classy in that stemmed glass. So snooty with a little tray of cheeses, crackers, olives, and grapes. So "single woman livin' life with no regrets!"
My consumption would ebb and flow. I'd go several months without buying any alcohol, then have months where I'd buy a bottle each week at the store. I had a hard time finding the sweet spot. I was either, "No thanks, I won't be having any" or, "I need a 3rd refill, please." I wasn't just balls to the wall crazy with drinking--I never have been. But like many people, I'd overdo it more than I really felt I should.
Then, I read book that I've since reread several times and enjoy immensely: "French Women Don't Get Fat". Such a provocative title! According to reviews, some folks love it (as I do) and some find it insufferably condescending (which I also do--one of the things I love about it). The author, Mireille Guiliano, says French women (which, I think, is code for "people I know in France" rather than "all French women", but making that distinction is a little clunky and burdensome, plus it kind of ruins the book if it turns out "Only Some French Women Don't Get Fat"... anyway...) do not drink wine just to drink wine. It's best enjoyed with food and should be considered a food itself.
So, wait, Frenchies don't get crunk on wine on a solo Friday night? Oh. Me either.
This isn't a book review, but I can say that after reading the book a few times, I did start to view wine as a way to enhance a meal, rather than an end unto itself. I found myself pouring much smaller glasses, and refilling the glass--just once, if at all--when it was about 75% empty. I started thinking about trying to compliment the meal with the wine, instead of complimenting my cheese and crackers with a wine buzz. Rather than going booze-free all week then perhaps having more than necessary on the weekend, I was having a small glass, maybe 2, most nights (not every night).
Funny thing. Drinking wine with food=no headache. Drinking wine with meals=less wine consumed. Drinking wine more often=not overdoing it on occasions you imbibe.
At last, I seem to have found my sweet spot. My relationship with wine is much more reciprocal. No more of my overadoration while wine is cruelly indifferent to how I might feel the next morning. I drink more to drink less. I feel rather snooty for it, and I do love to feel snooty.
Cheers to you, Daaahhhh-lings!
At least, that's what has worked for me.
Bear with me, now, while I explain what I mean. Being a very mature, cultured, and an all-around classy broad, I took longer than many of my peers to develop the appreciation for the taste of wine or beer. Or any alcohol really. When it comes to liquor, I'm currently a vodka tonic girl, because vodka has the quietest flavor of all the liquors, in my opinion.
My first experience with wine was as a wee little tyke when I began taking communion. I grew up Episcopalian. That's how we roll. Just a little sip on Sundays after the little wafer, but I enjoyed the taste. Maybe it was a cerebral love because of all it represented and symbolized of the faith I'd taken on in my own name. Or, it was just really tasty. Or maybe it was both.
But any other clandestine sips of wine were never anywhere near as satisfying. I later found out that the wine we used was ordered from Israel by a local bar especially for our little church. (Again--how we roll.) It wasn't something that could be easily gotten.
As I got older, moved out, and stayed locked in my room studying and working on ways to improve myself as an adult, there's a slight possibility that some Arbor Mist may have crossed my lips. I moved from Arbor Mist to pink. Yes, "pink" is a wine that some know by it's other name (or grape varietal), white zinfandel. I was a pink wine drinker for years, and slowly, over the course of my twenties I gradually moved to whites. Unusual, apparently. Anecdotally I hear most folks start on red. I did mention earlier that I'm a mature, classy broad, right? I think drinking white before red is solid evidence of that.
It wasn't until 3 or 4 years ago that I began to even like beer. Things shifted slowly. The smell wasn't as gag-reflex-inducing, and all that talk about "a cold beer on a hot day" must have weaseled its way into my inner brain. Occasionally, I'd ask for a sip of Patrick's beer. Just one sip. "Huh, not as gross as it used to be." Eventually I worked up to sharing a pitcher with pals. I'd finally made it. I was a big girl! (Yes, drinking alcohol makes you a grown-up: life lessons for the kids. Share it with your children and little cousins, now, ya hear? Maybe give 'em a cigarette, too. It makes you look cooler.)
But wine became my favorite drink of my options between it, beer, and liquor. So classy in that stemmed glass. So snooty with a little tray of cheeses, crackers, olives, and grapes. So "single woman livin' life with no regrets!"
My consumption would ebb and flow. I'd go several months without buying any alcohol, then have months where I'd buy a bottle each week at the store. I had a hard time finding the sweet spot. I was either, "No thanks, I won't be having any" or, "I need a 3rd refill, please." I wasn't just balls to the wall crazy with drinking--I never have been. But like many people, I'd overdo it more than I really felt I should.
Then, I read book that I've since reread several times and enjoy immensely: "French Women Don't Get Fat". Such a provocative title! According to reviews, some folks love it (as I do) and some find it insufferably condescending (which I also do--one of the things I love about it). The author, Mireille Guiliano, says French women (which, I think, is code for "people I know in France" rather than "all French women", but making that distinction is a little clunky and burdensome, plus it kind of ruins the book if it turns out "Only Some French Women Don't Get Fat"... anyway...) do not drink wine just to drink wine. It's best enjoyed with food and should be considered a food itself.
So, wait, Frenchies don't get crunk on wine on a solo Friday night? Oh. Me either.
This isn't a book review, but I can say that after reading the book a few times, I did start to view wine as a way to enhance a meal, rather than an end unto itself. I found myself pouring much smaller glasses, and refilling the glass--just once, if at all--when it was about 75% empty. I started thinking about trying to compliment the meal with the wine, instead of complimenting my cheese and crackers with a wine buzz. Rather than going booze-free all week then perhaps having more than necessary on the weekend, I was having a small glass, maybe 2, most nights (not every night).
Funny thing. Drinking wine with food=no headache. Drinking wine with meals=less wine consumed. Drinking wine more often=not overdoing it on occasions you imbibe.
At last, I seem to have found my sweet spot. My relationship with wine is much more reciprocal. No more of my overadoration while wine is cruelly indifferent to how I might feel the next morning. I drink more to drink less. I feel rather snooty for it, and I do love to feel snooty.
Cheers to you, Daaahhhh-lings!
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