Nurse the Hate: The Master of Wine Situation

I am becoming more certain that I am going to have to pursue the Master of Wine.  Like a mountain that must be climbed, I feel as if I don’t really have a choice.  Scratching and clawing my way to the WSET Diploma should have felt like an accomplishment.  Instead I had about 12 seconds of what I think was “relief from the idea you might have failed”.  I only had two real options when entering into the Diploma program.  I could pass or embarrass myself.  There was never an option for “blissful satisfaction”.  This either points to qualities suggesting “an ambitious drive” or being “emotionally handicapped”.  Either way, it is what it is. 

39 Americans have earned the Master of Wine distinction.  Even a scant review of their biographies suggest that each one of these people are more intelligent, better traveled, and have a level of experience in wine that dwarfs mine.  It’s like I want to try to take a few cuts in the batter’s box against Max Scherzer after having limited success in a batting cage set to "Pony League".  I am woefully underqualified to even attempt to bluff my way into the program and then have almost no chance of passing the exams.  Yet, I don’t really have a choice.  I have decided that not attempting to become a Master of Wine is to fail.  If I do attempt it, I will in all likelihood fail.  This however seems more acceptable than not forging an attempt, which I have decided is equal to “quitting”.  To summarize, I have two likely outcomes.  A) Failure or B) Failure.  Therefore I must push ahead to fail.

One of the most important areas in the wine world is Burgundy.  I am woefully undereducated in the region.  The source of benchmark pinot noir and chardonnay, the region is insanely complex with a quilt of specific vineyard names arranged in a pyramid of quality with an ever changing army of producers for minute quantities of each wine.  These wines are highly sought after, and as their production is very small, prices range from “high” to “who the fuck can afford to drink this?”.  I have never gotten into Burgundy as it seems to be a version of willingly getting involved in a cocaine habit.  As my associate Scutty once told me, “I know one thing.  If you do cocaine, you will like it.  You will really like it and it will become a problem for you.  You’ll be completely out of control.”  Scutty is a guy that knows a few things, so I took him at his word and never messed with coke.  I have the same wariness with Burgundy.  I just don’t need to spend the rest of my days chasing the dragon of a great red Burgundy that I can’t afford.  We are talking wines that can cost thousands of dollars per bottle.  Yet, I need to know this region inside and out if I want to pretend I can sit for an MW exam.  Hence, my triumphant planned imminent assault on Burgundy.

I have a difficult time truly grasping a place until I have been there.  For example, I knew what London looked like after seeing it in approximately 213 million movies and TV shows.  However, it wasn’t until I had walked around and got the feel of the place did I have a working understanding of it.  You need to know what a place smells like, how the people move and interact with each other, the attitude, the food and the customs.  “London?  Oh, I get it now.  It’s like a rainy Berlin but instead of people protecting themselves with harsh exteriors, they fall back on social niceities to keep others at a safe emotional distance.  Oh, and there's less street food.”  It’s a mental sketch that helps me establish context.  This is what I must do with the Cote d’Or.  It won’t be easy though as I have some real shortcomings regarding France.   

One of my principle downfalls is my complete inability to pronounce anything in French correctly.  I have no feel for the language whatsoever.  I have great envy at people that can effortlessly transform into what to me sounds like a perfect French accent as they melodiously rattle off French wine terms and locations.  I sound everything out like I’m an Oklahoma truck driver that isn’t gonna speak no godddamn French when I can speak American like the Lord himself intended. (said with a twang)  I still cringe internally when I think of the time I went into a gas station for help in getting to Gare St. Jean in Bordeaux.  I walked up to the register and sounded like a total hillbilly.  I wisely didn’t even attempt an accent, but essentially said “Pardon.  Gar Saint Gene?”.  (insert twangy accent again here)  It was a version of a French person walking into an Ohio Speedway gas station and saying “Ehchoose muy.  Zoo you deerec moi two zee Ahpot?”

 A group of very confused French gathered around me trying to dissect what I was attempting to communicate.  Finally they understood.  “Ah!  Gah Sah Jeaa!”  Yes.  That’s what I said.  Gar Saint Gene.  It was a complete disaster.  They fired directions back at me with heavily accented English that I couldn’t hope to understand.  It reminded me of similar disasters in Mexico when I proudly ask for a restroom in Spanish (one of my only useful sentences in Spanish I might add) and get rapid fire Spanish in return.  In retrospect, instead of memorizing Spanish for “Where is the bathroom?”, I should have memorized “Can you point to the bathroom?”.  I now just walk towards the back of the bar and hope for the best when looking for Spanish toilets, or "banos" if you prefer.

I have assembled the most brutal itinerary I can imagine surviving involving every type of transportation possible so that I might see with my own eyes most key Burgundian wine locations.  I think I am scheduled to visit La Tache in an ox cart, but I will need to check my documents to be positive.  I don't know how to ask for a toilet in French, so maybe I can just urinate in the straw of the cart and hope it isn't a cultural faux pas (note use of French lingo).  If it all goes wrong and I find a French farmer screaming at me, I will drop on him the one phrase I will repeat over and over until I have it memorized.  "Mon ami, c'est bien.  Un jour je serai un maitre du vin." or "My friend, it is fine.  One day I will be a Master of Wine."