I have been accepted into the Master of Wine program. I have committed to this suicide mission. There are currently only 45 Masters of Wine in the United States. Nobody gets through this. It is an unbelievably difficult task to pass the exams, much less gain the confidence to even sit down and attempt to pass them. I have to somehow cram a working knowledge of agriculture, fermentation chemistry, bottling concerns, distribution factors, soil analysis, and in depth knowledge of any region that produces wine. I will freely admit that I would stare ahead blankly if anyone currently asked me to talk about Hungarian vineyard practices, Chilean irrigation techniques or emerging wines from Georgia (the country, not the SEC Football loving state, which is a shame as I have definite opinions about The State of Georgia). The clock has started ticking. I will have to pass a Stage One assessment at the end of Year One that demonstrates I belong here, and if I do, a brutal series of exams to pummel me afterwards. I very quickly went from this euphoric feeling of "Yes! I passed the entrance exam!" to "Oh shit! I passed the entrance exam!".
The blind tasting of wines gets the most attention, but it is the all-encompassing theory exams that I find daunting. Questions like "Examine the importance of temperature control at different stages for the vinification of red wine." and "When and how can hail cause damage at various stages of vine growth? What methods are most effective for preventing or responding to such damage?" are only in Stage One. I can barely keep my lawn alive, and now I have to sound off on techniques for keeping an Argentine malbec vineyard productive after some freaky ass Mendoza area hail storm? (Lots of hail in Argentina around Mendoza. Who knew?) I do like the idea of swaggering around in Argentina telling winery owners "Look, let me tell you what you're doing wrong." when they have no idea that I have patches of dead grass the size of pickup trucks in my front yard. Yet, I am made for The Consultant Life, making quick pivots when my recommendations turn out to be complete shit. "Yes, I know I told you to invest in hail cannons, but see you bought THE WRONG HAIL CANNONS! That's why you lost your crop. Hell of a thing. Maybe we just get you some old fashioned hail nets for next year. Great to see you by the way. Love what you're doing out here. Can I get a ride to the airport?".
One of the things I find daunting in this quest is that everyone I have met that is in it seems to be twice as bright as I am. This is in stark contrast to normal life in Ohio where most people I run into seem as bright as woodland ducks. A guy can start to feel pretty good about himself walking around in a Lorain County OH Home Depot. It's a wake up call to find oneself in a room full of snappily dressed London wine professionals where everyone sounds like Jeremy Irons and drinks Grand Cru Burgundy at work the way I have access to Pabst draft at The Grog Shop. There was a guy I met in Dublin early last year that went in depth on vintage strengths for Batard-Montrachets and I've never even seen one in person. I went straight into corporate mode where I nodded knowingly and said something like "I concur". Crisis averted.
One might ask themselves why I would put myself through something this strenuous when there is so much TV to watch and sloth to pursue. I have embraced the idea that I am like a shark, and if I stop swimming, I will die. If there is not consistent growth, there is erosion. I also think I need to enjoy the ride, because that in itself will likely be the biggest payoff. Let's be honest. The world doesn't need another person that can hold an in-depth discussion on the techniques of making ice wine, especially since most people's relationship with wine is a decision made at a wedding reception to have "the red" or "the white" before doing a line dance to "Personal Jesus". If the pursuit of learning for the sake of it isn't the paramount reason to launch this mission, then this mission is doomed.
As I have said before, I am going to keep going until someone stops me. For now, the train moves forward. Next stop, London.
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