From time to time over the many years I have been writing about wine, someone asks just why I write in such glowing terms about wine. I suppose you could divide my answer into two segments - the metaphysical and the practical.

To start off with, there is far more to a glass of wine than meets the eye or the palate. Wine has become so much a part of civilization that it has come to be associated with nearly every known ceremonial manifestation. From the snack to the feast, from a conversation in a local cafe to a speech at a formal dinner, wine is an ever present part of civilized life. At the baptism, the bar or bat mitzvah, the wedding and at celebrations of anniversaries and even the dedication of buildings, wine is indispensable to the ceremonies and their attendant joy. There is simply no situation where a bottle of wine is not appropriate.

More than an emblem of civilization, wine is also associated with the human condition. Wine lives, matures and changes in the bottle. Connoisseurs attribute to wine a soul, a temperament and even qualities of wit and wisdom, all of which imply a superior way of life that can be sampled simply by uncorking a bottle. The ability to appreciate wines is also seen as a special sign of general perspicacity. The sophisticated consumer of wines is said to be an individual capable of forming bonds of warm camaraderie and a desire to share. Connoisseurs of wine are, like the wines they drink, reputed to be possessed of qualities of delicacy, finesse and excellence. To one who follows the mythology of wine carefully, it is even evident that wine is a converting substance, one capable of improving the quality of life and of extracting from people their opposite and best qualities. A weak person can be made strong, a silent one talkative, a miserly one generous.

Some may say that all of the above is a bit metaphysical. So be it. But there are also pragmatic reasons to love wine, not the least is that wine and food go together in ways that are almost miraculous. What would raw oysters be without Chablis; how could once face a plate of choucroute garni without an Alsace Riesling to accompany it; how much would even the most exquisitely prepared tournedos Rossini be diminished without a fine Bordeaux red. Even on the simplest level, think of how much pleasure would be lost by taking a place at a French cafe and eating your sandwich de jambon without a large glass of simple but delicious Cotes du Rhone red; of munching on a fun pizza without a bottle of Chianti on the table; or of feasting on fine Spanish tapas without an accompanying glass or two of Sherry.

Why do I write so eloquently about wine? Let me answer in yet another way, this time in the words of the poet, Hilaire Belloc, whose dream walks hand-in-hand with my own:

If I ever become a rich man,
Or if ever I grow to be old,
I will build a house with deep thatch
To shelter me from the cold,
And there shall the Sussex songs be sung
And the story of Sussex told.

I will hold my house in the high wood
Within a walk of the sea,
And the men that were boys when I was a boy
Shall sit and drink with me.

As to whether I exaggerate - of course I do. All people in love tend to exaggerate.

© Daniel Rogov