Public libraries were my playgrounds growing up. Their quiet shelves held all of life’s secrets, most of which I could check out and take home for further examination. Of course, there were volumes that remained in the library, and I’ve always had a special reverence for these reference books. I understood that some collections of information were so comprehensive, or truthful, or just so important that they could not leave the library. Or maybe the book in question would require a wheelbarrow to go anywhere. In any case, when I really wanted to know the facts, I went to the reference section of the library, and spent time with the large books that could not be moved.

In this spirit of enlightenment, every month for the past several years, I’ve grabbed three fat books from our tasting bar library, and sat to write notes for the Oakland Yard wine club. I bring my tasting notes, from when we selected the wines, and the books: Wine Grapes, The World Atlas of Wine, and The Wine Bible. I don’t have much faith in tasting notes - neither mine, nor those of others - which invariably use words that are slippery, untrustworthy, subjective, and vague, so I first consult the books, in order to discover the biology and genetics of the plant at hand, how it differs from other varieties; and to understand the geography and meteorology of the region, the influence of terroir; and finally, to provide some cultural context - How is this wine consumed by its makers? When is it drunk? And with what? And then the extra fluffy words are just that. Sometimes tasters have the same fluffy words for the same wine, and that’s always exciting, and when the same words recur, describing the same grape, in the same region, over thousands of years, well that’s something worth noting beyond one’s passing impressions.

The information in those pages may be available online, but there is something about sitting with a stack of books, the ones too big to pack up and travel with, that makes me feel grounded in my study. After reviewing the scientific characteristics of a vine variety, the influence of different soil types, and specific methods of production, only then can I throw out words like supple, sappy, briary, disjointed, or austere. The most interesting story of a wine for me is always the most complete picture, best rendered by a full glass and a stack of books, and I hope that when we reopen our tasting bar in the coming weeks, we’ll find you there, flight in hand, flipping through our permanent collection with a fascination akin to mine.

Cheers,
Max