Fermented grape juice has been consumed by human beings since at least the Neolithic Era, some 10,000 years ago. Scholars believe that the first humans to encounter wine did so, as with most wonderful things, on accident and out of necessity. Wild grapes growing in the forested plains of what is now the country of Georgia were harvested by eager and desperate tribes of hunter gatherers who were preoccupied with the daily task of staving off disease, predation, injury, and exposure. These early humans existed on the very precipice between life and death and whose survival was, in no small measure, the very antecedent to all we have today. The fruit was gathered into crude baskets to be stored in small, nomadic camps and used to supplement the tribal diet when migrating animals were scarce and cold weather drew near. These grapes, unbeknownst to them, had wild yeast clinging to their skins. When the weight of the full basket crushed the bottom layers, the escaping juice began a natural fermentation. The result was a low-alcohol, semi-sweet, off-putting slurry that would be gathered from the bottom and drank enthusiastically so as to not waste any of the precious calories.
Beyond those facts, archeology gives way to grand speculation, but it is not hard to imagine the first of these nascent relatives feeling alcohol course through their bodies for the first time. In that brief moment, the cold and capricious world seemed slightly more inviting and less hostile, the fire warmer, and the stars more beautiful. The communal ties of alcohol are well-documented throughout history but there is no society, I suspect, that was so acutely and dramatically affected as those first Neolithic ancestors. So impactful was this “mystical” brew that some claim its discovery (and that of its cousin, beer) were the very catalyst for the agricultural revolution, and thus, one could argue, the very foundation of modernity. The need to harness the yet-unnamed process of fermentation became an existential necessity to humanity. So intrinsic to our shared culture was this discovery that it continues to play a significant role in modern life. Despite all the advancements we have made as a civilization, despite all the social, medical, and technological leaps we have accrued, we still turn with eager cups in hand to this ancient drink in search of respite and in celebration of our humanity, to laugh, to cry, to love, and to make life, if nothing else, slightly more tolerable.
Throughout the ages wine has been central to the celebration of marriages, to the coronation of kings, to the signing of Declarations and Treaties, to the toasting of dictators and freedom fighters alike, to the jubilation of birth, and to the memory of those lost along the way. In that sense, we are directly and inescapably connected to those ancient ancestors who gifted us this miracle of nature down through the ages.
But wine shares another secret that makes it particularly susceptible to human affections. Wine is, in its truest sense, living art. The vitis vinifera species of grape, from which the vast majority of wine is crafted, has a curious and particular affinity for capturing the elemental nuances of where, and when, it was grown. Just as we may have varying accents, skin tones, and cultural expressions based on what small corner of dirt we call home, so too does the vine take record of its origin. Even the slightest variation in soil composition, weather, adjacent vegetation, and human intervention can lead the same grape to present as varied, individualistic, and wonderfully peculiar as any person you may happen across. So significant is this reality that the French captured its essence in a single word.
Terroir.
Having no English, or arguably any other linguistic equivalent, Terroir means to conjure what Galileo meant when he said, “wine is sunlight, held together by water”. A living time capsule that, in some rare cases, can be experienced decades, if not generations, after it was made. What’s more, it’s a historical record that is meant to be consumed. To literally absorb into our bodies this homogenous expression of man and nature and of time and place. To experience this miracle in good company, I would argue, gets to the very core of what it means to be human.
And yet wine ages as we do. And nothing lasts forever.
Wine is temporal. Mostly unpredictable, always varied, inevitably heading to the grave. But just as we all experience those rare and fleeting moments when we stop to admire when all is right with the world, so too can we experience wine at its parallel apogee. When it is perfectly alive. When it has stripped away all unnecessities and is standing before us naked, exposed, and authentic in all its natural beauty. When the vine tells a story only understood through the senses. When we are transported to a time and place not of our own but merely as a traveling passerby. It is why we choose to drink wine during those most special of moments. It is because good wine, by its very nature, is a special moment trapped in a bottle, patiently waiting for its emancipation.
So, buy the nice bottle just because it’s Tuesday, share it with old friends (and maybe some new), be kind, be generous, and be grateful we all get to participate in this ancient and storied human tradition. We are the story or wine, and wine is the story of us.
May your cup runneth over.
-Andy
