09/26 | When an Adjective Swallowed the Noun

#Natural. #Sancerre. #Etna. A buzz is a feeling—not a wine.

Walk into a produce department and ask:

“Do you have any natural vegetables?”

You would probably get a puzzled look.

Then the obvious question:

“What kind of vegetable are you looking for?”

Carrots? Peas? Tomatoes? Lettuce?

Now walk into some wine shops and ask:

“Do you have any natural wines?”

And someone may immediately hand you a bottle.

No further questions.

Red? White? Rosé? Sparkling? Dry? Sweet? Light? Structured? Fruity? Savory?

Apparently, none of that matters.

The adjective has swallowed the noun.

Natural Is an Attribute

“Natural” is supposed to tell us something about how a wine was made.

It does not tell us what kind of wine it is.

A skin-contact white, a light red, a pét-nat, an oxidative wine, and a traditional still white can all be described as natural by the people making or selling them.

Yet they can taste absolutely nothing alike.

That should be obvious.

Organic carrots are still carrots. Organic peas are still peas. The farming method does not eliminate the identity of the vegetable.

Why should wine be different?

Natural should help answer: How was this wine made?

It cannot answer:

What wine would you like?

And yet somewhere along the way, “natural wine” became a category unto itself.

***

“I Like Sancerre.”

Here's another fun one.

Someone walks into a wine shop and says:

“I like Sancerre.”

Ask:

“Red or white?”

You may get a look suggesting that you know nothing about wine.

Sancerre is Sauvignon Blanc, right?

Mostly.

But Sancerre also produces red and rosé wines from Pinot Noir.

So what did “I like Sancerre” actually tell us?

Perhaps less than the person saying it realizes.

Sancerre has become such a recognizable wine word that for many consumers it no longer means a particular place producing different wines.

It means: Sancerre.

A product category.

A safe order.

A recognizable name on the wine list.

A wine you're supposed to know.

The place has become a buzzword.

***

Now It's Etna

Etna is heading in the same direction.

There is an enormous amount to find fascinating about wine grown on an active volcano: elevation, exposure, lava flows, indigenous grapes, old vineyards, dramatically different growing conditions around the mountain.

But increasingly we hear:

“I like Etna.”

Wonderful.

What do you like about it?

Carricante?

Nerello Mascalese?

White or red?

Which part of Etna?

Which producer?

Which style?

Sometimes that isn't really what “I like Etna” means.

It means:

People whose wine choices I follow are drinking Etna. Therefore I should drink Etna.

That's not particularly unusual human behavior.

Fashion works that way. Music works that way. Restaurants work that way. Almost everything does.

Wine is simply very good at pretending it doesn't.

***

The Buzz Cycle

A place or style becomes interesting.

Wine writers discover it.

Sommeliers start pouring it.

Importers start looking for it.

Instagram starts photographing it.

Consumers learn the word.

Then everyone wants it.

Soon restaurants need one on the list because customers ask for it. Retailers need one on the shelf because customers expect it. Producers notice the demand because, understandably, they would like to sell wine.

The original discovery becomes a category.

Then a buzzword.

Eventually the wine world gets bored.

Something else becomes exciting.

And the crowd moves on.

The vineyard, of course, hasn't gone anywhere.

***

Nothing Is Wrong With Etna

And nothing is wrong with Sancerre.

Nothing is inherently wrong with natural wine either.

That's important.

This isn't an argument against any of them.

It is an argument against allowing a word to replace curiosity.

There are extraordinary wines from Etna.

There are extraordinary wines from Sancerre.

There are extraordinary wines made with minimal intervention.

There are also ordinary examples of all three.

The name cannot make the wine good.

The category cannot make the wine interesting.

And the buzz certainly cannot make the wine right for you.

***

Ask the Next Question

A good wine shop shouldn't hear:

“Natural.”

…and grab a bottle.

It should ask another question.

A good wine shop shouldn't hear:

“Sancerre.”

…and assume Sauvignon Blanc.

Ask another question.

A good wine shop shouldn't hear:

“Etna.”

…and congratulate you on your excellent taste.

Ask another question.

What do you actually want to drink?

That's where wine becomes interesting again.

Red or white?

Still or sparkling?

Light or structured?

Grape-driven or shaped by process?

Do you want to understand a place?

Are you looking for something familiar—or something you've never tasted before?

Those questions don't complicate wine.

They rescue it from the buzzwords.

***

A Buzz Is a Feeling. Not a Wine.

Wine is unusually resistant to one-size-fits-all thinking.

The same grape changes with place.

The same place can produce completely different wines.

The same grapes can be transformed by fermentation, aging, skin contact, carbonation, oxidation, vessels, temperature, time, and hundreds of decisions made along the way.

That complexity isn't wine's problem.

It's the reason wine remains interesting.

So enjoy Sancerre.

Explore Etna.

Drink natural wine if that's what interests you.

Just don't stop at the word.

Because one size fits all is the exact opposite of wine.