What happens when your friends think you’re a wine expert

Do your friends hand you the wine list and leave it up to you? It’s a heavy burden to carry, Mel Buttle says.

Huge praise to whoever the genius was who mushed up some grapes and added a cork. Merlot? Let’s go. Chardonnay? All the way.

My Friday begins with a few inches of red in a tumbler, then before I know it, I find myself uttering the phrase, “let’s just get some Thai hey?”

I love wine, but I’m no expert.

I’ve memorised a few favourites and I sometimes chuck in a swirl of the glass. Maybe it’s the swirl, maybe it’s because I’ve won the wine list lotto and picked a good one for the table here and there, but now I wear a heavy crown, my friends think that I know about wine. I bet you’ve got a friend you hand the wine list to at dinner and say “you know what I like”. I’m here to tell you that job comes with a lot of stress, it’s like doing a Wordle with someone watching.

Did I pick the right one?

Here’s where I’m up to.

I can tell wines apart and I know the general area I want to drink in, but it’s mostly guesswork from there. I explain my wine knowledge like this, a toddler knows the difference between a pig and a cow, but they probably couldn’t tell you which one would pair best with a Tasmanian pinot noir, I’m exactly the same as that toddler – I don’t know either.

To borrow a well-worn phase from every reality cooking show ever, my wine journey is still in its infancy. At least
I’m no longer choosing wines based on the labels, or which one’s got the quirkiest name.

I think there must be an agency somewhere that names wines, greyhounds and new housing estates.

Fernando Bale could be racing tonight at Mandurah, could be a tempranillo, or an exciting new housing development for growing families just off the highway.

Also, I’ve burned my hand on the expensive wine stove a few times, spending lots of money doesn’t guarantee you’ll get a wine that you like, but also some really nice wines cost a lot of money. Is that a catch 22? I don’t know, I only pretended to read the book in high-school. I was very focused on touch football and the spicy chicken tenders at the tuckshop.

Toast to a good pick?

The issue I found with spending big on a wine, and then attempting to save it up for a special occasion, is it means that when cashews are half price at Coles, sometimes that becomes worthy of celebration. You got a great park in the city? Open it. Your neighbour dropped in to let you know they’re going away and you’re more than welcome to use their pool? Open it. You’ve sat down just as a The Golden Girls marathon is kicking off? Open it. Been good all week? Open it. I have a theory, that the bar for a special occasion gets lower the more visible the wine is in your house.

I’ve done that thing when I find a great wine, I buy a case to cellar.

The issue here is that my cellar is behind the potatoes in the back of the pantry. Semi out of sight, semi out of mind.

I find myself trying a bottle in a month’s time, just to check it hasn’t gone off. I could have a wine cellar, if someone else had the key, I was never told about it, it was located in another country and you had to jog on a treadmill to make the door open.

Originally published as What happens when your friends think you’re a wine expert