It’s a commonplace: In catering to public opinion, ostensibly authoritative media are becoming less reliable, except as echo chambers on which citizens rely to have their prejudices, resentments, and wishes – be these ever so idle, uninformed, or even incoherent – stoked and flattered by elevation to the level of alleged fact and principle. There’s an analogous tendency in matters vinous which, even if nothing so precious as the future of functional representative government turns on it, nonetheless threatens to limit the sum total of pleasure that wine gives.

The roots of this tendency are pervasive. Consider our interaction with the internet every time we employ a search engine or link to “social media,” those portals through which today most information is imbibed. “Tell me more about yourself and I’ll tell you where you want to go,” is the implicit assumption underlying a system that – in its “Web 3.0” metamorphosis – threatens to spin for each of us a bright and cozy cocoon from which we may not break free, nor wish to. 

Knowing our likes and dislikes and the primitive signs – the clicks and “search terms” – through which we express them, has become a means to screen out cognitive or aesthetic dissonance. (“If you liked this, you’ll probably like these other stories / tunes / books / wines / prospective partners as well.”)   It’s also arch-reactionary and simplistic, starting from revealed preference or prejudice and trying to predict next moves that won’t transcend them. The verbal clues relied on to discern our interests are minimal, often trivial or mere buzzwords.

Think of how this applies to wine. Any of these, for example, can – depending on their valuation – point toward webs of preference or prejudice: “buttery,” “high-acid,” “low-alcohol,” “high-alcohol,” “low-sulfur,” “oaky,” “delicate,” “powerful,” “elegant,” “big,” “minimalist,” “rich,” “natural,” “fruity,” “fruit-driven,” “terroir-driven.” Our modern media research, reward, and reinforce the use of facile descriptors and the preferences or prejudices they encapsulate. In the name of choice and in alleged celebration of the wealth of consumers’ alternatives – whether of information, art, or comestible (wine being a bit of each) – the range of choice that people exercise has contracted, and discussion of wine (or rather, its absence) becomes increasingly marked by polarization and politicization of aesthetics – a depressing development, however ludicrous a tempest in a decanter it might ultimately be.       

Happily, love of adventure, exploration, and novelty has not been killed-off completely. There is still business to be done in challenging and expanding tastes and opinions, and a special sort of satisfaction to be derived from persevering in the face of initial incomprehension, unease, or disconcertment. How often do we acquire a taste only with time and tutoring! Think of literature or music that on first acquaintance induces Greek-to-me incomprehension – calling to mind James’ “blooming, buzzing confusion” – or even distaste. James was fingering the common starting point for human sensory perception, and reminding us that bringing order to irritatingly inchoate experience is a process as defining of humankind as is that of conjecture and refutation. And at the root of both, said Aristotle,  lies wonder (thaumázein / Θαυμάζειν) – that in which philosophy or science begins. And “wonder,” too, is how we find ourselves compelled to translate what he pointed to as among art’s aims (rhaumaston / Ραουμάστον).

Having a wonderful time with wine does not preclude being puzzled, or needing to persevere in search of coherence, of narrative, of warp and weft. On the contrary: How can there be wonder without perplexity or pursuit? And how can there be breakthroughs to pleasure and understanding – awe-inspiring, epiphanal “aha!” experiences – without openness to bewilderment and change? A teacher can challenge students to embrace wine’s diversity and guide them to deriving profound delight where once there was disorientation, and amusement where there was once bemusement.

It might not always be the right time to steer someone across a wine-dark sea toward unfamiliar shores and to by challenging their palates expand them. Not always; but sometimes it must be. Otherwise, where’s the joy of surprise, where’s the wonder?  And wonder, as Aristotle reminded us, is itself sweet.

[Permission from The World of Fine Wine is gratefully acknowledged to republish here portions of an eponymous 2011 – 2011! – column.]