A Wine Is a Wine Is a Wine

There is probably no other cultural ritual sillier than the tasting of the wine at a restaurant. It's a moment of sheer bliss for the person who does the tasting, the fleeting opportunity to play the role of expert at something he or she knows absolutely nothing about. And absolutely nothing's at stake if you're the sipper, because it's a virtual certainty no one else at they table knows anything either, so you're not going to get called out. The only thing that matters is how well you act the role, the initial sniff, the swirl of the glass to release the myriad of "odors," the moment of the sip when you affect just the right look of discernment, and finally the pay-off, when you nod subtly to the sommelier that the crap with the fancy French name he's foisting off on you is acceptable. A slightly raised eyebrow is part of the act, meaning good but not great. The sommelier is playing his part too, at once supercilious and subservient, his authority bestowed on him by the little pewter cup hanging around his neck on a chain.