Now that's what I call food!

Subtitle: In praise of the humble jam butty.  I am from Northern England where a 'butty' is very definitely food (especially the two butty varieties, 'bacon' and 'chip').  Simply bread and jam, the individual components of a jam butty are equally as important.  However the star of the butty in the photograph was Thud's homemade damson jam, a jar of which I brought back from Blighty with me in April, and which I just finished this morning.  I am crying as I type.
Incidentally, and I may have mentioned this before, damson is one of my favourite descriptors that I often find in Cabernet Sauvignon.  Of course, I don't get damson in all Cabs, the same way as I don't get violets in all Cabs.  The only person I have met in the U.S. to grasp damson as a wine descriptor was my professor at Napa Valley College, Dr. Stephen Krebs.  Dr. K. had travelled widely in Europe, whilst doing research for Jancis Robinson, and had tasted this type of plum for himself.
Speaking of food, recently all the staff at TWWIAGE, regardless of department, had to undergo a educational training session in food hygiene and safety, (we did last year also).  The Food Safety Modernization Act (FMSA) was signed into law in January 2011 (by President Obama) and made extensive changes to laws governing food safety.  The FSMA focus changed from responding to food contamination to preventing food contamination.  (Everybody agrees that keeping pathogens out of food is a good thing, right?)  Under this new-ish law, even "low risk" facilities, such as wineries, must be inspected within 7 years of the Act becoming law.  That means that for the past 2 years the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has stepped up its inspections of wineries.  Hence our training session: FDA agents may show up at TWWIAGE at anytime.
Now, under Federal law, wineries are considered "food manufacturing plants."  But unlike other food manufacturing, the fermentation process that is the essence of wine is also very efficient in killing the very pathogens that would make folks sick.  Due to wine's elevated levels of acidity and alcohol the only microorganisms that can survive in wine are yeasts, lactic bacteria and acetic bacteria.  My take on food borne pathogens is an over-simplification, I admit, but it is this type of simple stuff that gets caught up in bureaucratic red tape.  All.  The.  Time.
I don't believe wine is a food.  I generally think of food as something you can get your teeth into, like meat and potatoes (or a jam butty).  Man cannot live on wine alone because it isn't food, in fact too much of it will kill a person, or at the very least will give the over-imbiber a very unhappy liver.  Wine is a companion to a meal, not a meal in itself.
Our tax dollars at work.

When I smell violets, others smell singed hair.

I have posted before on Vinsanity about wine descriptors and how each wine drinker has different ways of describing what they are tasting, usually dependent on their individual life experiences.  I have written of how Vinomaker is often reminded of Necco Wafers whilst drinking certain wines.  And, for me, how certain wines evoke the very olfactory-memorable smell of Parma Violets.  (First happened to me with a bottle of Château Margaux, purchased by Thud for my 18th birthday.)  Well, just recently, I began to follow an Instagram-er (who shall remain nameless) who has the craziest wine descriptors I have ever read.  (I wish I'd known about this wine reviewer last year when I was required to find some outlandish wine descriptors for the marketing class I was taking at NVC.)
Here is a selection of the reviews (and the wines described within);
"...bell pepper, warm wet concrete and garden hose.  Apple butter and dirt road this is red-checkered-tablecloths and old-fashioned wine glasses."  (2011 Illuminati Ilico Riserva, Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, DOC.)
"Barnyard bluster, full of funk, spit, manure and warm hay, framing an intense lilikoi and apricot, giving a fantastic ying/yang tropical/stone situation--with a decidedly buttery edge.  Minerality and oak play alongside pomegranate-skin tannin, banana and pineapple..."  (2014 Sea Monster Chardonnay, Los Alamos Vineyard, Santa Barbara County.)
"Tomato compote, kefir and green melon explodes into eucalyptus bark, dusty road while an icy vermouth and raspberry leaf tea warmth prop up the chalky brilliance."  (2014 Liquid Farm Chardonnay, Santa Rita Hills, Santa Barbara County.)
"Hair singeing rotten vegetables, Barbie sweat and dog-killed grass over a firm foundation of vegan hotdogs and turpentine-fueled electrical fire."  (2011 Red Lava Vineyards, Syrah, Lake County AVA.)
"Thin and bright, steely barnyard loveliness. Urine on galvanized steel and fat woodsy wet needles salted with nutmeg."  (2013 Villa Borghetti, Valpolicella Ripasso Superiore, DOC.)
I hope these wine reviews are meant to be tongue-in-cheek because Vinomaker and I have been having a laugh making fun of them: they are simply preposterous.  But then, who am I to pooh-pooh someone else's life experiences?  Titter, titter.

Something smells fishy.

At the end of last week's class, the instructor gave me and my classmates a homework project. Our assignment was to find the silliest wine review we could.  Simple, right?  Well, not really. Over the years, I have read dozens of weird reviews that were chock-a-block with outlandish wine descriptors, I just had to pick my favourite. Problem was, now that I needed one I couldn't recall any (and I certainly hadn't kept any).
A quick search on the internet proved to be quite fruitful.  One particular wine review - and it was a doozy - repeatedly popped up no matter how I phrased my search question.  Bizarre descriptors? Strange bouquets in wine? Pompous wine reviewers?  Hmm, but wouldn't all of my classmates also come across the very same glib review by merely Googling 'silliest wine reviews'?  Yup, I had to do better.
Vinomaker suggested I use one of my own reviews.  Not funny.  Then I thought perhaps I should use a review of a wine made from a native American grape (always amusing on the palate, no?).  Scuppernong (Vitis rotundifolia) is just simply a silly grape and the review I found of wine made from this muscadine grape was rather amusing.  But, on a serious note, I wasn't brought up to make fun of the less fortunate, snigger, snigger.  So as a last resort, and I'm ashamed to admit it, I decided to seek professional help.  (Yes, I know Thud, it's long overdue.)  I sent a quick email to Dr. Jamie Goode, English wine columnist, author and wine scientist begging for a favour.  Good enough (hee, hee), Dr. Goode answered my email and then followed up with another email.  The second email included an attachment; an Air Canada Business Class wine list, with a note that said, "...they are totally meaningless." And I understand what he means.  Trite, vinous descriptors abound, e.g., "bold aromas; luscious texture; full bodied; velvety mouthfeel; complex bouquet; subtle notes of (fill in the blank); lingering finish; bright and complex; exquisitely balanced." And there were more.  If someone had removed the varietals and names of these wines I wouldn't have known, through such generic and interchangeable descriptors, if these wines were indeed red or white.  Meaningless, yes, but probably sufficient for when one is hurtling through the sky at 550 mph at 38,000 feet.  Many thanks for your input, Dr. Goode.
As it happens, I did eventually find a few silly reviews by myself.  I remembered a particular blog that I used to read years ago and recalled that the gentleman whose blog it was had a rather flowery way of writing wine reviews.  How does "a sort of red cherry licorice-cigarette paper element" sound?  It actually makes me feel a bit ill.  The same blogger is big on descriptors such as, "talc-like" and "lithic".  And "propulsive" seems to be used frequently whether it is in the describing of energy or acidity.  And I particularly like, "potent and seductive ferrous and sanguinary nature," and "chiseled and scintillating limestone elements." This blogger has received many Wine Blog Awards.  And he apparently also received a Roget's Thesaurus for Christmas.
And what was the one silly wine review that repeatedly surfaced on my web search?  It was a review by Robert Parker Jr., (I wasn't going to name names, but Bobby's a big boy he can handle it), that described a Pouilly-Fumé as having "notes of shrimp shell reduction and iodine."  Of course, the first person called upon in class read out this very review.