By Terry Sweeney
I don’t know what rituals you and your family had around the
dinner table, but in my family as soon as the meal was served
and my mother sat down to join my father, my older brother and
myself, everybody just dug in.
No holding hands, no grace, no thanking God. Not the
Sweeneys!! As my mother loved to point out, God hadn’t slaved
over the stove for hours, she had. And if we had to thank anyone,
she felt it should be her. So I developed a slightly unusual ritual
of my own that drove my family crazy. Before starting in on my
food I would loudly say ‘Thank you, God’ hoping to shame the
heathens around me, and then I would dramatically bend over my
plate (my thick dorky eyeglasses steaming up) and reverently
sniff each and every item on it. The fresh pungent garlic my
Italian mother had rubbed on the London Broil mixed with the
savory meaty beef juices. Next to it, I inhaled the glorious
aroma of salt and melting butter on a fluffy baked potato whose
charred earthy skin whisked me outdoors where the sweet smell
of fresh picked peas from my mother’s garden danced around my
head. I was floating on an aromatic cloud in Foodie Heaven!
But the sound of my dear sweet mother’s voice brought me
back to earth. “FOR CHRISSAKE, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU
DOING?!! THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOUR FOOD!!” She
would screech. “Maybe ‘four eyes’ needs stronger glasses,” my
jerky older brother was only too happy to volunteer. “Shut up
stupid!” my father would yell at my brother which would prompt
my mother to scream, “Don’t you dare call him stupid! Even if he
is!” Which would then cause my brother to shout, “This is all
your fault!” then slug me, which caused me to throw my milk in
his face and then the usual nightly all out screaming, slapping,
melee would erupt. (The truth is, I had started it all withcrazy food smelling fetish, I giggled secretly to myself).
I tried to explain to these bozos that the nose was where the
most important tasting began and ended. For instance, when you
had a cold, you couldn’t taste anything. Blank stares were their
response. They just didn’t get it. More proof as far as I was
concerned that I was adopted and that my real parents
(aristocrats fleeing some awful coup) had haphazardly left me on
this depressing cookie cutter Long Island doorstep, where they
would hopefully return (perhaps tomorrow??) to reclaim me.
As the years went by, and I got around my peers, I thought it
best to hide my food smelling fetish – that is until now. In my
new career as a wine educator and restaurant Wine Director, I
realized that I can now proudly sniff to my Happy Wino heart’s
content. Swirling glass after glass of wines from around the
world, I am happily challenged to identify and describe the many
nuances of The Grape so that my Happy Wino friends might know
what to expect if they order them.
What a delightful cornucopia of smells now fills my sense
memory. With white wine; peaches, ripe melons, green apples,
limes, mangos, grapefruit… and these are just a handful of the
fruit essences that tickle my nose. With the reds; black cherries,
strawberries, pomegranates, raisins, and plums all compete for
my olfactory attention. At this point, there are so many fruits
dancing in my head, I sometimes feel like Carmen Miranda. (Note
to younger readers: you will just have to google her and scare up
one of her campy fruity publicity shots.)
Of course there is an entire gamut of non-fruity smells which
I’m sure you have read about or maybe even smelled first hand
in your very own wineglass: things like saddle, leather,
mushroom, burnt toast, tobacco, licorice, even bacon. The best
analogy I heard concerning this process of swirling and sniffing of
wine and the inhaling of its aromas was from wine expert Philip
Seldon who likened it to hearing a full orchestra in concert. One
listens to a symphony in its entirety, yet one can pick out an oboe
here, or a cello there, and the various harmonies and melodies
that float throughout it. All of it together makes the music all the
sweeter. So too with wine. The color, the aromas, the taste and
the texture all play their part in the wine tasting experience.
Sure the tongue can taste sweetness and salt, sourness and
bitterness, and most certainly can determine the texture of your
wine. (Smooth or rough, heavy or light bodied). But as any
professional wino will tell you, most wine flavors are actually
aromas that are vaporized in the mouth and perceived through
the rear nasal passage. Or ‘retronasal passage’ if you prefer true
wine geek speak. That’s why the real pros make that annoying
slurping sound as they bring the air over the wine in their mouth
to deliver the wine’s aroma to their retronasal passage to better
‘taste’ the wine. (I personally do it to show off and make other’s
feel less sophisticated). Since hearing about it, I have tried to
work the term ‘retronasal passage’ into my daily conversation
whenever I can. When someone asks ‘How are you?” I have now
taken to replying “My retronasal passages are worn to the
bone!” So far no one seems the least bit impressed by my new
highly esoteric terminology. Once more ‘Pearls before Swine’ –
the story of my life.
Cheers!
