Amy Monroe shares her favorite unusual, overlooked, and underappreciated wines. Check out her previous installment here.
Ice, ice, maybe?
On Jack Falstaff’s closing night, I watched a woman order wine at the bar. Dressed in taupe silk organza, hair perfectly coiffed, a bejeweled clutch cupped daintily in her left hand, she asked for a glass of Chardonnay. After wrapping her manicured fingers around the bowl of the glass and tilting back the first sip, she turned to the bartender and asked, “Would you put some ice in this?” I had no choice but to judge her. Harshly. Didn’t she know putting ice in wine (in public, no less!) was the domain of the Real Housewives of New Jersey, not the society mavens of San Francisco?
There are rules in wine. It is, in fact, a minefield of murky, easy-to-violate etiquette. There are many ways to become an offender: by sniffing the cork instead of the wine; by sending back a perfectly good bottle at a restaurant simply because you don’t like it; by pronouncing Syrah as Sheerah. These rules are obvious and well-known to those who have chosen wine as a profession, but not necessarily to those who drink wine for fun. I can accept that, but I cannot condone pouring wine over ice. It is a rule violation of the highest order. Except, of course, when it isn’t. Which brings me to Lillet.
