A wine rep’s job is to get their wines on menus and shelves, and once there, to do things to get the consumer to drink them. A quick way to succeed at the latter part is to get a wine writer to write about their wine. So I’m a ‘friend’ for all wine reps.
This is a relationship open to manipulation. I could offer space in the column in exchange for free bottles. (In fact I don’t, as our five figure wine budget attests. So much for ‘free wine.’) Or the publisher could be sensitive to advertisments and ask me to review particular wines.
My answer is to only write about wines I like. This is neither a unique nor universal policy, if you survey wine writing.
The reps have worked out that I’m willing to try their wines if they email me info, grab my ear in the store, or drop off a bottle. But the reps also know they don’t score anywhere near 100% by cultivating me. Many are sipped but few are chosen.
Here though, is a tale of an extraordinary wine rep, a woman who combines sensitivity - that little extra something - with effectiveness.
Two weeks ago I attended the Winnipeg Wine Festival as judge of restaurant wine lists. It was a great event, with about a hundred vintners present. I got to try about 60 new wines over two days, six of which I made note of, slightly more than usual.
One reason for the higher percentage was the presence of wine reps at the trade tasting. I got to ask them what they had that would interest me. One rep in particular, I trust more than most. I know she will tell me about only her wines. That’s her job. But I also know she won’t steer me to her coolers, jug wines, or any wines she finds slightly dubious. She introduces me to Pfaffenheim, a family of Alsace wines, that I tried the night before and approved of mightily, and suggests another French wine, Vinsobre, from Perrin & Fils,
A mildly outré label (sober wine?) is a recent trend from France. I’m enough of a curmudgeon to avoid them. The French make thousands of brilliant wines at the same price point, and it is to those I devote my time.
I therefore don’t worry too much about her second suggestion, and sample forth.
Twenty-ish wines later, just prior to close, my tongue is shot, and it’s time to go. (For the curious, I spit, as does every other pro, and my breathalyser read .07 on exit.) I am about to leave when I see a rep to whom I hadn't spoken. He says I must try his wine. I say I'm on my way out, and have nary a tastebud left. He insists, and pours me a drop.
At this point an Australian winemaker comes flying across the floor insisting I try his stuff. Others gather around the three of us, interested in the Aussie’s spiel. A crowd forms, a sort of hysterical closing time party.
Somehow, a ninja booth babe with a charming accent cuts me out of the herd and guides me to her table, telling me I NEED to try her wines. But I, I explain am fatigué, as is my tongue. She is trés sympathique, agreeing with me about the perils of tasting. We chat, and I make to go, but I am not allowed to escape my fate. She offers two bottles, “to taste when rested.” Alas I have not bag. Dommage! Perhaps monsieur will use hers? Mais non, I cannot. But non is pas d’acceptable, and I leave the show with them.
It was only when I got home I realized the wines clutched to my bosom were a bottle of of Vinsobre, and Perrin Reserve, a very nice Rhone wine.
You can run but you can’t hide from a good wine rep.
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