How do we love wine?

Let me count the ways.

You are unlikely to find a more insightful and beautifully written summary of the current state of wine aesthetics than appeared Tuesday by philosophy guru Dwight Furrow in his column in Edible Arts entitled “I Miss the Old Days When Aesthetics Mattered.”

In this gorgeous piece, Dwight excavates the layers of the wine culture wars of the past decades with the care and precision any archeologist would envy.

In the last decade, aesthetic discussion has been dominated by the debate between traditionalists favoring fault-free wines vs natural wine purists who tolerate and even treasure them.

Culture wars of previous decades saw the rise of a blockbuster style favored by Robert Parker of the Wine Advocate, which lauded density, impact, high alcohol and concentrated oakiness to the detriment of elegance, distinctive regional character, and longevity potential. Just as natural wines later emerged in reaction to conventional winemaking, Parkerism launched a backlash of underripe, low alcohol, high acid wines vinified in neutral vessels, sometimes less what they were about than what they were not. In this era emerged the ABC club: “Anything But Chardonnay” really meant low oak and no malolactic, leading to the meteoric rise of Pinot Grigios indistinguishable from water with a slice of lime.

Furrow’s third clash occurred in the tony regions of Europe where strict regulations and tasting panels stifled innovation, causing many producers to shun the laureate of regional designation. Serious players are increasing giving the establishment the finger. Cracks in established traditions began as early as the 1970s with the rise of the Super Tuscans, originally labeled as Vino di Tavola because of their refusal to adhere to DOCG rules in their blends. Michel Rolland in 2000 accepted declassification of three Bordeaux properties in order to allow forbidden but effective plastic sheeting to prevent dilution by excessive rainwater. Most recently, Château Lafleur made the decision to trade in its lofty Pomerol status in exchange for the freedom its new Vin de France designation affords it to adapt to climate change.

To the aesthetic skirmishes Dwight names, I would add the New World vs Old World debate, pitting clean, fruity wines designed for early drinkability against complex, soulful, often funky offerings intended for cellaring.

What’s next? For my money, it’s an emerging schism I like to call vinifera racism. As California’s only producer of Norton, a native Vitis aestivalis (to be fair, I get it from Heringer Estate in Clarksburg and they make some, too) and a big fan of the dozens of new varieties developed by Cornell and the University of Minnesota, to say nothing of T. V. Munson’s 19^th century hybrid collection, I am delighted that attention is shifting to these exciting new options. Indeed, Brooklyn, New York just last July hosted an “Anything But Vinifera” Summit. I’m fond of saying that California currently makes the worst wine in the country – not because of any deficiency in its grapes, but because of the embellishments winemakers seem compelled to employ – overripeness, new French oak, malolactic, lees stirring to name but a few. It seems we hate our grapes. Chardonnay is the Rodney Dangerfield of Napa.

In both wine and music, I aspire to embody that most despised of creatures, the centrist. While I struggle to understand what anybody sees in rap music (if it is music at all), I consider that a personal failing. I would love to understand its appeal, to be able to tell good from bad in any genre. I’m a Beatles fan, myself, and quite sure I grew up in the greatest era in music. My Dad thought my music was an afront to God Almighty and ever mourned the death of swing. He was very square, and now so too, I suppose, am I.

And so it is with Natural Wine. I have recently come to understand why many natties not only tolerate flaws but regard them as badges of authenticity. And in all fairness, I was crazy about buttery Chardonnay ‘til I got bored. And just as I might find time to watch Bruce Willis blow things up, in the right circumstances I occasionally dig getting punched in the face by an overripe Zinfandel. Hey, chacun à son goût, and vive la diffėrence.

I’m not sure I share Dwight’s angst. It’s nothing new that internet journalism figures it gets more eyeballs nattering about health issues and the decline in wine sales than carrying on about aesthetic issues, but that’s no indication that wine lovers have stopped caring. Us doddering old farts have bemoaned the new generation since the Stone Age. Those damned kids with their stupid wheels, they got no respect for tradition.

Here’s the thing. All these aesthetic schisms have little to do with intoxication. Wine is fine, but liquor is quicker. In my view, the unique nature of wine itself, which as we all know is a lousy thirst quencher, will sustain it through these headwinds. Its appeal (at least to me) has more in common with music than with simply copping a buzz. Indeed, I find the inebriative effects more annoying than consoling.

Put another way, for me, wine isn’t even a beverage. If it deserves the pedestal we place it on, wine will survive, yea even improve. Aesthetics still matter.

Be that as it may, thank heaven we still have philosopher guides like Dwight Furrow. That son of a gun sure can write.