The Court of Master Sommeliers: Who Says Cheaters Never Proctor?

My first reaction to the news that 23 new Master Sommeliers were having their letters recalled by the

Court after one of the proctors of the blind tasting exam, a Master Sommelier, was caught cheating was exactly the same as Inspector Renault's in the classic film "Casablanca" when he shuts down Rick's Cafe, "I'm shocked--shocked!--to find gambling going on in here." After which one of the croupiers hands him his winnings.

I knew I had to write about it. I have a probably unwarranted feeling that wine folks want to hear what the HoseMaster has to say about all this mess. I kicked around a dozen ideas, but finally settled on an interview with my old friend Larry Anosmia MS. I thought about Lo Hai Qu as the candidate who had the blind tasting wines information leaked to her, but that didn't quite work. She's currently not speaking to me. I originally wanted to write the entire piece in the voice of the guilty, defrocked Master Sommelier as Justice Kavanagh. That also didn't work, though I incorporated a part of it here. A famous friend suggested something along the lines of Swift's great "A Modest Proposal" where the 23 ex-Master Sommeliers become meals at Five-Star Michelin restaurants. A damned brilliant idea, but I only steal jokes, not entire premises. 

It kept coming back to Larry. So here we go. For the rest, of course, you have to jump over to Tim Atkin's great wine site (no dumbass subscription necessary). Feel free, as always, to leave your thoughts and witty remarks there. Or return here with the written portion of your exam, and I will grade accordingly. Perhaps you, too, will have a C.T. after your name. A Common Tater.


“The Court of Master Sommeliers stripping the titles from 23 of the 24 candidates who took the tainted blind wine tasting exam in order to preserve the Court’s ‘integrity,’” Larry Anosmia MS tells me, “is like Stormy Daniels announcing she’s going to erase her latest film in order to preserve her virginity.”


TIM ATKIN MW

Larry Anosmia MS, Frontier Sommelier

Episode 1: “By-the-Glass at the O.K. Corral”

A famous Tombstone watering hole hires Larry Anosmia MS to increase sales and keep an eye on the Clanton gang. Doc Holliday takes a liking to the new sommelier in town, even switching from his shots of rotgut whiskey to the occasional glass of skin-contact Ribolla. Larry’s fallen in love with Miss Jancis, the town Madam, but she wants nothing to do with Larry, who wears an effeminate tastevin and brags about spitting.


Surprisingly, there hasn't been a successful TV show that featured a sommelier. That may be about to change with the new HBO series, "Larry Anosmia MS, Frontier Sommelier." I've summarized the first six exciting episodes over at Tim Atkin's world-famous award-winning site in my own inimitable award-winning way. "Frontier Sommelier" looks to be the hit show of the new television season! Do feel free to express your critical opinion of the new show over at Tim's, or, if you feel the need to blog surf, hang ten here with your reviews.


TIM ATKIN MW

Larry Anosmia MS, Wine Advice Columnist

My wife and I decided to try the newest restaurant in town. When I read the wine list, I didn’t recognize a single wine. There was some category called “Pet Nat,” which I thought was odd. I’d heard they don’t make good pets, though you can train them, I think, and have a Flying Flea Circus. LOL! And there were a whole bunch of orange wines, which, I don’t know, I thought must have been made by Green and Red winery. Green and Red makes orange. Get it? HA! Anyhow, I was frustrated that I couldn’t find a bottle I even recognized, and when I asked for the sommelier’s help, he just looked at me like I was a dolt, and then sold me some bottle of Pecorino, which I only bought because that was my nickname in high school. Why do so many new restaurants carry wines most people don’t know?—Brett in SF

Dear Brett,
This is a complaint I’m pretty much sick to death of. First of all, it’s the sommelier’s job to look at you like you’re a dolt. During the practical exams for becoming a Master Sommelier, one is required to perform an exemplary condescending face. Many wear it almost constantly. Though too many actually look constipated. But, more importantly, Brett, how is it the restaurant’s responsibility that you know something about wine? Maybe your new restaurant should have some kind of remedial wine list for cretins like you who think you’re entitled to understand the wine menu. All you idiots just want Pinot Noir anyway, or maybe some Silver Oak—the missionary position of wines. You know, Bretthole, why can’t you, and all the other restaurant customers, understand that it’s the sommelier’s job to educate you, not make sure you enjoy your evening? And how can the sommelier educate you with a list full of the stupid kinds of wines you think you like and want to drink? It sounds to me like you ran into a very professional sommelier at that new restaurant. And, truthfully, sommeliers create wine lists to impress other sommeliers, which makes sense when you realize how important we are. And then all the customers do is bitch and moan. It’s the worst part of the job.


I ordered a bottle of wine. When the sommelier poured me a taste, I smelled it, and it smelled worse than a Trump polygraph test. I complained to the sommelier, and she told me that it was supposed to smell like that, and she refused to take it back. She claimed it was a “natural wine.” I asked her what the hell a “natural wine” was, and she told me it was a wine that was made with “minimal intervention,” I guess like our strategy in Syria. So utter bullshit. Shouldn’t she have taken the wine back and offered to replace it with a different wine?—Joe in PA

Dear Joe,
What kind of an idiot are you? Actually, I know what kind of idiot you are. You’re the kind who thinks that wines have to smell clean and pretty in order to be palatable. Well, listen, Joe, there’s a whole category of wines that just don’t need to be judged by the likes of you and the establishment. If a sommelier tells you that’s how a wine is supposed to smell, then you may as well drink it and enjoy it, brother, you own it. Sommeliers and wine writers and winemakers don’t answer to you, Joe. Who are you? We answer to a higher cause. We answer to terroir. A wine is supposed to smell of a place, Joe, and, honestly, some places just don’t smell that good. Think a cat lady’s sofa, or the motel after the Wine Bloggers Conference. When you know a lot about wine, which seems like about Super Bowl 86, you’ll understand that. Have you ever been to the place where that natural wine was made? What you smell is the wine’s terroir if the sommelier, or the wine writer, or the winemaker, says it’s the terroir. It wouldn’t kill you to keep an open mind, Joe. Once again, a sommelier’s job is to impress you with her encyclopedic wine knowledge and recommend the wine she’s convinced you haven’t a clue about in order to help you understand your own wine ignorance. Is that so hard to understand? If your doctor prescribes medicine for you, you don’t actually research the side effects, idiot, you just take it and hope you don’t die. Give your sommelier the same respect.


My husband and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary recently at a very nice local restaurant, and we ordered a bottle of Caymus Cabernet with our dinner. It was $200 on the wine list for a current vintage. A few days later, my husband saw it at a local wine merchant for $70. Why are restaurant markups so high on wine? It seems to me that a restaurant would attract more customers, and make more money, if they priced their wine list at more sensible markups. I’m guessing the restaurant only paid about $50 for that bottle. Does $150 profit seem reasonable to you?—Jessica in NY

Dear Jessica,
First of all, congratulations on your 20th wedding anniversary. My condolences to your husband. What a nag. You already kissed that 200 bucks goodbye when you ordered a Caymus Cabernet. Did you think it was even worth the 50 bucks you think it cost the restaurant? So, right there, you’re just talking out your ass. For $200 you could have had two bottles of Kenwood Sauvignon Blanc! But, OK, let’s take your question seriously, as if it were a good question. Though it’s not, it’s more like a “Is it pronounced ‘mare-a-tidge’ or ‘mare-a-taj?’” kind of stupid question. (It’s “mare-a-tidge.” An easy way to remember? It rhymes with “frottage.” Like what your husband does on the subway every morning.) That $150 “profit” goes toward paying the sommelier, who gets paid whether you see him on the floor or not, he could be at a tasting, or recording his weekly podcast that eight people listen to. That $150 “profit” goes to paying for the fancy stemware your wine was served in. You can’t drink Cabernet out of a Zinfandel glass, Jessica, for fuck’s sake, that’s basically a wine drinking cameltoe—just asking for inappropriate cracks. That $150 “profit” goes for proper wine storage. Some day. When we sell enough wine. So when you break it all down, that $150 profit is actually only $125 profit. And don’t forget it cost money to get that Wine Spectator “Almost a Best of Runnerup Award of Excellence,” too. Plus, you want familiar? You want Caymus? Not a Pecorino? You gotta pay the freight. Sommeliers don’t put wines like that on a wine list because we like them, we don’t. We do it because we know you’ll pay to make yourself comfortable, and because we need guest houses when we visit Napa Valley. So it’s a win-win, Jessica. Sheesh, what do you people want?

America's Next Top Somm!

“Good evening, and welcome to America’s Next Top Somm Live! Here’s your host, Larry Anosmia MS!”

(Applause)

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight is the season finale to America’s Next Top Somm. One of our finalists will be named America’s Top Somm. He or she will receive $25,000, and a prestigious contract with Jackson Family Estates, our generous sponsor. Yes, that’s Jackson Family Estates—Where People with Important Wine Credentials Go to Die™. And now let’s meet the judges!”

(The three chairs onstage, each in the shape of a giant tastevin, revolve to reveal the three judges, to a thunderous ovation.)

“First, he’s often referred to as America’s greatest chef, mainly because it’s one of his job requirements. Known for underpaying sommeliers because he knows they want his name on their resumés, he’s a hero to restaurant owners everywhere, it’s Thomas Keller!” (Applause) “How are you, Thomas? Are you ready to go?”

“I am Larry! I’m kinda choked up. I can hardly breathe. I feel like a force-fed goose that will make amazing foie gras! I’ve sold so much foie gras, Larry, I have a three-car gavage.” (Laughter, and applause)

“Classic, Thomas! Our next judge is the publisher of the world’s most influential wine magazine, and something of an overstuffed goose himself!” (Laughter) “Each year, his magazine allows restaurants all over the world to pay him to declare their wine lists excellent. They’re not called the ‘Grand Awards’ because they’re cheap! Let’s hear it for Mahvelous Marvin Shanken!” (Applause) “Marvin! Ready to do this?”

“I’m so excited to be here, Larry. I’ve never done a show like this before. I feel like Mark Cuban cigar!” (Laughter) “Put me in your mouth and smoke me!” (Applause)

“I would, Marvin, but I’m trying to quit. It’s how I got my MS. Though I’m thinking Thomas might! Or our third and final judge might, too. She’s famous for being famous; the perfect judge for America’s Top Somm because she understands and embodies Narcissism, Kim Kardashian!” (Applause) “Kim, are you ready?”

“I’m ready, Larry. Oh, and Marvin, I don’t know about cigars, but I’m big on butts! Mine can disgorge Champagne!” (Laughter, as she demonstrates it.)

“I’ve got news for you, Kim, you’re the third biggest ass on this panel!” (Laughter)

“OK, judges, over the past weeks you’ve narrowed the field for America’s Next Top Somm down to three. Tonight, those three sommeliers will compete for your votes, and for the votes of our live television audience out there! Those of you watching at home will be able to vote for your favorite somm at the end of the broadcast. Your votes will count! And we’ll crown America’s Next Top Somm at the end of tomorrow's show. The winner gets a check for $25,000, a job with Jackson Family Wines, and, listen to this, their very own MS!” (Cheers, and applause) “Yes, Master Sommelier—the Myspace of Wine Diplomas.”

“Our first sommelier is from Las Vegas, Nevada, where she runs the wine program for Las Vegas’ hottest steakhouse, Meat Compass. Let’s hear it for Annie Oakchips!” (Applause) “Annie, tell the judges, and the audience out there, what you’re going to do for us tonight.”

“Well, Larry, I’m going to identify all six of the wines in these glasses in front of me blind.” (Audience gasps) “In sixty seconds.” (Applause) “While you grope me!” (Cheers!)

“Wow. So, Annie, this simulates what it’s like for you to work in a Las Vegas restaurant, is that right?”

“Not just Las Vegas, Larry! I’m a woman!”

“OK. Are you ready? Let me get behind you. Now, when I say, ‘Start the clock,’ Annie, you have sixty seconds to call out the variety of each wine in the glasses in front of you. The audience at home will see the correct answers, as will our three judges. OK. Start the clock!” (Larry grabs her ass.)

“OK, the first wine is, uh, Viognier, probably Virginia. Hey, that ass is not on the list for sale, buddy. The second wine is…Zweigelt. Pretty sure. Touch that again and I’ll Coravin™ your leg bag. The third glass is, oh, hmm, this is hard, maybe Meiomi Pinot Noir? Smells like God gave up. And, listen, touch those again and I’ll make you drink this crap. Number four is, wait, I can’t smell anything, it’s gotta be Pinot Grigio. Don’t stand so close or I’m charging you a porkage fee. Five smells like…oh, wait, is that Ruché? Is that a .187, or are you just happy to see me?” (Ten seconds!) “Six is, oh, oh, wait, six is…Pignolo!” (BUZZER) (Applause)

“That was amazing, Annie. Now, judges, tell us what you think. Thomas, you go first.”

“Very impressive, Annie. I liked how you handled Larry groping you. Larry, you can stop now. Though I was surprised you got the Viognier wrong.” (Audience moans) “That was shampoo. But you did great, and, if you want to work for me, not a problem. And minimum wage will soon be $15/hour in California!”

“Thanks, Thomas. Tough about the Viognier. But let’s move on to Marv. Marv?”

“If I’m not mistaken, Annie, didn’t Meat Compass receive a Wine Spectator Grand Award? That’s quite an honor. So I know you are comfortable with ridiculous prices and customer intimidation, which is important. And I liked that you pegged the Meiomi. It fooled Laube. So I think you did great, and you’d be a great America’s Next Top Somm!” (Applause)

“OK, Marvin, well said. Now, Kim, what did you think of Annie?”

“I like your dress. It shows off your ass, and that’s really important for women.” (Applause)

“Thanks, Kim. Our next finalist is from Los Angeles, California, where he runs the wine program at the restaurant for Cedars Sinai Hospital, The I.V. at the Shore, by night, and is practicing ventriloquism by day, please welcome sommelier Price Gouge!” (Applause) “Welcome, Price. Now how are you going to top Annie and become America’s Next Top Somm?”

“Well, Larry, I’m going to present each of these remarkable judges with a wine list I put together that doesn’t have a single wine the judges will recognize!” (Oooh) “And, while they’re trying to figure out which wine to order, I’ll disappear!” (Applause)

“That’s astonishing, Price. Those of you who have never been a sommelier may not understand how hard it is to actually create a wine list that makes no sense to anyone, yet, for many new restaurants, that’s the current trend. It’s important that the sommelier be far more important than the guests, I think we all agree about that. Alright, Price, go ahead and give Thomas, Marvin and Kim their wine lists.”

“Now, Price, I…wait, where did he go? Judges? Anyone seen Price? Well, when it comes to wine lists, I guess Price is the hardest to understand. So? Marvin, what do you think?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what to make of Price’s list. There are, like, 80 wines, and I don’t recognize a single one. Wow. That’s unbelievable. And Price isn’t here to help. I don’t know what to say, Larry. I’m deeply impressed, and I think that’s what people are looking for nowadays from their sommeliers. In the old days, I’d look at a wine list and see dozens of wines I wanted to try. That seems selfish of me in retrospect, but it was just the way service worked. I think it’s great that so many young sommeliers are more focused on their own taste, on fooling the customers into ordering their pet wines, their Pet Nats as it were. If I were at I.V. on the Shore, I’d definitely have to spend a lot of time talking to Price about what wine to order—time I’d otherwise have to spend with my wife and friends. It’s all about him! Price is the epitome of America’s Next Top Somm!” (Applause)

“Thomas?”

“He’s pretentious, he’s self-centered, he’s all about being the star of the show…he’s perfect, Per Se!” (Cheers)

“Kim?”

“I like that he was staring at my ass. That’s important for a woman.” (Applause)

“OK, judges, so far we’ve had Annie blind taste and identify six wines while I groped her, while Price dazzled us with Narcissism. Let’s move on to our third and final contestant. He’s from New York, where he just recently returned after a short time serving with ISIS, and is the sommelier at New York’s hottest spot, Tavern on the Landmines, please welcome Hugh G. Markup!” (Applause) “You’ve got two tough acts to follow, Hugh. Dazzle us!”

“I’ll try, Larry. Those ISIS guys didn’t know much about wine, but they taught me a thing or two about sales techniques!” (Applause) “I’m going to ask each judge to look at my wine list. When they’re ready to order, I’m going to intimidate them with a few choice words into spending more money than they intended.” (Applause)

“That won’t be easy, Hugh. These are experienced wine professionals with four large breasts between them. Good Luck. Let’s start with Thomas.”

“OK, Hugh, let me have a bottle of Spottswoode Cabernet, the 2009.”

“And six glasses?”

“Yes. There are six of us.”

“Very well. I’ll bring the smaller stems.”

“Oh, I meant two bottles of Spottswoode.” (BUZZER. Applause)

“Nicely done, Hugh. Now, Marvin, see if you can outsmart our somm.”

“No problem. So, Hugh, I’d like to order two bottles of Montelena Cabernet 2001, please.”

“You’ve had the Screaming Eagle, yes?”

“Of course, many times, Hugh.”

“And your guests?”

“Well, I, uh, don’t think, I, uh…I doubt it. Let’s start with that, then.” (BUZZER. Applause) “Oh, BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP you, you BLEEEEEEEEEP. You got me.” (More applause)

“That leaves it up to you, Kim.”

“OK. Bring whatever damn wine you want, Hugh. My ass is paying.”

“Nicely played, Kim! You win, and Hugh wins. Spending other people’s money is what a great sommelier learns to do. Hugh, that was fantastic.”

“There you have it, folks. Now it’s up to you. You have the rest of the evening to phone in your votes for America’s Next Top Somm. Be sure and tune in again tomorrow when we’ll find out which sommelier will win $25,000, a job with Jackson Family Estates—Where People With Important Wine Credentials Go To Die™, and an MS. MS! The Myspace of Wine Diplomas! This is Larry Anosmia MW wishing you a good night, and reminding you that it’s not important to drink the wine you like, it’s important to drink the wine we like. GOOD NIGHT!”

Larry Anosmia MS at TexSom--Orange is the New Blech

I don’t know about you, but I think that “Texas” and “Sommelier” are about as natural together as “Utah” and “Jazz.” Or “Craft” and “Beer.” The words together don’t make any sense. There’s no jazz in Utah any more than there are Mormons in New Orleans. If there were, they’d rename the football team the New Orleans Latter Day Saints, and play their games on Lun-Day. Jackasses. And beer is not a craft. Nobody thinks beer is a craft. Basket weaving is a craft. Making furniture is a craft. Coopering barrels is a craft. Beer? Beer is glorified soup. Nobody makes craft soup. Can we just move on from all the “Craft” stupidity before the craft cheese people move in. Oh, I’m sorry, I meant Kraft cheese. You know, there’s Cheese Whiz and there’s beer whiz. Not much craft involved.

I was invited to speak at TexSom, conduct a seminar with another wine expert, and attend the tastings and events. I can understand why I was invited. I’m a Master Sommelier, and there are only 230 of us in the world. That’s not very many. People think there are a lot more of us, just like they think there are a lot more serial killers than there really are. I’m not sure, but I think Fred Dame is both. Just a joke, Fred. Or is it…? Of the 230, it seems like 100 of us were in Dallas for TexSom. It was so hot in Dallas, you could hear our hair gel crackling. Sounded like small arms fire, which they love in Texas. What do you call that many Master Sommeliers in the same building? Timothy McVeigh’s next job.

My seminar was entitled “Natural Wines—Orange is the New Blech.” When my seminar was first announced, I was worried because it didn’t sell out immediately. First of all, you won’t be a Master Sommelier for long if you don’t sell out. We all sell out. But, of course, the stupid Burgundy seminar sold out first. Wine beginners always jump on the Burgundy seminar first. And it’s always the worst seminar in the lineup. Always. Why? Because Burgundy experts are the dullest people alive. It’s true. All they talk about is terroir, and Premier Crus, and the influence of the Thelonius Monks in Burgundy. It’s a bigger snorefest than a Michel Chapoutier lecture—it’s why Chapoutier has to have Braille labels, everyone’s eyes are closed when he’s talking. Always avoid Burgundy seminars! Just forget about them. Otherwise, check your Côtes and drop your Clos, bend over, and let them drive it up the Seine.

My seminar was set for the morning of the second day of TexSom. So I had the first day to get shitfaced and cruise for MS groupies. I don’t think every MS has groupies, but Larry Anosmia MS has groupies! Most of them think the short cut to an MS is through Larry’s deep dark wine cave. I don’t know what the women think. Doesn’t matter, there aren’t a lot of female Master Sommeliers, or, as we like to call them, Sommeliettes. We’re still sort of a boys club—you know, lapel pins, secret handshakes, constant circle jerks. But we have to let a few girls in now and then or there’d be a lot of flack, so we do. We know that most folks don’t take the Sommeliettes seriously, anyway, so it’s OK.

Though I’m the last guy who needs to, I attended a couple of seminars that first day. It was hard to choose which seminars to go to. I really wanted to attend my own seminar most of all. I do love to hear myself speak about wine. Master Sommeliers and Sommeliettes are wine’s ambassadors. Where would the image of wine be without us representing it? Why, people would think wine was easy to understand, that it’s not intimidating. They might think that spending your life accumulating wine knowledge was a complete waste of time—like knowing every character in “Game of Thrones,” or golf. People might buy wines they like rather than wines we tell them to like. Without Master Sommelier and Sommeliettes it would be wine anarchy. You’re welcome.

Like the Burgundy seminar, there’s always a Bordeaux seminar. You must also avoid the Bordeaux seminar. Bordeaux’s nothing special, it’s just Cabernet in lipstick, Merlot in a thong. Don’t choose the Bordeaux seminar! It’s like going to a sushi bar and ordering chicken. Idiot. I passed on the B & B seminars and, instead, attended a seminar on Carignane. Carignane is its French name; in Spain, it’s Cariñena, in South Africa it’s Carinblixen. Whatever you call it, it’s a grape I usually like. But the seminar was a Carign-yawn. Duller than a ten dollar Prosecco. They served six different Carignanes at the seminar, and needed five guys to talk about them. There’s one guy running the Burgundy seminar, and two at the Bordeaux, we need five for Carignane? One guy and a mime would have been enough. I did learn one thing at the Carignane seminar—it’s overrated. It’s the CSW of grapes.

Between seminars there were sponsored luncheons. A winery, or perhaps a regional wine consortium, comes to TexSom and provides a lavish lunch, with plenty of their wine, for the attendees. This is a perfect way to introduce budding sommeliers to their future career as industry freeloaders. I had hoped there might be a seminar about junkets. There wasn’t, but the sponsored luncheons were an adequate replacement. One doesn’t go far in the wine business unless you know how to take advantage of wineries who try to buy your loyalty and affection with food and trips. TexSom wisely showed its attendees how to grab a free lunch and offer nothing in return but an enthusiastic Thank You. This will serve them well in the future.

But you don’t want to hear about other seminars, you want to hear about Larry Anosmia’s seminar, “Natural Wines—Orange is the New Blech.” I was brilliant, though unappreciated by my civilian crowd. I presented ten wines blind and asked the attendees to guess which were “natural,” which were “authentic,” which were “honest,” and which were “the same old crap.” I thought that would be easy. Turns out, without seeing a label, no one could tell. But as soon as I told them which wines were “natural,” everyone decided they liked them better. Wine as boobs. We talked about what makes a wine “natural.” Didn’t take long. The industry standard for what qualifies a wine as “natural” is, “Because I said so.” It’s known as the Riedel Standard, and it’s foolproof. All in all, it was an entertaining and fascinating seminar, and it was clear that all of the attendees learned a lot from me. They both shook my hand afterward, though I think one stole my watch.

No matter what people tell you, TexSom is about wine, wine knowledge, alcohol abuse and exploring your Texan sensuality. Not in that order. I haven’t seen that many wine professionals that drunk since Jon Bonné announced his retirement from the San Francisco Chronicle. It was like a good old fashioned Texas rodeo—only at this one, the clowns far outnumbered the cowboys.

A Master Sommelier Judges at a Wine Competition

I knew I shouldn’t have accepted. Isn’t life just like that? You always know when you’re about to do something stupid, like mistake a 100-Point Chateauneuf-du-Pape for Ruby Port when clearly a Ruby Port would be lower in alcohol (hey, I passed the exam anyway), but then you do it anyway. You insert your warm meat Coravin in the wrong spongy mass. You order wine by-the-glass at a Thai restaurant. You answer your phone at three in the morning even though you know it’s Alice and all she wants to do is ask you if your favorite sexual position is reverse osmosis, you asshole. You do it, and then you regret it, and swear you’ll never do it again; but you will. I did. And I’m Larry Anosmia, MS. I like to think of myself as better than human. I have the letters to prove it.

I was invited to be a judge for the Tim Fish Celebrity Wine Challenge and Sausage Fest. I’m not sure he knows what a “sausage fest” is. But, to be sure, most wine competitions are sausage fests. As far as judges go, men tend to outnumber women by a factor of five. And outweigh them by a factor of twenty. It’s a lot like the United States Supreme Court, only without any minorities. Mostly old white guys wearing robes and passing judgment. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an African American wine judge at a competition. Well, maybe once at a Hungarian Wine Competition, but I think he was basically a Tokay black judge. Anyhow, in a weak moment, I accepted the Fish bait. Stupid.

There’s nothing wrong with wine competitions. Except that there are other judges. Sometimes there can be as many as FOUR other judges on my panel. Remember that I’m a Master Sommelier, and there is no chance that any of the other judges will be Master Anygoddamthing. I might have to sit and judge wines with someone who buys wine for a grocery store! Do you know what kind of wine they buy for grocery stores? EVERY DAY wine! Believe me, you spend your life tasting EVERY DAY wine and you know what you actually know about wine? Which wineries have the best cardboard boxes, that’s about all you know about wine. You have a grocery store palate, which is like entering the Westminster Dog Show with a turd on a leash. Or I might have to judge with a wine writer, for God’s sake. Not a wine writer anyone’s ever heard of. Well, to be fair, there aren’t very many famous wine writers. There are probably more famous accordion players than famous wine writers. And you don’t want either one at your wedding. One squeezes everything he can get out of his meager instrument, and the other plays the polka. Wine writers make lousy wine judges. Most of the time they just steal the other judges’ ideas.

I was lucky that at the Tim Fish Celebrity Wine Challenge and Sausage Fest there were only three judges on each panel. All I had to do was use my superior and faultless wine knowledge to persuade one of the other two “judges” to agree with me and I could award as many, or as few, gold medals as I desired. Wine competitions that have lots of entries, or want lots of entries, love to have three-judge panels because then any wine entered only needs two votes for gold medal to be awarded a gold medal instead of the three votes it would need with a panel of four or five judges. Of course, the public doesn’t know how many judges are on a panel at any given competition. They just see Gold Medal and are impressed. Most of the time, winning a Gold Medal at a wine competition is akin to thinking you struck the hitter out with the bases loaded after strike two. You’ve really won nothing. But you certainly need two balls to brag about it. The panel next to us had five judges, and the one next door had four. If I’m submitting a wine to a wine competition, I want my wine judged by the three judge panel—I’d insist on it. But, hell, most wineries haven’t the slightest idea how wine competitions work either. They fork over the $85 entry fee, pull the arm, and hope the slots fill up with three cherries. Jackpot! Want to go again?

My two fellow “judges” (I’m being kind—like saying Dawn were Tony Orlando) were nice folks. And it certainly wasn’t their fault that no one had informed them that my opinions were final. But those letters after my name? I don’t have them tattooed around my nipples because that looks good on my Titter feed. I have a degree! I passed a test administered by some of the greatest wine experts on the planet—and Larry Stone. Why, after smelling and tasting a wine and making my decision, would I change my opinion based on someone else’s opinion? Does that make any sense to anyone? Some woman who buys wine for a grocery store? Sure. “The weimaraner, the French bulldog, and the turd on the leash—once more around the ring!” No, Larry Anosmia MS says Silver Medal, the damned Merlot is a Silver Medal. Why are we having this discussion? Because the wine writer thinks it’s a Gold Medal wine? Well, strap on your accordion and play “Lady of Spain” because then we’ll believe you have talent, but it’s still a Silver.

And, really, should it take more than five minutes to judge a dozen wines? We only have 175 wines to judge today. Alder Yarrow can do that in two hours with his ego tied behind his back. You need all damned day? These wineries should know better. No one who makes wine worthy of a Gold Medal enters a wine competition to win a Gold Medal, so why are we awarding Gold Medals? You won’t catch Larry Anosmia MS giving any Gold Fish Awards! And you won’t catch any MS worthy of his string of initials after his name changing his vote. We’re Master Sommeliers, goddamit. We don’t make mistakes. We point them out.

I knew it was a mistake to judge the Tim Fish Celebrity Wine Challenge and Sausage Fest. For one thing, I was the only celebrity there. I was told a Kardashian would be there, but I don’t even know where Kardashia is. And the judges weren’t even given an honorarium. Though I will treasure the souvenir Talking Tim Fish you mount on your wall. It’s cool. You clap, and he moves his lips and randomly awards scores! It’s eerily lifelike.

I’ve been drinking a lot of 2012 Chablis, and mostly the cheaper stuff. One of the first great white wines I ever purchased for cellaring was a Raveneau Chablis. I had no idea what it was at the time, and bought it for the simple reason that the guy at my local wine shop, who knew that I was completely hooked on wine, told me to. I knew Chablis was Chardonnay, which was fine, it was in an era long ago when Americans were in love with Chardonnay, a time when Chateau St. Jean could produce ten different vineyard-designated Chardonnays and people would flock to a tasting just to taste them all. So I knew that Raveneau was Chardonnay, but I had no idea Chardonnay could be Raveneau. I get cold sweats just picking up a bottle of Raveneau, like the kind of nerves you get the first time you undress a new lover, though it’s considered bad form to then put that new lover into a cold cellar for ten years. 2012 seems to be a remarkable vintage in Chablis, and the wines I’ve consumed, all of them under $25, have been sensational. Piuze, Domaine des Melandes, Domaine des Bois d’Yver, William Févre—all of the 12’s have that purity and power, that razor’s edge of acidity, that kind of verve that vibrates on your palate, that I associate with Chablis, and only Chablis. These are insanely underpriced wines.

My oldest love is for baseball. I don’t care at all about other sports, though women’s roller derby is kinda hot. So when I heard the news that the great Ernie Banks had died, I was sad. You know you’ve been a success in life when the word “great” easily attaches to your name. (I’m not holding my breath for the great HoseMaster.) And Ernie Banks was a great baseball player. The very first baseball game I attended was in 1959, when the Los Angeles Dodgers played in the LA Memorial Coliseum. I went with my Cub Scout troop, and we watched a game between the Dodgers and the Chicago Cubs. The Dodgers won the game 4-2, but Banks hit a beautiful, majestic home run over the very close, but very high, left field screen—it was but 250 feet from home plate to the screen, but it stood 40 feet high. Very few home runs were hit over that screen—I read a statistic that in 1958 only 9 homes runs were hit at the Coliseum in 77 games! So I loved Ernie Banks for hitting that amazing home run, the left fielder for the Dodgers, the wonderfully named Wally Moon, staring high into the sky to watch it soar over the screen—a rare occurrence. The Dodgers won the World Series that year, beating the Cubs’ crosstown rivals, the White Sox. But it was Ernie Banks who was the League MVP that year. Excuse me, it was the great Ernie Banks who was the League MVP that year.

Was there ever a more optimistic person in sports than Banks? I loved Ernie Banks. But, then, if you play for the Cubs for 19 years, you’d better be optimistic. I heard Banks interviewed a few years ago on NPR, and what I remember him saying was, and I’m quoting him from memory, “I loved winning, but the thing I loved more than winning was making friends.” As famous and as remarkable a ballplayer as he was, he never charged for an autograph, like the talented but despicable Pete Rose. He spent hours and hours after games talking to kids, making friends. On the diamond, he was talent and joy rolled into one graceful shortstop. I’m sure he would say he had a great life playing the game of baseball. But Ernie Banks wasn’t lucky he found baseball--baseball was. It was a gorgeous day here today, Ernie. Let’s play two.