Every now and again, a friend will ask me about whether I plan to write anything about specific beers or wines here on Spirit Animal. It’s certainly not that I don’t enjoy beer or wine, and it isn’t that I don’t have strong opinions about these categories.
That said, in the site’s infancy, I settled on the name Spirit Animal not simply because it was clever, but because I liked how the name would focus my output and avoid some of the headaches that would come with dipping a toe into a bigger set of topics related to other types of alcohol. Let me explain in brief why I don’t cover beer or wine.
No beer, explained:
I think if I could only pick between beer or wine, beer is an easy pick for me. I think there’s almost nothing better a human being can experience than a pint of ice cold lager on an oppressively hot day. I like several styles of beer, and I definitely have my favorites.
What I don’t love about beer writing is the atmosphere that comes with it. In popular culture, there’s a tendency to associate beer as the drink of the uncritical working class: the Homer Simpsons and Archie Bunkers of the world. There are no shortage of people who just want to crack open a Bud at the end of the day, and that’s what they like, and God bless ‘em. But they’re not going to be reading beer websites.
The people who do read and write for beer websites, however, strike me as being so viscerally aware of the stereotype of the beer drinker as a working schlub that they go to tremendous lengths to demonstrate their good taste and sophistication so that nobody could possibly mistake them for a dummy.
The cheapest way to do this, incidentally, is to shit all over everything. Beer snobs love to toss around words like “vegetal” and “cardboard” to describe what they’re drinking. They’re kings of damning by faint praise, and are apt to write off entire categories of beer as being “inoffensive.” Or, you’ll swear that a reviewer liked a beer, only to see them deliver a middling rating, because they’ve had better.
If you want to peek into the rabbit hole, check out Beer Advocate, which is the most popular and widely-known place for beer reviews. You’ll also see what it is that these guys actually do like, which is to say nothing but Stouts and IPAs. Don’t believe me? Check out the site’s top 150 beers.
I didn’t want to be another Beer Advocate, either in coverage or tone. I think there are a lot of good stories that could have been written about specific beers, certainly, but there’s a lot about the whole “scene” of beer criticism and writing that just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
No wine, explained:
I’d actually argue that beer snobs are more insufferable than wine snobs, but it could simply be that since I’m a middle class guy (at best) I don’t tend to run into the kinds of well-to-do adults who have full cellars. The people I’ve met that tend to know a lot about wine are usually charitable, eager to share with others, and tend to have a diverse set of tastes that don’t inexorably lead to liking the same two varietals.
Phrased another way: I’ve never seen two wine guys square off at a party in an attempt to prove that they’re the smartest guy in the room. I have been at a bar when some huge guy with a beard loudly told the rest of his table what he thought about what they ordered. I can close my eyes and picture that particular dude in his late twenties. I’m far more familiar with him than I am with the type of guy Hollywood would cast as “snooty wine drinker” in a dinner party scene.
Surprisingly, my problem with wine writing has nothing to do with snobbery!
First, there’s just so damn many wineries out there, and such a varied network of regional distribution that certain merchants in certain areas will only carry particular bottles. If I write about a bottle of wine I purchased in California, it’s likely someone in New York or Colorado might be shit out of luck if they hope to happen across it. Even now, I had to have a friend buy a bunch of Pinot Noirs I liked from Total Wine, because I couldn’t find that particular bottle at the larger distributor nearest to my house. And in terms of spirits, at least, I can find everything at that store.
Second, the category is ephemeral to the point of being maddening. You sit down with a bottle, really get to know it, and then it’s completely unavailable anywhere on the planet earth within a few years.
As a writer, I can be reasonably certain that if I’ve written something about, say, Johnnie Walker Black, whatever I’ve committed to virtual paper is still relevant two, five, or ten years down the line. Writing about spirits creates a bunch of what we call “evergreen” content: unless a particular distillery shutters, there’s no expiration date on those thoughts. Undoubtedly, batch-to-batch variation exists, and certain whiskies can differ over time, but I’ve never tried a spirit that was fundamentally different from when I first had it and when I last had it.
Certainly, the thrill of discovery and the idea that you have to constantly explore is a great element of wine. You’re always giving something new a chance, or letting your knowledge of growing regions and winery “house styles” guide you to a new favorite, and success is all the more sweet because it’s never guaranteed. However, I don’t like the idea of my thoughts being obsolete months after they’re posted, or that if I’m describing an experience, there’s no way of allowing you to take part in that same thing. Which, I’d point out, has come up before.
To wrap this whole thing up, I’m not just a spirits guy. But for all of the reasons above, you’ll find little evidence to the contrary as you explore the site. And sadly, it’s a little by design.
