| The night I had been waiting for was finally here. It was moments before our 7 p.m. reservation at Sooke Harbour House, and my wife and I, still waiting patiently in our room, downed the last of our pre-meal Champagne.
Donning childlike smiles and glowing with eager anticipation, we made haste for the dining room just a few steps down the hall. We were seated at a comfy deuce with a peaceful view of the ocean – just close enough to faintly hear the waves lapping up on the shore. While my wife perused the menu, I looked eagerly for the wine list – a glass of vino was all I needed to adequately propel myself into a Zen-like state.
If only life was this easy. The beleaguered server approached, carrying what looked like a forgotten volume of Encyclopedia Britannica. There was a distinct look of pride in her eyes as she presented the extensive list. The leather-bound book hit the table like a saddle being cast upon the back of a thoroughbred, landing with a dull thud and quickly dominating our otherwise elegant table. What had begun as a relaxing experience was starting to take on the distinct guise of work. The sad realization that it would now be some time before I could be comfortably sipping on a glass of wine quickly sunk in.
The impressive work set before me was no less than 100 pages, each containing between 20 to 30 wines. I attacked the book with a fury, quickly flipping pages in sections where my interest waned, searching further in familiar territory and hoping an obvious choice would jump out and put an end to my toil. But the more I searched the more anxious I became, and I could see my wife peering over her menu at me with a daunting look that simply said "find something and order it." But I couldn’t – I knew it would kill me if I made a brash decision and later saw something that I truly desired.
Finally I settled on a simple bottle of Vouvray, something light and fresh to accompany the first couple of courses. Unfortunately, my victory would be short-lived – this meal was going to be monumental, and soon I would have to dive back in and search for a second bottle.
Selection is a wonderful thing and generally something I enjoy, but I do believe there is a point where it can go too far. Choosing a wine should be an enjoyable experience, not a chore. Lists that leave you more exhausted than exhilarated ultimately fail in their goal. A wine list should embrace you like a graceful dance partner, leading you effortlessly through the steps, not thrash you like a cage match with King Kong Bundy, tossing you recklessly about until you’ve finally lost the will to fight.
Sadly, many sommeliers today have opted for the shotgun approach – mistaking big for good and complete for competent, and forgetting that the real skill comes from crafting focused lists carefully matched to the restaurant’s specific cuisine and concentrating on flavours that enhance and enrich the food. Rather than bringing in the usual suspects everyone is familiar with, restaurants should introduce more of the unique, cutting-edge producers that make the customer’s experience more interesting and memorable.
Some of the best wine lists I’ve ever seen have been the simplest. Take for instance Vig’s off Granville Street in Vancouver – they have six reds and six whites, each chosen to pair well with East Indian food, and every couple of weeks the wines change so regulars still get great variety. They are available by the glass and each costs the same amount – eight bucks. It took me five seconds to choose a great little wine (which was recommended by the waiter, who could easily taste and be familiar with all the wines) and bang, I’m back to enjoying my meal. It’s simple, effective and brilliant.
Too few sommeliers or managers have the courage to simply say "this is what we do and we believe it is the best approach."
I’m not saying that every list should be stripped down to the bare essentials, but it is time for restaurateurs to take another look at their lists and, at the very least, trim a little of the fat. |
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