An Ode to Spanish Wine

Spanish wine tastes like:

a brown outfit from WalMart

being run over by a muddy army tank.

a bad reproduction of Guernica

painted on cardboard and soaked in Pabst.

Woodpeckers preserved

and ground to a powder dusting an old man’s cane.

A Cyclops dumbly mashing its head against a bull.

I sanitize my wounds

with Spanish wine.


If you can’t tell, I’m not the biggest fan of Spanish wine.  The whites are decent, but the reds leave something to be desired.  To me, they taste like nothing but alcohol and tannin mixed together.  Granted, I’ve tried few over $15, but you shouldn’t have to spend a lot to get the essence of a place.  Oregon pinot, Rhone grenache and New Zealand sauvignon blanc can all be had for that price, and great examples, so why not a tempranillo or garnacha?

I realize I may be putting my foot in my mouth, but what is criticism if not taking a bold stance?  One day I know I will have a Spanish red that changes my mind, and Lord knows I try–each time I get the chance I’m hoping to understand what people are raving about.  But for now, I’ll stick with the rest of the world.  -Carol


2 thoughts on “An Ode to Spanish Wine

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