by Sara Dinnen
According to wine, er, sellers, women are out-drinking men. There are valid reasons.
Women still do most of the household grocery shopping and since the advent of wine availability in supermarkets the logical sequence isn’t hard to fathom. Besides which, there has to be a pay-off for ferrying three kids and all the week’s victuals in a metal trolley with four wheels each pointing different ways.
So, wine it is but most important is to understand that wine was invented by women. As gatherers of crops, it was women who were most likely to have placed berries or grapes in a container in a cool, humid and dark corner for storage, only to discover the delicious effects of the fermented beverage a few weeks later.
Wine remains dating back to before 6,000 BC have been found in Armenia, Turkey, Iran, Iraq, Georgia and China although scholarly confusion exists over whether this was grape, rice, date or honey wine. It behoves women to honour this ancestral memory and we need not bother with official statistics or a professorial hypothesis.
Girlfriends understand wine is a binding agent, a unifying sisterly force that reaches an apex when enough vintage has been taste-tested to sing anything from Dr Hook and more authentically than Milli Vanilli.
Women can teach men a great deal about the art of buying and drinking wine. We intrinsically know there are rules of quaffing engagement because genetic memory tells us so.
- Buy to price and with a French name. It doesn’t have to be French because Chateau Criquey from Australia has une certaine qualité and at $4 a bottle ($24 in a restaurant) it’s hard to avoid.
- Get three-for-the-price-of-two because you always sing better when you’re whickered.
- Never have ‘just one’. You’ll miss out on gut-lining fodder that somehow makes its way to the kitchen bench after four. Drinks that is, not hours.
- Rosé is not gay because it’s pink. It is the essence of the robust athleticism you enjoyed for three days on end in Corfu before you came home and eventually had kids.
- Going to the supermarket in slippers for more wine before 7pm isn’t naff. It’s a post-feminist statement of uber independence and a two-fingered salute to conservatives. Or should that be conservationists? Or perhaps conversationalists?
Yes indeed, to women, wine is fascinating fun and frivolity and does not need, nor does it ask for, an intellectual précis on necessity. It exists, and therefore is, as Zen-like as one hand crapping in a forrish.