Emer McLysaght: Three wine tastings later and I’m still reeling from finding out my favourite wine is basically Um Bongo

Earlier this year I went to the first of the three wine tastings I’ve done in my life and was truly humbled. Granted, I was coming to the evening with my wine knowledge at a “do I detect a hint of grape?” level but to learn that the “fancy” wine I’d been buying at the supermarket was nothing better than a bottle of toxic sludge was confronting. I should have known when it was almost always on special offer and tasted like Ribena.

The wine expert conducting the tasting said that the reason my tipple of choice had such a consistent flavour was because flavourings were added to ensure consistency for rubes like me. Then she embarked on a two-hour whirlwind tour of the senses, from Pét Nat to chillable reds and everything in between. I hung on her every word, her explanations about fermentations and vintages and “legs”. I adored her guessing games about prices and felt like I’d been awarded a doctorate if I correctly identified a hint of anything (I mostly went with apple and hoped for the best).

By the end of the evening, I’d already forgotten 99 per cent of what I’d learned, and I can identify a few reasons. Firstly, we didn’t spit out a drop of the wine we tasted and therefore were openly swigging by bottle number five. Secondly, I was still reeling from finding out my favourite wine was basically Um Bongo. Thirdly, wine is overwhelming. Especially if you’ve come up on a teenage diet of whatever was cheapest with the highest alcohol content and never really graduated past ordering the second cheapest on the menu (so the wait staff know you’re classy). I didn’t even try red wine until I was about 27 and the free white wine at a wedding reception had run out.

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Finding out more about wine was always something I’d planned to do but never got around to it. Like I said, it seems so overwhelming and constantly in flux. Prices are baffling, labels are confounding and asking questions in restaurants and particularly bars feels arsey. I suppose I couldn’t have expected one wine tasting to turn me into a sommelier. However, it turns out a second, and then a third didn’t turn me into anything approaching an expert either.

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The second tasting was on holidays in Portugal this summer, when my pals and I, laden with our new knowledge, booked ourselves into a local winery. I was driving and so was only taking the smallest of sips. I was also largely concerned with getting the Fiat 500 back up the treacherous hill that hosted the beautiful sweeping vines. The winery host went on a detailed semi-rant about Vinho Verde while I fretted about the clutch holding out. I had so much more to learn.

The most recent wine tasting was just a few weeks back. We re-engaged the same expert and set the theme at “Off the Beaten Track”. Like I needed the whole wine thing to be even more obscure. A few things had stuck though. I remembered that the sparkling Pét Nat finishes its fermentation in the bottle and that orange wine has something to do with grape skins. Our host reassured us that you don’t need to have a favourite wine and in fact she tries as many different types as she can, which might help me to break away from the stranglehold Malbec has over me.

Too often I’ve dithered between the only two options on offer – the little bottle of red or the little bottle of white

It’s safe to say I’ve never been fussy about my wine, but I’d like to introduce a little fuss into the experience. I don’t drink beer and almost always order a wine when friends are on the pints. Too often I’ve dithered between the only two options on offer – the little bottle of red or the little bottle of white. Talk about toxic sludge! By continuing my education, I can only improve my experiences. I’m booking in tasting number four asap.

I have noticed that I’m becoming something of a wine glass snob. I mean, I’ll drink it out of a mug if I have to, but I really do prefer some delicate glassware and am very partial to stemless. I was introduced to stemless wine glasses in The Bar with No Name on Dublin’s Fade Street circa 2009 and well, my glamour era had finally arrived. Some establishments serve the wine in glasses so thick they’d survive the apocalypse. At least the rats and cockroaches would have something to celebrate with. Cheers!