That’s right. White Zinfandel is my favorite wine – probably my favorite beverage of all time. I love the rosé blush color; the ripe, peachy aroma; the sweet, delicate taste and lingering finish.
Yet here I am in the North Shore, where serving this pink nectar at a party is viewed as an unforgivable gaffe, where eyes roll when its very name is spoken at a club or restaurant. I am forced to deny my affiliation and redirect my tastes, or become nothing less than a social pariah.
But a passion denied is not necessarily a passion deterred! I am, of course, free to enjoy the zin at home behind drawn curtain and pulled shade. And in public, I have learned ways around this unreasonable beverage bias.
When I attend a cocktail party, I make sure I have a box or two waiting in the minivan. It isn’t hard to invent a reason to excuse myself – a forgotten item, a hot flash, a minor seizure. Then I simply put lip to spigot for sweet satisfaction. After that, I can step back in and nurse a glass of “precious pinot” for a short duration.
I’ve also taken to carrying a flask of white zin in my purse – along with a Ziploc bag filled with saltines and Kraft Singles – so I don’t have to pretend to like fancy wine and cheese plates. I’ve learned some very swift moves so I can enjoy a nip and a nosh pretty much anywhere – restaurants, parties, movie theaters, even parent-teacher conferences at University School.
Wine experts claim there is no right or wrong choice – one should drink according to one’s tastes. But there seems to be a double standard in Mequon when it comes to my White Zin. And it has caused me much confusion. Am I a victim of an unreasonable regional social mores? And if I am, why do I feel such guilt? And why does that guilt diminish with each syrupy sip?
Note: All Mequon Confession articles are first-person, anecdotal tales, unverified and uninvestigated by The Mequon News. They are often factually void recollections by emotionally damaged individuals, and should be enjoyed purely for their coarse entertainment value.