Is Wine An Aphrodisiac?

Ladies, want a tip on how to keep trim and slim? Exercise certainly helps. So does the Mediterranean Diet. But findings recently published in the Archives of Internal Medicine suggest that women who enjoy a few glasses of red wine gain less weight than those who drink water or other non-alcoholic beverages. That is the unexpected conclusion from a thirteen-year, Boston hospital study of 19,000 women, age 39 and older who were asked to keep a record of their dining habits.

Another research that is worth noting, is a 2009 hospital study in Florence, Italy. Most everyone is aware of the supposed aphrodisiac qualities of chocolate, oysters, truffles and ginger. However, the fascinating conclusion from the Florentine study of 789 Italian women between the ages of 18 and 50, is that red wine increases the female sex drive. Apparently, it took only one or two glasses per day to relax their inhibitions and stimulate their sexual activity. The other volunteers—poor, wretched souls—received no wine rations, and, alas, enjoyed no comparable libido liberation. (Side bar:What’s the deal with Italian women over 50?)

Those two studies definitely trigger, at least for this oenophile, new perspectives on the notion of wine appreciation. It’s one thing to consider the appearance, color, aroma, and flavor of a red wine and their role in assessing a wine’s quality. But it’s quite another to also ponder on how those elements might help keep one slender and/or sexually energized. (I really like that wine!)

If the above stands the test of time, I can foresee the day when bottle labels might contain advice about a wine’s health and sexual side effects. (Caution: Drink this only in the company of those you love.) Similarly, it’s possible that the 100-point rating system might be modified to include a new class of, say, “R” rated wines. (An R4, if the lust lasts for four hours. Or an R 50+, a high alcohol blend, for AARP types.)

As a final point, I should acknowledge that I’m not displeased with those research conclusions, since I still have a good supply of red wines in my storage unit. Moreover, I plan to cook my wife a lovely candlelight dinner in the very near future. Our particulars, however, are at variance with the two studies. First, she’s German, not Italian. Second, she favors Sauvignon Blanc over red wines. Third, she’s older than 39; I’m older than 40. However, I see those as minor issues, and am confident they can be sorted out.

Celebrity Endorsed Wines

As you likely know, wines are identified by two primary methods. The first, by appellation (where it’s produced); the second, by name of major grape varietal. A third is “Proprietary,” by which the winery/producer creates a particularly unique wine and trademark-names it. Brand loyalty and product trust underlies the success of this method. It also frees the producer from appellation or varietal labeling requirements. Robert Mondavi’s “Opus One” and Joseph Phelps’ “Insignia” are notable California examples. Another, but much more transparent method of identifying and labeling wine is the Celebrity Endorsement method.

Americans and Europeans are enamored with celebrities and their lifestyles. The media is saturated with details that often plumb into embarrassingly personal depths, and, as such, fans are able to feast on the daily occurrences of their idols. Product endorsements are a natural outcome of this celebrity fascination. Perfumes, clothing, and personal care products are rife with marketing possibilities, whereby the consumer can fantasize, via the products they purchase, that they have the same lifestyle, if not the same life, as their revered objects of fascination.

Central to the Celebrity Wine concept is the notion that the inherent qualities and characteristics of wines, and their underlying grapes, can be identified and matched to similar personality traits of the celebrity. Whether or not there can ever be a realistic or believable match is, of course, open to question.

 For example, it seems that the popular and charismatic John Daly of PGA golf fame has given his name to seven different red and white wines. Now, if you know John as I know John, you know John likes beer. Lots of it. Personally, I find it quite difficult, if not impossible, to visualize old “Grip it and Rip it” gently swirling and sniffing crystal stemware filled with a Chardonnay that celebrates his “trademark swing . . . full of raw power and intensity.” No, John, I’m not buying into it.

In 2004, adult porn star Savanna Samson convinced an Italian vintner to produce her personally styled red wine and display her on the label in an eye-catching, transparent gown. I have not seen nor tasted it, but I’m sure the wine must be full bodied and voluptuous. But I wonder how critics might rate it. X, XX, or XXX?

And lastly, it seems Barry Manilow (yes, “that” Barry Manilow) also sells his own line of wines. “Mandy’s Merlot?” “Copacabana Cabernet?” “Manilow’s Meritage?” Nah, he wouldn’t do that, would he?

Nevertheless, and I don’t recall who first said it, but this marketing concept, wine or otherwise, recalls an old yarn: “There are ten million pigeons in America. Half of them are birds, the other half buy celebrity endorsed products.”

When a tumbler is the perfect glass

“You are kidding me, aren’t you?” my wife said as she stared incredulously at the glass that I was using to drink my red wine. It was a thick lipped, old world-like tumbler that I occasionally use for drinking water and fruit juices. “You of all people!” she added for additional taunt. “We’ve got nice crystal stemware, and you’re drinking from that . . . that thing?”

Sure enough, that’s what I was doing. It was dinnertime and I was sipping wine from a stubby, little glass that was built to survive the worst that even the Terminator could inflict.

Actually, the glass seems ideal for sipping Pastis, that milky white (when water is added), anise flavored liquor that the French call the “milk of Provence.” In his best selling book, Toujours Provence, Peter Mayle asserts that to enjoy Pastis, ambiance is the key ingredient, “which dictates how and where it should be drunk.”

He says that it can’t be drunk in a hurry. It can’t be drunk in New York or England or “anywhere that requires its customers to wear socks. It wouldn’t taste the same. It has to be in Provence.” And although he doesn’t mention it, I suspect “the right glass” is also one of the vital components; namely, a tumbler. Having vacationed in Provence a few times, Pastis was always served to me in a tumbler.

Similarly, my wife requires a specific cup and saucer in order to properly enjoy her breakfast caffeine boost. It has to be thin-rimmed and of delicate construction. She claims the coffee is not as enjoyable and tastes completely different in anything else but fine china. Of course, I suspect the morning ambiance is given a substantial boost when she’s stirred and gently awakened by the enticing aromas of percolating Columbian Supremo that wafts into the bedroom, courtesy of you know who.

Also, if you’re into super-premium wines, then you might also be into Riedel wine glasses from Austria. If not, be advised that they have produced a highly successful line of connoisseur wine stemware that are specifically designed to deliver the heights of drinking pleasure for each of the most popular red and white varietals. That’s right, one individual and distinct shape for each grape varietal. Ambience, it appears, can at times make special demands of us.

But “peasant food," as I refer to it, was one of the key players in our dinnertime ambiance: leftover stew recently discovered lurking behind several Tupperwares in the corner of our freezer. Also, we had a half empty bottle of so-so Pinot Noir sulking quietly in the door of our Sub-Zero.

The stew and the wine were destined for the other. It was the perfect, elemental match of two underachievers, who would come together to deliver their last best shot. And, as such, the moment demanded something without the breeding of a Riedel, or the anonymous reliability of our daily drinker stemware. No, it required the perfect participant. That ordinary, undistinguished, squat little tumbler.