Plain Dumb or Playing Dumb?

Posted 01/14/2008 at 12:54 PM by Carolyn

I don’t pretend to be a genius when it comes to wine, but occasionally I am really astounded at the apparent stupidity of some people when it comes to wine. I guess I run into this problem most frequently when I’m out to eat. I know it’s terribly unoriginal to complain about poor service in the D.C. area, but I’ve run into a couple of really unbelievable problems with uneducated servers. It’s almost forgivable when it happens at the more casual joints, but shouldn’t there be some aspects of wine culture that should be a “No duh” by now?
 
Recently, I went with some friends to a favorite pizza place of mine (hint: their pies are square.). It was after an intense trip to Ikea, and we were all hankerin’ for some refreshments. I had to shimmy a Malm queen-sized bed frame into my little Chevy, and the other ladies were already at the restaurant when I arrived. One was sipping on a glass of old reliable California zinfandel, which looked just fine to me. When the waitress came by to take my drink order, I asked for a glass of zinfandel.
 
“White zinfandel?” she asked. I mean, we were in a chain pizza joint, after all. “Regular zinfandel, please.”
 
A few minutes later, the waitress returned with a frosty glass of pink wine. Maybe I’m not a wine genius, but I know what white zinfandel looks like.
 
“No, I’m sorry, I ordered red zinfandel,” I said, as politely as possible. Apparently, I have a problem with trying to be polite and coming off as snooty. The server did not even attempt to kill me with kindness.
 
“No, you ordered regular zinfandel. This is regular zinfandel.”
 
In my travels as a budding wine enthusiast, I have learned that zinfandel is called zinfandel because it is made from a grape called zinfandel -- that’s simple enough. Although white zinfandel may come from that same grape, it is made by a completely different process and is definitely not the standard zinfandel -- that’s why we differentiate it from zinfandel by calling it white zinfandel.
 
I tried hard not to let my fake smile crack into a snarl--I myself was a server for many years, after all. “No, that’s white zinfandel.”
 
“Right.” She stared at me blankly, like I’d proven her point. The glass of pink wine floated in her fingers above my place setting.
 
“I’d like the same wine that my friend is drinking, please.” Oh yeah, let that fake smile shine. The waitress clomped off in a huff, like I was making her life so difficult with my ignorance. Although tempted, I resisted the desire to launch a diatribe on my cursory knowledge of the white zinfandel-making process (something about grape skins and super sweet unfermented juice). I decided to shut up and enjoy my delicious square pizza.
 
Of course, this sort of misunderstanding would be okay in a suburban pizza joint if it hadn’t come with such a big slice of attitude. Which, I guess actually makes this an entry about poor service. So, I suppose I’ll wrap this up by saying that I’ve been the good server and I’ve been the bad server, but I don’t think I’ve ever been the server who wants to pick a fight about wine.

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