Forget history lessons, interesting facts, supermarket choices, hints of vanilla, toasted oak or residual sugar;. Let’s be honest, for most people the only reason they want to learn anything about wine – past the operation of a corkscrew – is so they don’t look like a tit. It doesn’t matter how loud I shout from my little digital soapbox that it doesn’t matter what you like; snobs are pricks, and wine is a personal journey of self-discovery. (Insert cynical guffaw here  – call me Pinot Coelho.) Many people will still feel intimidated by a sommelier, girlfriend or boyfriend’s asshole father, or some know-it-all douche-bag at a dinner party.

Let’s start with sommeliers. First off, in this country a person who is claiming to be one is most likely faking it. A sommelier has to be qualified. Just because I wear a stethoscope and have unreadable hand-writing, that does not make me a doctor. So if the person handling the wine at the restaurant you are in is starting to get all uppity, ask sweetly, “So, where did you study to be a sommelier?”

Don’t get me wrong; the sommeliers I know in South Africa are awesome. They love to drink, party, and talk about wine: my kind of people. It’s the fakers that piss me off. Someone serving you wine in a restaurant should never make you feel uncomfortable. The one giveaway is if they keep trying to sell really expensive wines. A good sommelier will always have a few value wines on the list. Wines that over deliver on quality for price. They should be proud of those wines. Ask for them specifically. Remember, you are the customer.

Meeting your significant other’s parents for the first time can be a daunting enough experience without a father hell-bent on trying to embarrass you. It happens. Generally it’s towards guys who – in the mind of the father – are maniacal bastards whose plan is to defile his sweet, innocent daughter. You laugh now, but we’ll probably end up like that too.

Some antagonistic fathers use a shotgun to scare off their daughter’s suitors, but urbane dads usually rely on a superior knowledge on some subject or another to embarrass the newly arrived boyfriend. (The genders can be swapped. There are mean-ass mothers out there too, I know.) The subject of wine is a soft target, especially if the guest at dinner holds no particular interest.

“Lovely vintage, eh?” he says pouring a glass of something red.

You haphazardly swirl the glass, sniff and sip.

“So,” he continues, “what do you think?”

“Nice?”

“Nice! Do you know what this is? This is a Cabernet Sauvignon from one of our finest vineyards from the best vintage in living memory! And you call it nice? Well, I think I will just open a bottle of tassies for you my boy. Nice. Really. Bloody ungrateful if you ask me. Josephine, where the bloody hell did you find this lay about? He has the culture of a newt.”

Apologies, whenever I do a grumpy father he comes out like a member of the Raj.

To these overbearing, holier-than-thou “this has been in my cellar since before you were born” assholes, the easiest is to simply encourage them. Just agree that their oxidised, heat damaged wine that has made it’s way from the Cape to Boksberg, then Durban, and back to Durbanville via Worcester is the finest tipple you’ve had since you suckled on your mother’s breast. Because no matter what you say, they are older, they have been drinking longer, and they are doing you a favour opening the bottle. My advice, get him to open some Port:

“Mr. Edgebaston I must say, that was a most delightful meal and the wine was truly splendid. Your cellar seems to be in just as good a condition as you. Now I am sure a man of your exquisite tastes must enjoy a glassful of Port after such an excellent meal. Do you perhaps have a bottle open?”

Wine toss-pots also come in the variety of  “Wine X is the best this country has to offer. If you do not agree, you know nothing about wine.” Of course my dear chap, your taste is omnipotent and I bow down to it. Git.

This is a true story. I met a well-known Cape personality for the first time, and my friend tells him that I write a wine blog.

“So you’re into wine hey?”

“That’s right,” I said, wondering why he had to state the bleedingly obvious.

“So what do you think of the Warwick Cab Franc?”

“I think it’s a very good…”

“Best wine in the country.”

“Okay, but…”

“Been drinking it for ages, nothing comes close.”

“Have you tried…”

“I buy it as soon as it’s released.”

I gave up trying to volunteer other wines. He wanted to listen to me as much as Morrisey wants to compete in McDonalds patty eating contest. I did, however, have the pleasure of meeting the guy again a few months later. He had forgotten that we had already met.

“So what’s your favourite wine?” he asked after establishing yet again that I am ‘into’ wine and at times write about it.

“Oh, easily the Warwick Cabernet Franc. Best wine in the country. Nothing else comes close.” I said this thinking he would surely remember our previous meeting.

“You really do know your wine,” he responded, genuinely impressed, “I must read that blog of yours.”

I have given up even trying to talk about wine with these types of people. And if one is at my table, I generally order beer.

But of course there are times when no matter how much you don’t want to talk about wine, there is some buffoon in either a position of authority, a client, or a sadistic parent of your significant other asking you about a wine they have poured for you. And as much as you would like to tell them to take their Pinot Noir and shove it up their derrière, sideways, you need to be polite.

So here is a quick guide to faking your way through tedious wine conversations.

If the colour is Dark red: say, “Mmm, yes I love those dark red fruits with a slight cedery spice underneath.”

Or a lighter red: “Do you get that almost sweet/sour cherry? Charming.”

Sauvignon Blanc: “This is great. I could kill for an oyster.”

Champagne/ Methode Cap Classique: “What a delightful mousse.”

Chenin: “I love Chenin, it’s a pity more people don’t drink it. Such a versatile grape. You can make anything from bubbly to brandy with the stuff.” (Say the last part as if you are talking about someone you have a massive crush on.)

South African Pinot Noir: Sigh, shake your head and smile saying, “It’s good, but it ain’t no Burgundy.”

South African Merlot: “Ja, there’s some nice plum flavours here, but I don’t like the green edge it has”

Pinotage: “Pinotage has potential, but more wine makers need to focus on…” By this time everyone at the table will have nodded off and you can carry on eating in peace.

Port: At most SA restaurants they leave their Port open for weeks and keep serving it. To impress the table, take a sniff then call the waiter over and ask how long the bottle has been open for. On return he or she will most likely say a few days, but I promise you 99% of the time it is closer to a few weeks. Say, “I thought so” and request a new bottle be opened.

Chardonnay: “Thank goodness we are making far less of those ridiculously over-oaked Chardonnays these days.”

If it says Shiraz on the bottle: “I love the powerful red fruit and black pepper combo.”

If it says Syrah: “This is how I like it: old world style, with violets and white pepper.”

Cabernet Sauvignon: “Well, these tannins are just begging for a steak.”

White Blends: “I think these types of blends are South Africa’s strongest category.”

Red Blends: “I don’t see my there is such a fixation on single varieties, surely by blending the winemaker can get the best from each?”

Any sweet wine: “It blows my mind how so few people drink sweet wines, South African sweet wines offer ridiculous value. It’s almost criminal.”

Chocolate Pinotage: Refuse to drink it; cite health reasons.