When wine finds a new city but gets lost

I was invited to a friend's house for a celebration dinner of some sort.

He was a banker. Worldly-wise, well-travelled. Liked the finer things in life. The trophy watch, the nice car, the fancy crystal.

He offered me a wine glass with a deep red liquid. He had one in his hand too.

He sniffed it. Rolled it. Held the glass against the light. Took a sip. Chewed the liquid. And smacked his lips.

“Non-alcoholic wine is SO good.”

I looked at him. Then at the liquid.

Took a tentative sniff. Yes, there was a faint whiff of caramel.

Held it against the light. Rather too opaque.

Took a careful sip.

The C-word came to mind.

As in cola.

The stuff you drink with straws. Out of a can. With burgers.

I bravely finished the glass. After all, manners maketh the man.

But I didn't smack my lips.

Because you don't smack your lips after drinking a glass of grape juice.

I felt nothing.

No warmth from alcohol. No grip from tannin.

The body would have suited a beauty contestant.

There was sweetness, yes. But the cloying sweetness of sugar, not of fruit. And the acidity would probably come after I went home.

The rest of the meal would have gladdened the hearts of everyone who likes a drink.

Fruit juice. Colas. Water with lime. And a really brave avocado juice.

And then came dessert. A “ras malai” with pistachios and silver foil.  Wickedly delectable. Usually. The friend’s wife, a usually sensible lady, pushed a glass with a pale liquid in it. And ice cubes. “You must try this organic wine from Hungary!” she trilled. “We made it really chill with ice in it”. She said this with a face as straight as Euclid’s line.

As I drove home after the meal, I wondered.

Why didn't my friend also offer a non-alcoholic whisky?

Or gin?

Or, for old time's sake, a rum?

Or just a simple non-alcoholic water?

Why only wine?

Wine, simply because it is a regal tipple.

Made with centuries of history. Of terroir. Of sun-soaked hillsides gently covered with wispy clouds and hints of phylloxera that gives that extra punch.

Wine arrives carrying baggage.

And not the sort you check in at the airport.

It carries history, ritual, romance, geography, ceremony and an entire vocabulary designed to make a glass of fermented grape juice feel like a journey.

So, when wine arrives in a new city, or a new drinking culture, it does not simply arrive as a liquid.

It arrives with an experience.

And consumers in new markets, with a different culture and approach to drink, may want that experience. The glass. The ritual. The language. The sense that they are participating in something slightly grander than dinner.

The whole experience, with an E.

Perhaps that is why wine is increasingly being asked to fit itself into the current context.

To become easier.

More approachable.

Less alcoholic.

More convenient.

More familiar.

But somewhere along the way, perhaps, there is a line.

My friend wanted the four-letter word ‘wine’ to express what he felt was the acme of the experience.

But it doesn't work that way.

Not if you are faithful to wine's calling.

Wine goes deeper than that.

It is not a palate cleanser.

It is the palate.

Do you change, for change’s sake?

Do you adopt the new before checking the old?

What, exactly, have we understood of what we are changing?

I drank the iced wine with the same trepidation I had felt when eating a “truffle dosa” in Paris.

This liquid, like the dosa, was performing for an audience that had yet to find its bearings in a new place.

Both had arrived carrying an identity of their own, only to discover that the room already had ideas about what belonged on the palate.

The dosa had one advantage.

It knew what it was.

I wasn't quite so sure about the wine.

I wasn't offended by the NAW. Or the WIP. Just slightly bewildered.

It felt like watching an actor play a familiar character. But different clothes. Style. And a different dialogue.

And the strange thing was, the audience wanted the character.

Maybe that is the strange thing about wine finding new cities.

It wants to belong.

It learns the language. It changes its clothes. It makes itself comfortable at the table.

And sometimes, in trying so hard to fit in, it gets lost.

Wine should be enjoyed. Drink responsibly.

Disclaimer: All links provided in this column are based on my own research and are not paid or sponsored.

© 2026 Shishir V. Baxi. All rights reserved. Reproduction or redistribution without permission is prohibited.