The Barossa Valley Wine Community
You don't have to look any further than popular notions of French wine-growing families and regions to get a feel for how important community is to the cultivation, processing, and consumption of one of man's oldest drinks. Wine is an inherently social, community-oriented product, and this is nowhere more obvious than the Barossa Valley, in South Australia. Just the act of making wine is a good cause for the local communities, as a large majority of the population there is chiefly employed by the wine industry, at least seasonally. Although the greatest wine aficionados might say they drink wine for the visceral experience, the community aspect of the drink seems to dominate how most people interact with it.
A scene in the relatively recent movie Bottle Shock, which tells the story of an early California wine competing with the French, makes particularly clear the subtle ways that wine growing and community intertwine. The main character's entire production of wine for the year has turned brown, seemingly completely ruined. It turns out the color change was only temporary and the reinvigorated grower runs through the small town to which his vineyard is connected, sharing tastes with everyone to celebrate his no-longer-ruined hopes. And even the homely office assistant not only accepts the offer, but seems comfortable passing judgment on the surprisingly high quality of the wine. In other words, this entire town, which is roughly affiliated with California's slowly resurging wine industry but which also continues along its own path, seems to be populated by adults that know good chardonnay.
Obviously this is a fictitious moment that helps bring the viewers along with the emotional state of the main character to improve storytelling. But it suggest that even back in the 1970s, when people basically only drank expensive French wine or nothing, the entire community was interested in the local vintner's bottle an experienced in drinking wine. The same can probably be argued of Barossa Valley residents. Although some are engaged in other trades such as food production and the activities necessary to sustain the wine-growing population, it's clear to vacationers on wine tours that this is wine country for one reason above all else; they are wine people. The whole community is invested in the production of this drink.
Those of us who love to drink wine but profess no special expertise or affiliation with the industry of wine don't have that different of an experience. Unless we're struggling with other demons, we don't tend to drink and enjoy wine alone. A bottle of wine is the perfect size to share with another person or two, and wine-tasting as an aesthetic hobby begs those who enjoy it to discuss their experiences. It doesn't matter how good you are at recognizing the specific flavor of that Cab's oaky undertone nearly as much as it does if you are able to communicate that experience and share it with the other person also smelling a glass.
Of course, a delicious glass of wine is still objectively good, regardless of who knows you're enjoying it. But there's a reason people love that wine can adapt to so many different settings and scenarios to improve the overall mood and ambiance. It is a communal beverage. From the planting and caring for the grape vines to pouring it from bottle to glass, wine is about all the communities it touches.
A scene in the relatively recent movie Bottle Shock, which tells the story of an early California wine competing with the French, makes particularly clear the subtle ways that wine growing and community intertwine. The main character's entire production of wine for the year has turned brown, seemingly completely ruined. It turns out the color change was only temporary and the reinvigorated grower runs through the small town to which his vineyard is connected, sharing tastes with everyone to celebrate his no-longer-ruined hopes. And even the homely office assistant not only accepts the offer, but seems comfortable passing judgment on the surprisingly high quality of the wine. In other words, this entire town, which is roughly affiliated with California's slowly resurging wine industry but which also continues along its own path, seems to be populated by adults that know good chardonnay.
Obviously this is a fictitious moment that helps bring the viewers along with the emotional state of the main character to improve storytelling. But it suggest that even back in the 1970s, when people basically only drank expensive French wine or nothing, the entire community was interested in the local vintner's bottle an experienced in drinking wine. The same can probably be argued of Barossa Valley residents. Although some are engaged in other trades such as food production and the activities necessary to sustain the wine-growing population, it's clear to vacationers on wine tours that this is wine country for one reason above all else; they are wine people. The whole community is invested in the production of this drink.
Those of us who love to drink wine but profess no special expertise or affiliation with the industry of wine don't have that different of an experience. Unless we're struggling with other demons, we don't tend to drink and enjoy wine alone. A bottle of wine is the perfect size to share with another person or two, and wine-tasting as an aesthetic hobby begs those who enjoy it to discuss their experiences. It doesn't matter how good you are at recognizing the specific flavor of that Cab's oaky undertone nearly as much as it does if you are able to communicate that experience and share it with the other person also smelling a glass.
Of course, a delicious glass of wine is still objectively good, regardless of who knows you're enjoying it. But there's a reason people love that wine can adapt to so many different settings and scenarios to improve the overall mood and ambiance. It is a communal beverage. From the planting and caring for the grape vines to pouring it from bottle to glass, wine is about all the communities it touches.
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