Issue link: https://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/882780
36 { THE SOMM JOURNAL } OCTOBER/NOVEMBER 2017 I READ THE QUOTE ABOVE, from a most distinguished Silverback in the wine/som- melier world, and experienced déjà vécu. No, it wasn't an allergic reaction to some grands vins sans sulfite or the newest, petu- lant Pét-Nat. It was the mirror of time—sans Dorian Gray. And it was strikingly accurate. So many of us who started out in the wine trade took this path. The progression was very much like a well-executed double play, perfored once upon a tie on a field of dreams. Loving wine, selling wine, mastering wine. Tinkering ever with chance. Sunset—a very romantic notion. Lovers post their imminent and very Instagrammable selfies hundreds of thousands of ties per day with the sun setting behind them. Lots of warm colors, with possibly a picture-perfect Irish setter along for dearness and irony. All very wonderful. But what does the sun feel, heading into that abyss? All those years of learning, of plying one's trade, only to be, at the end, relegated to the role of an ambassador, as if it were a political perk given by a thankful president for having gotten him or her elected. "Go to Rome, be my envoy," the king edicts. "Go to Omaha, spread the word about Paso Robles Cabernet or Barbera d'Alba," the omnipotent (and invis - ible) god of the wine trade prescribes. Yes, let's go to Siberia and do a Soave wine dinner in the September of one's years. That is how some of the young ones look at the Hollow Men of wine—no more bang, just a whimper. But when you ask those en and woen in the ray annel body bags (as the arc of their careers heads towards the abyss), they bellow the boomer anthem, "Hell no—we won't go!" Yes, the stronger ones resist. And insist that it isn't futile. But is it? Isn't it the most natural thing? The elephants do it; so do the shamans of Australia. They just walk out into the savan - nah and disappear. There is no shame for these venerated souls. So why do some old pros fiht the ineitable Well, for one, it took a hell of a long time to get here, whether clawing through the many academic programs available, or free-climbing our own personal Half Domes without ropes or pitons. Time, for those of us locked into the carbon cycle of life on this planet, is finite, een for 20-year-oldsbut ever so much more urgently for the senior spokesmen (and women) of the wine trade. Here's the deal, and I've said this before: hen you are younlets say 0youe been young all your life. You don't know anything else (unless you are Zachary Sussman, who is really an old soul ensnared in a young man's body—and good for him). No one likes to hear about anyone's his - tory; the young guns hate to hear about the "way things were." I feel likewise. When y 02-year-old friend tells e about his eories of 00 years ao for real, I hae a hard tie fiurin out how this relates to my life. But I listen, because he deserves the respect. Contrast that with bar talk I recently audited: "Respect is so . . . 1967." o, heres how it oes down. If youre 2, the world is your oyster. Everything is there for the taking. If youre , you are the en-pert. There is really nothing you need from anyone. You are a God unto Yourself—a "Supreme Somm." Carry on, and good luck. Tempus fugit. If youre , youre a "unset o." o back to your cave and leave the young ones alone. They aren't going to learn from your mistakes (BTW, did you?). They don't care what it was like in 1983. You're done. You're the walking dead. Goodbye, you have been sunsetted. #GTFOH. In the meantime, Ron Washam and I will be waiting here in the bardo, where the net 2 years for us will see lie ten minutes. Oh, it will for you as well. You just don't know it yet. "Start as a dish- washer. Become a salesman. Exit as an accountant. Sunset as ambas- sador. QED." — Joseph Spellman, MS The Sunset Somm RON WASHAM IS FOREVER TINKERING WITH CHANCE by Alfonso Cevola Ron Washam at the California State Fair Wine Competition. { experience }