A matter of taste.

Questaway is about taste-profiling.

It's amazing to me when I give people this term, how few of them know what I'm talking about--yet it's one of our most basic learned instincts.  I ate green olives out of my grandpa's martinis pretty much my entire childhood.  I have no idea when I actually started liking the taste of olives, but I always loved the taste of my time with him.  Yet, eventually we accept that certain things are what they are and that we like them or we don't.  We forget that there's a history.  We forget that we make that history.

I started a personal wine journal in college (yep, I was that girl that set up a retractable full wine bar in my dorm room).  I subscribed to Food&Wine and Wine Spectator and fully expected to have to memorize every fact of every label in order to know a good bottle.  And then I realized that I have a horrible memory for facts.  More importantly, I realized that the reason I loved wine was because of the experiences I had with it.  Who cares what an expert says a good pairing of this year's star Cabernet is if it doesn't taste good to you?  Or if you don't share it with great friends?  So soon (and ever since), my journal started to look like this:

 

(you probably can't read my handwriting-- I promise it's brilliant)

Over the years and many drunken, pretentious, exclamatory pages, it occurs to me how valuable this process could be to people who don't think they know what they would like out there in the arts.  Reading a review of a performance is the equivalent of memorizing a wine label.  But figuring out what you really like about a performance gives you a reason to see another.  

What my journal taught me first was that I like certain grapes.  I quickly learned next that certain grapes work for certain occasions.  I may love a funky, soil-tasting Zinfandel, but my splurge bottles are usually gifts and 'funky' doesn't quite say "congrats on the new house".  Next, I realized how much events affect my taste.  I don't think people feel comfortable saying, "I loved that string quartet because of that amazing salmon at dinner."  But saying that I love a certain Riesling because of the conversation I had while drinking it, is one of the most profound ways to remember a bottle. 
Finally, I made a point of ordering local on trips I would take.  Subsequently, I learned more about the conditions there, the history, and (to no one's surprise) they are now my favorite wines. 

Not to be too heavy-handed here, but I find it fascinating to consider why people attend live performance.  It seems that for a lot of people, there is one reason to see a show--and unfortunately, if that show doesn't satiate exactly that impulse, you're going to feel let down.  I want to start a different conversation--a broader one.  And it occurs to me that my wine model isn't a terrible starting point.  I knew I liked wine at the beginning, but as I payed attention to what I really liked, my palate also grew.  This is how I see the conversation beginning:

1) Grapes.  What performances have you seen that you really liked?  Why?
2) Grapes in context.  What is around you?  What do your friends go see?
3) A timely glass.  What things going on in your life could affect how you see a performance? 
4) A life of drinking.  How can all of these things spill into your life continually?

Somehow I've convinced my friends and family that I'm the best person to pick a bottle off a wine list.  This would be stressful if it were a win/lose situation, but it's actually deeply satisfying because  I'm not just suggesting something "I heard is good".  I'm suggesting something that I have a very nuanced history with.  And in sharing that bottle, the history grows.