“Big Red” Guys
Not all guys are “big red” guys. In fact, most guys aren’t “big red” guys. There are, however, some telltale signs of “big red” guys. If they unironically call themselves “lads”, they’re “big red” guys. If their pale blue shirts are just a bit too tight, “big red” guys. If they refer to their wife as “the missus”, “big red” guys. “Big red” guys move in packs. They never share food, unless it’s a big steak. If there’s a big steak on the menu, “big red” guys must order it—that’s a “big red” rule. “Big red” guys start their meals by drinking beer, then they move on to—you guessed it—a big red. They are not to be confused with expensive red wine guys. “Big red” guys want cheap red because—and they love to tell you this—they’re going to be drinking a lot of it. The funny thing is, they never do.
The Year-Round Rosé Girls
The Year-Round Rosé girls are the female counterparts to the “big red” guys. The most important personality trait of the year-round Rosé girl is her loyalty. She is loyal to the group (of other year-round rosé girls) and, most importantly, she is loyal to her rosé. She orders it in many different ways “do you have a really pale rosé?”, “a nice dry rosé?”, “a provencal rosé?”, “I know it’s January… but do you, by chance, have any rosé?”. The year-round rosé girl starts out shy about her anachronistic choices, until the rosé kicks in. Then she gets confident. Then she gets loud. Then she gets very, very loud. A table of six year-round rosé girls is definitely audible from the bathroom, and probably audible from the restaurant next door. In fact, the collective noun for a group of Year-Round Rosé girls is a screech. The year-round rosé girls will, without fail, drink you dry—a restaurant should always be prepared (that means at least two cases of Provençal rosé and a good supply of industrial earplugs) no matter the season.
“I don’t know much about wine, but….”
Seven words to strike fear into the hearts of sommeliers around the world, “I don’t know much about wine, but…” means I am not going to give you comprehensive directions, but I am going to be very, very picky. They’ll keep you at the table for hours, using vague, meaningless and often contradictory wine terminology, so that, when you come back with something they don’t like, they can say “no, no, I told you, we like crisp, sweet wine, that’s also floral and dry”. “I don’t know much about wine, but…” people are more likely than anyone else to send their wine back without reason. They don’t care how busy the Christmas rush is, or how much of your time they are wasting (reliably, these sorts of people have never worked in restaurants). The strangest thing about the “I don’t know much.” crowd is that, more often than not, the wine that they’re after is the cheapest wine on the list.
The Zero Zero brigade
The Zero Zero brigade have taken a passion for natural wine and pushed it far beyond its rational limit. They are zealous and dogmatic. Infuriatingly, to mark themselves out from other “wine people”, they talk in code. “Zero Zero”, for instance, means zero added yeast, zero added sulphur (NB: many “natural” wine makers add a small amount of sulphur to their wines at bottling, the people who add none are a niche of a niche). “Sulphur” is the enemy. “Boring” wine means anything that isn’t “zero zero”. 1996 Chateau Mouton Rothschild? Boring. Krug, in magnum, from 2002? Boring. “Poison” is any wine that contains “chemicals”. This is where things start to get confusing, as alcohol itself is a “chemical”. It’s also, technically, a “poison”. That’s the thing about the Zero Zero brigade—when it boils down to it, they’re still drinking wine. It’s not shelf-stable wine, sure. It’s likely to have notes of barnyard or rotting goat, but that’s fine, too. If that’s what they want, it’s what they’ll get.
The Festive Family Lunch
An extraordinary thing happens around Christmas time: families who never usually dine together, decide to descend on the country’s restaurants for “a festive get together”. Tables like these are a crucible for the worst kinds of wine drinkers. In-laws who would never spend more than £12 on a bottle of wine. Overtired dads who misguidedly want to impress those in-laws (and, actually, just want a beer). Teenagers, who will seize on the pandemonium at the table as an opportunity to get blackout drunk for the first time. Grandparents who keep unwittingly topping up the teenagers’ wine glass. An exhausted eldest daughter, trying desperately to get everyone to behave themselves, and stop her dad from saying something (more) offensive to the waiter. There’s no way of knowing what a table like this want to drink, but it doesn’t matter. Someone will order something, nobody will like it, but everyone will drink it anyway. They’ll probably order another of the same, and another one after that. At a festive family lunch, the only thing worse than drinking something you don’t like, is not drinking anything at all.
