Wine in a Can is … Weird

I tried canned wine. I don’t foresee doing it again. First, the wine itself was pretty bad. The chardonnay had an essence as if someone slipped in chunks of semillon and Bubblicious. I poured a bit of it into a wine glass and—alas!—it still tasted like can. The red blend? It was chewy, overly fruity, and flat. So, at first I was disappointed solely because of the contents.   But what I missed even more was the wine experience, the little actions that jump-start your senses and get your puppy dog tail wagging. Here are a few.

SIGHT I love wine bottles. The varying shapes and glass colors and the ornate or artsy labels lure me in, long before I taste the contents. Canned wine’s size is cute and petite. Too cute—apple juice-size cute, making me expect I’ll be gipped on my pour, though it was spot-on once in the glass.

SOUND I love the sound of a wine bottle on the counter, the sound of the foil cutter and the wine opener getting us one step closer to the juice. I did not like the sound of opening canned wine. It sounds like a can, whose contents are more of the Coors Light fashion.

SMELL I love to open a bottle of wine and immediately smell inside for the eau de terroir. The act of smelling wine from a can was odd. Though there is wine inside, it smells like can.

TOUCH Wine in a bottle has a presence, a heft to it. The feel of a teeny, light can of wine stripped away the character for me. It was so cute that my kids asked for some, thinking they were apple juice and that they’d fit into their school lunches.

At a wine tasting, when you dig a wine, you ask to “revisit,” which is a polite way of asking for more. I won’t be revisiting canned wine.

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