This column needs to start with a rather embarrassing confession.
I didn’t start my love affair with wine by drinking the
good stuff; I discovered wine by drinking wine coolers.
Why is that a confession? I’m not exactly sure, but it somehow seems
like the sort of thing that wouldn’t enhance a wine connoisseur’s prestige, and
I certainly wouldn’t ask for a wine cooler—even a yummy one—in a high end
restaurant.
But the fact is that the only reason I appreciate a
nice wine today is because I started drinking wine coolers in college—when they
were all the rage. As time went by, I graduated from coolers to white wine and
then to red wine and pretty soon I began studying and enjoying all kinds of
fine wine. I never would have gotten
there if it hadn’t been for wine coolers.
It’s been a few decades since I was interested in wine
coolers,
but a couple weeks ago as I was walking past a display of coolers at
the grocery store, something made me stop and study the selection. I noticed
that the variety of flavors available has expanded way beyond the “green”
flavor of my young adulthood. I decided
it was time to give these things another try – especially since it was nearly
100 degrees outside, and I fondly recalled for a moment the refreshing chill
that accompanies coolers.
Fortunately, wine coolers aren’t expensive, so I mixed
and matched flavors into four-packs, and for about the price of a single bottle
of wine, I was set to taste eight different flavors. Interestingly, I discovered that there are
pretty much only two producers of these products these days, my old college
standby, Bartles & Jaymes and Seagram’s. The other interesting thing was
that notwithstanding the name of the product, none of the fine print on the
bottles mentioned wine as an ingredient.
Instead, they referred to “flavored beer” or “flavored malt cooler” or
“malt beverage.”
Huh? What’s a
wine cooler without wine? How did we get
here?
A bit of history:
Wine coolers began with some clever individuals, who may or may not have
been bartenders. They took the original
wine spritzer (which was wine mixed with club soda or other carbonated water)
and added some fruit juice. The fruit
(and sugar) masked the alcohol flavor, and suddenly, folks who had been saying
they didn’t like wine, decided they liked it just fine.
Bartles & Jaymes quickly started bottling these
wine “coolers”, and the product took off nationwide in the 1980s. Originally, the company only produced one
citrus/lime flavor, but it soon added flavors, and with success came
competition from other companies. A
booming new product line, the sort the American economy is known for incubating
through the miracle of capitalism and free enterprise, was born. Until, of course, Congress stepped in and
changed the playing field.
In 1991, Congress increased the excise tax on wine by
five times. Now considering that most
food companies don’t mark up their products very much over costs, this was a
shock. (Imagine if you were marketing
something successfully and suddenly Congress increased the price of your main
ingredient by a factor of five.)
Companies had to do something, so most of them swapped malt for wine in
their “coolers” to keep prices down. The difference in the excise tax is so
significant that if you pay attention next time you’re shopping, you notice
that you can buy a four-pack of coolers for about half the price of a four-pack
of small bottles of inexpensive, single-serve wine.
Despite this rather big change to the product, the
producers don’t emphasize it. They’ve
removed the word “wine” from the packaging (using it now would be false
advertising). But you won’t find the
word “malt” on the packaging unless you’re looking really closely at the fine
print. I am guessing that the
advertising pros believe that a “malt cooler” wouldn’t sell as well as a “wine
cooler.”
So much for history; on to a review of the wine coolers
themselves. My overall impression was that
coolers were a lot sweeter than I remembered and definitely a lot sweeter than
my current preferences. I suppose that
means I won’t be substituting coolers for my favorite dry red or white wines in
the future. The second lesson I learned
was that preferences among wine cooler flavors are not universal. I made my husband taste the array I brought
home. Wouldn’t you know it? He disliked all the ones I like and vice
versa. But since he doesn’t get to write
this column (and I do), I’ll share with you my take on each of the coolers. Just be aware that if you generally disagree
with my recommendations, you might want to simply try all the ones I didn’t
like. Those may be the ones you prefer!
Here’s a breakdown of my impressions, judged from best
to worst.
Bartles & Jaymes Sangria: Of all the “coolers”, this is the only one
that tasted vaguely of wine. It’s a
little sweeter than traditional sangria, but it has a decent acidity to balance
the sugar.
Seagram’s Bahama Mama (Orange & Pineapple): I definitely tasted fruit, though it wasn’t
orange or pineapple. Still, the sugar
wasn’t too overwhelming and the fruit flavors were refreshing.
Bartles & Jaymes Margarita: Tasted like a too sweet margarita. I even got a hint of salt. Though I didn’t mind it, it’s not what I want
when I’m seeking a wine cooler.
Bartles & Jaymes Exotic Berry: Like all of the coolers I tried, it was very
sweet. The berry flavors are not
particularly fresh.
Seagram’s Wild Berries:
Super sweet, but the berry flavors are not unpleasant.
Bartles & Jaymes Pomegranate Raspberry: This one is very, very sweet, and the fruit
flavors were very simple. It was
reminiscent of cough syrup.
Bartles & Jaymes Strawberry Daiquiri: One of the few coolers that wasn’t too
sweet. But that couldn’t make up for the
fact that the strawberry flavor was one-dimensional and quite fake.
Seagram’s Peach Fuzzy Navel: This one was rather awful, syrupy with Jolly
Rancher-type peach flavors. Sadly, I
think the makers are appealing to young folks who won’t taste the alcohol
through all the sugar.
Eight coolers (over two weeks) later, I feel like I’ve
done my part for science. Hot or not,
I’m going back to my cellar and abandoning sweet drinks for a while. But the
Great Cooler Experiment wasn’t a complete waste. It did remind me of how the cooler craze got
started so long ago – the wine spritzer.
So, after I finished sipping all those sweet drinks, I broke out a
bottle of inexpensive Riesling (Chateau Ste. Michelle, $8) and poured equal
parts of wine and club soda over ice.
Unlike the coolers that have changed dramatically since I first encountered
them, the spritzer was just as I remembered it.
I was instantly transported back to my college days. The spritzer was refreshing and fruity and
cool. Next time I’m in a nostalgic mood,
a bottle of club soda that I can mix with the leftover wine from my
refrigerator may be just the ticket.
But we don’t need to tell any of my wine snob friends about
this, do we? Let’s just keep my
fascination with wine coolers, then and now, between us. OK?
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