You really don’t want to trade tales with Dan Dunn. His
stories will kick your stories’ asses, no problem.
I hung around with Dan for a few days in Napa and Sonoma
last year. After
sharing some wine and some stories I realized Dan is fucking
cool guy, and he can rattle off a hilarious story with ease.
You know Dos Equis’ Most Interesting Man in the
World? Well, Dan is buddies with the real-life dude. Seriously. I didn’t
believe the guy when he told me this, but Dan pulled out his phone and showed
me pictures. Oh yeah, then we talked boxing a bit (I’m a huge fan). What
picture does Dan show me next? No big deal, just him and Sugar Ray Leonard
chilling. And I didn’t even get to ask Dan about his stories from the Playboy
mansion.
Dan’s a booze and “nightlife” writer and former columnist for
Playboy. If the publication has a
distilled spirit in its title, Dan’s probably written for it. The titles of his
previously published books should give you some idea of his approach to
writing: Living Loaded: Tales of Sex, Salvation, and
the Pursuit of the Never-Ending Happy Hour and Nobody Likes a Quitter (and Other Reasons to
Avoid Rehab: The Loaded Life of an Outlaw Booze Writer.
A lot of wine writing can be either stuffy to the
point of suffocation or uninspired to the point of meaninglessness. Dan’s
writing avoids both of these pitfalls. He pretty much gets loaded, waits for
hilarious shit to happen, and then writes it down.
I just finished reading his new book American Wino: A Tale of Reds, Whites and
One Man’s Blues, which is quite a romp. If you’re going to pick up a
copy when it comes out in April, I have one suggestion: Don’t read this book
sober. It was likely written under the influence of one or more substances and
should be read under similar influences. “But I can’t read buzzed,” you say?
Yes you can. With this book, you most certainly can.
After a series of unfortunate events including the death of
his brother and his girlfriend bailing, Dan sets his sights on a trans-American
road trip. The goal? Well, to see new places, get drunk, meet some chicks on Tinder, and, along the way, check out some wineries from lesser-known states.
(They make vino in all 50, after all.) Dan is no Master of Wine candidate. Spirits and beer are his main focus. So he decides to become a “wine expert” by
meeting up with as many winemakers, and drinking as much wine, as he possibly
can.
This book is not a reference guide to American wine. It is
not an analysis of current winemaking trends in smaller wine-growing states. It’s
a personal travel narrative littered with bottles from Nebraska, New Mexico,
New Jersey, Georgia, and many places in between.
Dan keeps an open mind about wineries from all over the
country, which is refreshing. As a huge fan of Virginia wine (and wines from
places like Arizona, Maryland, Pennsylvania and others), I have no patience for
dismissals of entire wine regions from self-absorbed oenophiles.
But Dan doesn’t blow smoke up a state’s ass either. Climate,
soil, aspect, winemaking equipment and know-how, there are damn good reasons the best wines in the
world come from places that have these elements all lined up. But that’s not to
say darn good wine can’t come from unexpected places. The story of most famous
wine regions started with someone planting vines in a spot other people thought was
crummy.
Dan writes: “most of the learned folks I’ve come across are
of the opinion that almost all the great domestic stuff comes from one of three
places — California, Oregon, and Washington — with New York and Virginia
occasionally fielding a winner now and again. As for the rest of the wine, well,
they mostly think it’s shit.”
The critics come at these winemakers like rabid badgers,
intent on clawing out their eyes and chomping off their privates. And while
these plucky pups harbor no illusions of supplanting Napa, Tuscany, or the
Rhone any time soon, they’re every bit as serious, hardworking, and innovative
as the industry’s heavy hitters. And after decades of relentless abuse (or utter
disregard) they just don’t give a shit what you think about them anymore.”
Like me, Dan has a blue-collar appreciation for the
farmer-winemaker-underdog. Even if the wine doesn’t taste great, Dan
appreciates the gumption: “That takes grit, a large helping of blind faith, and
an unshakable belief in one’s ability to endure in the face of near impossible
odds.”
But the book, like wine from Florida, has some serious flaws.
I’m not some pearl-clutcher who gets offended easily.
(The last time I felt offended was when another metalhead criticized my
love of the Polish black/death metal band Behemoth.) But Dan’s writing is often
crass for crassness’ sake. Like an adolescent throwing around the c-word every time he gets a chance, Dan gets
mired in his own excess.
The guy actually writes a multi-page dialogue scene between him and his
penis. No kidding. And I was in junior high the last time I heard so many references
to ballsacks, nutsacks, dickwads, taints and buttholes. He frequently overplays
his hand by using too much hyperbole. He compares himself to Bukowski and Dylan
Thomas. Luckily for Dan, a good dose of self-deprecation saves him from coming off as a
total prick.
Although this could be called a “wine book,” the wineries Dan
visits get little more than a brief overview, and the actual wines get a
cursory mention. Much of the time, Dan’s fantasizing about hot waitresses or
reliving past jaunts. It’s fun to read, but disappointing if you’re expecting
to come away with a lot of knowledge about American wine culture.
The road trip structure of the book is jumbled up by
flashbacks to childhood in Philly and internal dialogue about his
ex-girlfriend. Jumping back in time can be quite jarring for a reader expecting
the story to move forward. For example, the chapter on Texas starts off with
four pages set in Texas before shifting to 12 pages of back-story in Philly. By
the time we jump back, I forgot we were in the Lone Star State. The flashbacks generally
take a similar structure. Dan is driving around somewhere and, all of the
sudden, we transition to the past via the “Oh, that reminds of this one time
when...” method. The flashbacks are frequently funny and often vulgar, but
there are way too many to keep the story moving forward.
Some of the most memorable and endearing back-story deals
with Dunn’s family. Like the story about his cousin who steps on a Christmas
ornament ball, ignores the wound, gets gangrene, and has to have his leg
amputated below the knee. I swear, it’s funny the way Dan tells it. His overdue
reunion with his mother in Philly is hilarious, touching and sad, and when Dunn
deals honestly with his emotions it comes across as authentic.
The book is also packed with side bars, little diversions
about particular grape varieties (not “varietals”) and wine terms. Sometimes he
goes off on a completely unrelated topic, like the time he channels his inner Key &
Peele and embarks on an epic rant about the awesomeness of Liam Neeson.
I obviously enjoyed the book enough to write 1,400 words about
it. Even though I only hung out with Dan for a few days, I would vouch for the
guy. If we were drinking and fight broke out, I’d have his back. And Dan doesn’t
need anything from this lowly wordslinger, anyway. The book jacket is plastered
with praise from people who actually make money from their artistic endeavors. (Ever heard of Maynard
James Keenan?)
Dan is pretty damned successful as far as alcoholic beverage
writers go. He ends his trip as a keynote speaker at the posh Pebble Beach Food
& Wine Festival. He’s slated to speak there again this year, celebrating
the launch of his book. So he clearly knows what the fuck he’s doing.
The flaws in this book? They’re like moderate doses of
volatile acidity and brettanomyces, off-putting to some, but one could argue they add
character. The book surely isn’t corked. As I said earlier, you should read it while
consuming large quantities of wine. If you take my advice, you’ll enjoy
yourself regardless.
Cheers!
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