Cough Syrup, Anyone?

Critics, unlike novelists, are supposed to be useful. What they provide in the form of information and evaluation makes up for what they often lack in brilliance. But novelist Jay McInerney’s wine columns from House & Garden magazine, collected in A Hedonist in the Cellar (Vintage, 272 pp., $14), are a mix of the functional and the inspired. They’re not quite literary gems, not quite the masterful pronouncements of a connoisseur, but they do offer enough data and diversion to be worth a wine-lover’s time.

McInerney is ever conscious of the value of a killer lead, and the opening paragraphs of his columns are frequently their high point. “Not too long ago, in a faraway place now best known as Middle Earth, a wine was born” is his step-off into a discussion of New Zealand wines, and that’s typical of his pop culture frame of reference throughout. In fact, nearly every pop icon of the past 30 years, from the Powerpuff Girls to James Gandolfini, seems to merit a cameo. McInerney—a former Nashvillian who penned the classic ’80s novel Bright Lights, Big City—is himself something of a pop icon, and his columns chronicle his celebrity existence along with his wine consumption. That lowbrow approach will annoy some readers and delight others.

As he notes in the book’s introduction, McInerny writes about wine as “a passionate amateur.” His descriptions of specific wines are largely free of the endless lists of flavors and the oddly gruesome descriptions of “mouth feel” that are standard in wine writing. Instead, he tends to confine himself to simple comments like “cough-syrupy” or “nicely fruity,” though he does cut loose every now and then with a brilliant simile: “While Pinotage can sometimes smell like nail polish remover au poivre, at its best it improves with age and is actually capable of provoking contemplative enjoyment.”

McInerney’s casual, personal mode in these essays is reminiscent of blog writing. Just as plowing through the whole history of a blog quickly becomes tedious, so these essays seem narrow and repetitive when they’re read one after another. Consumed as they were meant to be—one at a time, perhaps with a glass of wine in hand—they’re an entertaining visit with a smart pleasure-seeker.