Diary of a Sommelier: Re-mortgaging my soul

So sick, am I, of exaggerated financial downturn phrases that I shall be going for a liberal peppering here in the hope that everyone else tires to the point of revolution. Maybe then we can talk ourselves into a boom!

I'd first sold it to the service industry at the tender age of seventeen. What inflated price does one pay for a life in restaurants? 'Thou shall't never again savor the joys of dining out.' OK, perhaps a little dramatic but not entirely untrue, as anyone that makes a living in restaurants (well any that are still open) will tell you. Our dining experience is forever compromised to that of someone not in the industry. You become the eternal critic of service and food. Constantly analytical of both, rarely bowled over by either and never as relaxed as your fellow diners.

So not content with depriving myself of one of life's truly great indulgencies I thought it prudent to take away another. Just as many may do in these 'hard times' (has anyone had to move into a mud hut?), I've also had to re-mortgage. My soul, that is.

As I embark upon a life in wine and savor the joys of trying new and beautiful drops from across the globe it's becoming apparent that I've drawn up yet another dark contract. Looking back at the small print I find; 'Thou shall't never again tolerate average wine'.

Last Wednesday, in the midst of my intensive studying for my WSET Advanced Certificate I caught myself turning my nose up at a Piccini Chianti Reserva DOCG 2005 on special offer at Tesco (a 'credit crunch busting' £4.73) and winner of Bronze at the International Wine Challenge no less. Perhaps it was finishing the WSET class tasting a 1999 Pol Roger Champagne (absolutely sublime) that was always going to leave my wine date for the evening lacking.

This Tuscan from the Sangiovese grape was way too shy a date. Eeking out just the slightest of rasberries on the nose, this was not the spirited Mediterranean I was looking forward to getting deep down and dirty with my 'finest' mozzarella, mushroom, Parma ham pizza. Perhaps she'll get a bit more passionate in the mouth? No chance. Fiery and passionate indeed but just on the wrong side of crazy. The sour cherries typical of the Sangiovese grape were there but the acid that usually matches them so well was barely giving them a look in.

My pizza and I were thoroughly disappointed. Over-riding the disappointment, however, was a tone of sadness. I realized that I had now entered the world of wine snobbery. I'd become the one thing I'd hated the most. Years ago I was forever happy knocking back whatever was put in front of me regardless of grape, occasion or price. I'd would always look on with disdain at the guy at the bar swirling and sniffing his house Merlot or even worse, the one sending it back because it'd been open too long. 'What difference does it make?' I'd think. Now I'm that guy.

The sadness was, however, short-lived. Falling for wine in a big way, I've loved the history, the stories, the people and, of course, the plonk. To have this repossessed for the sake of my wine innocence is something I would never wish (even if it did save me money in these Dickinsian times). If anything I feel sorry for the young me, and his reluctance to find out more. He was missing out.

• Harpers Says...