I like to remind people that I’m a wine slob, not a wine snob. A street-level wine thug, as the saying goes. I mean, hell, the site’s called Winepisser, for heaven’s sake. So don’t hold this next one against me, but I will take credit for creating an entirely new wine industry if it proves popular.

I really had bad luck with one particular bottle of Riesling, that being the 2018 Markus Molitor “Haus Klosterberg” Riesling. First, I asked one of my wine shops to order me a German Gewurztraminer. So while I’m a fan of the Mosel region rieslings for sure, I’m an absolute gushing lunatic for the g’wertz. So to find out I had been delivered a reez instead, well, it was a disappointment.

Not a giant one, mind you, because Mosel reezes are so reliably fantastic. This one, however, didn’t really work for me… and I’m more shocked than anyone to write that. It still earned 4 stars, but given the fact that Mosel region wines so reliably hit 4.5 or even 5 stars with yours truly, it was a little bit of a letdown. I also had to squint to give in a full 4, and it was likely more deserving of, say, 3.75. But the rating system (borrowed by me from Vivino) doesn’t work like that.

So I’m muddling through this 4-star German riesling, and hardly complaining about it.

So imagine my surprise when I used it to accidentally create an entirely new wine, one that would shock the wine world forever.

You see, I was in a hurry. I was called downstairs for lunch, and had a glass of the Molitor already half-drunk. So I went to refresh before I hurried down, and reached into my wine fridge. I picked up the bottle, uncorked it, and started pouring.

Like Rameses II when Moses shoved a stick into the Nile, I was shocked to see my white wine turn red. I had accidentally grabbed a bottle of the 2019 Blason d’Aussières Corbières, and splashed it into my Riesling.

Good lord, had I just committed a sin? Would the sommelier priest-kings of Bacchus visit me with plagues and famine? Would my subscription to Wine Spectator be canceled on the spot? Would Chateau Ste. Michelle finally have their vengeance?

Worse, had I just used God’s divine fruit — the grape — to re-enact the Saar Offensive, where France invaded Germany? I mean, sweet Jesus, I even had the regions right!

Breathe, I said. No priest-kings are knocking at the door. I thought I might, instead, change my thinking. Maybe I had just uncovered some new trend? Maybe mixing random bottles of wine could be a “thing”? Much of that would depend on how this instantaneous rosé actually tasted.

I wish I could tell you that I uncovered some new, untested phenomenon. I wish, like Newton getting hit on the head with an apple, I could say I stumbled on something wonderful. The resulting Gewurztraminer/Corbières blend I had created — let’s call it a “Gewurzcorbiner” — had a sparkly red color, probably a lot less like the bloodied Nile, and a nose very much like Cherry Coke. The flavor notes were… not good. The Cherry Coke seemed to carry through, likely due to the slight fizz of the Molitor, but then there was an aftertaste of meatiness from the red that didn’t mesh well with the citrusy notes of the white.

So, no, I can’t recommend people go out and try a 2018 ½ Gewurzcorbiner.

I’m intrigued, though. What if someone did actually make a case for in-glass blending of entirely different wines? I can’t help but think thar’s gold in them thar hills. While my Gewurzcorbiner blend was a disaster, I can imagine other in-glass blends being very good. Or, at least, challenging to try. A pinot noir with 25% pinot grigio? A super Tuscan going 50-50 with a Chablis? What if we went nuts and blended a 5-puttonyo Tokaji with a shot of Niagara icewine?

I dunno, I think I’m onto something and just haven’t fleshed it out yet.