Certifications and Existential Spirals
Are they all a corrupt racket?
It’s been a while since I’ve written, which makes me scared that some Substack algorithm is going to punish and bury me, but WHATEVER, it can’t be helped, some of us writers also have [several!] full-time jobs. I run two wine shops, I own a restaurant, I have a seven-year-old! If you’re following along and expecting a very regular, twice-weekly mailbox drop, know that this may be more sporadic than that. I write this in between other endeavors, for the passion and conviction that our beloved wine industry must adapt to wild changing times, must come together with pragmatic solutions to preserve the beverage we love so much, must develop resiliency… because, I need wine to continue to exist. I need it so I can drink it, and for it to bring me connection and joy when I contemplate all the people and circumstances that brought it singularly into being. Maybe you’re here because you feel the same. And if you do, please consider subscribing or pledging your support!
The benefit of one of the other jobs—running two wine shops—is that I get to hear, real time, the questions guests have and the topics my industry kindred are discussing. Part of the reason I’ve also taken so long to write is that the topic that keeps coming up, that I’ve known for several weeks now I need to address, is certifications. But each time I contemplated writing, I started spiraling with existential anxiety because… there is no “correct” or even straightforward answer to the question of certification, it’s all too complex, and attempts to solve the problem are FUTILE.
cer·ti·fi·ca·tion
/ˌsərdifiˈkāSH(ə)n/
noun
the action or process of providing someone or something with an official document attesting to a status or level of achievement.
an official document attesting to a status or level of achievement.
Specifically, to name a few wine-relevant certifications, in absolutely no particular order, we can consider:
The point being, you see: I could go on… and on… and on and on and on. There are so many! (Why are there so many?)
In lieu, I want to pose to you, dear resilient drinkers and makers, a few questions/challenges/concerns around certifications, and just see where we land here. I am neither for nor against certifications (like a true former Debate Team speaker, I can argue either side formidably), and (spoiler alert) I have no solutions. But I want to draw out the nuance of the conversation and crucially educate buyers and drinkers about said nuance, so that we can stop asking the wrong questions and start making more tangible, real progress.
Some of what I’ve picked up from eavesdropping on guests at my shops is that they don’t know what questions to ask, and they don’t know what any certifications mean. The questions are simple yet require deeply complex answers. Besides the Godforsaken “Is this wine natural?” inquiry, one of the most frequent questions from guests is, “Well, is this wine organic? How do I know?”
Even as a sommelier and salesperson, I am often not sure how to answer, and I do not know what most of the certifications mean. Case in point: These past few weeks, I’ve spent more time than usual pouring over back labels, and I discovered several logos on the backs of bottles that I didn’t recognize. So I asked the sales reps and importers of those wines: “Hey! What’s this?” And THEY did not know what the symbols meant. Responses were typically along the lines of, “Ooh, good question. I think it’s something from the local organic certification.” Or, “Ohh, that? It has to do with recycling. Either it’s made from recycled materials or… you should… recycle it? I think?” Or, “I’ve never even noticed that logo. Let me see if the producer knows.”
I’d like to let that sink in a bit: The importers, distributors, and salespeople of wines to guests do not actually know what the symbols are for or what the certifications mean. (I am hereby ashamed of myself.)
I beg of you, then: If the professionals are uncertain… How could a “mere” buyer and drinker know what they mean?!?!?!?
The bottle labels themselves only have room for the symbol—no explanation of its standards—and some of the symbols don’t even have a name incorporated in the logo. Try Googling “green label white stars in leaf shape” or “B with circle around it and line under it logo” or “black and white arrows in circle on wine label” (one Reddit post very hilariously quips that the meaning of one specific arrowed symbol indicates “if you drink this wine, every molecule in your body explodes at the speed of light”—it got 375 likes).
If you visit the websites of the producers whose labels are adorned with symbols, you will struggle to find a page that clearly lists the certifications they hold, never mind information about how they went about that certification or why it’s important to them (and apparently should be to you, too). What’s up with that?
What’s coming up for me in this moment is the intentional opacity of practices in wine. Because wine has typically been sold as this alchemical product, and part of its allure is supposed to be the mysticism behind its fabulous deliciousness, every bit of wine marketing is playing into this Wizard of Oz-ery. Super premium wines in particular are the worst, here. I suppose I am arguing that this is disappointing, because it does a disservice to buyers and drinkers who want to be sure they are supporting products that align with their values and will preserve our planet and people. I’m trailing off here, but there’s something there. But let’s get back to the guts of it…
I heard from another importer that “all of the certifications are a corrupt racket.” When I floated this to a few other producers and importers (NOT naming names here, because that’ll explode into a giant rat’s nest of cancel culture), the general sentiment was to agree. “I feel like certification is a necessary evil,” was one response. “I mean, they’re all for-profit businesses at the end of the day.” Another told me, “They all want to sell their ‘certifying services,’ and they ‘lobby’ the government to support them.” Lobby was placed in air quotes with a single eyebrow cocked suspiciously because the implication was actually bribe.
[Enter existential spiral stage left.]
I considered the main argument I hear for why producers don’t get certified, even though they’re practicing all of the organic or biodynamic or sustainable or equitable things we’re here because we care about. The main argument is that the cost and logistics are too great to get the actual certification. I imagined the bureaucracy—not to mention time-suck!—of filing paperwork, of providing documentation, of applications getting sent back because something wasn’t filled out properly, of application fees being weighed against vendor bills, of having to reprint labels and redo websites and schedule social media campaigns to tell everyone what the damn symbol means when… “Can’t we just be honest, have integrity, do what we’re supposed to do and not jump through all the hoops of certification and showmanship?”
I don’t know… I don’t think so… can we?
[Existential dread moves to center stage; spotlight follows with dramatic intensity.]
“Certifications are PROOF!” comes the retort. Unfortunately, the world is full of evil people who, without certification, will say they’re “practicing organic” but are actually spraying Roundup. And OH SH!T don’t get me started here because—guess what, existential dread-head?—those CERTIFIED Sustainable organizations all allow the spraying of Roundup ANYWAY!!!! And you know who “lobbied” them for that…
What. Is. This. World?
[Existential dread climbs onto a pedestal while Stevie glances out the back door to see if a masked hitman is lurking, or if an internal memo is circulating among a large corporation blacklisting Bay Grape for bringing this up…]
The last challenge I’ll throw at this whole fiasco is that we’re in a moment where we must be primed to pivot and bounce back from any wild scenario. Remember March 2020, y’all?! Remember all the wildfires and tsunamis and freak hailstorms? We can’t predict what’s coming tomorrow, so all we can do is do our best for today. Resiliency requires our ability to adapt and evolve—sometimes very quickly, sometimes using previously disregarded resources or approaches, sometimes within and sometimes outside of certification standards—and to consider our greater purpose when choosing how to move forward. If our greater purpose is to preserve our planet and people so they can keep making delicious wine we can drink, do the certifications help, or are they a racket?
I said at the beginning that I have no solution, but I wonder if you do. Send help. I’ll be spiraling… my corkscrew into a fresh bottle, at the very least.
Just downloaded NY Sustianable Winegrowing deets and their VineBalance self-cert worksheet. Seems like after getting accreditation, you have possibly three years of self-reporting before another in-person inspection. All kinds of crazy stuff (like Roundup) don’t seem to be a no-go, either. Seems like all kinds of spraying is fine, as long as you use fancy nozzles.
Alls I can say is yikes! I understand we have disease pressure like crazy here, plus a general lack of people and resources for zero/zero practices to become commonplace, but this new certification and its requirements seem rather toothless.