Over the past few weeks, as I tasted a variety of wines and ripe summer fruits while composing sangrias (hey, it’s a tough gig, people), I kept flashing back to my early 20s. I’d stumbled into taking a wine class with a friend, and my wine knowledge at the time boiled down to “Some wines are red; other wines are white. There are also some pink wines.” On the grape-strewn road that oenophiles travel to become certified experts, I had not even reached the tier of Lesser Doofus.