I love going to wine growing regions across the world, even though wine tastings are really not my forte. For one, I refuse to spit out good wine. Consequently, I speedily lose my sense of judgement — and gain a mostly inappropriate sense of humour. Also, even after having waded through barrels upon barrels of wine over the years, the finer flavour notes — blackberry, floral, fruity, chocolate and more —continue to mystify and elude. So when I find myself back in Napa Valley, home to some of America’s finest vintages, I have little to no hope that I’ll learn