There was a time when I despised flavored vodkas, in theory and in practice. In practice, most of the flavors of the ones I tried, whether it was peach, lemon or vanilla, came across as bubblegummy. Fake and awful. I didn’t see the point, since bartenders can work wonders with syrups and nectars. And in theory I hated them because…why? Why clutter the retail shelves with them and shove perfectly good bottlings to oblivion? Then came the rumors of flavored Tequilas—Tequila being a personal favorite—and I really did a Munch scream: why?!

Then along came Gran Centenario Rosangel Hibiscus Tequila, whose flavoring I found to be pure, genuine, dovetailing perfectly with Tequila’s peppery warmth. This spirit (I won’t say how much of it) helped me see the light: to resist flavored anything, to resist variety, is to stand in the way of evolution. The natural order of things. Human destiny. Paradise is infinite choice. In the End Times, if you want Pesto Cheerios, you shall have them, and alleluia.

Don’t believe me? Read your history. Ice cream, that supreme vehicle for flavor variety, began modestly. Its origins date back to the ices made by the Chinese in the 10 century B.C.. Alexander the Great and Nero were among those who ordered ice brought down from mountaintops for treats that were flavored with various fruit toppings—appropriate, modest, sane. But by the time ice began to evolve into ice cream in the 17th and 18th century, they were flavored with everything one desired or feared, including asparagus and foie gras.

For wine, it is not a matter of flavor of course, but of grape variety. Still, in terms of variety, wine was slower to evolve. In the ancient world, wine was red. White wine was known to the Greeks and Romans, but white wine was considered weak, while red was strong, flavorful, full of energy and historically valid: red was the first wine, it was said, that Bacchus taught certain tribes to make.

The emergence of different, distinct, identifiable, consistent wine styles may date back to the 17th century. It was then that the glass bottle became inexpensive and commonplace enough to contain wine and to improve its preservation over barrels. It was at this time that the owner of Château Haut-Brion devised the reserve wine.

So what stood in the way of wine’s evolution from red and white into the mind-boggling array of varieties we know today? I imagine a diary entry such as this, scratched out on parchment with a quill pen, from medieval times:

“Mine youtheful assistant Thelonius came to me prior to vespers, flushed with excitement. He made it known that he had troubled himself to grow various grape types in distinct plots, then picked and vinified them separately. He bid me come outside and showed me five barrels and spake thus: “Theodoric, taste each one! They are so different! Each a delight.” “Delight, schmelight,” I responded (oh, how I doth amuse myself!). I explained yet again the theory of the humours and what the bodies of men take into themselves must be balanced precisely, or disease will result. And I offered proof: We would pick two accused witches. We would bind one in a blend of vines, and the other in one species of vine. We would throw both in the river, and see which one floats. Thelonius declined, saying further that a woman’s life is too high a price to make his point. Ah, youth. Like love, it makes the world remain flat.”

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