For my money no, but I love writing that lets me understand, even if it's only a little, this kind of passionate obsession:
It was stunning. The glass gave off the most decadent, gorgeous perfume imaginable. There was a kaleidoscopic quality to the nose, with each spin of the glass coaxing forth a new aroma. In no particular order, I smelled hazelnuts, lemons, apples, pears, marzipan, oatmeal, lanolin, petroleum, honey, flowers, toasted oak, and mint. All of these scents were perfectly delineated, yet they also somehow added up to a seamless whole. On the palate, the wine had a rich, oily texture and a Platonic balance of fruit and acidity, all backed by a steel rod of minerality. Think of your favorite painting, or favorite novel, or favorite piece of music--this was it in liquid form.
Being raised by persons of a European wine sensibility, I was often allowed a little of the wine with dinner in my youth.
This may have backfired when I took Catholic first communion. On the way back down the aisle, in my virginal white and presumably sacred thoughts, I whispered to my father in shocked undertones, "That wine was *terrible*!"