Jan 28, 2014 

Crisp is a word so audioized that it’s almost visualized. Offered by such descriptive pronunciation, k-ri-s-p, I don’t think its meaning can be any clearer than it is.

But don’t be confused with its pal crunch – crisp is light, soft, clean-cut, fresh. At the same time it is firm, brisk and stone-cold. Please note the initial image of the word is light, while the afterthought is heavier. This quiet juxtaposition has reminded of a question in one of Kundera’s famous works: which shall we choose, weight or lightness? 

We can relate lightness to freedom, airy and pleasant, and weight to responsibility, meaning, and then significance. In life, which shall we choose? Do we have the option to choose? 

Back to crispiness. When we describe a wine that is crispy, we can imagine it is not buttery or has any sort of element that screams “Look! Me!” Think of a mouthful of Riesling Kabinett, feinherb, adequately chilled. Lightly fragranced, not overwhelming. In mouth it is subtle, almost passive, carelessly refined. The aftertaste – make sure we don’t blur lightness with oversimplification – lingers, with a dash of charm, refuses to stay and makes you long for just a zip more. And let’s add a tinkle of mineral. Not stony! Just a glimpse of it, cold and crispy. Clean, balanced, sophisticatedly simple. Like the brisk of morning air in early spring. 

… A-ha, a subconscious call for spring it is. 

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