I was talking before about the mysteries of taste, and how wine can seem to offer aromas which ought not to be desirable, yet in some mysterious fashion are.
Brossette's Empreinte Beaujolais is a case in point. It smells decidedly of strawberries sizzled in butter—a delicious smell—but who would fry strawberries? (Admittedly, I have a recipe for risotto alla fragola, but as has been observed elsewhere, these Romans are crazy)
Perhaps a better analogy - it is all analogy, after all - is with the making of jam, where you add a little butter to the boiling pan, a smell which always throws me back into childhood and innocence.
Or perhaps the point of wine (if it even needs one) is to intoxicate us while offering unlikely flavours and aromas. And that's good enough for me.