Wine writers are different from you and me; they use worse metaphors:
British wine expert Michael Broadbent once likened a wine's bouquet to the smell of schoolgirls' uniforms (no, he wasn't arrested). And the late Auberon (son of Evelyn) Waugh, in his wine column for Britain's Tatler, described one wine as smelling of "a dead chrysanthemum on the grave of a still-born West Indian baby" (no, he wasn't fired, but he and his editor, Tina Brown, were brought before the Press Council to answer charges of insensitivity).
From "Cherries, Berries, Asphalt, and Jam: Why Wine Writers Talk That Way," by Mike Steinberger, in Slate. A thoughtful consideration of the challenges of writing about wine, the article includes a link to Textism's spoof of the genre, e.g.:
Chateau Lerys 1996
Po-faced and a bit snide at first, it picks up slow speed before gallumphing to a springy sunlight-on-hot-chrome apex, then splitting into rusty metal ringlets that roll and roll and gradually wobble off like the discounted hula hoops in The Hudsucker Proxy. Dominant notes of aspirin and cake.