Step aside, NYC. There's a new diversity sheriff in town, and it smells a lot better than you.
You can keep your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. I'll take your Zinfandel blends of Cabernets Franc and Sauvignon, Petit Sirah and Merlot longing to provide me with good structure and a luxurious finish.
The same goes for the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Gross. I'd rather have a richly flavorful wine with lush aromas of blackberries and cherries.
And that's fine. You can go on acting all high and mighty like you're Captain Friggin' America or something for welcoming the homeless, tempest-lost with open arms. I'll just be over here with my new buds, vanilla and black pepper, enjoying these firm tannins and pleasant roundness without the stench of urine-soaked sidewalks assaulting my nostrils.