At the Times Square Marriot Marquis on a spring Monday night, the Schubert Room is full. There are more than a hundred people here—and this is a slow night due to spring holidays. Well-coiffed men and women, mostly in their 30s-40s, have come singly and in pairs. A few are dressed casually, but most sport dark, professional clothes that indicate well-paying jobs.

And they’d need to have some extra scratch, because they’re students at the Windows on the World Wine School, where the eight week course costs $995—and credit cards are not accepted.

The world of wine is a difficult one to penetrate. All those foreign labels, the confusion about vintages, never mind understanding all the grape varieties. And yet for many here, wine has a cachet that’s rare in today’s world, and tackling the subject is worth the effort. To order a Corton-Charlemagne and be able to discuss its grape (Chardonnay) and its region of origin (Burgundy) is an impressive feat. But not everyone comes to this class to gain an advantage in a life of one-upmanship. There is also a core of die-hard wine lovers who come to worship at the altar of the world’s premier wine educator.

Kevin Zraly is the man who runs the show. He recognizes me when I enter – I’m an alumna of the school visiting for the night-- and comes over to shake my hand. I notice that he has the nervous energy of a performer before he takes the stage—which, of course, is exactly what he is.

An army of volunteers dressed in black seats everyone efficiently at long tables. These helpers include wine directors from top Manhattan restaurants who volunteer because they get to take the class for free, and, as Ally, a wine director at a downtown restaurant, told me later, because “They are honored to be part of the experience of Windows on the World Wine School.”

Kevin warms up the crowd with some sports talk. It’s the final night of the NCAA tournament and he acknowledges some Tar Heels supporters, “Here are the North Carolina fans,” he waves to three women in the front row, who wave back. “Even if you have no idea what I’m talking about, pretend that you do.” We laugh, understanding that some of the more erudite in the audience will be ignorant about the interests of the common man. That is one of the chief delights about Kevin—he has mastered one of the most sophisticated subjects in the world, but he is never snobbish. He tells us he worked with the new Yankee Stadium on their wine list and later announces a new video series with MSN—he’s a man with a finger in many projects, a dynamic, energetic figure. And he’s ours for the evening.

Kevin Zraly started this school at the Windows on the World restaurant, where he was the wine director. After the tragedy of September 11th, he continued the school in midtown. The classes still bare the name, a lasting homage to the lost. The companion text to the class is The Windows on the World Complete Wine Course, and it’s North America’s best-selling wine book. Anyone who can’t afford the class can plunk down $25 and get the same information—but without the panache of Kevin and without the fine wines he pours.

We are seated in front of twelve empty wine glasses. They sit on a paper placemat; each precisely placed on top of a circle with a number in it. As the class progresses, we will refer to the wines by the glass number, so keeping everything in order is one of the responsibilities as a student here.

Tonight we’re learning about Spanish and Italian wines. Kevin doesn’t expose us to the most obscure regions. This is a beginner’s class, and we learn about the top wine regions in each country. In Spain, we drink Riojas. In Italy, we drink wine from Tuscany, Piedmont, and Veneto.

Kevin is a stickler for tasting wine according to his rules. We are not even allowed to smell the wine before he tells us to. Anyone who picks up the glass and has a swig before it’s time risks Kevin shouting and waving a finger, “Ah ah ah…did I say you could drink?” as the rest of the class laughs at the sap who got caught. His point isn’t to control us; it’s to get us to analyze wine systematically. We first look, holding our glasses at 45 degree angles to observe the color—if our red wine is tinged purple, we know it’s young, it it’s tinged brown, we know it’s old. Then, we swirl and smell. “Which of the first three wines do you think you’ll like best? Talk to your neighbor.” Obediently, we converse. I turn to the silver-haired gentleman beside me and tell him I think I’ll prefer the Barbaresco. He favors the Barolo. I’ve never seen a room full of native New Yorkers do exactly what someone says before. But, that’s another of Kevin’s gifts. We’re putty in his hands.

We taste a 1997 Rioja. “You can’t buy this in stores. This one is from my cellar,” he tells us, and then adds: ”What do you say?” One hundred of us chime together in a sing-song voice: “Thank you.” It’s a joke that gets replayed each week, but we are truly grateful to get the chance to taste rare wines that are unavailable to all but collectors.

Kevin loves to ham it up when it comes to talking Italian wine. “What type of grape is in Chianti?” he exhorts. He has trained us to put our hands in the air and shake them, in a silly Italian pantomime, as we shout, “Sangiovese!” And then we giggle: we feel ridiculous, but we are having fun.

And that is, perhaps, the greatest accomplishment of this very accomplished man. Kevin Zraly doesn’t just instruct, he teaches and his lessons sink in. I don’t think anyone in that class will ever forget that Chianti is made from the Sangiovese grape. He’s forcing a lot of information into our brains--at the same time that we’re getting a slight buzz--and we’re having a lot of fun learning it. It’s the secret to his class’s success and it’s what keeps hundreds of New Yorkers coming every spring and fall. Kevin plans to retire from teaching in a couple years, so wine lovers should start saving now for his fall class before his one-man wine show closes for good.