Le Bernardin head sommelier Aldo Sohm’s new book is titled “Wine Simple,” but enjoying wine in the 21st century is anything but. The delight we’ve taken from it since Roman times is — like everything else today — sullied and muddied by woke ideology.

“Natural wine” (made directly from grapes without “intervention,” sugar or stabilizers) is the toast of those who demonize “industrial wine” — i.e., what most of us drink — for being supposedly sullied by filtration and minute amounts of harmless sulfur dioxide to keep it from turning to mud. Natural-wine advocates like Alice Feiring praise it as a “return to authenticity.”

There’s something to that idea, but the movement is obnoxiously and largely politics-driven. Last year, in a piece for The Guardian, science journalist Stephen Buranyi wrote that natural-wine zealots believe “everything about the [$200 billion] modern wine industry … is ethically, ecologically and aesthetically wrong.”

“Wine Simple” bravely bucks the PC headwinds. Sohm has no political ax to grind. But in addition to the book’s many, more practically focused pleasures, he gently, firmly boxes the “natural” craze into a corner where it belongs — a mere six pages out of a total 272.

“Orange wine,” a type of natural wine that pops up especially in Brooklyn eateries, gets just a single paragraph. What a put-down for a fad that Newsweek said is “taking over,” as it declared orange wine “the new white.”

Sohm respects the makers of natural wines, enjoys some of them and even offers several at his restaurants — 28 selections at Le Bernardin (on a 900-bottle list) and 15 at Aldo Sohm Wine Bar next door (out of 200 bottles).

Meanwhile, the bulk of the book, co-written with Christine Muhlke, is a lucid, one-stop course in everything a reasonably savvy but less-than-expert wine lover should know about the stuff, like where it’s made and how to get the most out of it. Cute cartoons, uncomplicated charts and self-deprecating wit — “I realize what a cranky old man I sound like,” writes Sohm, all of 48 — make it pleasing to peruse.

His unpretentious style — “most nights after work, I have a beer and go to sleep” — yields a treasure trove of aha! moments. He unveils the secret to proper glass-swirling (do it twice and gently, sniffing it each time) and to home decanting (“don’t buy those wine-aerator thingies” — just “pour it from a few inches above the glass.”)

Greek wines, now served in many New York restaurants, can stump those unfamiliar with them. But Sohm’s inexpensive choices for increasingly popular white Assyrtiko make it easy. He cuts through the thicker fog of alphabet-soup appellations — France’s AOC and AOP, Italy’s DOC and DOCG — in a way everyone can follow.

The elusive concept of “terroir” — “how the soil, climate, and terrain of a vineyard are discernible on the tongue” — is explained through the tale of a skeptical British friend who planted some spicy Amalfi Coast arugula seeds in his London garden. When the leaves disappointingly tasted as “bland as supermarket stuff,” Sohm chided him, “You forgot to factor in the terroir.” He nails home the point: Vines from France’s fabled Petrus vineyard transplanted to England would not yield a “world-class wine.”

To Sohm, learning to love wine shouldn’t be intimidating. “For me, personally, wine represents joy,” he writes.

And his book, blessedly, represents a return to common sense. I’ll drink to that.