The Objectivity of Taste: Thoughts on Skills
There are times when I taste a wine and specific flavors and memories come rushing at me, and it suprises the hell out of me. Because I can vividly remember trying so hard, straining to scan the dusty corridors of my brain to grasp a name for the aroma in the glass and coming up empty. One of the worst moments was when I was taking the introductory level sommelier class and test. After each break, we would file into the hotel ballroom to find four glasses lined up in front of us. We’d go around the room with one person commenting on color, one on smell, taste, an initial guess at what wine it might be, and a final conclusion. That exercise was enough to make me fidget in my seat, praying that some idea would miraculously come to me. At that time, I had read wine books galore but had no real life experience other than my own leisurely drinking. In fact, a certified sommelier I worked for had told me we would practice such tasting, but he never followed through, to my immense disappointment. I was tasting blind, literally and figuratively. Needless to say, I did not go for my certification.
With time and much practice—day after day tasting wine for work and night after night tasting wine for pleasure— I have arrived at the ability to perceive different smells and tastes of fruit, herbs, spice, flowers, oak influence, and floating down the river on a Montana summer day. Don’t get me wrong, there are still times when I struggle: if I’m tired or distracted or just in a bad mood. Most of the time, though, I do an okay job of picking out at least a few items. I think we all like some sort of corroboration at times, whether we admit it or not. For me, there are still moments of feeling validated when I find common notes between my description and that of a winery’s website write-up, those of another blogger, or what people say around me.
But what really brought about this line of thinking was corked wine. Because with greater awareness of the beautiful flavors comes the more intense perception of wine’s flaws. One incident was my tasting at Yorkville Cellars, where the Malbec immediately struck us as corked and undrinkable. Yet I had heard a couple just before us buying several bottles after tasting it. I couldn’t help but wonder, what were they thinking? Another recent incident happened at work when during our Open House, a long-time customer brought in a 2000 Rosenblum Monte Rosso Vineyard Zinfandel. When I smelled it, I was a little taken aback. One more sniff, and I was pretty sure it was corked, though faintly. A few others, however, were enjoying their glasses quite happily. When I came back to it again, the mustiness was even stronger, and someone else agreed with me that it was indeed tainted and needed to be thrown out.
Now here’s the thing. With different numbers floating round, it seems that maybe 3-7% of wines are infected with some degree of TCA (2,4,6-trichloroanisole). But until a few years ago, I had never identified one. That doesn’t mean I hadn’t drunk any; I just didn’t realize it at the time. Therefore, allow me a low-level math lesson. For that time in my life (~ 6 years), I figure I drank about 3 bottles a week (much higher rate of consumption now– I know), which would total 936. Going with a median 5% rate, that would mean I consumed around 47 corked bottles. But I never noticed.
Therefore, is ignorance bliss? I don’t think so. Some of those bottles, I probably couldn’t even detect the TCA level, it was so low. But others I likely pawned off as a bad wine and made a mental note never to buy it again. Which would be unfortunate to miss out on a really good wine due to one bad bottle.
I started off this post thinking that maybe a more experienced palate was like a double-edged sword. You can perceive the nuances in wine, such as the delineation between Granny Smith apples and a golden delicious, raspberry versus raspberry jam, cocoa versus chocolate, or white pepper instead of black. But you’re also more likely to notice TCA, brett, or a wine that’s just past its time. However, I’m beginning to think it’s not a bad thing to notice these differences, for good or for bad. While I used to drink wine with demarcations such as dislike, like, love, etc, I now have a richer vocabulary to draw from, always important for a wannabe writer. And even when those words include some that people might turn their nose up at—cat pee, petrol, and the elephant section of the zoo—it helps turn that which is subjective into something more concrete…though hardly objective.
If noticing the different levels of loveliness means also noticing the flaws, then I’ll take both. Sometimes the second doesn’t always negate the first. Sometimes it does, but then the knowledge you take from the experience becomes another memory to draw from, making those words in a book come to life. And that’s always a beautiful thing.
Your first level of consumption (3 bottles a week) is my current. How long did it take you at the old rate to develop to the point you could detect flavors in wine really well?
One thing I find interesting is tasting non-wine items and recognizing the flavor as having one I tasted in wine! It happened this morning when I was drinking my coffee. My cup of French roast had cooled down significantly and as I was finishing it, I suddenly recognized having the same flavor in a glass of wine recently. I’m not sure which wine it was, but reverse detection is weird!
Great article, Farley. I do think that as you get more able to discern something (anything!) in the wine, you start noticing more and associating what you taste with specific terms. That was always Ann Noble’s belief (the wine wheel developer), that people tasted all this stuff but (like Dave) couldn’t figure out the right association of word with taste, so they just waved it off. But knowing you can taste raspberry jam does make you more likely to associate musty cardboard smell with “corked” as opposed to “hmm. basement. must be me.”
Dave,
A long time, trust me. I can even remember being at a tasting or two when I first started working at Fogarty and being scared they would ask my opinion. It really has been the practice and forcing myself to think about it. Plus, smelling stuff while I’m cooking, shopping, etc. Someone once told my friend studying for her sommelier certification that she should get kicked out of the produce section for sniffing all the wares.
And I think it’s cool that your reverse detection is working like that because the next time you smell it in wine, you will definitely have a better chance of identification.
Thanks, Dr. Debs. The process has been a long one, as I told Dave. But oh-so-worth-it.
Very nice post Farley. I work in Sensory Research and your point is exemplified in my job when you try to compare trained panel results to regular consumer data.
The same is for me and you and anyone who gets a trained palate and gets enjoyment from the examination of the product whether it be wine, coffee or other consumer good.
I met a colleague at a conference who had a SUPER low threshold for TCA, like record breaking level – I forget the ppm that she could detect, but it was a curse, for her the percentage of corked wine she encountered was over 10%.
Again, excellent post.
John
Excellent post, Farley. I agree, the learning curve is really steep if you aren’t a natural from day one. I’ve been at it for a good 8 years in the whiskey world and still have so far to go before I feel confident in my tasting notes.
Nice – I enjoyed reading this.
I would offer a comparison in the world of music (that’s because I pretty much know only 2 things, wine and music… sorry…!):
I had a high school buddy whose dad had perfect pitch. He didn’t really play music, but he listened to a sh*tload of it (especially – and mostly – Classical).
Most CDs sounded like crap to this guy. He could hear minute imperfections all over the place. He ended up buying a special CD player for boku bucks, which was supposed to help minimize the imperfections.
In my view, it was a total curse.
Another comparison: about 1 year ago, I bought a handmade bass guitar from Michael Tobias (the guru master of bass making). He told me that the bass was ultra-responsive and would take some getting used to. He was right – my first gig with it, I heard imperfections in my playing all over the place.
In this case, it was a blessing – it made my playing better.
I think in the case of wine tasting it can go both ways as well – curse & blessing.
But then again, what the hell do I know, anyway?
WineDude, those are great analogies. Just like John’s colleague and her extreme sensitivity to TCA, I think the dad with his perfect pitch is a bit of a curse! That’s too much, so that it takes the enjoyment from the activity.
Luckily, I’m nowhere near that. I was just curious about how someone could seemingly like a wine so much, when I couldn’t even stick my nose in the glass.
Thanks, guys and Luke for the great comments.
Great topic – this subject could be worthy of its own blog, the implications of how one’s experience and perception change with improved skill. I love the comment on music here – it relates so well. I’ve found there are pitfalls to be wary of in all this too – tasting a flawed wine and not noticing the flaws is one thing, but acquiring a taste for them is something else… how is one to improve their ability to appreciate the intricacies of great wine without becoming too objective and losing a sense of its mystery? Sometimes I find it exciting to taste a wine, know that I love it, and can’t for the life of me explain why…
Ok y’all – that last comment was not Farley, it was me. I used her computer and didn’t realize she was still logged in here. Sorry!
ha, yeah had me a little confused there