After having posted an advertisement on my blog I feel dirty. And to punish myself, I shall now indulge in an attempt at critical thought at 3.30am in the morning…
I recently hit publish on a post entitled “The Poetics of Tasting Notes”. I hadn’t really thought it through, nor had I really proof read it. And I sure as hell am not going to proof read it right now. Anyway, it sucked. So I best start fixing that train (wreck) of thought up.
I have been dwelling on a problem that seems to face me at all turns whilst writing about wine. I lack any real experience in the world of gastronomy ( well, I like to call it “gastrology“), and most of the descriptors used to textualise wine seem to come from food. This would appear to make me ill-equipped to write tasting notes. Certainly it makes conversing about wine, ie “sharing” my thoughts about wine difficult.
But, as wonderful as it is to be able to share one’s thoughts on a subject, sometimes one thinks for the very sake of thinking. Or one does if one is me. And out of that more “singular” approach, a new vocabulary on a subject can form amongst a new set of thinkers. All of this leads back to a shared experience once again. Stupid bloody communal animals that we are…
The aspects of a tasting note that are obviously not food related seem to lie within the structural realm (the realm of flow) & the aesthetic realm (the realm of personality). How is a wine experienced from its entry into the mouth through to its hopefully satisfying finish? And why do the flavour sensations only partially account for the satisfaction and pleasure I gain from “tasting” wine?
I think these aspects may be crucially important to understanding why some of us are so obsessed with wine, to the point even of considering food and wine matching to be the other way around. Wine first, then what food should go with it.
But let’s step back again. The textualisation of flavours is important. Don’t get me wrong….
A vivid memory of a wine that started my obsession. A bottle of Viognier. A simple wine it was, one that I dare say I would now find deeply unsatisfying. How can a grape taste like apricot? What is the “flavour” of grapes? Yep, that was one of the “ontological” starting points for my obsession. It lay in the realm of flavour not flow.
Oh, and all that work with thiols. Wine writers once denounced for being wankers on account of describing a myriad of different flavours (some of which weren’t even food) can now hold there heads high. Chemical compounds that prove that this was no swindle, no elitist manoeuvre to keep the control of Wine appreciation to the few. This was fact baby. It was Science.
And there in lies the heart of the problem. Earlier this year, within the Grape Growers & Vignerons monthly, I read about the development of an artificial “tongue”, one that could detect thiols in wine. The death of the wine taster/writer? Well not yet. The tongue needs to be improved and made economically viable before wine makers use it to test their barrels & decide on a final blend! Get it?
What I’m saying is that even the realm of flavours in wine is not reducible to science. Not until we acquiesce to letting machines make our wine. To wines that conform to a pre-conceived taste and do not even attempt to express terroir or intent. And I don’t think passionate wine lovers or wine makers will ever let that happen. The imperfections of wine are too great a part of what make it so enjoyable, so thrilling. Still though, the realm of flavour is more understood & measurable than the realms of structure and personality. Indeed I would guess that most consumers are more interested in whether a wine tastes of stewed plums or fresh raspberries than whether the tannins are sappy or chalky, whether they assert themselves on the mid palate or only make themselves known at the end. And they most certainly don’t give a hoot about whether the wine tastes black or not.
So for utilitarian purposes at least, wine writing will probably remain within the realm of flavours for the time being, along with the appropriate nod to structure and the occasional suggestion of character or personality. Nothing wrong with that. But what excites me more are those realms of flow and character.
And I haven’t even begun to work out where texture fits into this “work in progress” model of tasting notes. I have a post on Terroir which needs my urgent clarification first…
Great post Jeremy,
I had a quiet little chuckle when I read the 'wine first, then what food should go with it'. I often base a meal around what wine I'd like to drink. Much to the amusement of many of my friends.
I'm glad you've put the spotlight of texture, structure, mouthfeel etc here. This is probably the part of wine that often fascinates me the most. Interestingly, its often the part that I'll notice first about a wine whereas my girlfriend will notice flavours. She's also much better a picking flavours than me but I might pip her to the post with the structure. Male vs female sensory dichotomy? Well, my sample size is 1 so I better say no more
Dave
Thanks Dave.
I had become mired in a bog of tasting notes!
I'd like to see more research into gender and appreciation of wine. Maybe they could fund it under the banner of marketing?
And experiments utilising a sample size of 1 are unfairly maligned
I share your experience to a large extent – flavour was what grabbed me first, followed by things like structure. Why that should be is open for debate. I wonder if flavours, precisely because they are easy to describe via food analogues, are what we latch onto first? In other words, does the very facility of the language associated with flavours make them more perceptible? Or is it that flavours lack abstraction, and therefore of all the elements of a wine they are the most straightforward and "obvious"?
So far so easy. The more interesting question you pose is: what's more meaningful? Flavour profile is relevant insofar as it can indicate things like ripeness and, to be honest, can turn me on or off depending on what style of wine I like. But it's so incomplete. Equally, if one were able to precisely describe a wine's structure and texture, would it mean much without an indication of the flavour profile? Perhaps, but a wine's more than structure and flow.
So, both are important, which is perhaps self-evident in a way. So I guess what's *really* interesting about all this is its synthesis into a vocabulary that's meaningful and comprehensible. Which is where the poetics come in, and also where it becomes hard. Because, as much as a robotic tongue might be able to discern and transcribe the composition of a wine, does the abstract, sensual nature of wine demand an equally abtract textual response to capture the original impression? In other words, is a comprehensive enumeration of flavour, texture, structure, etc *still* incomplete in terms of communicating meaningfully about wine?
Your turn.
Being NOT a blogger of wine tasting notes I'm most probably out of my depth here … but the ideas intrigue me, and I hate not being intrigued.
The issue you have here in my eyes is "How do I convey to another what I have just experienced?" In a tasting room you have to be careful to not "lead" the guests through a wine, thus eliminating their own estimate of the experience. But, any inexperienced taster loves having the light turned on when you mention a flavour and the word sets off instant recognition … it gives them the thrill of seeing into the wine (a bit like the first time someone hits a golf ball cleanly).
The best tasting notes are those that provide that presence of both flavour descriptors and experience descriptors. A great note is one that makes you want to drink the wine, experience the wine, even meet the wine and have a bit of a chat. Famous wine writers sell their "experience" as much as any tasting note – sheez Broadbent is absolute crap at describing a wine, but the fact he's sculling 1900 Ch Margaux gives him an excuse (apparently).
When I taste wines to broaden my knowledge and help in the development of our wine, I can at times limit it to 4 words and they may not be descriptors, but rather emotive (06 Unison Selection was simply "morning mist, harbour's edge" – still remember the wine). Not every wine has a story thus tasting notes can become tiresome, but the ones that do are the ones you're after, and as such are the ones I'd like to read about.
I'm rambling, but please don't over think this – to each his own and if you can add in the "experience" as much as the flavours then all the better.
Cheers
Julian- All excellent points.
"does the abstract, sensual nature of wine demand an equally abtract textual response to capture the original impression?"
Hmm, maybe it depends on who you are trying to capture it for and how much that audience wants captured?
I like a note that is commensurate with the experience of the wine. What has worried me recently is the possibility that the wine in question is somehow "lost" rather than captured by some attempts at abstraction. Probably not the case for the taster but pehaps an issue if one considers audience…
I think you can trace the issue back to Proust again here. Did he capture the madeleines? Or did he capture himself in the madeleines? Of course we are at the intersection of subject & object. But I'm damn sure I don't get the feeling that I know what those madeleines taste like from reading "Remembrance of Things Past".
And that leads me back to needing a "synthesis into a vocabulary that's meaningful and comprehensible". Which as you say, is the difficult and interesting part of a potential poetic model. I'll need a bit more time before iterative post number 3
Mark- I like placing these ideas within the context of leading a tasting. It's a good way to look at them. I tend to agree with what you say about the makings of a good tasting note.
Certainly a note "that makes you want to drink the wine, experience the wine, even meet the wine and have a bit of a chat" is the sort that in the past, has made me go out & buy a wine. I'm now wondering if I have ever appreciated a tasting note less after buying and drinking a wine because of it? Maybe. Not that the particular experience of disappointment in a tasting note would, by itself, necessarily render the note less valuable.
"Not every wine has a story thus tasting notes can become tiresome, but the ones that do are the ones you're after, and as such are the ones I'd like to read about."
This hits home for me as someone who has just begun blogging. After a raft of notes I was concerned I was becoming tiresome to myself. But I'm happy enough with many of the notes on the blog & at the very least they remind me of a wine experience & tasting. I may need to increase the number of posts I put under the heading of "Some Wine". Sometimes neither the wine nor I have a story to tell I guess.
Thanks for the thoughts, as always they are greatly appreciated.
ps- I am also thinking that "to each his own" is becoming rather relevant. If someone wants to write a certain way & another person wants to read it, then I certainly don't wish to get in the way.
Wine making can be considered art- especially kosher wine, which has an amazing taste and an amazing story behind it.
If I'm going to talk about tasting notes as art I'd be mad not to include Wine making as well
With greater importance being placed on what is in a wine and on the techniques used to make it I would guess kosher wine may be well placed at the moment. I'm yet to try any but hopefully that will be rectified in the near future.
cheers'
jeremy