WHY I DON’T NOTE EVERY AROMA AND EVERY FLAVOUR OF WINES
It’s a vintage’s structure that dictates whether someone will like it or not
Last week I responded to an email from a reader who asked two questions: Why don’t I score wines (which most critics do), and why have my tasting notes become“less precise,” with respect to aromas and flavours? I dealt with scores last week, and this week I’ll tackle tasting notes.
While scoring is quite a divisive subject among wine critics, the tasting note has remained a personal choice. To be honest, many don’t care all that much about it, often because they feel all many wine lovers care about is the score. But even Robert Parker, who brought scoring into wine criticism, has said it is by reading the tasting note that you will understand why he loved the wine.
So what is the best way to communicate what one finds in a glass of wine? I still struggle with this. I have tried many things over my career as a wine writer, from haiku to mini novellas. I started, as many do, with trying to mention every aroma and flavour I could find. This shoppinglist approach is still the preferred method of many critics.
I realized early on that such a method might be a fun party trick, but it doesn’t have much to do with communicating the quality of the wine. Both the best and the worst Cabernet Sauvignon will show cassis and/or blackberry notes. If a Sauvignon Blanc smells of lime or lemon, does it really matter? Again, pretty much every Sauvignon Blanc will have these aromas alongside some green element.
I do think it’s interesting that a beverage made with grape juice, yeast and sometimes aged in oak barrels can produce such a wide range of aromas that have nothing to do with grapes. It’s what separates wine from nearly every other drink.
But one problem with this approach is that not everyone has the same sensitivities to smells, nor the same aromatic memories. What I perceive as a lemon might be your lime. There is no right or wrong here. And in the end, it has little to do with quality.
So I spend much less time on aromas and flavours. If I do find a wine very aromatic, or unusual, I’ll give the aromatics a little more attention. I like to highlight if a wine has more fresh fruit or dried fruit. If the fruit is jammy or not jammy, which is related to ripeness, I will mention that. Many people have a harder time identifying vegetal and earthy notes, so I try to offer my take on this, as well. If you find the same things I do, great. If not, that’s great, too.
What I have found over my career, as both a critic and sommelier, is that the qualities that are most important in dictating whether someone likes or dislikes a wine have nothing to do with smell or taste. It’s the wine’s structure that is the most important element.
A few years ago, I held a tasting with friends who aren’t wine geeks. I asked them to taste six pairs of wines, and all they had to do was choose which one they preferred.
Both wines in a pair were made with the same grape, but one showed relatively high acidity while the other’s acidity was lower. Whether it was a white or red, fruity or earthy, oaky or without oak, those who preferred lower acidities always chose the wine with the lower acidity. But again, acidity is very relative and hard to translate. If I feel a wine is overly acidic, I will often use the word “sour.” If I find the acidity is right for the wine, I use the word “refreshing.”
My latest fascination is with tannins. After acidity, it is the second-most important element in whether someone likes a red wine. But translating tannin quality is even harder than with acidity. The way I look at them is by comparing them to sandpaper. Some wines have tannins that strike me as large or chunky, so in my notes I’ll often write a grit rating of 80, or a rough sandpaper. Other wines have very fine tannins, so I’ll compare them in my notes to more of a finishing sandpaper, like 320.
If I find the grapes were picked when they were too ripe and the tannins have lost their grip on the wine, I’ll write “fat” or “soft.” When they are just right, you will often see descriptors such as “silky” or “layered.”
Since I started writing for the Gazette, I have always listed what I felt was important information, such as serving temperature, drinking windows and food pairing ideas. I added residual sugar to my notes last year. I have avoided mentioning alcohol, because alcohol levels unto themselves can be misinterpreted. Grenache, Amarones and Zinfandels are often over 14 per cent, which is what they should be.
There are other elements I can put in a tasting note that could be of interest. One is the grape varieties that are used. Since I recommend my fair share of European wines that are blends, I have toyed with the idea of always including grape varieties as part of this section.
In the end, what I feel is missing from tasting notes is why the author likes a wine, which is a purely emotional response. If a wine jogs a memory, if it makes me think of eating a particular food, if it adds an extra melodic line to a song I am listening to, these are wines I tend to like. And more and more, I will try to include these emotional responses in my notes.
My goal with this column is to teach about wine and recommend wines I feel are worthy of your attention. The tasting notes are part of this education, so I want them to deliver what my readers feel is the right information. Please feel free to send me an email with comments.