Are You A Good Taster?
Recently I was talking with Aldo Conterno. He's surely one of Barolo's greatest producers, but (less well-known) he's also a superb wine taster. I brought up the Barolos of a fellow producer, whose wines are quite good but not great, despite the fact that his vineyards are. How this could be?
"He can't taste," replied Aldo. "He can't see what's missing. It's as simple as that."
It may surprise you to learn how many winemakers aren't that good at wine-tasting. I myself am always surprised when I encounter it, yet it's so.
In Burgundy, for example, where rainy harvests sometimes result in wines disfigured by tastes of mold or hail (1983 is a classic example), I know winemakers who simply can't taste it.
What makes someone a good wine taster? We all know how to tell if other people are good: If they agree with you, then they're good tasters.
In wine-tasting, we're always right for ourselves. This is the de gustibus non est disputandum, or "there's no accounting for taste," school. Really, you can't argue with it.
But what one likes isn't necessarily what is good. This rankles some folks, who insist that if they like something, it therefore is good. This is self-serving nonsense. What one likes is just that. Good is another matter. It includes, but also goes beyond, mere preference.
If you test-drive a Ferrari and it wallows in the turns, can you say it's a bad example of a Ferrari? You're damn right you can. Ferraris, by definition, shouldn't wallow.
And if you taste a Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa Valley's Stags Leap District (famed for lush, rich, chocolaty Cabernets) and find it thin, weedy and vegetal, can you say it's a poor Stags Leap District Cabernet? Absolutely.
Of course, you need to know how to taste. It's fundamental to recognize elements such as balance, length, midpalate concentration and finish or aftertaste.
Also, it sure helps to know about winemaking: the various flavors of oak (vanilla, toastiness), the effects of winemaking techniques such as barrel fermentation (a thicker mouthfeel) and the techniques of flavor and color extraction (cold maceration, vacuum concentration, enzymes, etc.).
Above all, good tasters know the right questions to ask of each wine. If there's one thing that separates true wine judges from those who, however impressively, can win blind tastings, it's knowing not just the wine, but the context. What characteristics of flavor and structure are appropriate for this particular wine? Tasting acuity alone is insufficient; it's judgment that counts.
It's too easy (or worse) to say, "I like my reds rich and full, and this one isn't. Bam! It's no good." Yet too many tasters with admirably acute, diagnostic palates do just that. Bad tasters ask the same questions of all wines. They know what they like and,
if they don't find it, the wine's at fault, not them.
That said, here comes the tricky part: What if you taste a wine and say, "This could be better. It could be richer, denser, fuller, fresher, more detailed. I'm sorry, but the traditional, accepted 'context' simply isn't good enough."
Aldo Conterno, for his part, radically changed his basic grape-processing techniques, investing in new roto-fermenter presses that he believes better capture the true flavors of Nebbiolo. His wines changed the traditional context of Barolo, and now good tasters have to ask different questions when they taste the region's wines.
There's one other, rarely voiced element to top-rank wine-tasting: How sympathetic are you to the wine type in question? What do you yourself really understand?
To be a good taster you have to know how to be honest with yourself. Just as opera singers or symphony conductors have certain strengths in the repertories based on a powerful personal affinity for certain composers' works, so too do wine tasters. Every wine taster -- no matter how experienced or acute -- has certain competencies that come from this special "tug." I can't think of a single wine critic, no matter how accomplished, to whom this does not apply.
For example, I know that I'm not as good a taster of blended wines as I am of "the-earth-speaks" sorts made from single varieties. Oh sure, I can taste the blends professionally and quite adequately, but a certain something -- call it insight -- is lacking. I'm not your guy for Champagne or Châteauneuf-du-Pape.
Good tasters know about both wine and themselves.
Matt Kramer has contributed regularly to Wine Spectator since 1985.
