Why are you not tasting what I am tasting? (I ask silently)
Why are you making undue allowances for a wine that is plainly not interesting? To me!
Every rhetorical observation like this has “in my opinion” appended to it.
The more I talk about taste and my particular preferences, the more I truly believe that I am imprisoned by my very particular likes. Much as wine professionals may claim to possess objective and discriminating palates, they are still locked into a mindset of liking – or disliking – a wine. For the reasons that may have been instilled into us by wine educators, or because we have developed our personal sense of taste over the years. Or, because to our tongues, some flavours are appealing, and others are aversive. As professionals, we fondly believe that we assemble the evidence, break down the wine into its objective components and assess its quality having weighed up all the pros and cons, but in reality we make instantaneous judgements and work out why we feel the way we do about a wine afterwards.
Not that taste is necessarily fixed. Liking and disliking are fluid. You may dismiss a wine at first, only to discover hidden depths and consequently may row back on your initial reaction. Or you think you are going to love a wine only to find that it changes and diminishes with each sip.
I felt disappointed in myself rather than the wines themselves, as if I had been placed in front of an artistic masterpiece and was not able to react at all.
In most cases, one can trust one’s instinct. If the wine doesn’t feel right, then it probably isn’t right for you (at that point in time).
Some wines, however, barely register on your consciousness, and you would rather not drink at all then take even a little sip. A mediocre wine is not an average wine. Barely adequate, it is extremely average, not worthy to detain our interest. The majority of wines fall into this mediocre category and will share common denominator characteristics that indicate their functional nature.
Is it just me?
There are days – we all experience them – when your taste buds seem less attuned to the quality of the wines and it is difficult to manifest enthusiasm. Every wine is good enough in its own right, but you are not thirsty for them, to coin an expression.
At one recent dinner for wine lovers from the trade, each person brought two bottles which we opened, tasted and discussed. Whilst none were mediocre, in most cases I couldn’t feel why I should like the wine. I felt disappointed in myself rather than the wines themselves, as if I had been placed in front of an artistic masterpiece and was not able to react at all. I know that my palate is configured in such a way that unwonted foreign flavours are deemed intrusive. I am worried because others are cooing over wines, and I am in the minority. I may not be enjoying the wines because there are too many and we are “gorging”. One slurp to judge and onto the next. And the next. The best tasting is at the pace that best suits you or else you scarcely taste at all. Or put another way, tasting wine involves having a relationship with the bottle, not just the snapshot of smell and flavour.
Which brings me to trade tastings
Large companies tend to hold two major events, often in swanky bunting-adorned locations, with several hundred wines on show, attended by the producers and brand ambassadors. It’s often a case of never mind the quality, feel the width. Small merchants pop up all over the place and at irregular intervals. A couple of dozen bottles popped open of the bar of a bistro here, a combined tasting with other companies of likeminded wine philosophy at some super-cool venue there.
In the years when it took place, The Real Wine Fair was our big statement tasting, but it was always to promote the greater glory of the world of natural wine and the quality and the diverse approaches of the growers who make these artisan wines. Our other events have been small and focused. We try to incorporate a theme, so that those who attend know what to expect.Â
In January, in conjunction with Sager & Wine, we explored the wines of Georgia. Although we have held Georgian tastings before, the purpose here was to reinforce the fact that tiny Georgia is a country of several discrete regions, traditions and winemaking styles. It is a country of change too, where natural producers look forward as well as back.
Next, we organised a tasting at Brawn, featuring our Savoie portfolio (small but perfectly formed) followed by a celebration of the Gringet grape, where we bought, borrowed and called in samples of this wonderful unique grape. This miniature comparative tasting felt like part of history as well as being an homage to Gringet-meister, Dominique Belluard.
We did have a more generic event in April, but it was still based on a precise premise rather than a scattergun flinging of 100+ different wines on the table. Called “More splosh for your dosh”, a title heartily disliked by my fellow Pyrensters, it concentrated on wines below £25 retail (with the vast majority of wines under £20). The words bang and buck were never far from our lips and those of customers. In these straitened times, we need natural wines at great value prices.
The final tasting of the first half of the year was entitled “Kindred Spirits”, which brought together four of our eaux-de-vies and spirits producers (again at Brawn) to pour and talk about their products, several of which were then used as the basis of cocktails created by Liam Davy, mixologist extraordinaire from Hawksmoor group, and also finally featured in dishes at a wine dinner cooked by Ed Wilson. It was satisfying to see this three-part event come to fruition (macerated in eaux-de-vie) as it illustrated that thinking and drinking outside the tasting box can be attractive for those who are jaded and bewildered by the sheer welter of events. Les Caves de Pyrene: never knowingly overloading you!