Wine reviews: Why tell when you can show?
Over the last couple of years, I have read a lot of literature about wine. I have read books, magazine articles, Web sites, blog entries, and handwritten notes taped to the shelves in front of the wine bottles. As I have read all of these sources of information and tried to learn as much as I could about wine, I have discovered an immutable truth about wine reviews.
No matter how good your writing might be, and no matter how large your vocabulary might be, you cannot write a wine review that is significantly different from any other wine review ever written. Whether this is a shortcoming of linguistic systems of communication or simply my feeling of being burned out by trying to search for clever ways to describe a Grenache, I don’t know. But I do know that reviewers and critics could use a better way to convey the particular quality and value of a wine through a published review. On the other hand, I do like it when wineries describe their new releases since, even though the words are nothing new or different, they help me decide whether to buy the wine before anyone else gets a chance to review it. So I guess this post mostly refers to critics, reviewers, bloggers, and almost everyone but the growers and vintners themselves.
Compared to the experience of actually drinking a glass of wine, the act of reading a written wine review is devoid of any sensory value. The words on the page, or on the screen, may evoke certain sensations but they cannot replicate the sensual expressiveness of drinking wine. Even if a wine is “brimming with juicy, just picked black cherry aroma” or “as rich and full of smoky, earthy flavor as a morel coulis served at a two-star Michelin restaurant,” it’s never as good to read about the wine as it is to taste the wine. But we need wine reviews and wine critics to tell us which wines to purchase and which wines to avoid.
Music critics have the same issue. There are only so many adjectives in the dictionary, and realistically there are only so many styles of music and notable differences among the songs within a certain genre. The same holds true with wine: I would use most of the same words to describe a Domaine Drouhin Pinot Noir as a Radio-Coteau Pinot Noir, even though they are two totally different wines. I tried my hand at music reviews for a while. Once I started using the same words to describe Portishead, Tool, and Mogwai, I knew it was time to quit writing and reading music reviews and just listen to the music itself.
As a kid, I must admit that wine reviews always intrigued me a great deal. Since I was unable to drink before the age of 21, and even after 21 it took me years to develop a vaguely discerning palate, all I could do was watch people drink wine and read people’s thoughts about wine. These reviews seemed funny to me because they essentially discussed fermented grape juice, but that juice always tasted like so many other things according to the reviewers. In fact, after a while the reviews seemed to be a testament to what the wine did not taste like: grapes. After all, most serious wines are only made from grapes rather than pears, or strawberries, or what have you. So why doesn’t a good wine taste like grapes? That was my first question about wine, and I know a lot of people who still ask this question. I try not to eat dinner with those people.
That got me started on my quest to learn more about wine. And over time, I have read a lot and heard a lot and tried to soak it all up as well as I could. But one thing still bothers me: wine reviews. They are either too didactic and clinical or too gaudy and aloof. In fact, the urge to wax poetic about wine is nearly pointless in my mind (or “fruitless,” if you prefer a bad play on words). The wine is the poetry. Why try to ruin it with words?
I think the sensual enjoyment of wine is one reason why the movie Sideways is so much fun. It’s extremely enjoyable to watch Paul Giamatti use a litany of adjectives to describe a glass of wine in the Sanford tasting room. You can see the feeling behind those words all over his face as he swirls the wine in his glass and finally takes a quick sip. And perhaps that’s the answer to this dilemma with wine reviews. Why write a review when you can record a video of yourself tasting the wine? The way you feel about the wine is written all over your face as soon as you taste it, and you could always say the things that come to mind as you taste. Couldn’t that be much more interesting than a bunch of words on the screen? And isn’t that half the fun of wine: enjoying it in person with friends and family?
I might test out this approach to reviewing a wine quite soon. I have the video and audio recording equipment. I have the Web hosting capacity. I have the wine. All I need is a make-up artist, a haircut, and a black turtleneck.