Selbach-Oster’s ‘07 Bernkasteler Badstube Riesling Kabinett - a wine I would not describe as slutty.

Are wine descriptors getting out of control? We associate nuances in wine with aromas we’ve collected from our past olfactory experiences so that we can process and catalogue them. “This wine smells like plums” or “this wine smells like my grandmother’s plastic-protected sofa.” We catalogue these nuances so we can compare them to future wines we taste or smell and also so we can paint a picture of what a wine tastes or smells like to someone who has never tasted or smelled it before.

Is it ridiculous to say you smell butter in fermented grape juice? Well not exactly… there are many complex flavour compounds found in the skins of grapes in very minute levels (parts per million to parts per trillion) that produce the aromas and varietal characters. Once you factor in fermentation and some other chemical reactions, you get things such as complex esters, higher alcohols, aldehydes, terpenols and hydrocarbons, not to mention acids, sugars and minerals. Some of these compounds are found in other fruit, vegetables, plants, etc. For example, the reason you might smell green bell pepper in Carménère (what ever happened to Carménère by the way?) or the asparagus in Sauvignon Blanc is because they all contain the compound pyrazine, common in green vegetables, aged cheddar and unripe grapes.

Jurgen Gothe wrote an article last week that covers some descriptors you wont find on an aroma wheel. He makes a couple points I’d like to weigh in on.

First off, he feels that the wine community seems to be using more “Salingerian” terminology when describing wine (”slutty” and “mouse-pooey” are two examples). He’s shocked by it, but overall is willing to embrace it.

I love it when someone personifies a wine. How can a wine be charismatic? Maybe it shows charm or a magnetism or you’re a little smitten with it. I use “slutty” on a regular basis and, besides getting a few chuckles from time to time, people know exactly what I mean. Tons of fruit, tons of oak, nothing subtle about it. Is it a negative quality? That depends on your own palate and what you’re in the mood for. Maybe I’m a little new-fashioned, but it is wine after all…aren’t we supposed to enjoy it and have fun with it? As far as stinky descriptors, I’d gravitate towards using words like “barnyard” (albeit incredibly overused) or “merde” before I’d say something like “mouse-pooey.” It’s just not something I feel like I have a good enough grasp with (or would like to) or something I feel most people will be able to relate with.

Secondly, some critics seem to use as many descriptors as they can to “give us the most bang for our buck.” This I agree with and is something I’ve been trying to keep more and more conscientious of in my own notes. The idea is to use enough adjectives to purvey an accurate message - we don’t need to be bogged down with continuous ramblings. I have tremendous respect for authors like Alice Feiring, who by writing one short eloquent sentence, can give me an accurate idea of what type of wine I’d expect to get myself into. If someone is going to write a paragraph on how an Aussie Chardonnay tastes, it better be a damn good Chardonnay. This also unearths the style contrast of the old world wine critic (see Jancis Robinson, who rarely uses more than a few choice words) with the new world wine critic (see Robert Parker, whose reviews can definitely get long-winded). Have you ever seen an old Frenchman taste wine? More often then not, he’ll just quietly nod, perhaps he’ll even say “c’est bon.” Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy hearing Gary Vaynerchuk tell me that a wine tastes like “cherries and dead deer” or “EXACTLY like pickles,” but I usually get more out of a review with a little more brevity.

It’s quite valuable to be exposed to such a vast array of different critic’s styles. You can follow who you want, or in my case, read all of them and try to find some middle ground.

What do you think?

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