WineInk: Notes on tasting notes

“I want to know what the wines taste like!” said a reader about a recent column I had written describing how different appellations and their geography impact the wines that are grown in them.

I get it — she wanted to know about the differences there are in a pinot noir wine that is sourced from a vineyard located on the Sonoma Coast versus one grown, say, in the Sta. Rita Hills, two cool climate regions that are both in California and 300 miles or so apart. It is a legitimate question, and I hate to be as vague as the director of the Secret Service, but it is not exactly black and white.

I can say that cool-climate pinot noir grown in both appellations, as a generalization, features freshness, bright acidity, and complex fruit flavors accentuated by notes of red cherry and raspberry, with hints of a forest floor and vanilla. But everybody says that. Virtually every tasting note on the subject uses variations of the same verbiage to explain what a cool climate pinot noir wine tastes like. And wine writing is dominated by tasting notes. I’m not sure I can think of any endeavor that has so much descriptive language used to explain something as wine-tasting notes.

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And yet, so much of it is simply jargon.

Wine is, in its simplest form, fermented grape juice. And for the most part, any wine tastes like the variety of the grape that is used to make it. Certainly, a wine made from chardonnay has a different profile from one made from sauvignon blanc. A chardonnay will generally be a bit heavier and substantial on the palate. It may be a bit buttery and taste of apples and melons on the first sip. A sauvignon blanc, depending upon its origins, will likely be a lighter wine, fresh and perhaps a bit herbaceous with flavors of green fruits and, of course, fresh-cut grass. Especially when sourced in New Zealand. I get it. And so do so many who craft tasting notes saying essentially the same thing.

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There are plenty of places to find tasting notes, and I don’t mean to diminish their significance. In fact, they are essential to an industry that relies on notes and numerical rankings to communicate to consumers the very value of their wines. But I often look at tasting notes as I look at the more obscure baseball statistics that have emerged in recent years.

Do you know who leads in the big leagues in OPS (on-base plus slugging percentage) or WAR (wins above replacement)? As of this writing, the New York Yankees’ Aaron Judge leads in both categories. Even if I didn’t know that, I might have guessed it. He is a great player, right? The stats are quintessential inside baseball, and they basically confirmed stuff I already know. I’d rather read a profile on how Judge is doing in this rough patch the Yankees are having than get an analysis of the number of bases he has or something obscure based on conjecture.

And that’s how I look at the writing of this column.

Instead of taking a series of wines and breaking them down with tasting notes, I prefer to bring individual stories about people, places, and things to the table. I like to offer what I think is interesting information about the folks who make or sell or pour what you drink and the places where they live. From Sonoma to Stellenbosch or from Walla Walla to Tuscany, the world of wine has tons of tales to tell.

I have long contended that virtually every bottle of wine that is opened has a story to tell. To enjoy the wine, it is not necessary to explore the wine’s story, but if you take a minute or two to do so, chances are you have a better opportunity of taking a journey in a glass, as the cliché goes.

Cliché or not, when you open a bottle, consider where it came from, the year it was made, the people who tended the vines, and the people who made it. It will take you someplace, and that journey may well be as valuable as a note that reads, “Black fruits, dark berries, high alcohol, tar, tobacco, and tight tannins.”

Or maybe not.