'There are few things more pleasant in life,' claims Serena Sutcliffe in her Wines of Burgundy, 'than trying to decide if the Bienvenues, the Bâtard or the unbelievable Chevalier is reminiscent of hawthorn, blackthorn or May blossom.' I've never seen a tasting note in Private Eye 's Pseuds' Corner, but this discussion must surely be a candidate. Monty Don might know what Ms Sutcliffe is on about, but as a city dweller I wouldn't recognise a blackthorn if I was sitting on one.
If this tasting note sounds more than a little pretentious, what about the sort of thing published by Robert Parker, America's leading wine guru? Here's Mr P's information-rich description of a Barossa Shiraz with a flammable 16.5 per cent alcohol. 'This wine, which lasted four days in the bottle before I decided to pass the balance through my bowels, displays an opaque black/purple colour and exotic coffee, chocolate, Asian spice, roast duck and blackberry and prune liqueur-like aromas. To say the wine is unctuously textured is an understatement. This wine looks like 10-W-40 motor oil.' Believe it or not, he gave the wine 99 points out of 100.
To be fair, both writers are attempting the impossible: to describe the aromas and flavours of wine. Every wine hack struggles to express the ineffable, whether we choose to baffle people with winespeak (Brix levels, canopy management and total acidity), stick to smells and tastes (gooseberries, plums, honey or whatever), or just publish personal impressions.
Most tasters stick to a common lexicon, which is why the same fruits, spices and vegetables crop up in descriptions. Certain words are commonly associated with certain grape varieties, such as cassis and Cabernet Sauvignon, gooseberries and Sauvignon Blanc, or butter and Chardonnay.
Different nations describe wines in different ways. The French, for example, are very keen on the term sous-bois (undergrowth). They are also fond of sensual terms like séducteur, viril and tendre. Mind you, they never get as racy as the male Australian lecturer I once heard describe a wine as 'long, firm and full in the mouth like a penis'. I'm also partial to a more commonly used Aussie phrase: 'a wine with grunt'.
Things would be simpler still if we could emulate the Italians by dividing wines into two categories: impegnativo (requiring thought) and non impegnativo . The problem with the impegnativo approach is that it doesn't tell you anything about how the wine smells or tastes. So I'll stick to my own tasting notes and hope they work. Meantime, could someone point me towards the nearest patch of blackthorn?
