A friendly copy editor came by
the other day, as copy editors sometimes do, with a logical
question that wasn't easy to answer.
"I don't know that much about
wine," she said. "But I have a little trouble relating
to something that you say tastes like 'old leather' or 'melting
road tar' - and you seem to like it."
She's got a point. One of the most challenging things about
judging wine - and telling other people about it - is that
so much of its appeal is to our senses of smell and taste.
Since we humans don't use smell or taste nearly as much,
or as effectively, as we do sight, hearing and even touch,
we lack a well-defined, precise vocabulary to describe aromas
and flavors in terms that mean the same thing to everyone.
It isn't easy to do that accurately, vividly and effectively
without drifting into intolerable vagueness, dropping into
incomprehensible jargon or using the kind of precious language
that makes people think you're a wine snob.
Furthermore, a lot of the terms that most accurately describe
frequently occurring scents in wine are not words that we
usually associate with edible things. Oak, cedar and pine,
for instance. Moss, leaves and grass. Yes, even tar and leather.
(Carrying this to its logical extreme, in 18th century France
the aroma of fine Burgundy was more than once likened to raw
sewage, to put it relatively delicately. This was intended
as a compliment, something that might be difficult to comprehend
unless we consider the way the French love strong cheese.)
It's also important to understand that these scents and tastes
rarely dominate the wine. Typically they add a small but significant
element to a larger pattern, as a colored thread might highlight
woven cloth or a French horn's theme add texture to an orchestral
chorus.
In other words, the hints of chocolate and coffee in some
California red wines and the nuances of coconut, figs and
dates in oak-aged Chardonnay don't make the wine taste like
a milkshake or fruit salad; they are subtle, often elusive
parts of a larger whole.
That "tarry" quality in a California Merlot that
puzzled my friend, the editor, is not an unpleasant scent
to me but one of great nostalgia, evoking memories of youthful
hikes along the edge of country roads on hot summer days.
The French even have a name for it - gout de goudron - according
to Frank Schoonmaker's Encyclopedia of Wine, which notes that
the smell, "far from disagreeable ... is usually one
of the characteristics of a fine red wine made from very ripe
grapes."
The smell of old leather comes up often in well-aged red
wine. I find it pleasant, too, more like fine old books in
leather bindings than well-used shoes.
The scents of wine come from several sources. The fruity
smell of young wines comes directly from the grapes, with
woody and other organic aromas added if the wine was aged
in oak.
Fine, aged wines add the most complex (and sometimes un-winelike)
scents, which some wine tasters call "bouquet,"
as the result of gradual chemical reactions in the wine. Less
pleasant changes in odor and taste occur if the wine is poorly
or carelessly made or spoils with excess age.
Just for fun, I scanned back over years of my tasting notes
and several good wine books to get an idea of the breadth
of vocabulary wine tasters have used.
Emile Peynaud's "Le Gout de Vin" ("The Taste
of Wine," quoted in Robert M. Parker Jr.'s "Wines
of the Rhone Valley and Provence") divided wine aromas
into nine principal categories:
Animal odors, smells of game, beef and venison; balsamic
odors, smells of pine trees, resin and vanilla; woody odors,
smells of new wood of oak barrels; chemical odors, smells
of acetone, mercaptan (skunks or natural gas), yeasts, hydrogen
sulfide (rotten eggs), lactic and fermentation odor; spicy
odors, smells of pepper, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger,
truffles, anise and mint; empyreumatic (creosotes and oils)
odors, smells of creme brulee, smoke, toast, leather and coffee;
floral odors, smells of flowers, violets, roses, lilacs, jasmine;
fruity odors, smells of blackcurrants, raspberries, cherries,
plums, apricots, peaches, figs; and vegetal odors, smells
of herbs, tea, mushrooms and vegetables.
Other frequently occurring scents include apples (a characteristic
of Chardonnay and Riesling grapes); green olives, green peppers,
even asparagus (typical of inexpensive red wines from some
cool regions); walnuts and pecans (desirable in Sherry, a
flaw in wines oxidized with age); vinegar (a breath is common
in Beaujolais, more than a breath is a fatal flaw in any wine);
and chalk or steel (reminiscent of licking a clean pebble
or knife blade, the trademark of French Chablis and some other
acidic Chardonnays).
Young wines are usually simple and straightforward, offering
uncomplicated smells of grapes and fresh fruit.
It's bottle age that brings about the chemical changes that
provide unusual and (one hopes) delicious nuances that cry
out for descriptive terms