It may surprise you to learn that from time to time I peruse the websites of wine magazines.  Recently, I happened upon this excellent article about blind tasting in esteemed publication Decanter.  It asks the question, ‘Is it a parlour game or a real test of wine acumen?’ , and follows this with the poser: ‘What’s the point of blind tasting anyway?’

The author, Eliza Dumais, begins by invoking blind tasting as a kind of sport; and indeed, there are myriad blind tasting competitions around the world.  Oxford and Cambridge Universities go head-to-head each year and there was recently a film about a team of sommeliers from Zimbabwe entering the World Tasting Championships in 2017.  To say nothing of those organised among friends, with varying degrees of competitive focus.  Below you get an idea of how ‘competitive’ this blind tasting was…:

Blind tasting can, however, also be simply a learing exercise, as Eliza says.  Once you’ve been bitten by the wine bug and have some experience, it can indeed be fun to have a little competitive edge.  But if you’re a novice, just beginning your dive into the vinous, then blind tastings as sport can be a bit intimidating.

When I began in the industry, I was lucky enough to have a manager and assistant manager who were not only passionate about wine, but very generous with their knowledge and up for teaching me as much as they could.  I tasted a different wine ‘blind’ every day I worked for about 8 months.  I was ushered out of the shop an hour or so prior to closing and would return 5 minutes later to find a wine wrapped up and awaiting appraisal.  If it was in the freezer, I knew it wasn’t red.  That was it.

In conjunction with the tasting, of course, you had to have done some reading around the different regions, wines and grape varieties of the world, and winemaking practices – easy for me since I was fascinated by wine.  So we would look at colour, aroma, taste and see where it led me: was the colour intense or pale?; was there light or dark fruit?; did it seem oaky?; high or low acidity?  A plethora of questions.  By degrees, you could rule out certain wines – easiest, for example, would be: it’s red, so it’s not a white or a rosé (this is much harder with black tasting glasses…).  After that: it has no bubbles so it’s not a sparkler.  No sweetness ruled out plenty of wines, while being very sweet would rule out many more than that.

Identifying a specific wine was never really the goal: rather it was to evaluate each wine, try to apply in situ what you had gleaned from the books, and, for a chain of wine shops, to get to know the range we sold so that we could recommend something with at least a semblance of authority when asked by a customer.  It was a brilliant way to learn and there was not a trace of competition to it.

There was also the entertainment value to be had from doing this exercise when working with Andy (I have mentioned him before).  Invariably, were he on duty when the hour arrived to open the latest sample (no Coravin in those days) there would be a ‘pop’ from the office, followed by the gentle glug, glug, glugging of the nectar as it was en-chaliced.  Then: one, two, three, and, “Fuckin’ell!” as Andy swirled the glass too vigourously.  Appearing in the doorway between office and shop to inform me that it was once again open season on tasting, his clothing was liberally steeped in whatever wine was on that evening’s agenda.  Often, this would give me that first visual clue alluded to above.

Aside from the appeal of drinking a different lovely wine each day, blind tasting stoked my interest, because it focused the mind on what’s in the glass.  Having to marshal your thoughts and refer back to what you have read, you really notice differences and similarities.  And it helped, of course, to be in London, where we had wines from all over the world.  In Alba, the range from elsewhere has probably never been wider, but it is still (understandably) overwhelmingly from here: we don’t even have more than a handful of wines from Liguria on the shelves…

I very much identify with Eliza’s take about when and where is appropriate for blind tasting in social situations – in those shops, we were all anoraks about wine: we loved to taste as many different things as possible and talk about them all day.  This is quite different to sitting down with family or friends, none of whom may be interested, and insisting on tasting blind.  (Full disclosure: we did a blind tasting at our wedding – 1 wine only – and it turned out to be a real hit when one of the tables said they wanted to present their tasting notes to the assembled guests.  It became competitive in a literary sense, rather than a vinous one.  There were some memorable descriptions, ranging from the poetic to the bawdy.)

Once, at some friends’ house with a wine-crowd here in the Langhe, we were served a wine blind by the homeowner, who then stared wide-eyed in astonishment as I proceeded to identify the wine, by region, producer, vineyard and year just by how it had hit the surface of my glass when poured.  I had inadvertantly seen the bottle on my way to the bathroom some minutes prior…That provided a chuckle, but we were all into the blind tasting thing.  In these circumstances, I don’t think it’s punishable – unless one doesn’t own up to seeing the bottle before it’s covered.  In those circumstances, eternal exile is called for.  Or at least being horsewhipped on the steps of one’s club…

So blind tasting can be great fun and a great way to learn: the key ingredient for this to be the case is generous people who don’t treat anyone inexperienced or lacking knowledge with condescension.  As mentioned, my mentors were terrific.

Then there is the question of professionals assessing wines, usually for wine shows & competitions or publications such as magazines with recommendations.  These are quite different, and can involve hundreds of wines tasted over several days.  (And if you’re wonderfing whether your palate gets ‘tired’ tasting so many, the answer is ‘yes’: by the time you’re on your 87th wine before midday, your palate is no longer fresh, no matter what anyone says.)

The magazines (and wine guides) are very useful, since we all begin knowing nothing.  I am surrounded by producers here who were running around in the vineyards and cellars as soon as they were able to.  4, 5, 6, 7 years old and picking grapes, watching the harvest, the winemaking and so on.  All the experience and knowledge of generations previous passed on.  The region is awash with highly competent winemakers and in some cases, great ones.  But they were all born knowing zero, and we have to start somewhere.

When I got into wine at university in England, I wasn’t surrounded by producers.  So I began with a couple of pocket wine guides: the Hugh Johnson one and the Oz Clarke one.  For these sorts of guides, the authors have to taste many wines and often it is blind.  In the case of tasting wines for wine competitions, it it is invariably the case that they are all tasted blind.  These guides and magazines are incredibly useful for a lot of people, and can be instrumental in getting them into a subject, be it wine or anything else.  The two I mentioned earlier were my essential, constant companions as I set out on my wine adevnture.  They may not be going any more, but there are plenty of great ones out there.

However.

As wine professionals, we can easily become, not detached exactly, but certainly in our little bubble – let’s be honest, it’s a nice bubble to be in.  We can begin to lose sight of what wine is, what it’s for and what it stands for.

For tasting and drinking are very different things.  When we get together here, there is plenty of food on the table, and a plethora of wines, all wrapped up so we don’t know what they are.  It’s usually a great fun evening, with many discussions about what we’re trying, where it’s from, how old it is and so on.  But there comes a point, when the covers are off and we all know what each wine is, when the serious fun starts.  When we enjoy them as they are intended to be enjoyed: shared with friends.  Working in the industry, this is sometimes obscured for, or by, us.

Which brings us onto the term ‘blind tasting’ itself, something I freely admit I had not given a second thought to until I read Eliza Dumais’ article.  Blind Tasting is a term as old as the practice itself (possibly) and has never struck me as being in any way insensitive or offensive.  It simply encapsulates neatly the process: tasting a wine without seeing the label or knowing what it is.  But of course, there are many wine tasters and drinkers who are blind and they taste everything, wine or otherwise, blind.  I can see how the specific term ‘blind tasting’ could be insensitive here.  It seemed a harmless term to me, but I see no reason why we need be wedded to it simply because that’s what we have always called it.  Why not go with ‘Covered Tasting’ or ‘Anonymous Tasting’ ?  It doesn’t really matter what we call it, competitive, educational, recreational or whatever the context.

So what is the point of blind tasting?  I suppose, whatever you want that point to be at the time – parlour game, learning experience, vintage, region or producer snapshot.  Personally, I’m still undecided on how much it is a genuine measure of wine acumen – but that might just be because of my ‘success’ rate…