Thirsty Thursday—“Rock the Catbox": Panel "D" Tasting Notes

Yesterday, I promised you a special tasting. Well, in my book, this one is about as special as they get! I’m about to smuggle you into the inner sanctum of our judges’ chambers at the San Francisco International Wine Competition, www.sfwinecomp.com where I swirled, sniffed, sniffed and spat my way through my share of the 4,000 wines (divided among eleven judging panels) on Andy Blue's www.bluelifestyle.com master list.

Soon, when my “Welcome to Wine Country” podcast launches, you’ll have in-depth audio coverage of the event. For now, I’d like to introduce you to the world (and the sometimes off-the-wall language!) of a professional wine judge.

This year, for the first time, I signed up to start early, on Friday afternoon. (In previous years I would arrive, like most of the judges, for the Friday judges’ dinner, then start the main event early Saturday.) All I needed to hear was “Friday we taste Pinot,” and I was not just hooked, but reeled in.

And I was soooo glad I did. Unlike the “assigned panel” of Saturday and Sunday (that's Panel "D," aka the "Purple Tongue Gang"), Friday’s open-seating format allowed us to join (or start!) a judging panel with anyone we wanted. I linked up with Pinotphile Greg Walter – www.pinotreport.com – plus two really simpatico judges I’d never met (see pic). Across from me sat Meridith May, a delightful Los Angelena who co-owns the excellent Patterson’s The Tasting Report magazine – www.tastingpanelmag.com – with Anthony Dias Blue (see last Saturday’s post.) And on my right sat Jim “Death to Pencils” Harré of New Zealand’s South Island. www.thegateslodge.co.nz (Jim gave himself the nickname after snapping off his second or third pencil point. We have to scribble our notes pretty fast.)

Along with the wine-tasting notes that I myself took, I jotted down some of the more memorable comments we made, over the course of the three-day weekend, and what they (might have) meant. So kick back with Panel “D” and pour yourself a glass of something not too serious, and get ready to loosen up and enjoy the lighter side of wine judging. (Geek alert, BTW—if I get kinda techy here, please remember that I warned you about the wine-science thing back in my first blog post…)

Day 1, Sauvignon Blanc: “NICE kitty!”
(One common Sauv Blanc descriptor, not necessarily negative, is “cat pee.” Truth! Typical of New Zealand SB’s, it comes from “green”-flavored pyrazine compounds, in particular methoxypyrazine.)

Day 1, SB: “Another ‘Here, kitty, kitty.’ But this one’s better-balanced. Rock the catbox. No ‘Clash’ here.” (Think ‘80s punk.)

Day 1, SB: “Armpit. But from an athlete. A *buff* athlete.” (It got a Silver medal. And we gave a Gold to one with “sweat, herbs, melon, lemon-lime, plus a touch of “Here, kitty.”)

Day 1, SB: “Short, thin, tart. Remember that whiny gal on “Survivor”? Kinda built like her.”

Day 1, Pinot Noir (after a “No Medal” vote): “Reminded me of horse sweat. So I say ‘Naa-aaa-aaay!’”

Day 1, Pinot Noir (moi, noticing my and Meridith’s high scores, with low ratings from the two gents): “Gotta be a chick wine. Can you guys take another look?”

Day 1, PN: “Do bugs make good wine judges? There was a fly in my glass, and that wine turned out to be our only Double Gold of the day. Yeah, Wine J. So let’s make him our mascot. “Jay the Fly.”

Day 2, Chardonnay: “Smells like rubber, but it’s a *clean* rubber.” (This occasional “reduced” aroma can come from oak barrels or bottle aging. It’s a mercaptan, in the same family as the roast-coffee and skunk aromas, and if it’s subtle enough, can add rather than detract from a wine’s complexity.)

Day 2, Chard: “Mmmmm—brunch at Marie Callender’s. Baked apple, cinnamon, touch of lemon, toasty, buttery pie crust.” (All these are typical Chardonnay descriptors; you just don’t always see all of them together.)

Day 2, Chard: “Looking for top-of-the line Chards here (there were so many entered that every panel was assigned some) is like going to a carnival and looking for a Disneyland-caliber ride.”

Day 2, Chard: “Ahh. Finally. An E-ticket Chardonnay! (That’s, uh, a Disneyland reference; not an online airline booking.)

Day 2, Chard: “Jeez, this one’s minerally. Holy schist!” (Old geology joke.)

Day 2, Bordeaux-style Red Blends: “Mmmm Minty fresh. Bring on the lamb!” (It’s “varietally correct” to have mint aromas in this family of wines. In Pinot, it’s a bit of a no-no.)

Day 2, Cabernet: “Aaaargh. Welcome to the Tannin Salon. Can I have more bread?”

Day 3, Zinfandel: “Fingernail polish. This one’s made by Curel, isn’t it?” “Yeah, except I wrote down “Chateau Revlon.” (That’s the aroma of ethyl acetate, an ester formed when ethyl alcohol reacts with acetic acid, the key constituent of vinegar. Not a big plus in vino!)

Day 3, Syrah/Shiraz: “Bacon-wrapped chocolate with cherry sauce.” “Right. Exactly!” (That one got a Silver.)

Day 3, S/S: “Geriatric breakfast: coffee, tobacco and prune juice.” “That’s a *moving* statement…” (I’ll leave it at that.)


So, how do we get away with all this goofing around? Before you ask me how anyone can take our judging results seriously, I have some well-thought-out answers for you from Panel “D.” And our comments are anything but self-defense.

Yesterday, I showed you a few of the many aromas in wine, with some basic info on where they come from. (If you scroll on down to yesterday’s post, what I’m about to say will make more sense.) I hinted at the next step, which is recognizing and naming the aromas.

I’ll save the nose-mouth-and-throat physiology of this for another time. For now, let’s focus on the brain, and the “sensory memory” that catalogs everything we’ve ever experienced via any of our senses. (Taste and smell are the major ones here, but touch and sight can also play a part.) When we taste any given wine for the first time, we have to connect what we’re experiencing in the glass with what we’ve experienced in the past.

To simplify some really complex neurophysiology and -psychology, the “rational” cerebral cortex of our brain is divided into two hemispheres that process information in two very different ways. Our left brain is the logician. It likes facts and other infobits, and organizes them in a linear way. Our right brain is the artist, the movie director, the symphony conductor, the multi-tasker. It sees the whole before filling in the details. It is intuitive and associative, and it thinks in a big-picture, simultaneous, what-connects-with-what way.

Looking back at some of the seemingly bizarre descriptions that Panel “D” came up with, the “coffee, tobacco, prune juice” is an analytical, left-brain, “what specific aromas can I choose from this catalog” approach. Synthesize that, put yourself into a situation where all three aromas might come together, and you have the right-brain “geriatric breakfast.” In truth, when we taste and judge, we have to operate in both hemispheres; then we integrate the two sets of information. It gets to be automatic after a while, and with experience, we become able to flip from one to the other as needed.

So when we wine judges start riffing on music, pop culture, and bad puns, we’re letting our “right brains” come out and play. This helps build a bigger context for our left-brained data stream of descriptors. It not only keeps our brains frisky and lets us have more fun, it makes us better tasters. And better judges!

Tomorrow, we’ll bring some wine to the table and explore a few taste combinations. Until then, as always,

Cheers,
Rosina
gilded fork, wine, wine writing, Welcome to Wine Country, Rosina Tinari Wilson