Writing tasting notes tests a critic's powers of description

Tasting notes — and those who write them — are easily mocked. The language is too flowery, the descriptions overblown, the flavors impossible to believe. A recent critic of my work found that my "new-age tasting notes ascribe very improbable flavors to the wines tasted." The writer goes on to quote an offending line or two, such as the following sentence from a review of a Long Shadows merlot called Pedestal:

"Lovely notes of bacon and smoked meats permeate the thick, juicy fruit," I had written. The critical post (on the Amazon Web site) concludes with this parting shot: "If you get a wine that tastes like bacon or other smoked meats, I would strongly recommend that you send it back."

The most widely accepted source of proper wine descriptors is professor Ann Noble's Wine Aroma Wheel, which she developed while at the University of California, Davis. It divides wine aromas into 12 basic categories such as floral, fruity, nutty, woody and earthy, then subdivides them into specifics, among which are "smokey" and "bacon."

Although wine descriptions can certainly be overdone, the language of scents and flavors relies almost entirely on such comparisons. Given the complexity of wine, it is not surprising that writers left fumbling for words to conjure up fleeting nuances may turn to phrases that strike some readers as ridiculous.

Learning to smell and taste the subtleties in wine is not easy; assigning words to those subtleties is even trickier. Theoretically we can divide taste into four basic categories: sweet, sour, salt and bitter (five if you add the savory umami, but let's leave that to the experts). These basics don't help much with wine.

What does help is this: Start with fruit, since that is the basis for most wine. Each of the major types of wine grapes has its own signature fruit flavors. They may overlap, change with age or be obliterated by vegetal (from stems or unripe grapes) or new barrel flavors (back to bacon, smoke, sometimes coffee, cedar, vanilla; don't get me started). But most of the time, fruit should be the basic foundation of wine flavor.

The next component to look for is acid. It's pretty easy to spot, because we all know the flavors of citrus, and the tangy sensation that acidity leaves on the tongue. The counterbalance to acidity is sweetness. Even in dry wines, an impression of sweetness can arise from ripe fruit or high alcohol. In an off-dry riesling such as this week's pick, you often find a lovely tension between the high acidity of the grape and the residual (unfermented) grape sugar. That sweet/sour balance is what gives many Washington rieslings their food-friendly appeal.

Once you have identified fruit, acid and (sometimes) sweetness in a wine, you have the flavor foundation. Then, some white wines (such as viognier) may have some bitterness in the finish. A little of that can be a plus; it gives the wine an edge. You may occasionally find writers mentioning minerality, or flavors of wet rock — more of a textural sensation than a true flavor.

Red wines will show tannins, because they are fermented on the skins. Tannins provide structure more than flavor, but they can be felt as a drying sensation (think of sucking on a tea bag). And finally, myriad scents and flavors are derived from time spent in new oak barrels. The combinations of all the above are infinite. That is what gives wine its endless fascination — and keeps wine writers scrambling for new, better and more appropriate words.

Paul Gregutt is the author of "Washington Wines & Wineries" Find him at www.paulgregutt.com or write to paulgwine@me.com.