‘I don’t like this wine’: it’s often difficult to say, but it’s not your fault
It’s natural to feel uncomfortable when you disagree with what the experts think, but a clear distinction must be made between technical considerations and personal taste
There comes a moment in every wine tasting when silence falls. Everyone has their nose in their glass. One person says ‘plum’, another ‘graphite’, a third ‘undergrowth’, and then everyone nods – except you. Because, in reality, you don’t like that wine one bit. But you don’t say so. On the contrary, you describe it as interesting. Complex. Distinctive. Sophisticated. Four elegant little words which, in the jargon of wine enthusiasts, often mean just one thing: I don’t like it, but I don’t have the courage to say so.
We have a curious problem with wine. It’s easier to confess to an affair than to admit that that hundred-euro bottle just doesn’t go down well. Personal taste is still treated as a fault, almost as if it were a shortcoming to be remedied. If you don’t like what the experts like, the problem isn’t the wine. It’s you who haven’t got the hang of it.
And yet there are two aspects that we often confuse so as not to argue over dinner. The first is technical. Is the wine well-made? Is it clean, consistent and balanced? Does it do justice to the grape variety and the terroir? Does it have personality, in the sense of character? Perfect. We can crown it.
The other is human, imperfect and far more honest. But would I have another glass?
The first question calls for research, the second for sincerity. After all, we all know that Picasso was a genius. But if, in our own home, we prefer Van Gogh – ideally without having to explain it to an art critic – nothing happens. We can acknowledge that *Guernica* is a masterpiece and still keep a lovely *Sunflowers* in the living room. They won’t take away our credentials as art connoisseurs; at most, our brother-in-law might pass judgement on us.
With wine, however, it’s a different story. If you say that that oxidative natural wine, with hints of barns and fences, isn’t your cup of tea, you risk coming across as a stick-in-the-mud. If you admit that that Super Tuscan – so perfect, polished and immaculate, like an accountant having breakfast at Cracco’s – doesn’t thrill you, you’re incompetent. In short, we’ve confused consensus with the truth.
