Is This Bottle Corked? Part 7

The scene is an agreeable house in the Vaucluse region of Provence, within a stone's throw (and sometimes we wish we had done) of Peter Mayle, author of A Year in Provence A Year in Provence. The house has some land attached. On that land are vines. The vines are cultivated by a local farmer who, by way of rent, hands back a certain amount of the wine he makes from them.

It is late summer, shading into early autumn. We arrive back from the nearby village to find a case of bottles in the porch. They are unlabeled but clearly contain white wine. We prepare a modest lunch and open a bottle: what fun! The vin vin doesn't come more doesn't come more du pays du pays than this. than this.

We share a bottle with our companion: it is unsophisticated, slightly sweet, but otherwise nothing to complain about. But we notice at the end of lunch that there is none of that gentle elevation you'd expect, none of that feeling that it's siesta time and not a moment too soon. Maybe (we think) it is simply weak. We open another bottle. We drink it. We look at each other.

"Anything?"

"No. You?"

"Nope. Stone cold sober."

Hmm. We wonder whether we are somehow fooling ourselves and this is grape juice. We decide on an experiment. We pour a gla.s.s into a small pan and heat it to a little below boiling point, then light a match and hold it over the pan. There is a gentle paf paf and a blue flame ignites. and a blue flame ignites.

Grape juice does not give off anything that, when heated, bursts into flame.

We repeat the experiments-both the drinking experiment and the flame experiment-several times over the next few days, with identical results. At the end of the process we have three pieces of information: 1. The stuff is made from grapes; of that there is no doubt.

2. When heated, it gives off a volatile and inflammable hydrocarbon.

3. That hydrocarbon is not alcohol.

Perhaps this is some new experiment in winemaking. If so, it seems unlikely to catch on. If any reader can explain precisely what this agreeable but perplexing beverage actually was was, they might be good enough to write in to the publisher and let us know. The prize will be a bottle of the fabled wine of Antipaxos.

Who wrote an elegy to a winegla.s.s?

THERE IS SOMETHING about the sight of an empty gla.s.s that can move the soul to poetry. Sometimes the more sensitive of the company can be moved to recite the closing ruba'i of Omar Khayyam: about the sight of an empty gla.s.s that can move the soul to poetry. Sometimes the more sensitive of the company can be moved to recite the closing ruba'i of Omar Khayyam: And when like her, oh Saki, you shall pa.s.s Among the Guests star-scatter'd on the Gra.s.s, And in your joyous errand reach the spot Where I made one-turn down an empty Gla.s.s!

How does one top that? As always, we have the answer. A simple reference to a poem addressed simultaneously to a winegla.s.s and extolling German wine should do the trick, and we have just the thing: "Auf das Trinkglas," by Justinus Kerner, a doctor, city medical officer, and author of a treatise on animal magnetism.

Here it is, in all its glory: to the drinking gla.s.s of a dead friend to the drinking gla.s.s of a dead friend.

O wondrous gla.s.s, you empty lie, Which he he would raise with joyful hand; would raise with joyful hand; The spider now around you spins A web of somber mourning-band.But now you fill for me anew Moon-bright with gold of German vines And in your deep and holy glow I cast my solemn trembling gaze.What in your depths I may discern Is not for every human heart But in that moment, I well know That friend from friend can never part.And in this truth, my dearest gla.s.s, I raise, and drain you joyfully!

And see the mirror'd golden stars Clear-cupp'd in your most precious blood.The silent moon moves o'er the vale, The solemn midnight bell doth toll.

The gla.s.s is drained! The holy note Sounds yet within thy crystal bowl.

It is, of course, somewhat better in the original German. But it's certainly worth its weight in one-upmans.h.i.+p, and if you encounter any resistance, you can add that it was set to music by Schumann (Kerner-Liederreihe, Op. 35, No. 8). What was the "gold of German vines" that the dead friend "often raised with joy"? Oh, probably a riesling, we'd say; wouldn't you agree?

What was the Judgment of Paris?

THERE WERE, of course, more than one, so the answer depends on which one you mean. The first judgment reportedly took place more than three thousand years ago on Mount Ida, overlooking the Troad, the region in north west Asia Minor whose capital was the city of Troy. Eris, the G.o.ddess of Discord, had not been invited to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis (later the parents of Achilles). In anger, she threw a golden apple labeled "To the Fairest" into the midst of the guests at the wedding feast. The guests included the twelve immortal G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses of Olympus, and three of the G.o.ddesses claimed it: Hera, queen of the heavens, wife of Zeus, and inferior only to him in power; Athena, G.o.ddess of war and wisdom; and Aphrodite, G.o.ddess of love and beauty. Zeus wisely refused to adjudicate among them, advising them to seek out Paris (then disguised as a herdsman on Mount Ida, but in reality a son of Priam, the king of Troy) and present their claims. The three G.o.ddesses appeared before Paris, told him what they wished him to do, and agreed to accept his decision. Hera promised to make him the ruler of all Asia; Athena promised him victory in all battles, as well as wisdom and beauty; and Aphrodite promised him the fairest woman in the world as his wife. Paris awarded the golden apple, the Apple of Discord, to Aphrodite, and thereby won the eternal hatred of Hera and Athena for himself and for all Trojans. Aphrodite's promise was kept: Paris did acquire the fairest woman in the world, Helen, the wife of Menelaus, king of Sparta, but only by stealing her and taking her with him back to Troy. The war against Troy was fought to recover Helen, possessor, according to Christopher Marlowe, of "the face which launched a thousand s.h.i.+ps and burnt the topless towers of Ilium." With the two outraged G.o.ddesses, Hera and Athena, on the side of the Greeks, the destruction of Troy and the extinction of its royal family were tragically ensured. of course, more than one, so the answer depends on which one you mean. The first judgment reportedly took place more than three thousand years ago on Mount Ida, overlooking the Troad, the region in north west Asia Minor whose capital was the city of Troy. Eris, the G.o.ddess of Discord, had not been invited to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis (later the parents of Achilles). In anger, she threw a golden apple labeled "To the Fairest" into the midst of the guests at the wedding feast. The guests included the twelve immortal G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses of Olympus, and three of the G.o.ddesses claimed it: Hera, queen of the heavens, wife of Zeus, and inferior only to him in power; Athena, G.o.ddess of war and wisdom; and Aphrodite, G.o.ddess of love and beauty. Zeus wisely refused to adjudicate among them, advising them to seek out Paris (then disguised as a herdsman on Mount Ida, but in reality a son of Priam, the king of Troy) and present their claims. The three G.o.ddesses appeared before Paris, told him what they wished him to do, and agreed to accept his decision. Hera promised to make him the ruler of all Asia; Athena promised him victory in all battles, as well as wisdom and beauty; and Aphrodite promised him the fairest woman in the world as his wife. Paris awarded the golden apple, the Apple of Discord, to Aphrodite, and thereby won the eternal hatred of Hera and Athena for himself and for all Trojans. Aphrodite's promise was kept: Paris did acquire the fairest woman in the world, Helen, the wife of Menelaus, king of Sparta, but only by stealing her and taking her with him back to Troy. The war against Troy was fought to recover Helen, possessor, according to Christopher Marlowe, of "the face which launched a thousand s.h.i.+ps and burnt the topless towers of Ilium." With the two outraged G.o.ddesses, Hera and Athena, on the side of the Greeks, the destruction of Troy and the extinction of its royal family were tragically ensured.

The second Judgment of Paris was rather less earthshaking-except perhaps to those closely involved. A young Englishman, Steven Spurrier, owned a wine shop in Paris called Caves de la Madeleine; in addition, he and an American colleague, Patricia Gallagher, together ran a wine school, l'Academie du Vin. As a way of making the school better known, they set up a compet.i.tion between French and California wines. They wanted to bring the rapidly improving California wines to the notice of the Europeans, but Spurrier confidently expected the French wines to win. The year was 1976, the bicentennial of the American Declaration of Independence, used by Spurrier as the publicity handle to bring the compet.i.tion to public notice.

It was decided that the compet.i.tion would concentrate on white burgundies versus California chardonnays and on French Bordeaux wines versus California cabernet sauvignons. Of the eleven judges, nine were French, with Spurrier and Gallagher the other two. The wines were tasted blind. To the anger, astonishment, and chagrin of the French judges, a 1973 California chardonnay from Chateau Montelena and a 1973 California cabernet sauvignon from Stag's Leap Wine Cellars, both from the Napa Valley, were ranked first in the compet.i.tion (the second places were taken by, respectively, Meursault Charmes Roulot 1973 and Chateau Mouton-Rothschild 1970). At least one of the French judges demanded the return of her scorecards-Spurrier refused-while another explained the red wine rankings by arguing that American wines matured more quickly than did their French counterparts and therefore the latter would not show as well that early in their cycle, thus rendering the whole exercise null and void. The French and California wine worlds were shaken. The Greeks of the ancient world had considered the destruction of Troy, with its attendant slaughter and desecration of sacred places, as signifying the end of the Age of Heroes; this had been caused by the Judgment of Paris. There were those who saw the outcome of the second Judgment of Paris as the equivalent destruction of the over wors.h.i.+pped reputations of the heroes of Bordeaux.

In 2006 Spurrier again thought that it would be amusing to have a Franco-California compet.i.tion, during which exactly the same red wines, now aged by a further thirty years, would be matched against one another. This time there were two juries, one sitting in California and one sitting in London; their marks were combined to produce the eventual winners. A California wine again came first: this was the Ridge Montebello 1971, which had come fifth in 1976; the second place went to Stag's Leap Wine Cellars 1973, the winner in 1976. It was decided that the white burgundies versus chardonnays tasting, however, should not try to replicate the earlier contestants, as the wines could not be expected to show well after thirty years. It was also decided to look at a recent vintage for the reds, so five Bordeaux wines from 2000 and one from 2001 were tasted against six California cabernet sauvignons from, variously, the 2000, 2001, and 2002 vintages. The result for the white wines was that a French wine, Puligny-Montrachet Les Purcelles 2002 Domaine Leflaive, came first; the next four were California chardonnays, with the wine from Chateau Montelena, whose 1973 had won in 1976, coming seventh. As for the younger vintages, Chateau Margaux 2000 came first by a considerable margin, with the next four places filled by California wines; the wine from Ridge came third, while that from Stag's Leap Wine Cellars came fifth.

There was satisfaction in mea sure for both sides in this second tasting. On the one hand, the results demonstrated that outstanding California wines could age well, a notion about which the French were extremely skeptical in 1976 (and the Americans a bit fearful). On the other hand, in 2006, younger French wines came in top in both the compet.i.tion between burgundies and California chardonnays and that between younger Bordeaux and California cabernet sauvignons. Honor was saved.

Whatever happened to the Nicolas vans?

TALKING OF PARIS ... Things come, and things go. Mostly we don't notice, but a recent Internet forum raised the question: What was around when you were twenty-one years old that has completely vanished now? ... Things come, and things go. Mostly we don't notice, but a recent Internet forum raised the question: What was around when you were twenty-one years old that has completely vanished now?

Our first thought was: Paris.

Nonsense, of course. Paris is still there. But it is not the same Paris; in a few short years, the city has entirely changed. Now it is a modern European capital, in many ways indistinguishable from any other modern European capital. But back in the 1970s it was palpably different. It smelled different, it looked different; it even sounded different. The majestic peculiarity of its Citroen cars, so idiosyncratic that even their hydraulic fluid was different, made from vegetables. The zinc zinc in every cafe on every corner. The hats the policemen wore. The idea of starting the day with a poussecafe. The ability, unthinkable to an Englishman, to get a drink in every cafe on every corner. The hats the policemen wore. The idea of starting the day with a poussecafe. The ability, unthinkable to an Englishman, to get a drink whenever you wanted one whenever you wanted one. The cheapness and ubiquity of perfectly drinkable wine. The pervasive and evocative smell of black caporal tobacco. The list is endless.

But the first thing that occurred to us about the Paris that has gone is: whatever happened to the Nicolas vans? They were like British milk trucks, and every morning they would hum and rattle along the streets delivering the unpretentious but marginally drinkable Nicolas table wines, not to restaurants and wine merchants and bars, but to people's private houses. The wine truck would draw up, the wine man would hop out, a couple of bottles would be deposited on the step or handed to the house -holder or concierge concierge, and off he would glide again, to stop again a few doors down.

It was, perhaps above anything else, the great signifier of French exceptionalism and savoir-vivre savoir-vivre. In Britain, what you got delivered to your home by a man in an electric vehicle each morning was milk, which was healthy and pure and good for you. In France? Wine. Wine that they would drink with their dinner whether there was company or not and even if n.o.body had died or had a baby. Wine that was so much part of life that it arrived automatically, like a staple.

Now we see that the Parisians were right, and wine is indeed a staple: a staple, in correct moderation, of good living, of good fellows.h.i.+p, of the daily pleasures of the table and the home.

But what have they decided among themselves? Have they changed their minds? Whatever has happened to the Nicolas vans? Whatever has happened to the Nicolas vans?

Why did the sommelier weep?

THERE ARE TIMES in every life, no matter how well regulated, when we might wish that we were paid to do what we love. For the wine drinker, the glitter of a sommelier's tastevin-a mere spoon to the outside world, a hard-won badge of honor as n.o.ble as an episcopal miter to the wearer-is enough to set off a fantasy of spending one's life moving, with a certain affable dignity, among pleasant and appreciative diners, recommending a wine here, commending a choice there, guiding the novice and exchanging a few words of mutual respect with the connoisseur. in every life, no matter how well regulated, when we might wish that we were paid to do what we love. For the wine drinker, the glitter of a sommelier's tastevin-a mere spoon to the outside world, a hard-won badge of honor as n.o.ble as an episcopal miter to the wearer-is enough to set off a fantasy of spending one's life moving, with a certain affable dignity, among pleasant and appreciative diners, recommending a wine here, commending a choice there, guiding the novice and exchanging a few words of mutual respect with the connoisseur.

But the sommelier's life is not always an easy one. Indeed, the sommelier himself is less frequently seen than previously, as dining out becomes less of a truly special occasion, and as restaurants themselves slug it out in increasingly compet.i.tive markets.

Yet there was a time when any eating house that thought itself more than a mere chop house or bistro would have its sommelier, and none more so than those once bleakly grand, now slightly faded, "Business and Commercial Hotels" that stood, immovable as an alderman's watch chain, in every large British city.

It was in one such hotel that we dined alone one evening. The dining room, which magically smelled as British hotel dining rooms were meant to smell-of gravy, soup, damp, and the poetry of Philip Larkin-was half full; all except one of the occupied tables was taken by a pair of men doing business. It was sad to see these probably harmless chaps spending an evening in the Midlands rain telling lies to each other ("We're very confident in the prospects statesidewise"), while the one couple, a man and a woman obviously married and equally obviously not to each other, attracted such glances of loathing and envy that we half expected to see them run shrieking from the room.

There was, of course, a sommelier: a worn-down, rotund, small man with a hairdo reminiscent of Dirk Bogarde's in the last reel of Death in Venice Death in Venice. He moved sadly from table to table like a miniaturized Alfred Hitchc.o.c.k, gloomily dispensing wine from the lower end of the list to people who swilled it around the gla.s.s, swigged at it, and declared whether or not they liked it. This was, of course, lese-majeste of the first order: according to the old school, the sommelier's job is to protect his customers from a dud bottle of wine, whether because they are about to make a poor choice or because something is wrong with the bottle they've been brought.

But this sommelier had been ground down over the years until he projected himself not as an expert guide, but as a mere delivery system.

Sad and alone in this forlorn morgue, we ordered a bottle of a rather good St. Julien to elevate, however artificially and transiently, the mood. It came. The sommelier drew the cork. His tastevin, we noticed, was tarnished. He poured a little into the gla.s.s and waited. We raised the gla.s.s to the nose, swirled lightly, and inhaled.

His hand began to move the bottle toward the gla.s.s.

"Actually," we murmured, "perhaps ... is this bottle corked?"

His hand trembling slightly, he raised the tastevin on its chain, poured in a few drops, and inhaled. He picked up the cork and smelled that.

"It is," he said. "Yes. It is."

He seemed disconsolate and stood there for a moment, silent, what looked like the beginning of tears in his eyes. Had we offended him mortally? Was this the wine on which, to the harsh, money-grasping management, he had staked his reputation? Why was he so sad? Why was he so sad?

"Do you know, sir," he said, sniffing, "I have been working here for twenty-eight years and I can't remember when a customer last rejected a bottle on the grounds that it was corked, when it actually was was corked." He became confidential. "Most of them," he said, "you could give them yesterday's leavings, mixed up and resealed, and they'd say, 'Mmm, yes, delicious, they do me very well here, you know.' And the ones that do complain, they're complaining because they don't like it or it's not what they thought it would be. But a corked bottle which really corked." He became confidential. "Most of them," he said, "you could give them yesterday's leavings, mixed up and resealed, and they'd say, 'Mmm, yes, delicious, they do me very well here, you know.' And the ones that do complain, they're complaining because they don't like it or it's not what they thought it would be. But a corked bottle which really is is ... honestly, it's a treat. It's like the old days. Corked," he said, perking up. " ... honestly, it's a treat. It's like the old days. Corked," he said, perking up. "Corked. Well, well. I'll bring you another, straightaway."

And off he glided, as if on air.

We all dream of being paid for what we enjoy. But as they say, be careful what you wish for, lest you get it.

Do you understand winespeak?

REGULAR BUYERS of wine probably read wine columnists and wine guides. They may wonder which guides to trust: what do the adjectives and nouns really mean? These are important questions. The conscientious writer tries to convey the experience you will have if you drink the wine, and this requires some detail. What most people probably want to know is, what does the wine taste like, and will they like it? Flavor, however, is actually made up of two components: its "nose" and its taste. The skeptic about the importance of its aroma should try drinking a gla.s.s while holding his or her nose. Certainly, part of the fun of drinking wine is catching the differences between what a wine smells like and what it tastes like. For many, the nose is almost more interesting, because layers of smell are sometimes more complex and easier to discern than layers of taste. of wine probably read wine columnists and wine guides. They may wonder which guides to trust: what do the adjectives and nouns really mean? These are important questions. The conscientious writer tries to convey the experience you will have if you drink the wine, and this requires some detail. What most people probably want to know is, what does the wine taste like, and will they like it? Flavor, however, is actually made up of two components: its "nose" and its taste. The skeptic about the importance of its aroma should try drinking a gla.s.s while holding his or her nose. Certainly, part of the fun of drinking wine is catching the differences between what a wine smells like and what it tastes like. For many, the nose is almost more interesting, because layers of smell are sometimes more complex and easier to discern than layers of taste.

Indeed, the aroma (of a youngish wine) or bouquet (of a more mature wine) has produced some arresting characterizations of individual types of wine. One, ascribed to the writer Jancis Robinson, a Master of Wine, is for wine made from the Sauvignon Blanc grape, whether a Sancerre from the Loire or the eponymous wine from New Zealand: "cat's pee on a gooseberry bush." Now, let us think about that. The scent of gooseberries, yes, nettles, and sometimes elderflowers, and often gra.s.s and some herbs, but the cat's pee is more difficult. What if you do not own a cat? Would you recognize this particular scent? Even more to the point, would this description encourage you to buy it? Another columnist's recent description of a certain New Zealand sauvignon blanc was that it reminded him of "a rugby club changing room": we can only hope that this was more dismissive than descriptive. Another characterization, ascribed to a notable writer on burgundy, is that "great burgundy smells like s.h.i.+t." Again, let us think about it. The cla.s.sic fruit scent for wine made from the Pinot Noir grape in Burgundy is raspberries, while for some of us, the faint scent of rubber is a possible clue. But his arresting descriptor? Does he mean the faint composty bouquet that can accompany fine wines? Or does he actually mean that arising from the less salubrious section of a farmyard? In any case, it is difficult to see the comment pinned on the shelf of your favorite wine shop. Or what about the cla.s.sic Australian description of mature s.h.i.+raz (syrah) as having a "sweaty saddle character"?

Wine columnists often pile on the more agreeable nouns. Here is one that described a Chilean wine made from the Cabernet Sauvignon grape: "gobs of fruit, blackcurrants and dark berries, notes of leather and pencil shavings, a hint of licorice, chocolate, and coffee." There can be several responses to that. You could pour a gla.s.s of the wine, sniff it, swirl it and sniff it again, and try, with increasing desperation, to find each of these scents. You could consider whether you really wanted to buy and drink a wine that smelled of pencil shavings. You could give up on the smells and taste it, trying to tease out everything promised by the adjectives. Or you could quote Jancis Robinson's reported comment that few can really discern more than a small handful of scents and tastes and just pour yourself a gla.s.s, drink it, and decide whether or not you like it.

What appears to lure consumers into the shops are the adjectives describing fruit-whether it is tropical fruit and melons for Australian chardonnay, blackcurrants for claret from the Medoc and especially from cabernet sauvignons from the New World, or dark cherries from an Italian Valpolicella-as well as vanilla from heavily oaked wines. What often happens is that the scents on the nose seldom translate directly into tastes in the mouth. Some do, of course, particularly the aggressively fruity New World wines. However, perhaps we should be thankful that leather, pencil shavings, rubber, stone, and compost seldom do. One of the more interesting disjunctures can happen with dry Alsace or German rieslings of some age, when the honey on the nose does not appear as sweetness in the mouth; a similar experience can happen with an Alsace gewurztraminer, when the rose petals, Turkish Delight, or lychees on the nose cannot be tasted, more's the pity. Indeed, these experiences demonstrate why anyone drinking wine should sniff before sipping: the pleasure is doubled. In short, winespeak can take you only so far: after that it is up to you-unless, of course, you always follow your guru, no matter where he leads.

Must you have a guru?

IN THE WORLD of wine, both amateur and professional, there is probably no stronger source of conflict than the rating and ranking of wines. Professional reputations are involved, as are the livelihoods of producers, brokers and wine merchants in various parts of the world. There are a variety of systems, some of which claim an objectivity and precision that supporters of other systems deride as impossible. There is certainly a split between the United States and Europe, which is exacerbated by the scorn occasionally poured on each side by the other. The poor consumer, who is looking for guidance, is left confused. of wine, both amateur and professional, there is probably no stronger source of conflict than the rating and ranking of wines. Professional reputations are involved, as are the livelihoods of producers, brokers and wine merchants in various parts of the world. There are a variety of systems, some of which claim an objectivity and precision that supporters of other systems deride as impossible. There is certainly a split between the United States and Europe, which is exacerbated by the scorn occasionally poured on each side by the other. The poor consumer, who is looking for guidance, is left confused.

Undoubtedly the most influential wine taster in the world is Robert Parker, whose The Wine Advocate The Wine Advocate has a readers.h.i.+p of thousands. His driving motive was indeed to help the poor consumer to find out more about a wine than could be gleaned from reading the label. His approach is to buy his own bottles or to taste from the barrels, sniff, sip, slosh it around his mouth, and quickly reach his verdict. His method is preeminently by snap-shot, and while he often returns and retastes a wine a year or two later, it is usually too late for any change in his opinion to have much effect on the market. His tasting abilities are almost universally acknowledged to be phenomenal, but the perception is that he homes in on certain types of wine: heavily extracted, alcoholic, less acidic, and with "gobs of fruit"-what one female sommelier has referred to as "p.e.n.i.s wines." He is accused of having driven many wine producers to skew their winemaking methods in order to create so-called Parker wines, wines that he is likely to rate highly and which as a result will be swept up by eager customers. has a readers.h.i.+p of thousands. His driving motive was indeed to help the poor consumer to find out more about a wine than could be gleaned from reading the label. His approach is to buy his own bottles or to taste from the barrels, sniff, sip, slosh it around his mouth, and quickly reach his verdict. His method is preeminently by snap-shot, and while he often returns and retastes a wine a year or two later, it is usually too late for any change in his opinion to have much effect on the market. His tasting abilities are almost universally acknowledged to be phenomenal, but the perception is that he homes in on certain types of wine: heavily extracted, alcoholic, less acidic, and with "gobs of fruit"-what one female sommelier has referred to as "p.e.n.i.s wines." He is accused of having driven many wine producers to skew their winemaking methods in order to create so-called Parker wines, wines that he is likely to rate highly and which as a result will be swept up by eager customers.

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Parker's scoring system-used by American schools and colleges-is based on a maximum of 100 points. However, the scoring effectively begins at 50: as one fellow taster said, a wine gets 50 points "just for showing up." Thereafter: 5064: to be avoided to be avoided 6574: average average 7579: above average above average 8089: very good very good 9095: outstanding outstanding 96100: extraordinary extraordinary Parker has always insisted that customers should look at his tasting notes, not merely at the numbers, but the extent to which most of them do so is questionable. The thing is, for Americans, these numbers trigger off deeply held memories: at school, 90100 was an A to A+, 8089 a B, 7079 a C, 6069 a D, and then you fell off the cliff and your parents either yelled at you or, worse, looked deeply disappointed. In short, many Americans respond to the simplicity and familiarity and, convinced by Parker's rock-hard certainty that he is accurate, place their wine bets on his choices. Presumably they also follow him because they like the wines he praises.

In Britain, the situation is very different. Granted that British universities also give marks out of 100, nevertheless, receiving anything higher than an 85 is rare in any discipline that requires continuous prose, as opposed to mathematics or languages. Therefore, the idea of a 100-point "perfect" wine seems risible. British critics have traditionally depended on descriptions of wines rather than on numbers, and the quality of the prose of a number of them is part of the pleasure of reading about the wines. Nevertheless, each has his or her system. Hugh Johnson, editor of the eponymous Pocket Wine Book Pocket Wine Book, a.s.sesses producers or areas rather than individual wines: *-Plain, everyday quality **-Above average ***-Well-known, highly reputed ****-Grand, prestigious, expensive Tongue in cheek, he also offers the following somewhat idiosyncratic system to his readers: ONE SNIFF: the minimum score; emphatically no thanks the minimum score; emphatically no thanksONE SIP: one step up one step upTWO SIPS: faint interest (or disbelief) faint interest (or disbelief)A HALF GLa.s.s: slight hesitation slight hesitationONE GLa.s.s: tolerance, even general approval tolerance, even general approvalTWO GLa.s.sES: means you quite like it (or there is nothing else to means you quite like it (or there is nothing else to drink) drink)THREE GLa.s.sES: you find it more than acceptable you find it more than acceptableFOUR GLa.s.sES: it tickles your fancy it tickles your fancyONE BOTTLE: means satisfaction means satisfactionA SECOND BOTTLE: is the real thumbs-up is the real thumbs-upA FULL DOZEN: means you are not going to miss out on this one means you are not going to miss out on this one The logical top score in the Johnson system is the whole vineyard.

The ratings given by wine magazines can also be influential, and they, too, have their own systems. The scores from the American magazine Wine Spectator Wine Spectator are frequently cited on slips under bottles in wine shops. It, too, uses the 100-point system, which Parker's influence has established as the normal American way of rating wines. The British magazine are frequently cited on slips under bottles in wine shops. It, too, uses the 100-point system, which Parker's influence has established as the normal American way of rating wines. The British magazine Decanter Decanter has a hybrid system, using both stars and, latterly, a 20-point system, thereby providing an indication for some and cert.i.tude for others. It is certainly easier to remember stars than decimals: has a hybrid system, using both stars and, latterly, a 20-point system, thereby providing an indication for some and cert.i.tude for others. It is certainly easier to remember stars than decimals: */ 10.512.49-Poor **/12.514.49-Fair ***/14.516.49-Recommended ****/16.518.49-Highly recommended *****/18.520-Outstanding What is probably the most intelligently nuanced system, however, is that provided by the international magazine The World of Fine Wine The World of Fine Wine, which also uses a 20-point scale: 07: Disagreeable or faulty wine Disagreeable or faulty wine7.510: Sound but dull or boring wine of no character or appeal Sound but dull or boring wine of no character or appeal10.512: Enjoyable, simple and straightforward wine Enjoyable, simple and straightforward wine12.514: Good wine, but with no outstanding features Good wine, but with no outstanding features14.516.5: Very good wine, with some outstanding features Very good wine, with some outstanding features1718.5: Outstanding wine of great beauty and articulacy Outstanding wine of great beauty and articulacy1920: A great wine, of spellbinding beauty and resonance, leaving the drinker with a sense of wonder A great wine, of spellbinding beauty and resonance, leaving the drinker with a sense of wonder It should be pointed out that the Parker effect is limited to a narrow range of wines, primarily those of Bordeaux and the Rhone, although a number of the wines of Burgundy, the a.s.sessment of which Parker now largely leaves to others, have also benefited. But most other areas look in vain for much attention, with, of course, the overwhelmingly important exception of California, where the Parker effect has been at least as striking as for Bordeaux.

But what Parker ascertained very early on, and what other critics have had to adopt to a greater or lesser extent, is the requirement for some precision in rating and ranking wines. It does not much matter if you believe that wines change and evolve, that wines vary from bottle to bottle, that judgment is just that, a human judgment, not an edict from heaven: customers look for help and firm guidance, and critics and writers feel that they must give it to them. It is all very well to say that you must taste the wine yourself and make your own judgment, but for many wine drinkers, who have not had the advantage of tasting thousands of wines, going into a shop and facing row upon row of bottles can be daunting.

To answer the question, then: most wine drinkers feel at least the occasional need for some guidance from a person whose taste they trust. The more experienced will have built up their own sense of what they like and which wines they prefer to drink, but they might still hope to have their preferences confirmed. The point is, there are a number of systems and gurus out there, and you can choose the one whose choices tend to point you toward wines you enjoy. Those who collect rather than drink will always find a Parker indispensable: not only will he say what wines are the best and should be bought, but the power of his scores ensures that there will be stimulating compet.i.tion to get those wines. He provides a level playing field for that particular game, which the rest of us can watch while marveling at human nature.

They drank how much at a sitting?

IN HIS WONDERFUL book on eighteenth-century London, book on eighteenth-century London, City of Laughter City of Laughter, the historian Vic Gatrell quotes La Rochefoucauld's experiences of the Duke of Grafton's hospitality at Euston Hall in London. "The drinking is sometimes quite alarming," the French aphorist wrote: The bottles go continually round the table, and the master of the house makes sure that no one misses a turn ... the conversation could hardly be freer; everyone gives his political opinions with the same ease as his opinions on personal matters. Sometimes the conversation becomes equally free on indecent matters, for one is allowed to speak of everything ... I have heard things said here in good company that would be the worst breach of decent manners in France.

He goes on to quote another Frenchman, Faujas de Saint-Fond, who is shocked by the inevitable chamber pot, used "with so little ceremony that the person who has occasion to use it does not even interrupt his talk during the operation."

We may be shocked, too, but we can hardly be surprised when we realize that a man might drink three bottles of wine at dinner and think nothing of it. Pitt the Younger-described bawdily as "stiff to everybody but a lady"-would drink a bottle of port at home before going into the House of Commons, then share a couple more with his friend Dundas afterward. The Duke of York drank so much that "six bottles of claret after dinner scarcely made a perceptible change in his countenance." Byron, Gatrell tells us, would drink from six in the evening until five the next morning, and on it went.

How things have changed. Scarcely a day pa.s.ses, it seems, without the modern citizen being scolded and admonished and warned about the evils of drink. It would not seem so bad if there were any reason or consistency to it, but one moment doctors tell us that any wine at all will surely do for us, the next that a gla.s.s, or two units (did anyone ever say to another, "Do you fancy popping out for a few units?" we wonder), or whatever is the currently fas.h.i.+onable amount will protect us from heart disease. Actually, no, it won't. No-as you were. It will. But only if it's red. Nope, sorry, doesn't matter if it's red or not, it'll kill you ...

It would seem even more patronizing had the cat not been let out of the bag that the U.K. government's "recommended weekly unit consumption" was imaginary. By "imaginary" we mean that it had been made up. There was no scientific basis for it at all. They had plucked the figures from thin air.

Recently we were told that it was the unemployed and under -educated who were most at risk from alcohol. Even more recently, we were told, no, it was the middle cla.s.ses who were really really at risk. Most recently of all (at the time of writing; who knows what will happen hereafter), the Royal College of Physicians claimed that pubs are "pus.h.i.+ng customers towards unsafe levels of drinking" by selling wine in big gla.s.ses, and an MP who is of course not being opportunist to increase his profile (which is why we are not going to name him) demanded a new law to make them stop it and sell us little gla.s.ses instead. at risk. Most recently of all (at the time of writing; who knows what will happen hereafter), the Royal College of Physicians claimed that pubs are "pus.h.i.+ng customers towards unsafe levels of drinking" by selling wine in big gla.s.ses, and an MP who is of course not being opportunist to increase his profile (which is why we are not going to name him) demanded a new law to make them stop it and sell us little gla.s.ses instead.

We have only two comments to make. Well, actually, we have three three comments to make, but we will only be allowed to make two of them. The first is that the people who roam around inner cities at night, roaring, vomiting, and fighting, are not usually those who have been drinking a rather nice pinot noir in whatever size of gla.s.s. And the second is that someone who cannot tell whether they are holding a big gla.s.s of wine or a little gla.s.s of wine should not really be allowed to hold any gla.s.s at all, and certainly not one with wine in. comments to make, but we will only be allowed to make two of them. The first is that the people who roam around inner cities at night, roaring, vomiting, and fighting, are not usually those who have been drinking a rather nice pinot noir in whatever size of gla.s.s. And the second is that someone who cannot tell whether they are holding a big gla.s.s of wine or a little gla.s.s of wine should not really be allowed to hold any gla.s.s at all, and certainly not one with wine in.

We live in stern and pursed-lipped times. The reign of Dionysos, G.o.d of wine, of fertility, of ecstasies and collective joy, is quite o'erthrown. In his place stands political Apollo: virtuous, controlled, ordered, and orderly. Perhaps we should all get together over a bottle or two and see if we can't find a middle way ...

What is a connoisseur?

THE QUESTION IS perfectly answered in the definition, and example, given by Ambrose Bierce in perfectly answered in the definition, and example, given by Ambrose Bierce in The Devil's Dictionary The Devil's Dictionary, and nothing else needs to be said: CONNOISSEUR, n. A specialist who knows everything about something and nothing about anything else.An old wine-bibber having been smashed in a railway collision, some wine was poured on his lips to revive him. "Pauillac, 1873," he murmured, and died.

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