Wine tastings bring out the real character of the wine tasters. I don’t go to many of these events, but I joined one this week, partly because it was being held in a superb boutique hotel in Claremont, designed in the Cape Dutch style.
The wines on offer came from the coastal regions of the Southern Cape, where cooler conditions provide opportunities for winemakers to experiment with different styles. The evening included a fascinating talk about the winemaker’s discoveries and the techniques used to produce these distinctive coastal wines.
I enjoyed the presentation, but I must confess that I have always been a little suspicious of wine-tasting events. Perhaps it comes from my upbringing, when wine was something to be enjoyed with a meal, rather than an occasion for elaborate descriptions of its virtues. Basic wines were readily available at affordable prices, and you didn’t need to know your tannins from your terpenes to enjoy a glass.
I have also associated wine tastings with a certain amount of snobbery: the knowing nods, the oohs and aahs, and the exclamations about the extraordinary qualities of a particular vintage.
This event, however, was a pleasant surprise. There was little of that pretentiousness. The atmosphere was relaxed and convivial, and people seemed to be enjoying themselves rather than competing to demonstrate their knowledge of wine.
The food was excellent, although I’m not sure it was always the ideal match for the wines. But when the food is that good, does it really matter? Sometimes a superb meal deserves to be enjoyed on its own merits, without worrying too much about whether the wine complements every mouthful.
After the guests had tasted the four wines and the evening’s talk had ended, another aspect of the occasion began to emerge. Some of the guests had clearly enjoyed the wine rather more enthusiastically than others.
You could spot them as they got up from their tables. There was the occasional slur, a little hovering for balance, and the odd unsteady step. I wouldn’t say anyone was completely smashed, but a few people were, to put it politely, no longer quite their normal selves.
Later, I heard that some husbands and wives had become irritated with their partners over their behaviour. It seems that even a sophisticated wine-tasting event can produce a domestic disagreement or two.
In simpler terms, some guests had indulged a little too freely in Bacchus’s bounty.
I was also drawn into a conversation with some rather tipsy ladies who were making elaborate plans and arrangements. They were wonderfully enthusiastic about their ideas, although I suspect that some of those grand schemes would never see the light of day. Alcohol has a way of making the improbable seem entirely practical at the time. By the following morning, the enthusiasm may have evaporated along with the headache.
There is, of course, a practical lesson here, particularly for anyone attending a wine tasting without a partner or friend who can drive them home.
Take small sips. You don’t have to finish every glass.
I have never quite understood the urge to drink an entire tasting glass of wine. Even if the initial pour is relatively modest, three or four glasses soon add up. And when the formal tasting is over and wine continues to flow freely, the temptation to have another glass can be difficult to resist.
Free wine may seem like an attractive bonus, but it is worth remembering that it isn’t entirely free. Eventually, you may pay for it in ways that have little to do with money.
The evening left me with two quite different impressions. The winemaker’s presentation had offered an insight into the character and flavour profiles of the wines. The guests, meanwhile, provided an equally revealing demonstration of human character.
Perhaps that is another benefit of wine tastings. You go along to discover what makes a particular wine special, but if you watch closely enough, you may discover rather more about the people drinking it.
And unlike the wine, human character doesn’t always improve with a little more exposure.
