With my newfound navigator, “body style,” guiding me through the maze of wines, I began to notice that, in fact, wines did tend to exhibit their inherent body styles fairly consistently. I found, generally, that Chenin Blancs, Rieslings, Pinot Grigios and Sauvignon Blancs had lighter bodies than, say, Napa Chardonnays. For reds, I noted that Beaujolais, Pinot Noirs and Merlots were lighter bodied than Cabernet Sauvignons, Syrahs and Zinfandels. But I still needed more specifics before I could better distinguish one wine from another.

As I swirled and spilled my way through various tastings, I perceived differences that nothing to do with one being heavier or lighter bodied than another. I observed that Sauvignon Blancs, for example, had much more “zing” than, say, a Chardonnay. And further, I noticed that certain reds, especially Beaujolais and Pinot Noirs displayed, among other qualities, a livelier personality than, say, Merlot or Cabernet Sauvignon. So why did certain wines have more zip on my palate than others? What was that lively boost, that pleasant, somewhat edgy palate tingle?

That distinguishing element was “acidity.” One noted British wine expert has called acidity “the nervous system of wine … it gives (it) purpose, life, zing, and finish.” If you’ve puckered up after biting into a Granny Smith apple, you know acidity. If you’ve ever spit out an unripe grape, you really know acidity. And if you’ve brewed yourself a cup of tea, you won’t experience acidity at all. That is, until you enliven it with a couple squeezes of lemon juice, the high priestess of acidity. Acidity in wines should be viewed accordingly.

There are several types of acid in wines, and without them, wine just wouldn’t be wine. At least not for long, because wine needs acidity to survive. The level of acidity in wines is determined by the inherent nature of the underlying grape from which it is made, as well as the geographical region where it is grown. Cool northern weather locations, in Germany for example, tend to produce higher acid wines than, say, the warmer southern vineyards of France’s Rhone valley. And while both red and white wines have acidity, it’s with the whites where it’s most important and where you should focus your palate’s attention. Wines with too little acidity are described as flat, dull, or flabby. Those with too much are lean, angular or tart. Whites with a balanced acidity level are “crisp.” Individual palates differ greatly, and one person’s soft, low acid wine may be another’s screeching, electro-shock ordeal. So, look for the ones that give you that crisp, lingering finish and refresh your palate between bites of your loved one’s latest gourmet creation.

— Tom Barras

When I first started to swirl, sniff and sip, it seemed that with the hundreds of American and French wineries selling wine that I would never ever be able to distinguish one from another. Considering the number of reds and whites as well as the ever-increasing vintages, the task seemed too immense, too confusing, and, frankly, quite daunting. “Why bother,” I thought. “Wine is wine.” It’s either red or white, and occasionally something in between. And, rather candidly, it all tasted somewhat alike. I was in a fog of blissful ignorance.

Then while browsing wine books in a bookstore I leafed through one whose contents grouped wines, and their underlying grape varieties, by body style. Up to that time my notion of body was ‘lean and athletic,’ ‘well rounded and cuddly,’ and ‘Oh my gosh Paul, look at that one.’ In this book, however, the divisions were on a more asexual vinous order. The author’s system seized my analytical mind. Hierarchy. Categories. Order. I loved it.

Body style became my navigator and the pivotal point in demystifying wines. I came to understand that wines, whether they were foreign or domestic, red or white, mono-varietal or blended, possessed an innate body style. Also, I noted that their intrinsic body (weight), very generally, tended to be light, medium, or full. And, at a closer, more attentive savoring, they would more likely be ‘light to medium’ or ‘medium to full’ or outright ‘full bodied.’ The haze was lifting. 

Body styles may be old news to you, but if not, be apprised that body relates to the impression or weight of the wine in your mouth. Certain wines, primarily because of higher alcohol levels, (there are other factors as well) have a heavier ‘mouth-feel’ than those at lower alcohol levels. (Generally, from 7.5% to 10.5% are considered light bodied; those above 13% are full; medium bodies are between those two.) Wines that have insufficient alcohol will seem thin and watery, and those with too much alcohol, while they might give you that cheerful buzz, will feel hefty and ‘hot.’ Neither makes particularly good food partners.

How does one distinguish the different body styles? Many suggest looking to milk for examples. Which has more mouth feel (weight) skim milk or regular? Regular or half and half? Half and half or whipping cream? Notice the movement up the viscosity scale? The same distinctions, though not quite so striking, are there in wines.

Those lactic examples are obvious because you know milk. That same awareness will evolve as you do slower, mindful savoring of your dinnertime wines. (Hint: check the bottle label for alcohol level and other winemaking details.) You will begin to discern, at least with respect to body, why you favor one wine over another. However, keep in mind that in a wine’s basic profile, body is but one component in its overall structure, just as there is more than meets the eye when boy sees body.

— Tom Barras

About twenty years ago or so I ordered wine from restaurant wine stewards and retail liquor store clerks in about the same manner: clueless and uninformed. At the restaurant, typically French, for they were the culinary wizards at the time, I dealt with the Sommelier, or as they’re now referred to, the Wine Steward. Formally dressed with a silver tasting cup dangling on a chain from around his neck, he handed me a multi-page wine binder and then dutifully edged away while I nervously flipped through the pages. I could not understand a thing. It was unsettling. What did it all mean? Bordeaux ? Burgundy? Weren’t they the same? They’re both in France, aren’t they? And the years … did it really matter what year one drank? Anyway, aren’t the younger ones fresher and tastier? Who pays for old wines, anyway?

Nevertheless, overcoming all those uncertainties, I assembled all my critical thinking skills and typically selected a wine that had the following important qualities: 1) easy to pronounce, and 2) one of the cheapest on the list. Inevitably the steward advised “Excellent choice,” and I sighed in relief that I pulled it off again. I made a shrewd choice. Well, as you can readily imagine, it was not shrewd at all. While the price may have fit my wallet, the wine didn’t fit my palate.

Similarly, when buying wine at the retail liquor store, I walked up and down the aisles, avoiding any assistance from Gomer Pyle behind the counter, and methodically stared at all the bottles. I waited for a subliminal message, some hidden persuader, to be emitted that would reveal the perfect wine to me. I studied Marketing in college and knew that companies spent millions of dollars on creative packaging. The wine label, which is the most creative of packaging, was designed to hint at the essence of what’s inside the bottle, just as the book cover insinuated at what’s inside the book.

After bottle-staring intently for long periods of time, I eliminated those that didn’t have the prettiest labels or those that didn’t evoke a warm, fuzzy vinous response. Finally, I made my choice and carried it to Gomer. I was very systematic, and I knew that my combination of intense bottle-staring, wishful thinking, educated marketing insights and my usual perceptive price comparison yielded a wine that would dazzle our dinner guests. Well, sometimes it did, and at other times it didn’t, and I was getting the feeling that wine wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Where did the fault lie? In my technique? Was there some other approach I should try? Or did the problem lie with the wines? Stay tuned.

— Tom Barras

There is a huge and diverse wine region in France’s southwest Mediterranean area known as the Languedoc-Roussillon. It’s a boomerang-shaped dŽpartment that arcs north from the Spanish border and includes the famous towns of Perpignan, Carcassonne and Narbonne. From there it goes eastward, hugging the coastline, to Provence. It is the single largest wine producing region in the world, and its output accounts for more than one third of France’s production. While some whites are produced there, the bulk of the output is either red or rose. The grapes from which they are typically made are the heat-loving Grenache, Syrah, and Mourvdre. While they produce some soulful wines in that region, they are classified a s Vin de Pays, (country wine) which is only third in the four-tier rung of French appellation quality.

The area is the hottest in France, so one would not expect much Pinot Noir to be produced there. However, Gallo was able to locate several producers and import huge quantities of a budget priced Pinot Noir labeled as Red Bicyclette. The wine was imported to the States in 2005 shortly after the success of the movie Sideways. That movie, for reasons still unknown, created an immediate surge in the worldwide consumption of Pinot Noir. The Red Bicyclette rode that wave of popularity until recently, when it pedaled itself into legal issues. In February, Gallo suppliers were found guilty in a French court of knowingly selling Gallo millions of bottles of wine labeled as Pinot Noir that allegedly contained no Pinot Noir or inordinate amounts of Merlot and Syrah. Additionally, claiming fraud and false advertising, a class action suit has since been filed in Los Angeles against Gallo and its Red Bicyclette suppliers.

From a legal perspective one might ask, Did Gallo know what they were buying, and re-selling, and if not, why not? From the consumer’s perspective, can quality Pinot Noir really be grown in such a hot climate area, and can a Pinot Noir of any quality be produced anywhere for $8.00? (It was produced in Vin de Pays d’Oc, not Burgundy, which is the home of the finest Pinot Noir). Finally, this episode highlights one of the caveats of labeling wines by the primary grape from which they are made. When the label reads “Pinot Noir,” it assumes that the buyer (Gallo or you) knows or should know what a Pinot smells and tastes like. But if one hasn’t the slightest notion what a Pinot Noir smells and tastes like, then it doesn’t really matter what’s in the bottle. Anything red will suffice. What does that say about American wine buyers and the firms that sell to them?

— Tom Barras

After twelve years and 579 articles, husband and wife wine writing team Dorothy Gaiter and John Brecher wrote their final Tastings column for the Wall Street Journal on December 26, 2009.  In it they offered their very personal perspective on The Mysterious Heart of Deliciousness, subtitled Trust Yourself. The greatest wine experiences are deeply personal. Taking direct aim at those who rate wines on the 100 point scale, they said, “Too many people have come to believe that there is some sort of objective truth about every wine. This is nonsense.”

I tend to agree with them, for if you’ve ever been in a group wine tasting, of any size, then you have noticed that opinions range quite widely, and there is typically little if any consensus.  Moreover, one person’s 95 rating could be another’s 85, and, interestingly, both would be correct in their assessment of the same wine.  The former might appreciate the abundant tannins and their role in the wine’s prospective long term aging.  The latter would not, for he/she might prefer something to drink right now, and those same astringent tannins would preclude such near term dining enjoyment.

However, one of Gaiter and Brecher’s more noteworthy contributions to American wine history is their creation of OTBN, or Open That Bottle Night.  Throughout their career they received frequent questions from readers about a particular bottle’s value, its aging possibilities as well as the optimum time to drink it.  They knew that virtually every wine drinker has one stored somewhere, waiting for the perfect occasion.  With years of experience, it was clear to them that the perfect moment seldom occurred. That special wine eventually aged into decline, and consequently, a potentially memorable evening was missed. 

With that in mind,  they wrote a column in 1999 proposing the last Saturday in February as Open That Bottle Night, and asked readers to bring their special bottle out of hiding and enjoy it before it was too late. They were asked to research its special qualities and reflect on how they came to own it.  They were advised to enjoy the wine without agonizing about what might have been had they opened it sooner, or waited longer. They were also invited to write and share that evening’s experience, which they did by the hundreds, as they also have every year since.  With OTBN and February’s last Saturday a few weeks away, you may want to take part in a unique American tradition.  Rescue that dusty Cabernet in the rear of your clothes closet, invite some friends for dinner, and enjoy it with appropriate food.  It just might develop into a delicious and deeply personal wine experience. 

— Submitted by Tom Barras

When it comes to marketing wines to retail buyers, producers must consider what criteria are important to them.  While I often poke fun at it, the “prettiest label” phenomenon is clearly an effective motivator.  Surely, if the bottle’s label is appealing to the eyes, its contents should also be pleasing to the palate. Right?  I recently spoke with a young woman who spoke proudly about having just completed a wine appreciation course.  Her final exam was to buy any wine of her choice and then make a written assessment of its qualities and attributes.  I was curious as to how she selected the wine-what criteria she used to make her purchase.  Price?  A well-known producer?  Her favorite wine?   Her response:  “I picked the prettiest label.”  She was serious.

Price is quite important to consumers when buying wines.  Depending on the wine, both very low, as well as very high prices can effectively segment wine buyer types.  Charles Shaw (“Two Buck Chuck”) proves theformer and Cult Cabernets confirm the latter. My wife and I recently attended a “Wine Expo” at which dozens of wines were available for tasting (and subsequent buying at discounted prices).  Prices varied from under $10 per bottle to well over $40.  Most of the least expensive wines were from a family owned, Sonoma County winery that has thrived for decades.  Under normal circumstances, and particularly in light of today’s economic climate, I would have expected their tasting table to be crammed with people.  It wasn’t, and very few were at their table during the two-hour tasting event.

Lastly, the debate still rages on how “wine bottle closures” affect the consumer’s perception of wine’s quality.  I’m speaking of corks (real), imitation corks and metal screw top caps.  Recent market research revealed, what everyone has known or at least suspected.  That is, if a wine has a screw top cap, then consumers perceive its quality as not any better than those inexpensive, supermarket, faux-appellation jug wines of yesteryear (think Burgundy and Chablis) that were topped with metal screw caps.  Personally, I rather enjoy pulling corks and anticipate hearing that “pop” as an prelude to the forthcoming pleasures.  However, having said that, I should also relate that I’ve also purchased many wines, both New World and Old World, which were topped with metal screw caps, and they were flavorsome and reasonably well structured.  Also, and most importantly, there was no issue of struggling to re-cork an unfinished bottle.  I simply re-screwed the cap tightly and put the bottle into the fridge.  As one retail wine clerk recently offered, “Who cares if it has a cork or not, as long as the wine tastes good.”

Submitted by Tom Barras