How to Improve Your Blind Tasting—for Examinations, Competitions, or Simply the Love of Wine

six wine glasses on a table (wine blind tasting)
Blind tasting begins not with answers but with passion and attention.

By Dr Neel Burton — Psychiatrist, philosopher, and wine writer; Fellow of Green Templeton College, University of Oxford; author of over twenty books.

In Why Blind Taste Wine, I argued that blind tasting frees us from our preconceptions, obliging us to attend to the wine itself rather than the noise surrounding it. This temporary suspension of preconceptions—what the ancient Skeptics called epoché—is, I think, a pre-requisite for learning about wine.

Here I want to ask the next question: how do we become better at blind tasting?

Many people first encounter blind tasting through examinations and competitions. Others simply want to deepen their understanding of wine. Whatever your motivation, it’s all too easy to lose sight of why you embarked on the journey in the first place—not to punish yourself or put yourself through an obstacle course, but to learn more deeply about the thing you love. Blind tasting, remember, is a means, not an end in itself—not to pass examinations or conquer competitions, but to commune with the world.

There can be no shortcut to expertise. Nor is there any substitute for a long and loving relationship with wine. No examination technique, tasting grid, or mnemonic can replace years spent tasting attentively, visiting wine regions, talking to growers and vintners, reading widely, and, above all, drinking good wine in good company.

Practice is indispensable, but not all practice is equally valuable. Resist the temptation simply to reinforce your strengths. The quickest way to improve is to identify your weaknesses and work on those.

Blind tasting is less about memorising and recalling possibilities (my free crib sheets can help with that) than distinguishing between plausible alternatives. Focus on tasting and thinking accurately, not on getting it right. If you’re a good taster, you’re a good taster, and no curveball can take that away from you. Like every blind taster, I often get it wrong—but can explain why I got it wrong. Many wines, remember, are inherently misleading.

The single most important thing is to find or form a dedicated study group. Aside from the purely social aspects, the benefits of a study group include: imposing structure and discipline, sharing knowledge and experiences, shaping indistinct impressions, uncovering blind spots, and, last but not least, dividing expenses.

Beyond formal practice, immerse yourself in wine. Attend as many tastings as you can. Visit wineries and wine regions. Talk to growers, vintners, and other wine lovers. Read books, magazines, and the wine press. Every encounter adds another layer of understanding—and, in truth, we taste with our mind much more than with our palate.

I have known generations of blind tasters at Oxford, and the best among them were always those who lived and breathed wine—often, it has to be admitted, at the expense of their studies. Nothing can make up for love, or madness.

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Here I have focused on the bigger picture, partly to restore perspective and allay any anxiety. The details—examination strategies, competition tactics, tasting grids, and so on—are better left to The Concise Guide to Wine and Blind Tasting, which draws on many years of teaching, judging, competing—and, mainly, drinking.

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