By |

The Biology, Psychology, and Philosophy of Wine Tasting

Kandinsky, Composition VII (1913). The mind at work.

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

What happens when a novice and an expert taste wine? Is it simply a matter of the wine impressing itself onto their senses? Or does the expert enjoy a different wine?

To answer this question, we need to begin with the biology of taste.

The Biology of Wine Tasting

Our sense of taste arises from specialised sensory cells in taste buds on the tongue, hard and soft palate, and pharynx. There are around five thousand taste buds in the mouth, each with fifty to one hundred of these sensory cells, or chemoreceptors. Together, these chemoreceptors enable us to distinguish five basic or fundamental tastes: alkaloids and other compounds as bitterness, sugars as sweetness, salts as saltiness, acids as sourness, and amino acids as umami or savouriness. Although some parts of the tongue are more sensitive to certain tastes than others, the ‘tongue map’ that divides the tongue into discrete tasting areas very much overstates the case.

Chemical sense of taste is supported by the physical and chemical sensation of the liquid in the mouth, or mouthfeel. The physical sense of touch, which is responsive to dissolved particles as small as three microns, transmits the texture and temperature of the wine through specialised mechanoreceptors and thermoreceptors. The prickle of dissolved carbon dioxide is conveyed by chemesthesis, the same sense or sensibility by which chemical irritants such as chilli or mustard register their fieriness—not through taste, but through provocation.

Sense of smell, or olfaction—which is even more important—is triggered by airborne chemicals acting on olfactory receptors on the tiny hair-like cilia of olfactory receptor neurons in the nasal epithelium. The axons of these olfactory receptor neurons form the olfactory nerve (cranial nerve I), which courses up through the sieve-like cribriform plate of the skull to synapse in the olfactory bulb of the brain. There are around four hundred types of olfactory receptor, which, through a form of combinatorial processing, are capable of discerning several thousand aromas. Sensitivity to aromas can differ significantly, both from one aroma to another and from one individual to the next, with some aromas detectable in concentrations one hundred million times smaller than others.

The olfactory apparatus can be stimulated orthonasally, through the nostrils, or retronasally, from within the mouth and pharynx. Much ‘tasting’ actually takes place retronasally, which is why a runny nose can leave our food and wine tasting of cardboard.

What we call ‘taste’ is therefore much more than taste: it is also touch, temperature, chemesthesis, and, above all, olfaction. But this still leaves out the most important organ of all: the brain.

The Psychology of Wine Tasting

The ‘flavour’ of a wine is an integrated interpretation by the brain of all the various sensory stimuli detailed above. Upon tasting the wine, the brain experiences a sensory overload, whence the difficulty in picking out individual aromas and flavours. To ease its task, it relies heavily on preconceptions (including injurious ones, i.e. prejudices), context, and memory to inform its interpretation of the sensory stimuli.

The effect of expectation is so strong that, if a white wine with an aroma of lemons and apples is dyed red with food colourings, most people will describe red berry aromas; and if an ordinary table wine is served in a bottle labelled ‘Grand Cru’, most people will praise it as ‘balanced’, ‘complex’, and such-like.

The olfactory bulb is closely connected to the limbic system, an area of the brain linked with emotions and memories. Smells and tastes can trigger strong emotions and vivid memories that bias our perception of the wine. Conversely, our emotional state affects our appreciation of sensory stimuli, which explains why wine tastes better in good company or why champagne has it easy.

Blind tasting can help us overcome all these biases, first, by removing a number of their sources, and, second, by inviting us to focus on the wine itself. Paradoxically, by depriving ourselves of cues—grape variety, region, vintage, price, reputation, memories associated with the wine—we become a lot more attentive to the information that remains.

The Philosophy of Wine Tasting

In engaging with a wine, blind tasters activate not only the limbic system, but also areas of the brain responsible for cognition, which is a conscious, higher-order function. This process can be assisted and developed by writing tasting notes that seek to accurately describe the sensations produced by the wine. Given the limitations of language in accurately describing our sensations, this, like writing poetry, is no mean feat.

Nonetheless, language is by far the best tool at our disposal for communicating our experiences to others and, indeed, to ourselves. The practice of consciously describing the sensations produced by wine trains the mind and, over time, makes it much easier to taste and think about taste. As Wittgenstein famously remarked, ‘The limits of my language are the limits of my world.’

But does the language of wine merely enable us to describe what we taste, or does it enable us to taste more in the first place? Learning to taste involves learning what to attend to, how to discriminate, how to compare, and how to remember. What was once an undifferentiated sensation gradually resolves into parts, patterns, and relationships. Language does not merely label the world: often it helps us to notice it.

Although some people do have a higher density of taste buds, this does not necessarily make them better wine tasters. To use a computing analogy, tasting is not so much a function of the hardware (the sensory apparatus) as it is of the software (the mind or brain). That’s why I often say we taste far more with our brains than with our mouth and nose. Regardless of the sensitivity of their tasting apparatus, untutored tasters struggle to ‘get their head round’ more complex wines, and, as a result, derive greater enjoyment from simpler wines.

Just as an untrained ear can struggle with complex music, an untutored palate can struggle with complex wine. To the beginner, it can seem as though the more experienced tasters are making it up. But with enough experience and training, almost anyone can turn into a wine expert.

Think again of Kandinsky’s Composition VII. To an untutored eye, it can seem like a bewildering profusion of colours and forms. With sustained attention, relationships, rhythms, tensions, and depths begin to emerge. The painting has not changed.

If a novice comes to dinner, open something you can both enjoy. But keep your best Burgundy for experienced tasters such as me.

Continue Exploring

If this essay spoke to you, you might look into The Concise Guide to Wine and Blind Tasting.

You may also enjoy

Explore all Wine & Blind Tasting resources

By |

What the Odyssey Can Teach Us About Wine—and Drinking

Odysseus pours wine for the Cyclops Polyphemus
Odysseus offers Polyphemus the wine of Maron. After a design by John Flaxman.

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

Wine flows through the Odyssey. Homer mentions it well over a hundred times, and even supplies the first recorded tasting note in history. He loves wine so much he sees it on the face of the sea: the famous ‘wine-dark sea’.

But wine in the Odyssey is far more than a drink, or even a poetic image. It is a measure of civilisation. How people drink, and whether they drink at all, tells us what kind of people they are.

What Odysseus Most Loves

Many people imagine that the Odyssey unfolds in straightforward chronological order, from Troy to Ithaca. In fact, most of the adventures for which it is famous—the Cyclops, Circe, the Sirens, Scylla and Charybdis—are narrated retrospectively, as Odysseus recounts them to the Phaeacians.

But before beginning his story, Odysseus tells King Alcinous and the Phaeacian court what, to him, constitutes the happiest scene imaginable:

For I say that there is no fulfilment more delightful than when joy possesses a whole people, and the banqueters in the halls sit in rows listening to a singer, while beside them the tables are laden with bread and meat, and the wine-bearer draws wine from the mixing bowl and carries it round and pours it into their cups. This seems to my mind the fairest thing there is.

This is the very scene before him. It is a revealing picture of the good life, three thousand years ago. Wine is not drunk alone, or merely for intoxication. It is shared, with food, music, conversation, and storytelling. And the adventures that Odysseus is about to relate will show what happens when those customs break down.

The Wine That Bested a Giant

Odysseus begins with the Cicones at Ismarus. After sacking their city, he orders his men to leave immediately. But they refuse. Instead, they remain on the shore slaughtering livestock and drinking wine. ‘There,’ Homer tells us, ‘much wine was drunk.’ While they are feasting, the surviving Cicones summon reinforcements. They counterattack, and Odysseus loses six men from every ship. Already, wine-drinking has become a test of self-command.

One assumes they were drinking the local wine—from what is now PGI Ismaros, in Thrace. At the heart of this wine region is the ancient town of Maroneia, named for Maron, the legendary priest of Apollo—and in later tradition, grandson of Dionysus. During the raid, Odysseus had spared Maron, together with his wife and child. In gratitude, Maron gave him gold, a silver mixing bowl, and twelve jars of an extraordinary wine.

It is here that Homer gives us the first tasting note:

He gave me twelve jars of wine, sweet and unmixed, a divine drink. No servant or maid in the house knew of it, but only [Maron] himself, his dear wife, and one housekeeper. And whenever they drank this honey-sweet red wine, he would fill one cup and pour it into twenty measures of water, and from the mixing bowl there rose a marvellous sweet fragrance: then indeed it would have been no pleasure to hold back.

Admittedly, Homer is not using the WSET tasting template. But I think the examiners would be satisfied that this is no rustic plonk.

Odysseus takes a skin of the wine when he goes to investigate the Cyclopes. The Cyclops Polyphemus, though a shepherd, is not a social or civilised creature. He has generous grapes—later tradition would place him on the volcanic slopes of Mount Etna—and milk and cheese, but no wine. So when Odysseus pours him some of Maron’s wine, he drinks it neat and is overwhelmed by it. When he asks for more, Odysseus obliges him three times, until he slumbers. That’s when the red-hot olive stake is driven into his single eye. It was not merely by his cunning that Odysseus defeated the vastly stronger Cyclops, but by wine, and by turning the monster’s own savagery against him.

The Sorceress’s Wine

Several adventures later, Odysseus and his remaining men reach the island of Circe. The sorceress welcomes a group of them into her house and feeds them a mixture of cheese, barley meal, honey, and Pramnian wine, a strong, celebrated wine of uncertain origin—interlaced with amnesic drugs. As they gulp it down, she strikes them with her wand, and they are transformed into pigs. (Circe is the original sorceress, and why Western witches and sorcerers carry a wand.)

Men surrender to their appetites, forget their homes, and become animals. Yet Homer is not preaching abstinence, but self-control. After Odysseus overcomes Circe and she restores the men, wine and feasting help lift their spirits.

Two Kinds of Feast

Much later, when back in Ithaca, Odysseus offers one of the shrewdest descriptions of drunkenness in ancient literature. In Alexander Pope’s verse translation:

And wine can of their wits the wise beguile,
Make the sage frolic, and the serious smile,
The grave in merry measures frisk about,
And many a long-repented word bring out.

For Homer, then, the question is not whether to drink, but how. For a positive model, we need only return to the Phaeacians. They mix their wine with water, pour libations to the gods, exchange gifts, eat together, listen to music, and tell stories. They welcome the shipwrecked Odysseus and create the conditions in which a stranger might tell his story. Here, wine does not obliterate memory, but facilitates its recovery. And the scene is, of course, ‘the fairest thing there is.’ Grapes have been turned into wine, ingredients into cuisine, sounds into music, strangers into guests, and experiences into stories. Only once he has recovered his story is Odysseus fit to return to Ithaca.

Ithaca, where the suitors have been occupying Odysseus’ palace, slaughtering his livestock, draining his wine stores, and feasting at his expense while competing for Penelope. Outwardly, theirs is a civilised feast. There is meat and wine, music and conversation, servants and guests. But the suitors abuse that hospitality and gorge themselves day after day. Like Polyphemus, they know how to consume but not how to live.

Homer lived almost three thousand years ago, in a world in which wine was not treated simply as another form of ‘alcohol’. It was agriculture and craftsmanship transformed into hospitality, fellowship, ritual, pleasure, and even enlightenment. But Homer was not uncritical. Wine could indeed loosen the tongue, overwhelm judgement, invite forgetfulness, lose men, and return them to animals. The same drink could accompany Odysseus’ fairest vision, while also bringing down a giant, turning his men into swine, and foreboding the demise of the suitors. Civilisation requires not the abstinence of Cyclopes, but the moderation of men.

For Homer, the opposite of drunkenness was not sobriety, but civilisation.

Continue Exploring

If you enjoyed this article, you might look into The Meaning of Myth, on the psychology and philosophy of mythology, and The Concise Guide to Wine and Blind Tasting, on the appreciation, psychology, and philosophy of wine.

You may also enjoy

Explore all Odyssey essays

Explore all Mythology essays

Explore all Wine & Blind Tasting resources

By |

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.

Continue Exploring

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.

You may also enjoy

Explore all Wine & Blind Tasting resources

By |

What Is Beethoven’s 9th Out of 100?

A wine in a glass, with a scoring sheet beside it
 A great wine is a lot more than a figure.

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

A wine rating is a summary of the appraisal of a wine by one or more critics—most famously Robert Parker, whose 100-point scale came to dominate the wine world from the 1970s until his retirement in 2019. Other systems remain in use, while many websites now invite wine lovers to contribute their own ‘community ratings’.

In theory, a numerical score merely supplements a tasting note. In practice, the tasting note—if it even exists—is often ignored, and the wine reduced to a single headline number.

This has obvious advantages. Ratings convey information clearly and simply, especially to novices. Assuming the tasting has been conducted under rigorously blind conditions, they reflect quality rather than price or reputation. They encourage producers to improve, and reward those who do. Wines awarded more than 90 points are considerably easier to sell, while those in the high nineties can become cult wines almost overnight. Château Tirecul la Gravière, in Monbazillac, became an overnight sensation after Robert Parker awarded 100 points to its 1995 Cuvée Madame.

Yet ratings can be criticised on three grounds: concept, procedure, and consequences.

The first objection, then, is conceptual. However objective or scientific a score may appear, it remains an expression of human judgement.

Consider these two reviews of the same wine:

  1. The greatest Cantenac Brown I have ever tasted, the 2010 is one for the ages.
  2. V, v sweet, And alcoholic. And a bit drying on the end—a sort of right-bank Margaux. What’s the point?

The first is from Robert Parker. The second, Jancis Robinson.

What is Beethoven’s Ninth out of 100?

What is the Sistine Chapel out of 100?

How much do you love your partner out of 100?

A great wine, too, is more than an object of measurement. It is the expression of a place, a season, and the care and attention of those who made it. It can certainly be judged, but not reduced to a single number.

Scoring wines might be compared to ranking contestants in a beauty pageant. Like the contenders in the pageant, the wines are often very young, and scores cannot fully account for the delights and disappointments that are yet to come. In any case, the prettiest boy or girl is probably not on the stage but sitting at home buried in War and Peace. Many of the most hallowed producers shun competitions, mainly, I think, because they have little to gain and much to lose. Artisan winemakers, who make the most soulful wines, do not have the time or means to enter competitions.

The second objection is procedural. Competition scores are influenced not only by personal preferences and prejudices, but also by the context and conditions of the tasting, and, in a panel, by the group dynamics, with junior judges exquisitely sensitive to every ‘um’ and ‘aah’ from the more distinguished panel chair. The outcome of this process might be of existential import to the producer, who has toiled for a year, indeed, several years, to make his or her wine, but in fact reflects no more than a few seconds of tasting with no or very little time for discussion and debate.

There is also a financial incentive to dish out medals, which invite further paid entries and increase sales of medal stickers. As a result, there has been a devaluation of wine scores over the years—so that many wineries would now hesitate to publicise a score below 90.

The third objection concerns consequences. The highest-rated wines often become objects of speculation, traded like financial assets rather than uncorked and enjoyed around a table. 

More subtly, ratings favour wines that make an immediate impression on a fatigued palate: concentrated, powerful, and rich in fruit, oak, and tannin. More restrained wines—those that whisper rather than shout and speak more faithfully of place—are liable to be undervalued. This contributed significantly to the homogenisation—or ‘Parkerization’—of wine styles during the late twentieth century.

Wine ratings have played an important role in the rise of wine culture, but their grip seems to be loosening, if not quite fading, as consumers become more experienced and knowledgeable—and as wine scores tend asymptotically towards 100.

To me, a score of 98 is a signal for caution.

Continue Exploring

If you enjoyed this article, you might also enjoy my book The Concise Guide to Wine and Blind Tasting, which explores not only how to taste wine, but why it matters. Practical yet thoughtful, it will help you taste with greater confidence—and greater pleasure.

You may also enjoy

Explore all Wine & Blind Tasting resources

By |

Everything You Need for a Memorable Evening of Wine, Conversation, and Discovery.

Convivial wine blind tasting with people around a table
Good wine brings people together. Blind tasting gives them something to talk about.

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

Few evenings are more enjoyable than a blind wine tasting. Everyone has something to say, conversation flows naturally, and any arguments are more likely to be about natural wine than politics. Friends discover new wines, challenge one another’s assumptions, and often surprise themselves.

Better still, hosting a blind wine tasting is much easier than most people imagine. You don’t need expensive wines, specialist equipment, or expert knowledge. All you need are a handful of bottles, a few glasses, and a few curious friends. Once the labels are hidden, everyone starts from the same place, and discovering the wines together becomes half the fun.

Don’t aim for perfection. Aim for an enjoyable evening. If your guests leave having enjoyed themselves and perhaps discovered something new, you’ve succeeded.

blind wine tasting quick start infogram

What You’ll Need (Not Much)

Essential

  • Six to twelve wines (six is a good number to start with).
  • A corkscrew.
  • Standard wine glasses, preferably all of the same type. ISO tasting glasses are ideal, but any decent wine glasses will do.
  • Bottle sleeves or identical unmarked bottles or decanters. In a pinch, aluminium foil might do.
  • Spittoons (ordinary cups are perfectly adequate).
  • Pens and tasting sheets.

Useful, but not essential

  • A foil cutter.
  • A funnel.
  • Wine pourers to minimise dripping.
  • Crib sheets for guests to lean upon.

The idea is simply to conceal the identity of the bottles. Sleeves or decanters work best, but for an informal tasting, aluminium foil—or simply asking your guests to step out of the room while you pour the wines—works just as well.

Tasting sheets and crib sheets can be downloaded free from my blind tasting resources page.

Choosing the Wines

Most blind tastings revolve around a simple theme. You might compare Chardonnay from different countries, South African wines, Rhône reds, Left Bank Bordeaux, or wines matured in oak.

Six wines are ideal for a first tasting. As your confidence grows, you can increase this to twelve.

If serving twelve wines, divide them into two flights of six, typically whites followed by reds. This keeps comparisons manageable while reducing the number of glasses required.

Blind tastings may be horizontal, comparing different wines of a similar style or period, or vertical, comparing different vintages of the same wine. Horizontal tastings are generally more suitable for beginners.

Don’t overthink it, though. When I have friends over, I’ll often ask them to step out of the kitchen while I pour just one wine into their glasses. Then I’ll ask them to return and blind taste it. Simple as that—and always lots of fun.

Glasses and Pouring

Any decent wine glass will do, provided everyone uses the same type. Long-stemmed, tulip-shaped glasses are ideal, and inexpensive ISO tasting glasses have become the standard because they are suitable for almost every style of wine.

Pour a modest amount into each glass—enough to swirl, smell, and taste comfortably, remembering that your guests will probably be sampling several wines over the course of the evening.

Serving Temperatures

Temperature matters more than many people realise. As a rough guide, serve most white, rosé, and sparkling wines at 8–10°C, and most red wines at 14–18°C. If in doubt, err on the side of serving a wine slightly too cool. It will soon warm up in the glass.

Running the Tasting

Allow around five to ten minutes for guests to assess each wine before opening the discussion.

Encourage people to begin with the lightest wine rather than simply working from left to right. As a general rule, taste white before red, dry before sweet, young before old, and modest before fine. These are guidelines rather than hard-and-fast rules. A delicate Pinot Noir, for example, may be better tasted before a rich Chardonnay.

When everyone is ready, ask one or two guests to describe the wine before inviting everyone else to contribute. Only then should people begin guessing its identity. Once the discussion has run its course, reveal the wine—or, if all the wines share a common theme, wait until the end of the flight before revealing them together.

Don’t become a slave to the timetable. If everyone has finished tasting, move on. If the discussion is lively, don’t seek to curtail it. Remember that the discussion is often more interesting than the reveal—and it’s probably what people will remember.

Creating the Right Atmosphere

Wine is about bringing people together.

If possible, seat everyone around a single table, and mix beginners with more experienced tasters who can offer encouragement rather than intimidation.

Complete silence can make newcomers uncomfortable, while endless chatter defeats the object. Aim for conversation about the wines themselves.

Whenever you taste, try to be relaxed, well hydrated, and slightly hungry. Bright natural daylight is ideal, although any good light will suffice. More importantly, avoid strongly scented flowers, food, perfume, and aftershave, all of which can interfere with the aromas in the glass.

My Favourite Format

One of the simplest—and most enjoyable—ways to host a blind tasting is to ask every guest to bring a bottle concealed in a sleeve or bag.

The cost is shared, the organiser gets to be surprised as much as everyone else, and guests naturally compete to bring something interesting. It almost always makes for a memorable evening.

With the tasting at an end, consider inviting everyone to stay for dinner with whatever remains of the wines. If you can’t cook, order a takeaway.

Above All, Enjoy Yourself

Remember that a blind wine tasting isn’t about discovering who knows the most about wine. It’s about discovering new bottles, sharpening your senses, and spending an enjoyable evening with friends.

Don’t worry if the wines are served a little too cool, if the discussion overruns, or if nobody correctly identifies the Meursault. In fact, the biggest surprises often produce the best conversations. Beginners often notice things that experienced tasters overlook, and there is no shame in changing your mind after hearing someone else’s opinion.

As with any dinner party, people are unlikely to remember whether everything was organised perfectly. They will remember the atmosphere, the laughter, the conversation—and perhaps one or two wonderful wines they might never otherwise have discovered.

Don’t strive for a perfect blind tasting. Strive for a memorable evening.

And if your guests ask when you’re hosting the next one, tell them it’s their turn now.

Continue Exploring

Hosting a blind tasting is only the beginning. If you’d like to deepen your understanding of wine and develop your palate, The Concise Guide to Wine and Blind Tasting brings together everything I’ve learnt over many years of tasting, judging, teaching, and writing about wine. Whether you’re choosing a bottle for dinner, hosting your own blind tastings, or preparing for a wine qualification, it will help you taste with greater confidence—and greater pleasure.

You may also enjoy

Explore all Wine & Blind Tasting resources