Another Attack on Wine Expertise

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The recent article by Hayes and Pickering in the American Journal of Enology and Viticulture (behind a paywall) has gotten a lot of attention from the popular press, most of it undeserved.

The research by Hayes and Pickering purports to show that professional wine tasters have a greater ability to detect bitter flavors than non-experts. As reported by Penn State’s press release on the research:

Hayes said that the participants sampled an odorless chemical — propylthiouracil — that is used to measure a person’s reaction to bitter tastes. People with acute tasting ability will find the chemical — also referred to as PROP, or prope — extremely bitter, while people with normal tasting abilities say it has a slightly bitter taste, or is tasteless.

However, from this interesting bit of research, the authors draw a sweeping, entirely unsupported conclusion:

Hayes, who worked with Gary Pickering, professor of biological sciences and psychology/wine science, Brock University, Ontario, Canada, said that the acute taste of wine experts may mean that expert recommendations in wine magazines and journals may be too subtle for average wine drinkers to sense.

And the press has published an eyeball-snatching flurry of articles and blog posts telling consumers that they have no reason to listen to wine experts since the ordinary person cannot detect the flavors discerned by wine experts.

“Wine experts are more likely to have a very exquisite, acute sense of taste that the rest of us can’t sense,” said Hayes, one of the authors of the report, in a telephone interview. “Some of that is biology.”

The problem is that the research doesn’t warrant the conclusions the researchers draw from it.

First of all, there are hundreds of compounds in wine that account for its flavor and texture. A greater sensitivity to bitterness doesn’t entail a greater sensitivity to these other compounds.

Secondly, Propylthiouracil is the substance typically used to identify “supertasters” whose sensitivity to bitterness is explained by the larger number and greater concentration of papillae that make up their taste buds. But supertasters are also primarily women, and will tend to also dislike broccoli, bitter greens, chocolate, coffee, soy, sugar, and fat. Moreover supertasters tend to drink less alcohol than non-supertasters since they dislike its bitter flavor. I doubt that wine professionals tend to dislike alcohol! Or these other substances either. And they are not disproportionately women. At the very least, researchers should try to cross-reference these other characteristics before drawing sweeping conclusions.

In addition, Hayes is suggesting that the higher sensitivity to bitterness is explained by a genetic predisposition. But the tendency to identify and dislike bitterness among wine professionals may be a learned response. Bitterness in wine is an indicator of all sorts of quality-reducing characteristics of the wine-making process including, excess alcohol, excess tannin, poorly integrated oak,  and under-ripe grapes, which can make bitterness more apparent. It is likely that wine professionals have trained themselves to detect bitterness and to judge it unpleasant, even when presented with a single, bitter-tasting substance, as it typically indicates poorly made wine. But if it is a learned response, then consumers have more reason to listen to wine critics since their expertise can help consumers better evaluate the wine they purchase.

I have not read the original article that contains the research but, as far as I can tell from the reports, the research makes no attempt to distinguish biological influence from learned response. There is ample scientific evidence that taste is cognitively penetrable. That is to say, what we think about the wine will influence what we taste. Unless one knows what to look for and learns to discriminate between very subtle flavor components, many of the qualities of wine will be undetectable to the ordinary consumer—and their enjoyment will be less than what it could be with more knowledge.

It is no doubt true that our ability to taste is influenced by biology and that people differ with regard to their biological characteristics. It hardly follows from this fact that learning plays no role in determining taste. As with most of our characteristics, taste is a complex interaction between biology and environmental influence, i.e. learning. Yet, Hayes seems to deny that interaction when he concludes consumers should not listen to experts.

Scientists are good at science. They tend to be less competent when it comes to making normative judgments about the implications of their research, and often positively ham-handed in disseminating the meaning of their research to the public.

And publicity-seeking claims just get in the way. Had Hayes promoted his findings that wine professionals differ from non-professionals in their judgments about bitterness, only wine professionals would have paid attention. Adding the nonsense about what consumers should do got lots of eyeballs but it wasn’t science.

It just contributes to the strain of “anti-expertise” currently coursing through American society.

The Newsletter for May

The May issue of Edible Arts is on its way to subscribers. Entitled “Food Fights”, this month we explore the cultural identities that form around food and wine and consider the degree to which they are influenced by taste.

Articles include:

  • You Are What You Eat
  • American Regional Identities: The Recipes
    • Fish Tacos, Green Bean and Mushroom Casserole, New England Clam Chowder, and Chicken and Sausage Gumbo
  • French Wine: An Identity Crisis
  • News from the World of Food and Wine

Comments are Welcome

Amuse Bouche

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News from the world of food and wine that you might have missed this week.

The Future Is Now

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I’m disappointed that I never got my jetpack, promised to denizens of the future in the animated sitcom The Jetson’s from 1962.

ugo-50jp-elroyj

But as a small consolation, I’ll take one of these:

carbon nanotube

Carbon nanotube

 

MIT scientists have developed a way to spot rotten produce:  A cheap electronic sensor built out of carbon nanotubes that can detect the ripeness of fruits and vegetables by measuring the amount of ethylene gas in the fruit.

The sheets of carbon atoms rolled into cylinders, with added copper atoms, will cost about .25 cents and when combined with a radio frequency identification chip will run about $1.00.

Next up are monitors that detect mold and bacteria growth.

These appear to be safer than jetpacks.

jetpack fail

Who’s The Expert?

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200902_top-chef-winner-2 I have been musing about the nature of tasting expertise (wine and food criticism) in recent weeks (here, here, here, and here);  but I don’t think I’ve quite gotten to the bottom of the matter yet, so here are some more musings on the topic.

Do wine and food critics have a special expertise that gives authority to their pronouncements, or is it all just subjective preference dressed up with clever wordplay? Here is one way to understand the kind of expertise tasters might have: They are more skilled than ordinary people at detecting objective properties of wine or food. Take, for instance, the identification of phenols in wine.

Phenols are chemical compounds in red wine, extracted primarily from grape skins, that help give wine its structure and flavor. For some people, phenols have a bitter flavor, but others report no flavor at all. Scientists have identified the taste receptors on the tongue that enable us to taste bitterness; some people are more sensitive to bitter flavors than others because they have more densely populated bitter receptors on their tongue, and thus can more readily taste the phenols in the wine. In fact, some people are “supertasters” with excessive sensitivity to bitterness.

Thus, disagreements about whether a wine exhibits phenolic bitterness can be explained by physiological differences in the tasters.  Expert tasters of phenols are those people well-equipped to taste phenols. There is a measurable objective property of the wine, and an explanation of variation in the ability to taste that property. No interpretation on the part of the taster is required—you are either equipped to taste phenols or not.

If we can extend this analysis to other properties of wine or food, we then would have a general, measurable account of tasting expertise.

However, off hand, I can think of four reasons why this is not a promising approach to understanding tasting expertise.

1. The experience of tasting often does not track the objective properties of wine or food. For instance, the level of phenols in a wine, as measured in a laboratory, tells us little about how the wine will taste. Winemakers earn their keep by finding ways of keeping flavors in balance by masking flavors they do not want. A wine high in phenol may not taste bitter because there is sufficient fruit to mask the bitterness.

2.  Whose disposition to taste phenols counts as expertise? There will be a lot of variation in our response to phenolic bitterness—not only non-tasters, tasters, and super-tasters, but variation within those broad groupings. Which one is correct? Given the importance of phenols in the overall flavor of red wine, we might argue that non-tasters cannot qualify. But which level of sensitivity is the right level? A statistical average? Canonization by Robert Parker? Who is to say?

3. Most flavors are not as straightforwardly detectable as bitterness. There may be a measurable relationship between substances in food and wine and our ability to taste sweetness, saltiness, bitterness, sourness, and umami, since these correspond to types of taste buds in the mouth. But the overall flavor of something is as dependent on smell as it is on taste; and it is not at all obvious that smell works in the same way. Is the difference between someone who smells blackcurrants, smoke, and toasty oak in a wine, and someone who smells black cherry, fig, and dried flowers really a physiological difference in detection thresholds? Maybe, but the science just isn’t there yet and there is no reason to think disagreements about the flavors of food and wine can all be explained by physiological differences.

4. And finally some aesthetic features of wine and food, perhaps the most important ones, don’t seem to be straightforwardly underwritten by chemical constituents. Flavor balance, elegance, evolution, coherence, unity, power, sharpness of contrast, etc. do not refer to chemical properties. It is not obvious that they are perceptual at all. Yet, critical judgments often depend on such concepts.

So the aforementioned conception of expertise is too limited.

This post is already too long, so I will suspend this discussion for now. But I will get to the bottom of this.

Cameron Hughes 2009 Lot 251 Arroyo Seco Rhone Blend

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cameron hughes 251 The business model for the Cameron Hughes Lot Series is a win for consumers. They buy surplus wine or wine grapes from good producers at low cost, make the wine if necessary, and sell it for much less than the wine would  have cost had there been no surplus.

So, when looking for bargains, it is usually worth paying attention to what Cameron Hughes is doing. This blend of Syrah (51%), Grenache (43%), Mourvedre (4%), and Carignane (2%) is no exception.

These grapes are sourced from Arroyo Seco, an often overlooked, cool weather appellation in Monterey County. I would expect Rhone varietals from this region to be restrained but with refreshing acidity, which is precisely what we find with Lot 251.

Blueberry, strawberry jam,  black pepper, fig and lightly roasted coffee notes show on the nose; on the palate these flavors are amplified by zesty minerality and a supple, crisp, almost delicate mouth feel.

The aromas don’t leap from the glass—it is a bit reserved but there is plenty of complexity once you probe and ponder a bit.

The clean, velvety finish has persistent flavor but comes up short for lack of tannins. Drink soon; it lacks the structure for extended ageing.

A thoroughly enjoyable, refreshing, everyday wine at an affordable price.

Good: Velvety texture, and complexity for the price

Bad: Light tannins shorten the finish

Distinctive: Refreshing minerality

Price: $13

Amuse Bouche

News from the world of food and wine you might have missed this week:

Creative Chefs and the Proletarians

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Genuine culinary artistry faces a fundamental hurdle–the preparation of food is also a business and the customer must be satisfied. Art and music production also have commercial elements, but artists and musicians can more easily keep their customers at arm’s length during the creative process. You can see a painting before you buy it—you can’t sample a dish before you order it.

Here is an interesting take on this problem from Richie Nakano, a chef who clearly senses the tension between food as art and food as a commodity.

It’s late after a particularly busy pop-up, I’m about three whiskeys past my comfort zone, and I have to start all over again eight hours from now. I switch into auto mode and wash my station down, the still-hot French-top range hissing at me every time I scrub anywhere near it. I just want to wrap it up and go cry in the shower a little, but my cook has been hounding me about an idea for a dish, and now I’ve got no choice but to hear him out. He hands me a piece of paper scrawled with columns and arrows and drawings and ingredients and for fuck’s sake what am I looking at? …

The conversation goes on for another 20 minutes, during which I drink two more whiskeys and a glass of very sugary Riesling. Eventually I’ll ask him to make the dish so we can taste it, but in the days that follow I end up shooting it down completely. He’ll quit, after saying I’m not open to new cooking techniques and that he just wanted to make my food “better.”

And I will realize that—shit—I’ve been here before. Only last time, I was the one who felt betrayed.

Most experiments don’t work and no one wants to taste, let alone pay for, someone’s failed idea. Restaurant cooking is about pushing as much well-prepared, familiar food out the door as you can. The economic realities of the culinary profession work against the romantic notion, fostered by the phenomenon of the celebrity chef, that cooking is a means of self-expression.

For every executive chef imagining techno-emotional magic on a plate, there is an army of proletarians doing the scrubbing, scraping, and pounding, waiting for their shot.

Yet some manage to achieve that magic despite the odds.

La Serenissima Merlot 2008

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Merlot has some very fine moments but it is too often soft, lush and undemanding. This merlot is not one of those. This is merlot for men, a mysterious trek through deep, dark forests and teeth-rattling canyons. You have probably never had a merlot quite like this.

Modest in acidity and alcohol, the flavor work is performed by nicely concentrated dried fruit, earth, and assertive tannins, ripe and flavorful but drying.

The nose hits you with “grapey” aromas surrounded by forest floor, raisin, and soy, the dried fruit and soy becoming even more prominent on the palate. The tannins come on early and persist through a long finish that had me begging for water. A well-salted Tuscan steak would go nicely.

These are mostly oak-derived flavors, but the oak is well-integrated with no woody or vanilla notes that would imperil the impression of originality.

With a good, muscular mouthfeel and plenty of complexity, this wine would benefit from more softening in the cellar. I am really curious to see how those earthy aromas develop in the bottle.

Unfiltered, very small production, one of a kind. From the mountains near Ramona, one of San Diego County’s really promising wineries. This vintage may be hard to find but it is worth keeping an eye out for the next one.

Good: Earthy flavors

Bad: A bit tannic

Distinctive: A unique expression of Merlot

Price: Around $20.00

Amuse Bouche

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News from the world of food and wine that you might have missed this week—some amusing, some not so much.

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