Why I Taste More Than I Drink
People are often surprised when I say I taste more wine than I drink.
It might sound pretentious or maybe just studious, but for me, tasting has become something else entirely. It’s not about performance. It’s not even really about the wine.
It’s about slowing down. Paying attention. Sitting still with my thoughts, my memories, and my questions. It’s a way of listening—to the glass, to the land, to myself.
Tasting forces you to notice. It requires presence. You can’t rush it. You swirl, smell, wait and let things unfold slowly. It demands your full attention. Just you, and the wine, and everything it might bring up.
Someone might say, “It smells like acacia,” but if you’ve never smelled acacia, it might be the sweet peas sprouting in the garden or the jasmine in the air when you went to Spain.
Your reference is entirely your own. Tasting isn’t about getting it right; it’s about anchoring aromas to feelings, memories, and experiences.
It’s about reverence.
Tasting gives you a kind of quiet respect for time.
You realize that wine carries its own history: you can taste the stress of a vine that endured a drought-ridden year. You can smell the cool nights and the rushed harvest. You can feel the labor, the urgency, the joy.
The wine remembers. And if you’re paying attention, you can too.
I remember my eyes narrowing as I fought to understand the linear intensity and explosive power of a New Zealand Cabernet and the knowing look and quiet smile our Master of Wine gave when he noticed me notice it.
I remember the anxiety over a bottle of Comtes de Champagne I blew the budget on for a birthday party I was hosting—terrified that it wouldn’t be drinkable when the time came, but so giddy when I tasted it and a guest laughed “She’s so happy!”
Tasting teaches you how to remember those moments.
That’s why I taste more than I drink. Because wine isn’t just a drink—it’s a living story. A slow unfolding. A language that invites you in, if you’re willing to sit with it.
If you’re new to tasting, my only advice: be curious, not correct. Forget the vocabulary. Forget the scoring. Just show up, open the bottle and listen.
