A lot of discussion is made in wine circles about objective tasting, or rather, how it’s incredibly difficult to be entirely objective. We’re human, after all, and with that comes biological and psychological inconsistencies within ourselves, without even considering the changing physical environment, bottle variation, glass size and shape, atmospheric pressure and so on. Every taster worth their salt gives it their best to try and remain consistent, unbiased and present their conclusions dispassionately, usually focusing around the tried-and-tested quality analysis of BLIC. It’s not perfect but, given an experienced taster in good conditions, a pretty solid level of consistency can be reached.

Yet, is consistency and dispassionate analysis really what wine is all about? It makes a lot of sense for competitions, where wineries have paid quite handsome sums to be judged on the quality of their wine and that alone (theoretically), but how about in a world full of context, shades of grey and differing priorities? To what extent should a wine writer, or any writer for that matter, allow their personal position to colour their expressed opinion? Is the quality of wine the most important element, or is it sustainability of viticulture? How about profitability, or accessible pricing? How about corporate practices, or the personal politics of a wine-maker?

We’re all different and everyone makes their own decisions, consciously or subconsciously, and it shines through in our writing. Alice Feiring is steadfastly only interested in wines made in a minimal intervention style, whilst Robert Joseph reports on the industry dispassionately, with a focus predominantly on its financial health. Whilst I highly doubt that either are interested in drinking or recommending wines they would consider low quality (worth noting: Robert isn’t writing consumer material anymore), other priorities are to the fore.

I never actively considered where I stood on things like this, until quite recently. I’d been used to tacking a relatively straight line down what I perceived as a middle-path. I buy 99% of the wine I post about. I taste it, learn about it, drink it and write about it in some format. There’s a popular idea that wine professionals are meant to be making wine as accessible as possible at all times, an idea that I don’t subscribe to; I’d prefer to share the nuances of wine and encourage people to go on that journey with me. Another constant idea is that the consumer is king, and wineries should be following their desires and producing wines that are easier to sell, but again, I’d prefer to show people the beauty that’s already there. A few weeks ago there was a discussion about morality and wine, and that natural wines hold some perceived higher moral ground. Aside from perhaps TCA, the concept of morality is probably the last thing I want to consider in my wine.

So, quality is my beacon, my North Star, my candle in the dark. Except, a few weeks ago, I bought and drank an exceptional wine; a Schiopettino from a well known producer in North-East Italy. A family ran business making wines of real distinction, farming small plots of land without herbicides or pesticides, and selling for fair prices. The wine itself was a beauty; savoury, peppery and persistent; the sort of wine that keeps you coming back for a second glass. I rated it highly and was excited to talk about it.

Then I discovered some very openly racist things posted by the wine-maker on social media and elsewhere. Things I couldn’t move past. Things that were more important than the excellent quality of the wine. (The wine-maker I’m referring to is Fulvio Bressan and you can learn all about the incidents I’m referring to here: https://katieparla.com/fulvio-bressan-the-man-behind-the-wine/ ) In the end, I never posted about the wine and for the first time, I realised that I wasn’t as objective as I perhaps thought I was. Interestingly, it didn’t bother me. I thought about the wine writers I admire the most, and how their own personalities and outlook is reflected in their work and in some ways, it’s just as important as the factual content to me. Our interpretation of the world around us is fleeting, we merely add to it as we pass it along, and it’s good to know where you stand, even as you shift within in.