In a recent issue of Fine Wine there was an article focusing on Joseph Henriot; the Champenois owner of Bouchard Pere et Fils and the Château de Beaune in Burgundy. In it Henroit tells writer Stephen Brooks, “I don’t mind greatly if people tell me that they don’t like our wines, but I don’t want anyone telling me that the wines are not of a very good quality.” That seems reasonable if you choose not to think about it too much. I’ve read similar types of statements regarding wine before. Karen McNeill, for example, in her encyclopedic (and rather presumptuously titled) Wine Bible taught me that a wine may not appeal to all drinkers, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t well made. She used the analogy of William Shakespeare as an author; one may not like his plays, but no one can admit that they are not well-written. This reasoning has always bothered me, mostly because I don’t always see wine, or art even, as being objective in that way.

I can imagine examples of advocacy where I may not agree with the opinion being put forward, but could admit that it was well-stated. I can imagine not liking a certain type of food or drink, but recognize that I should, therefore, not be the one to comment on its merit or integrity. I mean, if I just don’t like malbec, and it just doesn’t taste good to me in any style, why must I admit that it is well made? Is it really necessary to say, “I don’t like malbec, but I do recognize that this wine is of good quality!” And what if I didn’t think it was of good quality anyway? The issue of taste is a sensitive subject here in the world of wine, as well as in the world in general. People get nervous about admitting when they do or do not like something, especially when they think they are supposed to like it (or, even worse, when they think they are supposed to hate it).

Sometimes it can be political. How can you call yourself a wine lover and expect others to respect your opinion if you don’t like the very wines that are beloved by such superpowers like Parker or the Wine Spectator (or K&L guru Jim Barr)? It seems that there are now these gracious ways of saying that a certain wine doesn’t appeal to you, without hurting the feelings of the winemaker or putting yourself out on the line (kind of like saying I don’t support the war, but I support the troops). Unfortunately, sometimes those two things cannot logically be placed side by side in the same sentence. I cannot think of the last time where I have tried a wine, found that it tasted terrible, but still found myself saying it is well made. I’m sure it is possible, but it rarely happens and it isn’t necessary. It is almost always the case that the reason I do not like a particular wine has everything to do with the way it was made!

If I open up a bottle of chardonnay and it tastes rich, creamy, buttery, and oaky, then I can safely say that I do not like it. I simply don’t like chardonnay that carries any of the aforementioned characteristics. That is all that is necessary for me to say. Does it lack any merit, however? The answer to that question for me is debatable and, again, a matter of opinion, not of fact. A certain wine could be made in a style that appeals to a certain taste. It may be balanced, with good fruit, nice acidity, and without any flaws related to winemaking. Does that make it unarguably, no-bones-about-it, hands-down good quality, however? What determines quality? Saying that a wine is objectively of good quality without any qualifier is confusing. From my point of view, if a wine has a captive following that enjoys its flavors and textures, then the winemaker is doing something right. There are many different tastes, preferences, opinions, and viewpoints in this world, and there needs to always be a variety of options to cater to all of them.

That being said, it does not have to be the case that any wine has an objective state of being, where no matter what the taste of the consumer, the wine is definitively well made or of top quality. The egoism in such a statement is as bold as it is condescending, and it can be a prevalent train of thought that turns some people off to the world of fine wine. Sometimes it can be frustrating when you yourself love a particular bottle, but a certain loved-one just doesn’t feel the same. I know firsthand of that experience (when I can’t wait for my girlfriend, Cecilia, to try a wine and then she frowns with disdain). What should I say in that situation? That the wine is actually good, and of top quality, but she just doesn’t get it? That’s wine snobbery at its worst. We in the industry need to be careful when we tell people that a particular wine is good, even when the customer obviously doesn’t care for it. It’s always a defensive reaction that reeks of smugness.

In the end, I must say I do believe that a wine can have merit outside of opinion, but rather that it isn’t necessary to claim so. If one does not care for a certain wine, then a simple “this wine isn’t for me” is sufficient. To claim that one must recognize merit nonetheless stems from insecurity and self-consciousness. In the world of wine it is usually the one giving the opinion who feels insecure about doing so, but in this case it seems quite the opposite.

—David Driscoll

From the Editor: Please note that the statement by Joseph Henriot is a jumping off point for a larger conversation about quality versus taste. It is actually in no way a reflection about the quality of Henriot's wines. In fact, K&L is a fan of these wines, as our inventory reflects.