The art of wine description

I have seen wine reviewers who wax so poetic that the prose turns scarlet, as if embarrassed to be so manipulated.

A wine can’t be simply excellent, it must have “explosive fruit” and “cascades of generosity” and offer a “monumental expansiveness” and “overwhelming breadth and a dramatic if not cataclysmic aftertaste.” Many wine lovers are awed by such language, but fear not. You need not feel left out of this game. You too can participate in the vinous wordplay sweepstakes. Here are a few tips: When you taste a wine that is tart or crisp, don’t just say so. Try the Germanic feine sauer, pronounced fine-uh sour. It literally means “a delicate and pleasing sourness”—and should be used only for a wine that is supposed to have this character, such as a well-made Sancerre.

Alternatively, you may refer to a tart wine as, “it probably has a low pH.” If someone asks you what a low pH is, just mumble something about hydrogen ions. If the person persists, say that the pH of a crispwineis “in the low threes” and then ask the questioner what he or she thinks the pH is. That’ll shut’em up.

With sweet wine that is supposed to be a little sweet, most people say such a wine is “soft.” That’s trite. Instead, try the wonderful Italian word abboccato (ah-bo-CAH-toe). As in, “I just love abboccato wines when they are well-balanced like this one.” Do not use with CabernetSauvignon(even though it may apply).

Champagne and all sparkling wines have their own vocabulary, but it’s uncool to say that you love the taste of bubbles. Many wines, even those not made with a lot of spritz, have a little carbon dioxide. But no self-respecting snob would be caught dead using the term “spritzy.” It is decidedly un-chic.

Better is to say a wine is petillant (and pronounce it the French way, peh-tee-YAWN). Or you could use the term cremant (creh-MAWNT), a term usually used to describe a sparkling wine that has fewer bubbles than a full-on Champagne.

If a wine has a lot of bubbles, try calling it frizzante, a delightful Italian word pronounced free-ZON-tay.

Occasionally we get a wine that has an attractive aroma that’s reminiscent of forest undergrowth—perhaps a wine that smells faintly like the wet leaves on the ground after a brief summer rainfall. This last phrase in itself may be good enough for some snobs-in-training, but real, certified snobs go with “gout de terroir” (goo de tare-WAHR), which translates from the French as kind of like “taste of the soil.” Most of us have had a wine that isn’t very good. When it’s truly terrible, calling such a wine “rotgut” is rather declasse. Better is plonk, a British term. The French term “vin ordinaire” also may be used, but make sure your pronunciation is perfect for this: van ord-in-AIR.

Occasionally we smell a wine that is a trace moldy. This is a derisive term, and one that may mark you as unsophisticated. It may be that such a wine is supposed to have that sort of aroma. A good descriptor with no disparagement built in is“wet wool.”

As is evident, describing wine is a game where using traditional terms loses points. To gain points, think outside the box. Literally.

Sonoma County resident Dan Bergerpublishes “Vintage Experiences,” a weekly wine newsletter. Write to him at winenut@gmail.com.