very
If you follow that logic, you would banish all metaphors. And what does “brash” mean in a wine? To me, “masculine” or “feminine” is more meaningful. I like “lithe” as a wine description, but I would guess that would confuse a lot of people.
Without metaphors, you’re soon reduced to the Davis aroma wheel and terms like “tannic” and “acidic.”
Sometimes a metaphor conveys more than literal descriptors. Not always, but often.
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I consider William Kelley not only one of the best informed critics on the planet, but also a succinct, graceful writer who conveys the essence of wines clearly. Here’s his take on 2019 Burgundy. I’ve highlighted the terms that are most clearly metaphors. (In truth, all of our language is laden with metaphors, so there are other words here that are or were metaphors but have passed or are nearly idioms.)
The red wines are simply brilliant: most of what I’ve tasted so far has been beautifully balanced, combining a > seductive depth of fruit > with very classical levels of acidity; and nor is there any > coarseness or rusticity> , even if the wines have the structure they need for the long haul. At this early stage, 2019 appears to number among the most compelling red Burgundy vintages of the millennium.
The wines might be thought of as combining some of the depth and > seriousness > of the 2005 vintage with some of the > generosity and charm > of 2009; but I think site differences are more clearly defined than in either of those years, and that the wines are > livelier > and > better defined> . Another comparison would be with the depth and concentration of 2015 with the > charm > and perfume of 2017. If 2019 must clearly be numbered among what the French call “solaire” vintages (ie those shaped by warm, sunny conditions), it also remains very classically Burgundian.
For white Burgundy, 2019 is a vintage of concentration and maturity, along the lines of 2015, and some producers adapted to it better than others. While the wines are inherently rich and > muscular> , in many cases acidities are higher, and pHs lower, than in for example, the 2018 and 2015 vintages. While some wines are almost exaggeratedly rich, I’m being impressed by how > chiselled > many 2019s remain despite their huge levels of concentration, and I suspect that those who pursue longer élevage will find that their wines gain in > tension > after a second winter on the lees. There’s certainly a stylistic contrast between these wines and the > supple, open-knit, > and sometimes somewhat dilute 2018s. Overall, the 2019 white wines will be more heterogenous than the red, but I’ve tasted some great bottles in the making. …
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This is really it. All good or great writers, or as you describe, “the best wine writers” -which we have plenty here- connect us to their experience as you so eloquently describe. Some people can use the terms in a very meaningful way, some miss by a mile.
For me, I would never look for a masculine or a feminine wine, per se, but rather a wine might invoke thoughts or feelings, and then the adjectives and the metaphors fly!
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“It’s a beautiful thing, the destruction of words.”
― George Orwell, 1984
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Markus…merci… ![[bow.gif]](/uploads/db3686/original/2X/3/34fe6dfbb5b9ca18529c11cea0b49f72cb1f17d5.gif "bow"){kind=small}
I don’t think anyone is arguing against the usage of adjectives, metaphors or similies to describe a wine. Rather the discussion is around how useful, or not, the descriptors ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’ are to describing a wine. Indeed, the conversation can extend to other potentially vague descriptors, but a comment that a particular word or metaphor fails to convey much meaning is not an admonishment of all conceivable adjectives or metaphors one may use in describing a wine.
Personally I often struggle to grasp at what a taster is referring to when describing a wine as either masculine or feminine. For example, I struggled to grasp what you were trying to convey in your examples listed earlier in the thread on post #13.
If ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’ work as a descriptors for you, that’s fine I suppose, but I’m sure I’m not the only one who struggles to grasp at what you or other mean when they describe a wine as ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine.’ I think it’s important being aware that certain descriptors that one may use may be challenging for others to grasp may not always be as clear cut as you perceive it to be. That’s not to say we shouldn’t try to use language in various way in an attempt to describe a wine as best we can.
Well said.
Any single word used as a wine descriptor, when put in isolation under the microscope (and boy can we put things under the microscope here on WB - myself certainly included), is too vague, imperfect, imprecise, capable of meaning different things to different people, and so forth. Including all the ones people say on this thread should be used in place of masculine and feminine.
I don’t think anyone is endorsing a one-word tasting note that says only masculine or feminine. But could that notion be one element of a fuller communication of someone’s impression of a wine to another person? I personally think so. I’m in favor of more words, more communication, more sharing.
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No one is criticizing these terms merely because they are metaphors. They are metaphors whose vehicles are gender stereotypes. Keith rightly claims that we know what they mean. But we know what they mean precisely because they are gender stereotypes. And, as Vincent aptly points out, they are hardly the only or even the best ways to convey those meanings. People complaining about “PC” attention to metaphors that depend on certain social stereotypes to work tend also to complain that such PC criticism impoverishes the language. But your language must already be pretty impoverished if you need this specific set of metaphors to communicate what you mean–unless you believe that the gender stereotypes correspond to a reality. But in that case, you should defend that belief and not an ignoratio elenchi about metaphors.
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We couldn’t even agree what polished means but we’re going to hit it on the head with masculine or feminine. I’m going to start just using famous people’s names and let’s see if it’s well received. Oh my god this 89 Haut Brion is so freaking prime Cary Grant. Dang, this Grange is just so Chris Hemsworth right now. Hmm, this 2012 Vieux Telegraphe is really Ali Krieger. Wow, this Guigal Ermitage Ex Voto is just so Kate Upton, but maybe leaning more Ashley Graham, actually.
Even if you can discern the meaning, even with relative ease, is it the best way to describe a wine? Is that actually more informative than other adjectives instead of a metaphor. What does it taste like? It tastes feminine. You mean the general structure or takeaway is feminine? The tasting experience is feminine? In what way? Relative to other wines of that same type? Relative to what?
I love metaphors. Just not bad ones. ![[berserker.gif]](/uploads/db3686/original/2X/8/8600bbd4810d342b8fbd4ffb62b4f0026275fd37.gif "berserker"){kind=small}
Instead of famous people I could speak for days in pop references. Very few would get all of them, but it would certainly be fun for me… “I hate this overoaked wine, it’s so Padme, to me.” Or. “The 1955 La Romanee from Leroy, she’s my Rushmore!”
91 Monte Bello was like Terminator. 96 Monte Bello was like Terminator 2. But 97 Monte Bello is so Terminator 3, you know?
But 1990 Cailles from Chevillon is sooo Sara Conner (from the tv episodes).
The '91 Monte Bello can’t even fake being Terminator.
-Al
“Don’t use those words, it’s thoughtcrime. We get people canceled for thoughtcrime. Hey, why aren’t you confessing to your thoughtcrime? And don’t quote Orwell, either, we hate that.”
Mineral?
I do hope Wittgenstein was not a wine enthusiast.
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There’s a line about protesting too much. It’s true a lady did it. But it seems it’s not a specifically feminine trait.
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